The City of God, Volume I

The sacking of Rome by the Goths under Alaric prompted pagan worshippers to blame the catastrophe on the Christian religion, intensifying their blasphemies against the true God. This accusation kindled Augustine's zeal to defend the city of God against such charges and misrepresentations, leading him to undertake his monumental work refuting the pagans' claim that the prohibition of polytheistic worship had caused Rome's downfall.

Augustine himself described the occasion and plan of his greatest work. The first five of its twenty-two books refute those who believe polytheistic worship secures worldly prosperity, while the next five address those who acknowledge recurring calamities but maintain the gods benefit the afterlife. The remaining twelve books establish Augustine's own positive teachings, with the first four treating the origin of the two cities, the second four their history, and the last four their ultimate destinies, though all twenty-two books ultimately serve to defend the city of God.

Augustine's friend Marcellinus, sent to Africa by Emperor Honorius to settle the Donatist controversy, played a crucial role in expanding the apology. Marcellinus's importunity drew Augustine into contact with Volusian, the proconsul of Africa, and his desire to convert this intelligent pagan friend extended the defense of Christianity beyond a few letters into the comprehensive work we now possess. The work was begun in the year of Marcellinus's death, A.D. 413, and completed in 426, occupying Augustine from his fifty-ninth to seventy-second year.

Through correspondence with Volusian, Augustine discovered that the real obstacles to conversion for men of political stature were not merely speculative. Volusian's initial letter raised the apparent impossibility of believing in the Incarnation, but a subsequent letter from Marcellinus revealed that this was a courteous limitation; Volusian's true difficulties were political, historical, and social—he could not see how the Christian rule of life could be compatible with Rome's position as mistress of the world. This insight led Augustine to take a wider view of Christianity's relation to the old moral, political, philosophical, and religious order.

The City of God represents the first real effort to produce a philosophy of history, exhibiting historical events in connection with their true causes and in their real sequence. As Augustine contemplated Rome's ruins, he directed attention to another kingdom on earth—a city with foundations whose maker is God—and showed how the community of God's people had lived alongside worldly kingdoms from the beginning. The work traces the antagonism between the two grand communities of rational creatures back to the fall of the angels and forward to the last judgment, and requires full treatment of creation, the fall, the incarnation, and the last things.

The fall of Rome after more than eleven hundred years of triumph sent a shock throughout the known world, with many believing it would prelude the destruction of the world itself. Even Jerome, despite Rome's inhospitality, expressed profound emotion over her fall, describing her as a captive who had enthralled the world. Augustine lamented Rome's disgrace while attributing it to the profligate manners, effeminacy, and pride of her citizens, expressing hope that a return to early Roman virtues might restore her prosperity—all while contemplating the instability of the strongest earthly governments.

From the ruins of Rome's greatness, Augustine saw the splendid vision of the city of God arising as the old social system crumbled. He taught men to take profounder views of history, demonstrating how the city of God, with its superior morality, true doctrine, and heavenly origin, had been silently increasing alongside worldly kingdoms. By depicting the contradictory theorizings of pagan philosophers and the unhinged morals of the people, he argued that Christianity was not responsible for Rome's downfall but rather that manifest moral causes were sufficient explanation.

The effect of The City of God was likely silent and slow, telling first upon cultivated minds, but its popularity is the best measure of its success. Between 1467 and the end of the fifteenth century, no fewer than twenty editions were called for—a fresh edition every eighteen months. In the correspondence between Ludovicus Vives and Erasmus, Vives pleaded for a separate edition, noting that of all Augustine's writings, this was almost the only one read by patristic students. The work functions as a kind of encyclopedia of the fifth century, preserving more than the whole surviving Latin literature on certain subjects.

Critics have differed widely on the work's merit, with Dupin finding it pleasant reading despite useless discussions, and Huet calling it a confused mass of excellent materials. The book's popularity stems from the great variety of ideas, opinions, and facts it presents, though modern readers are sometimes wearied by elaborate refutations of seemingly self-evident absurdities that were genuinely prevalent in the fifth century. While the style has faults—obscurities, repetitions, and occasional ingenious but unsolid arguments—no one who reads it all will regret doing so, for it introduces readers to the most influential of theologians, a genius whose dialectic surpasses even that of Socrates or Aquinas.

Augustine's learning would not stand comparison with modern standards, as his life was too devoted to the poor and spiritually necessitous to permit extraordinary acquisition. He had access only to Latin literature, with sufficient Greek to consult Greek authors on important points but not enough to read them with ease. Nevertheless, he possessed profound knowledge of his own time, a familiar acquaintance with the Latin poets, and knowledge of many other authors whose writings survive only through his quotations. His courtesy and candour toward opponents, the respect he won from the heathen, and his own early life all evidence his impartiality and well-informed criticism.

The propriety of publishing an English translation needs no defense, as Poujoulat sensibly remarks that few men today will read a Latin work of twenty-two books, and perhaps fewer still who ought to. In France, this work has been a prime favorite for four hundred years, with eight independent translations, one of which has gone through four editions. While the most recent French translation is part of the Nisard series, the best is that of Emile Saisset, Professor of Philosophy in the College of France, whose labor of love provides exceeding felicity and whose preface stands as one of the most valuable contributions to understanding Augustine's philosophy.

The Editor's Preface explains the need for a new English translation of Augustine's *City of God*, lamenting the "unaccountable poverty" of English versions. The editor notes that only one prior English translation exists — published by "J. H." in 1610 and reprinted in 1620 with Vives' commentary — and condemns it as exceptionally bad, inaccurate, and frequently unintelligible, suggesting it may have given the English public a distaste for the work itself. The editor acknowledges the present translation's imperfections and recognizes that others may have surpassed it in scholarship, but claims no one would have executed it with greater affection and veneration for Augustine. A few notes have been added where necessary, drawn from original sources, the Benedictine Augustine, and the elaborate commentary of Vives.

The editorial publication details identify the author of the preface simply as "THE EDITOR." and the place and year of publication as "GLASGOW, 1871."

The footnotes comprise twenty-four numbered scholarly references supporting and contextualizing the preface. Key citations include: the sack of Rome in A.D. 410 (note 1); Augustine's own *Retractations* ii. 43 and *Letters* 132–8 (notes 2–3); Beugnot's *Histoire de la Destruction du Paganisme* (note 4); Waterland's characterization of *The City of God* as Augustine's "most learned, most correct, and most elaborate work" (note 5); the Benedictine Preface (note 6); Milman's *History of Christianity* iii. c. 10, providing an overview of how earlier Christian Apologies were framed and praising Milman's brief preface as among the best available (note 7); Lactantius' *Institutes* vii. 25 (note 8); Jerome's celebrated lament on the fall of Rome (note 9); cross-references within the translation (note 10); Merivale's *Conversion of the Roman Empire* (note 11); Ozanam's *History of Civilisation in the Fifth Century* (note 12); abstracts and studies by Dupin, Bindemann, Böhringer, Poujoulat, and Ozanam (note 13); a French assessment of the work's limited influence on pagans (note 14); Cave's *History of Ecclesiastical Writers* (note 15); *Huetiana* (note 16); Flottes' *Études sur S. Augustin* (note 17); Schoenemann's *Bibliotheca Patrum* for editions (note 18); Erasmus on separate publication of the *City of God* (note 19); Nourrisson's *Philosophie de S. Augustin* on Augustine's learning (note 20); Erasmus' *Epistolæ* xx. 2 (note 21); Saisset's *Pantheism* containing translations from the work (note 22); identification of the 1610/1620 "J. H." translation (note 23); and Vives' comico-pathetic account of the physical toll his Augustinian labours took on his health (note 24).

"The City of God" is presented as the title heading of the work that the preface introduces.

Augustine censures pagans who attribute the world's calamities and especially the recent sack of Rome by the Goths to the Christian religion and its prohibition of pagan worship. He speaks of the blessings and ills of life, which then as always happen to good and bad men alike, and finally rebukes the shamelessness of those who cast up to the Christians that their women had been violated by the soldiers.

Augustine addresses his dearest son Marcellinus, explaining his design in undertaking this work: the defence of the glorious city of God against those who prefer their own gods to its Founder. He describes this city as surpassingly glorious, whether living by faith as a stranger among the ungodly, or dwelling in the eternal stability of its heavenly seat. Acknowledging the arduous nature of persuading the proud of humility's virtue, he affirms that God resisteth the proud but giveth grace unto the humble, and notes that earthly empire must also be discussed as occasion offers.

Augustine turns to the adversaries of Christ's name who were themselves spared by the barbarians through respect for Christ during the sack of the city. Many Romans who owed their lives to Christian sanctuaries—marked by the reliquaries of martyrs and the churches of the apostles—now reproach the Christian religion and impute to Christ the ills of the city. Their preservation they attribute to fortune rather than to Christ, though they ought rather to thank God and flee for refuge to His name, lest they be punished in eternal fire for the lying use of His name which saved them from present destruction.

Augustine argues that it is contrary to all usage of war for victors to spare the vanquished for the sake of their gods. Citing the histories of countless wars before and after Rome's founding, he challenges anyone to name a single instance where those who fled to pagan temples were spared. He invokes Virgil's testimony: Diomede and Ulysses slew the sentry at Minerva's shrine and bore away her image with bloodstained hands, after which Troy was destroyed and Priam beheaded at the altars. The image was preserved by its guards rather than the guards by the image, proving that Minerva could not even defend her own defenders.

Augustine censures the Romans for a foolish and piteous mistake in entrusting their city to gods unable to defend even Troy. Even Virgil—read by boys and taught at public expense—represents Juno as hostile to the Trojans and stirring Æolus against them, calling them "home-gods conquered." Æneas himself, designated "pious," depicts Panthus fleeing with conquered gods, while the domestic gods are entrusted to him rather than he to them. To worship such conquered gods as protectors is to worship not good divinities but evil omens, and the poets uttered these things as honest men under compulsion of truth.

Augustine contrasts Juno's asylum in Troy, which saved no one from the Greeks, with the churches of the apostles, which protected from the barbarians all who fled to them. In Troy's temple, spoils were heaped and captives immured for the victors' greed and pride; into the apostolic churches, the barbarians themselves led fugitives for mercy and humility. Where bondage ruled in Juno's shrine, liberty was preserved in Christ's churches. Even granting that the Greeks may have spared Trojan temples, Virgil's depiction reflects the established custom of war when sacking a city.

Augustine cites Cæsar's own testimony (as recorded by Sallust) regarding the universal custom of enemies sacking a city: virgins and boys violated, children torn from parents, matrons subjected to conquerors' pleasure, temples and houses plundered, slaughter and burning, all things filled with arms, corpses, blood, and wailing. This proves that even temples were not exempt from such disasters, and even Roman temples were endangered not by foreign foes but by Catiline and his noble senatorial associates—parricides of their fatherland.

Augustine turns to Roman practice itself, challenging anyone to name which temples the Romans, renowned for sparing the vanquished and subduing the proud, were accustomed to exempt so that those taking refuge were free. He examines two praised commanders: Marcus Marcellus, who wept over Syracuse and forbade violation of free persons yet sacked the city according to custom, never exempting any temple; and Fabius, who jested that the Tarentines might keep their angry armed gods but likewise gave no general sanctuary order. Such notable acts of clemency would certainly have been recorded had they occurred.

Augustine concludes that all the spoiling, slaughter, plundering, burning, and misery of Rome's recent calamity was the result of customary war. What was truly novel was that savage barbarians showed themselves so gentle that the largest churches were set apart to receive those granted quarter, where none were slain or dragged into slavery. Whoever fails to see that this clemency flowed from Christ's name and the Christian temper is blind; whoever sees and gives no praise is ungrateful; whoever hinders praise is mad. The barbarians' fierce and bloody minds were awed and bridled by Him who proclaimed through His prophet that He would visit transgression with the rod yet not utterly take away His loving-kindness.

This section explains why divine compassion and temporal gifts are extended indiscriminately to good and wicked alike. Just as the sun rises and rain falls on both the just and the unjust, God in His mercy invites the wicked to repentance while educating the good in patience. Temporal goods and ills are deliberately shared by both classes so that the godly will neither covet what the wicked enjoy nor fear what the good must sometimes suffer. Even identical outward events take on opposite moral significance according to the character of the sufferer: the same fire makes gold glow and chaff smoke, the same flail bruises straw while cleansing grain, and the same affliction purges the good while damning the wicked.

The good are chastised alongside the wicked for several interconnected reasons. Because Christians, however upright, still yield in some measure to the lusts of the flesh and tacitly spare the sins of the wicked through cowardice, self-interest, or worldly indulgence, they justly share in temporal punishment. Their non-intervention arises not from charitable discretion but from a selfish reluctance to offend powerful sinners and lose legitimate comforts held too dearly. Additional reasons include the testing of human fortitude as exemplified by Job, and the prophetic office of watchmen who fail to rebuke sin. Even when believers do not commit the same enormities, their complicit silence binds them to the fate of the community.

The saints lose nothing of true worth when stripped of temporal goods, since their real treasure lies in faith, godliness, and the hidden person of the heart. Drawing on Paul's teaching that godliness with contentment is great gain and on Job's confession that the Lord gives and takes away, Augustine shows that those who used the world without abusing it possessed their wealth in a manner no barbarian could confiscate. The example of Paulinus of Nola, who prayed that he would not be troubled for gold and silver because his treasure was with God, illustrates the security of heavenly-minded poverty. Even those tortured to surrender goods they did not possess confessed a holy poverty and received a heavenly reward, while the torture itself taught the love of money's victims that only an incorruptible treasure deserves such suffering.

The Famine's Effect on Christians The author concedes that the long famine brought many Christians low but argues they turned this hardship to good account through pious endurance. Those whom famine killed outright were mercifully rescued from the ills of this life, as if by a kindly disease; those merely hunger-bitten were taught to live more sparingly and were inured to longer fasts. Thus the famine, rather than harming Christians, served a spiritually beneficial purpose.

The End of Life and Its Duration Addressing the objection that many Christians were slaughtered in cruel ways, the author argues that death is the common lot of all who are born. Since everyone must die eventually, the manner of death is immaterial—what matters is where death leads the soul. Drawing on the contrast between the godly pauper (Lazarus) and the wicked rich man (Dives), the author reasons that a "good life" is not undone by a terrible death, and that death is evil only through its retribution, not in itself. It is therefore better to die once and escape the perpetual fear of death than to live in anxiety over countless possible deaths.

The Denial of Burial Does Not Injure Christians The pagan critics charge that in the carnage the bodies of Christians could not even be buried. The author replies that godly confidence is unappalled, for Scripture assures that not a hair of the faithful shall perish. Christ's words—fear not those who kill the body—are shown to be true: those who kill the body can only act while sensation remains, and after death they "have no more that they can do." Funeral pomp, lavish tombs, and elaborate obsequies are shown to be comforts for the living rather than benefits to the dead. The rich man's splendid funeral counted for nothing before God, while the poor man's soul was carried by angels to Abraham's bosom. Even pagan philosophers and soldiers, and poets ("he who has no tomb has the sky for his vault"), have shown noble disregard for burial.

Reasons for Burying the Bodies of the Saints Despite the previous argument, the author insists that the bodies of the dead—especially those of the righteous—should not be despised or left unburied. The body is part of human nature itself, not a mere accessory, and as the Holy Spirit's instrument for good works it deserves reverence. Biblical examples (the patriarchs, Tobit commended by the angel, the woman who anointed Christ's body, those who took Him down from the cross) demonstrate that pious care for the dead is pleasing to God and cherishes faith in the resurrection. Such offices are rewarded, since God notices even kindness paid to unconscious bodies. The want of funeral rites cannot harm those already reposing in the blessed abodes, and the inability of survivors to render them is no fault.

The Captivity of the Saints and Divine Consolation Responding to the charge that many Christians were led into captivity, the author reminds his readers that Scripture records captives who were not forsaken by God: the three youths in the furnace, Daniel, other prophets, and even Jonah in the belly of the monster. The divine Comforter has never failed His own people, even under barbarian dominion. The pagans who ridicule these accounts yet credit the tale of Arion of Methymna, rescued by a dolphin—though the prophet's story is far more credible in proportion to its greater display of power. Christians in captivity need not fear, for they carry their God with them wherever they go.

Regulus and the Voluntary Endurance of Captivity The author turns the pagans' own tradition against them by recounting the famous story of Marcus Attilius Regulus. This Roman general, taken prisoner by the Carthaginians, was sent to Rome to negotiate an exchange but, bound by oath, persuaded the Senate against it and voluntarily returned to his enemies, who killed him with excruciating tortures (a spiked box denying him sleep). The author argues that Regulus's devotion to the gods he swore by brought him neither temporal happiness nor deliverance—rather, conquest, captivity, and a horrifying death. Since even the gods' most faithful worshipper suffered such a fate, the pagans cannot justly blame Christianity for Rome's disasters, nor claim that piety to the gods guarantees communal felicity. The example of Regulus proves that the gods do not secure bodily comforts, and the virtue that blessed him can equally bless a city.

The Violation of Christian Virgins in Captivity The author addresses the most inflammatory pagan charge: that consecrated Christian virgins were violated during the sack of Rome. He establishes as foundational that virtue resides in the soul and rules the body through the will; while the will remains firm, nothing done to the body against the victim's consent constitutes fault or sin. Though violence of this kind may invade even a pure spirit with shame—lest the act be thought to involve some assent of the will—the soul itself remains uncontaminated. The author proposes to comfort believers rather than refute accusers, taking refuge in the principle that chastity is a virtue of the will which no external assault can destroy.

Suicide committed through fear of punishment or dishonour is treated with compassion rather than condemnation, since human feeling naturally forgives those who choose death to escape disgrace. Yet those who refuse self-killing, lest they seem to compound one crime with another, are also unfairly charged with folly, for no one is entitled to take the law into his own hands: he who kills a guilty person without public sentence is himself a homicide. The case of Judas illustrates the principle, since by hanging himself he aggravated rather than expiated his betrayal, despairing of God's mercy and leaving no room for healing repentance. The argument concludes that one who has done nothing worthy of death has no justification for inflicting it on himself; killing the innocent to escape another's guilty act is itself a fresh sin, not a remedy.

Bodily violation by another's lust cannot pollute the violated if the mind remains inviolate, because purity is a virtue of the soul, not of the body. Since no one has continuous disposal of his own body, only the consent and refusal of the will truly belong to him; if bodily purity could be destroyed by another's force, it would rank with strength, beauty, and health—goods of the body rather than goods of the soul, and would not warrant self-sacrifice. Holy continence, by resisting carnal uncleanness, sanctifies even the body, so that when the will remains unsubdued, the sanctity of the body is preserved. Illustrations are offered: a midwife destroying a girl's virginity by accident or unskilfulness does not destroy her bodily sanctity; conversely, a virgin who consents in her soul loses sanctity of body even if her body remains intact. A woman violated without her own consent has no cause for self-destruction, for she would be committing certain homicide to prevent a crime that is uncertain and not her own.

Lucretia's suicide after the outrage done to her is examined as a celebrated test case of ancient Roman virtue. After King Tarquin's son violated her, she disclosed the crime to her husband Collatinus and her kinsman Brutus, bound them by oath to avenge it, and then took her own life unable to bear the shame. The declaimer's verdict—"Here was a marvel: there were two, and only one committed adultery"—is endorsed as discerning the wide diversity of souls beneath the single bodily contact. Yet a dilemma emerges: if she was not impure, then her punishment is not justice; if she was chaste, she slew an innocent woman, and the Roman laws that forbid slaying even the guilty untried would condemn her act. She is placed among those "who guiltless sent themselves to doom" of the underworld. If, however, she secretly consented and killed herself from remorse, she was guilty of adultery, not innocence. Either horn of the dilemma destroys the Roman boast: if chaste, why was she slain; if adulterous, why was she praised. The contrast with Christian women who suffered similar outrages and survived is drawn sharply—they declined to avenge on themselves the guilt of others, content to possess chastity in conscience and before God.

Christian authority regarding suicide in any circumstances rests on the fact that no passage of the holy canonical books contains either divine precept or permission to take one's own life, whether to attain immortality or to escape any ill. The commandment "Thou shalt not kill," rightly interpreted, prohibits suicide, as is shown by the absence of the limiting words "thy neighbour" that are added when false witness is forbidden. Since the love of neighbour is regulated by the love of self, the failure to mention one's neighbour in the false-witness commandment does not license false witness against oneself; so much the more does the unqualified "Thou shalt not kill" forbid self-killing. Suggestions that the command extends to beasts, plants, or seeds are dismissed as Manichaean ravings; the commandment pertains simply to man, and therefore excludes both another and oneself, for he who kills himself still kills nothing else than man.

Cases of lawful killing without the guilt of murder are admitted, and fall into two classes: those justified by a general law, and those authorized by a special commission from God for a time. The executioner, acting as the sword in the hand of public justice or wise government, bears no personal guilt, and warriors who have waged war in obedience to the divine command or in conformity with its laws are likewise guiltless. Abraham, far from being charged with cruelty, was applauded for his readiness to slay Isaac in obedience to God rather than his own passion. Jephthah's sacrifice of his daughter, prompted by his vow, and Samson's bringing down the house upon himself and the Philistines, justified by the Spirit's secret instructions, are likewise sanctioned by special divine intimation. Apart from these two classes of exceptions, whoever kills a man, whether himself or another, is implicated in the guilt of murder.

Suicide can never be prompted by magnanimity, however much it may be admired for seeming greatness of soul. On closer examination, such self-destruction reveals a feeble mind unable to bear bodily pains or the foolish opinion of the vulgar, rather than a great one. The truly greater mind faces rather than flees the ills of life and holds in small esteem the judgment of men, especially the vulgar, which is often shrouded in error. If suicide were magnanimity, none could surpass Cleombrotus, who, after reading Plato's book on the immortality of the soul, threw himself from a wall to seek the better life he believed awaited him, urged by no calamity or accusation but by magnanimity alone. Yet Plato himself, whose work inspired the act, would have condemned it, for the same bright intellect that discerned the soul's immortality also discerned that seeking immortality through suicide is to be prohibited rather than encouraged.

Augustine examines the example of Cato of Utica, whom advocates of suicide cite because of his reputation as a learned and excellent man. He notes that Cato's own enlightened friends prudently dissuaded him, judging his act to be one of weakness rather than strength. Augustine turns Cato's own conduct against his admirers: if living under Caesar's rule was truly disgraceful, why did Cato urge his beloved son to live under that same rule by trusting in Caesar's generosity? The son was spared not from love but from Cato's unwillingness to let Caesar enjoy the glory of pardoning him. Cato's action thus condemns itself.

Turning from Cato to Regulus, Augustine argues that Regulus, the bravest of Roman heroes, far surpasses Cato in moral greatness. Although Regulus had conquered the Carthaginians and been subsequently defeated by them, he chose captivity over suicide and faithfully returned to his enemies because of his oath. Having such contempt for life yet refusing to end it by his own hand, Regulus plainly declared suicide a great crime. Augustine concludes that if pagan Romans, defending only an earthly country and keeping faith with false gods, shrank from suicide, how much more must Christians, aspiring to a heavenly citizenship, refuse to take their own lives even when conquered by enemies.

Augustine rejects the argument that one may commit the sin of murder to prevent a possible future sin of adultery or lust. He maintains that a soul led by God's wisdom will never consent to the desire aroused in the flesh by another's lust, and that any motions of lustful disobedience that remain in our mortal members are as blameless in one who rebels against them as in one who sleeps. It is absurd to urge that a present and certain murder is preferable to a future and uncertain adultery, or to claim innocence is impossible while choosing between sins. A wickedness that penitence may heal is far better than a crime that leaves no place for repentance.

Augustine addresses the apparent counterexample of holy women during persecutions who cast themselves into rivers to escape outrage, and are venerated as martyrs, along with Old Testament cases like Samson. He concedes that divine authority, proved by trustworthy evidences, may have prompted such acts of self-destruction, just as Abraham was justified in sacrificing his son under God's command. But what is lawful under a divine command is not lawful on private initiative. He affirms as right that no one should inflict voluntary death on himself—whether to escape temporal ills, to avoid another's sins, to obtain healing for past sins through repentance, or to secure the better life after death.

Augustine refutes the final argument for suicide: that one should kill oneself to avoid future sin. If this reasoning were sound, he argues, the baptized should immediately destroy themselves after the laver of regeneration, when all past sin is blotted out. It would be supremely logical for those freshly cleansed to escape all future sin by ending their lives. Yet no one urges this; therefore the principle is false. To exhort the baptized to virginity, continence, and fidelity would be pointless if a simpler deliverance were available. Since it is wicked to say "Kill yourself now that you are washed from sin," it is equally wicked to say "Kill yourself lest you fall into sin under a cruel master." This argument collapses, leaving no just cause for suicide.

Augustine addresses the faithful whose chastity was violated by barbarian enemies, offering them consolation grounded in their preserved innocence. He acknowledges that God's judgments in permitting such outrages are unsearchable, but suggests they may serve to cure hidden pride—whether pride already felt in one's virtue or pride that might have grown had prosperity continued. Just as some men were removed by death lest wickedness change their disposition, these women were outraged lest prosperity corrupt their modesty. Those already puffed up lost the occasion for pride; those who would have grown proud were corrected in advance. All such victims, if they maintained good conscience and did not consent, retain their chastity and have gained humility.

Augustine clarifies that continence is not merely a bodily good dependent on physical inviolability, but rests on the steadfastness of the will strengthened by God's grace. Purity of both body and soul cannot be forcibly taken from an unwilling person. Those who suffered persecution may have misunderstood this, but upon reflection they will recognize that God could not have permitted such trials if they could destroy the saintliness He Himself bestowed. Their conscientious service to God, combined with the certainty that He does not desert those who trust in Him and the knowledge that chastity is pleasing to Him, leads to the conclusion that saintliness could not have been destroyed by these disasters.

The whole family of God possesses a consolation that cannot deceive and offers a surer hope than the affairs of earth. They do not refuse the discipline of temporal life, which schools them for eternity, and they use earthly goods as pilgrims without being detained by them. Earthly ills either prove or improve them. In response to unbelievers who mock them with "Where is your God?" Augustine declares that the Christian God is present everywhere, wholly present though unperceived, and absent without moving. He exposes His people to adversities either to prove their perfections or correct their imperfections, reserving an everlasting reward for patient endurance. Augustine dismisses pagan interlocutors, asserting that their gods are mere idols while the Lord made the heavens.

Augustine argues that those who complain of Christianity in the midst of calamity really desire to live without restraint in shameful luxury. Their desire for peace, prosperity, and plenty is not prompted by honest use of these blessings with moderation and piety, but by a wish to run riot in endless sottish pleasures, generating a moral pestilence more disastrous than any enemy. He cites the example of Scipio Nasica, chosen by the senate as Rome's best citizen, who refused to agree to the destruction of Carthage. Nasica feared that security, the enemy of weak minds, would prove ruinous, and that a wholesome fear was needed as a guardian for citizens. The event proved his wisdom: once Carthage was destroyed, Rome experienced the weakening of concord, bloody seditions, civil wars with massacres and proscriptions, and the cruel subjugation of citizens by the lust of rule that took possession of the powerful few.

Augustine traces how the passion for governing advances without limit once lodged in a proud spirit, reaching even the throne through unscrupulous ambition. Such ambition can only work upon a nation corrupted by avarice and luxury, which in turn arise from prosperity. This was precisely what Scipio Nasica foresaw when he opposed Carthage's destruction, believing that fear would curb lust, lust curbed would not produce luxury, and with these vices banished virtue and liberty would flourish. Nasica similarly opposed the senate's proposal to build a circle of seats around the theatre, warning against allowing Greek luxury to sap Roman manliness. His speech was so authoritative that the senate prohibited even the customary temporary benches. Augustine notes that Nasica would have banished scenic exhibitions entirely had he known the gods were malicious devils rather than worthy of propitiation, for the heavenly doctrine that purifies hearts by faith had not yet been revealed.

Augustine reminds both the ignorant and the feigning ignorant that the scenic games, exhibitions of shameless folly and licence, were established at Rome not by human vice but by the appointment of the gods themselves. More pardonably might divine honors have been rendered to Scipio than to such gods, for the gods were less moral than their pontiff. When the gods enjoined games to stay a physical pestilence, the pontiff prohibited the theatre to prevent a moral pestilence. Although the pestilence was stayed, the astute and wicked spirits foresaw its imminent cessation and used the opportunity to infect not bodies but morals with a far more serious disease. This moral pestilence gave the gods great enjoyment, as it darkened minds and dishonored them so completely that even recently, refugees from the sack of Rome in Carthage competed in mad pursuit of theatrical actors.

Augustine laments the blindness and madness of the Romans: while eastern nations and powerful states in remote regions bewail Rome's ruin as a public calamity, the Romans themselves crowd the theatres more madly than ever. This was precisely the moral corruption that Scipio sought to prevent by prohibiting theatres and by desiring that Rome retain an enemy to fear. He did not consider a republic flourishing whose walls stand but whose morals are in ruins. The seductions of evil-minded devils prevailed over prudent precautions. The Romans will not permit their own injuries to be imputed to them but blame Christianity for the injuries they suffer. Depraved by good fortune and not chastened by adversity, they desire in the restoration of peace not the tranquillity of the commonwealth but the impunity of their vicious luxury. Scipio wished them to be restrained by an external enemy, but even when crushed by the enemy their luxury remains unrepressed, and they have missed the profit of their calamity.

Augustine attributes the survival of Romans to God's clemency, which spares the ungrateful that they may be admonished to repent. God permitted some to escape the enemy's sword by calling themselves His servants or by finding asylum in the sacred places of the martyrs. Augustine notes a remarkable historical parallel: Romulus and Remus, to increase the population of their new city, opened a sanctuary offering asylum and absolution from all crimes, foreshadowing what recently occurred in honor of Christ. The destroyers of Rome followed the example of its founders, though the founders' act was for increasing citizens while the destroyers' act was for not diminishing the number of enemies.

Augustine instructs the redeemed family of Christ and the pilgrim city to bear with mind the fact that among her enemies lie those destined to become fellow-citizens, lest she think her labor in bearing their enmity fruitless until they become confessors of the faith. While a stranger in the world, the city of God has in her communion some who shall not eternally dwell in the lot of the saints. Some are not now recognized, while others declare themselves by making common cause with the enemies of God. These may be seen thronging the churches one day and crowding the theatres with the godless the next. There is no reason to despair of reclaiming even such persons, since among declared enemies there are some unknown to themselves who are destined to become friends. The two cities remain entangled and intermixed in this world until the last judgment effects their separation. Augustine announces that he will proceed to discuss the rise, progress, and end of these two cities for the glory of the city of God.

Augustine previews the subjects to follow. He must recount the disasters that befell Rome and its subject provinces before sacrifices were prohibited, demonstrating that the pagans would have attributed those disasters to Christianity had it then existed. He must then show what social well-being the true God, in whose hand are all kingdoms, granted to the Romans and why, and how their false gods, instead of aiding them, injured them by guile and deceit. Finally, he must meet those who, when refuted on the present-life question, maintain that they worship the gods not for present advantages but for those to be enjoyed after death. This, he acknowledges, will be the most difficult part of his task, requiring engagement not with the common herd of philosophers but with the most renowned ones, who agree with Christians on the immortality of the soul, that the true God created the world, and that divine providence rules all creation. He will expose their errors on remaining points, refute the gainsaying of the wicked, and assert the city of God, true piety, and the worship of God, to which alone the promise of true and everlasting felicity is attached.

This section gathers eight explicit citations from the Old and New Testaments. The passages span Luke (xii. 4, on fearing God rather than persecutors), the Psalms (lxxix, cxvi, xlii, xcvi, covering themes of vengeance, the preciousness of the saints' death, and the superiority of the Lord over idols), Paul's First Epistle to the Corinthians (ii. 11, on the Spirit of God), the Wisdom of Sirach (iii. 27), and Paul's Epistle to the Romans (xi. 33, on the unsearchable judgments of God). Together these references establish the biblical foundation for the chapter's teaching on the body, the soul, and divine sovereignty over death.

This section catalogues allusions to pagan classical authors who, like the Christians, showed contempt for the dissolution of the body in death. Diogenes and his Cynic followers are cited alongside Seneca (De Tranquillitate and Epistulae) and Cicero (Tusculan Disputations, including Theodorus's defiant reply to Lysimachus). Lucan's Pharsalia (vii. 819) describes Caesar's prohibition of burial after Pharsalia. Herodotus (Clio 23–24) is the source for Croesus's admonition on the death of Adrastus, whom Herodotus calls "second to none." Augustine is shown echoing Cicero's phrase "vigilando peremerunt" from the speech against Piso, with Aulus Gellius (vi. 4) supplying further detail on the tortures of Regulus. The Stoics in general, Virgil (Æneid vi. 434, on the noble dead), Plutarch (Life of Cato 72), and Livy (Epitome xlviii) round out the classical witnesses.

This section assembles references bearing specifically on the practice of burial. Genesis xxv. 9 and xxxv. 29 record the burial of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob with their ancestors. Genesis xlvii. 29 and l. 24 preserve Joseph's request that his bones be carried back to Canaan, linking burial with covenantal continuity. Tobit xii. 12 is cited, likely in connection with the meritorious act of burying the dead. John xix. 38 supplies the New Testament precedent of Joseph of Arimathea preparing the body of Christ. The story of Jonah (ch. 4) is also referenced, probably as an example of one whose flesh was preserved against corruption.

This section collects notes on ritual and ceremonial matters surrounding death and worship. Matthew xxvi. 10–13 records Christ's defense of the woman's anointing as a memorial act, which the Gospel itself connects with burial. Daniel iii is cited, likely with reference to the preservation of the three youths in the furnace as a witness to bodily integrity under persecution. Finally, a note drawn from Livy's Epitome xlviii observes that spectators of public funerals were originally required to stand and that, after an intervening period of seated viewing, the older standing custom was restored, illustrating the chapter's interest in the formal customs accompanying death.

A summary argument for the entire book: Augustine reviews the calamities suffered by the Romans before the time of Christ, while pagan worship was universal, and demonstrates that rather than being preserved from misfortune by their gods, the Romans were overwhelmed by the gods with corruption of manners and vices of the soul.

Augustine explains the limits of replying to adversaries. Human infirmity and obstinate contradiction force apologists to restate clear truths repeatedly. He warns his son Marcellinus against demanding endless replies to every objection, lest the reader resemble those described by the apostle as "always learning, and never able to come to the knowledge of the truth."

Augustine recapitulates the first book, which addressed the city of God and refuted those who blamed the sack of Rome on Christianity. He recalls showing that the barbarians spared Christians out of reverence for Christ, discussed why the godly suffer alongside the wicked, consoled outraged chaste women, and condemned shameless pagans who insulted suffering Christians.

Augustine reminds readers that the disasters he is about to recount happened before Christ's name was known among the nations. He challenges pagans to defend their gods against the charge that these gods allowed calamities to befall their worshippers long before Christian preaching provoked them to withhold protection.

Augustine asks why the pagan gods never issued moral laws to guide their worshippers. Had they been true guardians, they would have sent prophets proclaiming rewards for virtue and punishments for vice. Instead, Augustine recalls attending sacrilegious spectacles as a young man in which obscene songs and shameless games were performed in honour of goddesses like Cœlestis and Berecynthia.

Augustine argues the obscenities performed in honour of the mother of the gods (Cybele) were unfit even for the ears of an honest matron. He invokes Scipio Nasica—the Roman chosen to receive Cybele's image—as a judge who would sooner see his mother dead than hear such filth in her name. The goddess sought the best citizen not to improve his virtue but to entangle him in guileful pride.

Augustine contends the pagan gods neglected the moral lives of their worshippers and issued no prohibitions against corruption of the soul. He challenges defenders of the mysteries to name any place where, instead of obscene songs and licentious plays, the people were commanded to restrain avarice, bridle impurity, and conquer ambition, as Christians are taught in their churches.

Augustine argues that the philosophers' teachings lack moral authority because they are merely human discoveries, not divine commandments, and because philosophers themselves fell into error through human infirmity. The example of Jupiter's licentious deeds, painted on walls and celebrated in myth, gives youth a divine precedent for vice that outweighs any philosopher's moral instruction.

Theatrical Exhibitions Propitiating the Gods Augustine refutes the defense that stage fictions about the gods are merely poetic inventions. He argues that dramatic entertainments were instituted at Rome by divine command during a pestilence and at the pontiff's authority, so that the gods themselves sanctioned the circulation of these fictions. Since plays enjoyed divine approval rather than divine wrath, audiences would more readily imitate the shameless conduct attributed to the gods in them than any merely human moral teaching. Among these entertainments, comedies and tragedies are the most respectable, yet even they are imposed as part of a liberal education.

Poetic Licence in Greece and Rome Drawing on Cicero's De Republica, Augustine shows that the ancient Romans forbade by law any pasquinade or satire that would bring infamy on a named person, recognizing that reputation must be defended before magistrates, not torn down by poets. The Greeks, though more immoral, were more logical: since their gods tolerated—and even enjoyed—scurrilous abuse directed against themselves on stage, it would have been absurd to spare the good names of leading citizens. Roman restraint regarding men, alongside divine tolerance regarding the gods, exposed the inconsistency of treating heavenly reputation as worthless while guarding earthly honor.

The Malice of Devils in Theatrical Myths Augustine argues that the falsehood of the stories told of the gods only intensifies their culpability. Whether the crimes ascribed to the gods were fabrications or actual deeds of the men now worshipped in their place, the devils—who substitute themselves for these figures—rejoice in the damage done to human souls. By permitting the attribution of iniquities to heavenly beings, the devils provide a counterfeit divine sanction for shameful conduct and entangle minds in error leading to damnation. The Greeks, seeing the character of the gods they served, reasonably concluded that poets should freely expose human vice on stage.

Civic Honors for Greek Stage Players The Greeks, consistent with the logic of their theology, bestowed civic honors upon actors, since those who pleased the gods could not justly be treated as infamous by their fellow citizens. Augustine cites Cicero's report that Æschines, a former tragic actor, became a leading Athenian statesman, and that Aristodemus served repeatedly as ambassador to Philip. Even if these honors were immoral in themselves, the Greeks acted in conformity with the character of their gods, who exacted dramatic worship and forbade the protection of citizens from theatrical assault. Labeo's distinction between offerings to good and evil deities only deepens the dilemma: if plays please all the gods, both priests and players deserve equal honor.

Roman Sensitivity Versus Divine Irreverence Augustine praises Roman dignity in refusing to allow poets to lampoon living citizens, but condemns the inconsistency of protecting Roman reputation while leaving the gods exposed to the same slander. He challenges Scipio's boast: if the senate-house deserved such jealous guardianship, did not the Capitol and the heavens deserve more? The Romans endured, as part of their religion, what they would not tolerate against themselves—terence encouraging youthful lust under the wicked example of supreme Jove. Their selective outrage reveals pride toward fellow citizens alongside irreligion toward the gods.

The Unworthiness of Gods Desiring Licentious Worship Any true god who demanded that citizens be mocked in his honor would have been rejected by Roman sensibilities; how much more unworthy are those gods who propose that their own crimes furnish material for their praises? This exposes them as detestable devils. Augustine cites Scipio's testimony that Rome considered all theatrical performers disgraceful, debarring them from office and from tribal registration—yet Romans still served as gods those who insisted upon such exhibitions. The very existence of stage plays proves the gods are no true deities, leading Augustine to formulate a syllogism: the Greeks grant that if such gods are to be worshipped, such men may be honored; the Romans add that such men must not be honored; therefore the Christians conclude that such gods must not be worshipped.

Plato's Superiority Over Pagan Gods Augustine argues that Plato, who banished poets from his ideal republic to spare the gods from disrepute and citizens from corruption, surpassed the pagan gods who used their authority to compel the Romans to stage such plays. Although Plato strove only with persuasion against light-minded Greeks while the gods extorted compliance from sober Romans, he was nevertheless elevated by Labeo to demigod rank. Augustine, while declining to rank Plato among holy angels, prophets, apostles, or faithful Christians, insists that Plato's laws far surpass those of gods who fan human lust through theatrical celebrations of their own supposed crimes, making it absurd to expect such beings to promulgate wholesome moral legislation.

Augustine argues that vanity, not reason, shaped the Roman choice of certain deities. Plato, who used his eloquence to shield men from spiritual ruin, received no shrine, while Romulus, claimed as Rome's own founder, was elevated above Neptune, Pluto, and Saturn. Romulus was granted a Flamen of equal rank to Jupiter's, and Mars was honored largely through his supposed paternity of Romulus. The elevation rests on patriotic sentiment and secret doctrine rather than rational merit.

If the Roman gods truly cared for righteousness, the Romans would have received from them a sufficient rule of life rather than borrowing Solon's laws from Athens. Though Lycurgus claimed Apollo's authorization for Spartan legislation, the sensible Romans refused to borrow from Sparta, and Numa's laws proved inadequate for civic order. Many of Numa's regulations concerned religious rites yet were not reported as divinely delivered. On moral evils, which wise pagans themselves recognize as the ruin of states, the gods made no provision and instead increased such evils.

Augustine turns to the rape of the Sabine women as the fruit of the inborn equity Romans attribute to themselves. Decoyed under pretense of a spectacle and seized without parental consent, the Sabine virgins were carried off by force; a just war at the outset would have been less wrongful than the stealthy seizure afterward. Further iniquities include the banishment of Collatinus by Brutus on account of his Tarquin blood, and the exile and fine of Camillus after his conquest of Veii despite his services to Rome. These acts show that even at its best, Rome rested on victory rather than virtue.

Sallust's praise that equity and virtue prevailed among the Romans not more by laws than by nature prompts Augustine to scrutinize that very period after the expulsion of the kings. Sallust himself admits that even then the powerful acted unjustly, driving the people to secessions on Mount Aventine and Mount Sacer. Harmony existed only briefly and only because of fear induced by the Tuscan war and Tarquin's vengeance. After the destruction of Carthage, primitive manners were swept away like a torrent, and luxury, avarice, and civil war consumed the republic.

Drawing on pagan testimony, Augustine describes the Roman republic as having deteriorated from a fair and virtuous city into a sink of iniquity before Christ was even born. He challenges the pagans to produce any divine laws against luxury and avarice, while pointing to the Christian Scriptures as replete with such precepts proclaimed with divine authority. Christians are enjoined to endure this wicked earthly republic so as to merit a place in the heavenly assembly where God's will is law. Present calamities blamed on Christ belong instead to the vices long nurtured before his coming.

Augustine characterizes the happiness desired by Christianity's critics as a republic of unrestrained indulgence. They want unchecked wealth, the subjection of the weak, public applause for providers of pleasure rather than protectors of interest, and laws concerned only with injury to another's property, not to one's own person. Public prostitutes, sumptuous banquets, theaters, dancers, and perpetual excitement are to be safeguarded by the gods from any foe, plague, or disaster. Augustine compares such a regime not even to the Roman empire but to the palace of Sardanapalus, who boasted on his tomb that he possessed only what he had devoured in life.

Cicero's Opinion of the Roman Republic Augustine marshals Cicero's own testimony to argue that the Roman Republic had already ceased to exist before the coming of Christ. He cites the dialogue *De Republica*, in which Scipio (the destroyer of Carthage), Pilus, and Lælius debate the nature of a true republic and the necessity of justice. Scipio defines a republic as the "weal of the people," where "the people" means an assemblage united by common acknowledgment of law and community of interests. By these definitions, when a monarch becomes a tyrant, aristocrats form a faction, or the people themselves become unjust, the republic altogether ceases to exist—since true justice is its "strictest bond and best security." Augustine also quotes Cicero directly from the fifth book, where he laments that Rome retains only the name of a republic while the primitive morality ("Rome's safeguard") and outstanding citizens have perished through vice. Augustine notes that this elegy for Rome was uttered long before Christ's incarnation, raising the question of why the pagan gods did nothing to prevent such decay. He promises elsewhere to show that, by Scipio's own definitions, Rome was never truly a republic because true justice never had place in it.

The Roman Gods Did Not Prevent the Republic's Ruin by Immorality Augustine argues that the Roman gods bear blame for the moral dissolution that destroyed the Republic, since they did nothing to instruct their worshippers in right living. Though worshipped in countless temples with elaborate priesthoods, sacrifices, rites, and games, the demons sought only their own honor and even encouraged profligacy so long as the rites continued. The gods gave no precepts of morality to restrain the Gracchi, Marius, Cinna, Carbo, or Sylla, whose seditions and civil wars reduced the republic to ruin. Augustine dismisses the Virgilian defense that the gods withdrew from the city because of its corruption, pointing out that the gods were equally absent when the Gauls captured and burned Rome—saved only by the Capitol's geese, whose memory is celebrated in a festival rivaling Egyptian animal-worship. If the gods departed in righteous anger because their moral laws were scorned, their failure to ever offer such laws proves their uselessness; if they remained present but silent, they are exposed as accomplices to the destruction rather than protectors against it.

The Vicissitudes of Life Depend on God's Will, Not Demons Augustine contends that the gods' inconsistent treatment of the good and wicked demonstrates they have no real power over temporal fortunes. Marius, a low-born instigator of civil wars, was seven times consul and died prosperous despite (or because of) demonic aid, while Regulus, one of Rome's most virtuous citizens, suffered captivity, bondage, destitution, and cruel death. Metellus enjoyed five consular sons and great prosperity, whereas Catiline perished in misery. These examples show that neither piety nor impiety determines earthly outcome through demonic influence. Augustine further notes that the people of Minturnae commended Marius to the goddess Marica, who allegedly restored him to triumphant ruthlessness—a bloody success Augustine attributes not to the goddess but to God's secret providence, which "shuts the mouths of adversaries" and teaches the faithful not to prize or despise earthly goods based on whether the wicked or the pious receive them. Any power the demons possess is limited by the decree of the Almighty, whose judgments are beyond comprehension yet beyond just reproach.

Of the deeds of Sylla, in which the demons boasted that they had their help.** This section examines the career of the Roman dictator Sulla as a case study in demonic "assistance." The demons, through augur Postumius, through a message conveyed by Lucius Titius, and through a soldier of the sixth legion (whom Sulla recognised as the same divine messenger who had earlier promised victory over Mithridates), faithfully predicted Sulla's military successes. Yet they made no effort to restrain his evil passions or warn him against the atrocities of his subsequent civil war against Marius, a conflict that "not merely disfigured, but extinguished, the republic." Even when Sulla sacrificed at Tarentum and saw a golden crown on the liver of the victim—an omen Postumius interpreted as victory—and when a slave of Lucius Pontius, crying out as Bellona's messenger, accurately predicted the burning of the Capitol, the demons proved able to foresee and announce events while remaining entirely silent about the moral disasters that would follow. Augustine concludes that the demons care only for being worshipped as gods and for drawing men into shared wickedness and divine judgment; Sulla's entrails should have warned him of his coming ruin, but "they feared his amendment more than his defeat," and thus he became "the more submissive slave of the demons themselves."

How powerfully the evil spirits incite men to wicked actions, by giving them the quasi-divine authority of their example.** Augustine argues that the demons lend "as it were, divine authority to crime" by their example. In a wide plain of Campania, the demons were seen for several days rehearsing a great battle with crashing noises and visible armies of men and horses, with the ground afterwards indented by footprints as of a real conflict. This occurred precisely when civil war was breaking out in Rome, and shortly after the tragic episode in which a soldier, stripping the spoils of a slain enemy, recognised his own brother and slew himself upon the body with curses on civil war. By staging their own sham battle, the demons sought to make human civil bloodshed appear not criminal but imitative of the gods. The same craft led them to command scenic theatrical entertainments, in which the gods were represented as committing iniquities that men might safely imitate. Having been compelled to introduce these facts, Augustine prepares to refute those who claim the Roman republic was ruined before Christ's advent by the depraved morals of its citizens—an event for which the pagans blame Christ rather than their own gods, who, by their "pestilent example," corrupted Roman morality and hastened the republic's destruction, and who, by the abundance of their auspices, auguries, and soothsayings, clearly demonstrate that they were present, not absent, during Rome's decline.

Demons gave secret moral instructions** This section addresses a possible objection: if the demons are so corrupt, why do they give some good moral precepts in secret to a few of their initiated elect? Augustine answers that this very fact demonstrates their malicious craft, for "so great is the influence of probity and chastity, that all men, or almost all men, are moved by the praise of these virtues." Unable to do otherwise, the devil "transforms himself, as Scripture says, into an angel of light." The result is a calculated disparity: in public, "a bold impurity fills the ear of the people with noisy clamour," while in private "a feigned chastity speaks in scarce audible whispers to a few"; the open stage is provided for shameful things, but "on the praiseworthy the curtain falls"; "a wicked deed draws an overflowing house, a virtuous speech finds scarce a hearer, as though purity were to be blushed at, impurity boasted of." Augustine illustrates this from the shrine of Cœlestis, where, amidst a vast crowd, worshippers could see on one side a grand display of harlots and on the other the virgin goddess, and where matrons returned home "wiser women," some learning wickedness by furtive glances. The secret good instructions are "a sop to the virtuous, who are few in number"; the wicked public examples "encourage the vicious, who are countless."

Obscenities contributed to public disorder** Augustine turns to Cicero, "a weighty man, and a philosopher in his way," who, as ædile, announced that one of his duties was to propitiate Flora by the celebration of games whose devotion was measured by their lewdness. When Cicero was later consul and the state in great peril, he recorded that games had been celebrated for ten successive days, with nothing omitted that could pacify the gods. Augustine ridicules this reasoning: it would have been more satisfactory to irritate the gods by temperance than to pacify them by debauchery, and to provoke their hate by honest living than to soothe it by such unseemly grossness. Whatever danger threatened men's bodies, it could not have been more hurtful than "the alliance of gods who were won with the foulest vices." The gods did not defend the battlements against besiegers until they had "first stormed and sacked the morality of the citizens." The actors who performed these propitiatory rites were, by the innate Roman sense of virtue, disabled from civic honours, erased from their tribe, and marked as infamous; yet the whole city learned the lessons in public from the words and gestures of the actors, seeing that the gods delighted in such things and therefore "wished them not only to be exhibited to them, but to be imitated by themselves." The good instructions, by contrast, were given in such secrecy and to so few that the demons seemed to fear disclosure rather than mere failure of practice.

Christian religion is health-giving** Augustine denounces as "abandoned and ungrateful wretches, in deep and fast bondage to that malign spirit," those who complain and murmur that men are rescued by the name of Christ from the "hellish thraldom of these unclean spirits" and brought from "the night of pestilential ungodliness into the light of most healthful piety." Such persons could only grumble that the masses flock to the churches and their chaste acts of worship, where a seemly separation of the sexes is observed, where men learn how to spend this earthly life so as to merit a blessed eternity, and where Holy Scripture and instruction in righteousness are proclaimed from a raised platform in the presence of all, "that both they who do the word may hear to their salvation, and they who do it not may hear to judgment." Though some scoffs enter, their petulance is quenched by a sudden change or restrained by fear or shame. Crucially, "no filthy and wicked action is there set forth to be gazed at or to be imitated"; instead, the precepts of the true God are recommended, His miracles narrated, His gifts praised, or His benefits implored. The contrast with pagan worship is drawn sharply: where paganism staged obscenity, Christianity proclaims purity.

Exhortation to renounce paganism** Augustine directly addresses the Roman people as the "admirable Roman race," the progeny of their Scævolas, Scipios, Regulus, and Fabricius, urging them to choose the religion worthy of such noble desires, distinguishing it from the "foul vanity and crafty malice of the devils." Whatever eminence of virtue exists in their nature, he argues, is only purged and perfected by true piety, while by impiety it is wrecked and punished. He bids them choose what they will pursue, "that your praise may be not in yourself, but in the true God, in whom is no error." Acknowledging that Rome has already had its share of popular glory, Augustine notes that, by the secret providence of God, the true religion was not offered at an earlier stage. He calls them to awaken, as others have already awakened—those in whose "perfect virtue and sufferings for the true faith" Christians glory, who, "contending on all sides with hostile powers, and conquering them all by bravely dying, have purchased for us this country of ours with their blood." To this celestial country he invites them, urging them to become citizens of the city that has its own sanctuary in the true remission of sins. He warns them not to listen to "degenerate sons" who slander Christ and Christians and impute present disasters to them while desiring a time of impunity for their own wickedness. He calls on them to lay hold on the celestial country, "which is easily won, and in which you will reign truly and for ever"—a realm where they shall find "no vestal fire, no Capitoline stone, but the one true God."

A verse from Virgil is cited to affirm that God should not be bound by date or goal but granted an endless, boundless reign. This poetic line anchors the chapter's theological premise that divine sovereignty transcends all temporal limits and human attempts to delimit it.

The faithful are urged to cease following after false and deceitful gods, to abjure and despise them, and to break free into true liberty. The section identifies these false gods not as divine beings but as malignant spirits, whose eternal happiness would prove a sore punishment for those who worship them. Rome's founding myth is inverted to underscore the point: Juno did not grudge the Trojans as bitterly as these devils grudge an everlasting dwelling to the human race.

The author presses the case that demons have imposed an unclean yoke upon humanity, compelling the celebration of their own shame and filthiness. Christians are depicted as asserting the freedom of their pagan interlocutor against these oppressive spirits, who delight in obscenity and demand rites that degrade the worshipper. The argument hinges on the incompatibility between spiritual liberty and submission to such masters.

Drawing on the interlocutor's own moral judgments, the author notes that the very man who pacified the demons with games nonetheless deemed the actors of those games infamous. This self-condemnation is turned against pagan religion: the gods who delight in lewd plays are exposed as unworthy of worship when the men who perform those plays are refused even low-grade Roman citizenship. The demons' grudge against humanity is shown to be as bitter as Juno's against the Trojans, but infinitely more malicious because it is directed against the whole human race seeking an eternal home.

The banishment of actors and players from the ranks of Roman citizens is praised as a commendable and spontaneous act. The author urges the interlocutor to awaken more fully, recognizing that God's majesty cannot be propitiated by that which defiles human dignity. If even pagan Rome has the moral sense to exclude such performers from its citizenship, how much more incongruous is it to count their supposed patrons among the holy powers of heaven?

A formal argument is constructed: gods who take pleasure in lewd theatrical displays cannot belong to the number of the heavenly powers, since the men who act in those plays are by Roman law denied the lowest grade of citizenship. The reasoning is reinforced by parallel citations from pagan moralists, comedians, and satirists who themselves deplored theatrical obscenity. The conclusion is that the Christian censor's mark, like Rome's, should blot these shameful rites from genuine worship.

The heavenly city is set forth in explicit contrast with Rome: incomparably more glorious, it possesses truth for victory, holiness for dignity, felicity for peace, and eternity for life. Because it will not admit into its society such false gods, and because the interlocutor already blushes to admit their performers into Roman society, the path to the blessed city lies through renouncing the society of devils. The cleansing of the Christian religion must accomplish in worship what the censor's mark accomplished in citizenship.

The faithful are exhorted to shun the society of devils, since deities propitiated by deeds of shame are unworthy of the worship of right-hearted men. As actors were blotted from the rolls of Roman citizens by the censor's mark, so these obscene divinities must be obliterated from worship through the purifying discipline of the Christian religion. The exhortation is both doctrinal and practical: true devotion requires the rejection of every ritual that traffics in indecency.

The chapter concludes by announcing that the following book will demonstrate that demons do not possess even the temporal power ascribed to them by those who worship them for carnal benefits. The author insists that, even if demons had such power, the blessings of this world should be despised rather than purchased through worship that forfeits eternal happiness. With this transitional summary, the present argument is brought to a close and the stage is set for the fuller demonstration to come.

The story of Laomedon hiring Apollo and Neptune to build Troy's walls, only to cheat them of their promised wages, is examined as evidence of divine ignorance or impotence. Critics note that Neptune, Homer's sea-god, is also portrayed as a prophet who could foresee Æneas's future, yet failed to detect Laomedon's fraud. The absurdity of great gods laboring for "thankless people" raises the question of whether worshipping such deceived beings is itself more culpable than deceiving them. Homer's inconsistent treatment of Neptune and Apollo further undermines the myth.

The chapter connects the alleged "Trojan perjury" of Laomedon to the rampant perjury in Rome itself, exposing the contradiction in blaming Troy while Rome itself was consumed by oath-breaking. Catiline's conspiracy found ready recruits among perjurers; senators' judgments and popular votes were corrupted by false oaths. The persistence of oath-taking in Roman civic life demonstrates that oaths served not to restrain wickedness but to add perjury to the catalogue of crimes. If the gods hated Trojan perjury, how can they tolerate Roman perjury?

The gods cannot have been offended by Paris's adultery, since they themselves practiced it. Venus, Æneas's mother, committed adultery with Anchises, yet the Romans—her supposed descendants—were spared divine punishment. The double standard is untenable: if divine seduction of mortals is lawful (Mars with Sylvia), how can mortal adultery with goddesses be criminal? Modern Romans like Cæsar, who believed himself descended from Venus, no less sincerely than ancient Romulus believed himself the son of Mars. The gods are instructors of vice, not its avengers.

Varro, though not bold enough to declare the myths false, admits their utility: it benefits states for brave men to believe they descend from the gods, since such belief emboldens them to great enterprises. This pragmatic endorsement of falsehood opens a vast field for invention in civic religion. Where leaders judge it profitable for citizens to be lied to even about the gods, sacred legends naturally multiply, revealing the human origin and political purpose of pagan mythology.

Whether or not Venus bore Æneas to Anchises, the question of divine-human sexual union is left open, with Scripture's account of the fallen angels and the giants offered as a parallel. The dilemma is decisive: if the myths are true, the gods tolerate in themselves what they punish in men; if false, then men are encouraged to commit real adulteries by tales of fictional divine ones. Moreover, the discrediting of Mars's paternity to protect Venus's honor leaves the mother of Romulus, the vestal Sylvia, exposed—she was a consecrated priestess whose violation was a sacrilege the Romans themselves punished by live burial.

If the gods truly punished Troy for Paris's offense, they should have punished Rome even more for the fratricide of Romulus. Whether Romulus ordered or personally committed the murder of his brother Remus, the crime is undeniable; the city that failed to punish it is guilty of parricide rather than mere fratricide. The gods, who abandoned Troy for one man's adultery, granted their guardianship to a fratricide or to a city harboring fratricide. This asymmetry exposes the absurdity of attributing Troy's fall and Rome's rise to divine moral judgment.

When Fimbria, Marius's lieutenant, destroyed Ilium during the civil wars, his ferocity exceeded even the Greek sack: no life was spared, and the city and its inhabitants were consumed together. Yet Troy had committed no fresh offense; she was merely preserving herself for Sylla's cause, the more legitimate Roman faction. The gods, who allegedly protected Rome, did nothing—or, more accurately, could do nothing. Only the image of Minerva reportedly survived, not as proof of divine power but as evidence that the gods were present yet helpless, deceivers rather than defenders.

The wisdom of entrusting Rome to Trojan gods who had already failed to defend Troy is questioned. If the gods had already migrated to Rome before Fimbria's sack, how did Minerva's image survive uninjured? And if they were at Troy when Rome was sacked by the Gauls, they were equally absent. Their speed in responding to the cackling geese at the Capitol only highlights their failure to protect the rest of the city—their defensive powers are selective and unreliable.

The peace of Numa's reign, during which the gates of Janus were shut, is not credibly attributed to the gods. If the gods granted peace to Numa for instituting religious rites, they ceased to grant it afterward, despite the rites' continued celebration. From the city's founding to Augustus, only one year of peace is recorded. The gods could not have been the authors of Numa's leisure, though their greater occupation of his attention suggests that his disengagement enabled their deception. Peace, like sun and rain, is God's gift, not the demons'.

The argument that Roman greatness required constant warfare is challenged. Sallust himself depicted an earlier age when kings cultivated mind and body without covetousness, content with what they had. The transition to "a baser age" of war and greed was not inevitable. Even if Rome faced hostile neighbors in Numa's day, the means by which she kept peace without fighting then could have been used always. The gods cannot claim credit for peace granted at the discretion of Rome's enemies, nor for victories that fall out through human passions, often against the gods' own will as Roman history itself records.

The statue of Apollo at Cumæ reportedly wept for four days during the war with King Aristonicus. When augurs wished to cast the image into the sea, elder Cumani recalled that similar prodigies had occurred during the wars against Antiochus and Perseus, and that the senate had then offered gifts to Apollo. Skilled soothsayers declared the tears propitious for Rome, because Cumæ was a Greek colony and Apollo was bewailing the coming disasters of his own land of Greece. Shortly after, Aristonicus was defeated and captured—an outcome contrary to Apollo's will, yet the god had shown it by weeping from his marble. The passage also notes that Numa Pompilius, observing that the Trojan gods had failed to preserve the Trojan or Lavinian kingdoms, resolved to add new guardian deities to those brought by Romulus and to survive the fall of Alba.

Although Numa had established an ample ritual, Rome was not content with it. The Capitol was built by Tarquin, Æsculapius migrated from Epidaurus, and the mother of the gods arrived from Pessinuns to be near her son on the Capitoline hill. Varro enumerated a vast crowd of indigenous and imported deities of heaven, earth, hell, seas, fountains, and rivers—gods certain and uncertain, male and female. Despite this protection, Rome suffered great calamities. The greater Rome became, the more gods she thought she required, like a larger ship needing a larger crew. She had been more prosperous with fewer gods, and even under the kings—with the exception of Numa—wicked contentiousness led to the death of Romulus's brother.

Neither Juno nor Venus could help the children of Æneas find wives by equitable means, so the Romans were forced to steal their wives and then wage war against their own fathers-in-law. The Sabine women, before they could recover from the wrong done them, were dowried with their fathers' blood. Lucan is cited on civil war as a worse crime. The Roman victories were stained by mutual slaughter, with husbands slaying the fathers of the women they had ravished. Romulus, despairing of his citizens' valor, prayed to Jupiter Stator to make them stand firm, and the ravished women themselves intervened with disheveled hair to disarm their parents' rage. Romulus was then compelled to accept Titus Tatius, king of the Sabines, as co-ruler—an uneasy partnership cut short by Tatius's murder, leaving Romulus sole king and, eventually, a greater god.

Under Tullus Hostilius, Rome provoked war against Alba, the city founded by Ascanius and the mother of Rome. After extensive mutual slaughter, the war was decided by the combat of the Horatii and the Curiatii, leaving only one Horatius alive. The victory was darkened when the sister of the Horatii, betrothed to one of the slain Curiatii, was killed by her own brother for weeping over the spoils. Sallust is cited on the lust of sovereignty as the sole motive for such wars, and Scripture condemns the wicked who boast of their heart's desire. Alba, the third asylum of the Trojan gods after Ilium and Lavinium, was destroyed by the daughter-city, though its population was allegedly merged with Rome. Despite the tutelar gods, no subsequent king closed the gates of war.

A flattering legend held that Romulus was assumed into heaven, but Roman historians reported that he was torn apart by the senate for his ferocity, and that Julius Proculus was suborned to claim a divine apparition. The solar eclipse that coincided was used to support the legend, though it could equally mark his violent death—comparable to the eclipse at the Lord's crucifixion, which occurred at full moon and so could not be a natural eclipse. Cicero, in the De Republica and Hortensius, treats Romulus's disappearance and death openly, calling his deification imaginary and based on reputation. Tullus Hostilius, the third king, was destroyed by lightning, and Cicero notes that he was not credited with apotheosis lest the honor be cheapened. The gods proved unable even to preserve their supposed kings from violent ends.

This section outlines the violent ends of nearly all of Rome’s early kings. With the exception of Numa Pompilius and Ancus Marcius, who died of natural causes, each monarch met a brutal fate: Tullus Hostilius, the conqueror of Alba, and his entire household were killed by lightning; Priscus Tarquinius was assassinated by the sons of his predecessor; Servius Tullius, widely regarded as Rome’s most virtuous king, was foully murdered by his son-in-law Tarquinius Superbus, who seized the throne. The text notes that despite this flagrant parricide of one of Rome’s best rulers, the city’s gods did not abandon their altars, allowing Tarquin to rule for years, win military victories, and build the Capitol from war spoils. After Tarquin was banished not for his own crimes, but for his son Sextus’s rape of Lucretia (a crime committed without Tarquin’s knowledge while he was besieging Ardea), he lived out his final 14 years in quiet retirement in Tusculum, dying peacefully in his wife’s company. The section closes by observing that the much-praised early Roman kingdom, despite centuries of bloodshed, only controlled territory roughly 20 miles from the city, a domain smaller than that of many minor Gaetulian states.

This section covers the turbulent founding of the Roman republic and the controversial actions of its first consuls. After the expulsion of Tarquinius Superbus, Lucius Tarquinius Collatinus (Lucretia’s husband) and Junius Brutus were appointed as the first pair of consuls. Brutus, a relative of the Tarquin family, banished Collatinus solely because of his shared family name, despite Collatinus being a loyal, upstanding citizen, stripping him of the consulship and exiling him from the land he loved. Brutus had previously executed his own sons and brothers-in-law for conspiring to restore the Tarquin monarchy. Later that same disastrous year, Brutus was killed in battle, slaying and being slain by Tarquin’s son. The year saw five different consuls in total, as Lucretius (who replaced Brutus) died of disease before his term ended, and P. Valerius and M. Horatius filled subsequent vacancies, making it a funereal, chaotic start to the new republican government.

This section catalogs the unending disasters that plagued the early Roman republic after the inauguration of the consulship, arguing that Rome’s gods never intervened to alleviate the city’s suffering. After a brief initial period of "justice and moderation" driven by fear of Etruscan support for the exiled Tarquin, the republic descended into widespread patrician oppression of the plebs, including usury, arbitrary executions, and land seizures, leading to repeated popular secessions to the Aventine and Sacer Hills to win political rights; civil strife only fully subsided after the Second Punic War. The text lists dozens of unaddressed calamities: the death of consul Valerius while defending the Capitol from exiles and slaves; devastating famines that led to the execution of Spurius Melius for distributing free corn to the starving; a severe plague that forced the introduction of the previously unused Lectisternia ritual to appease the gods; 10 years of catastrophic losses in the war against Veii, only averted by the general Furius Camillus who was later banished by an ungrateful republic; the Gallic sack and burning of Rome; plagues that killed Furius Camillus after he saved the city from the Gauls; the introduction of debauched theatrical performances during a plague; widespread poisonings of noble Roman women; the humiliating defeat at the Caudine Forks where consuls were forced to surrender to the Samnites, with 600 Roman knights held hostage and the army forced to pass under the yoke; lightning strikes that killed Roman soldiers during a plague; a desperate appeal to the Greek god Aesculapius for aid during a pestilence, which did not abate even after temples repurposed as private homes were restored; a massive defeat where 13,000 Roman soldiers were killed by a coalition of southern Italian and Gaulish forces; and a popular secession to the Janiculum so severe that a dictator was appointed, only to die in office, an unprecedented event. The section concludes that Rome’s gods provided no aid during these crises, and that the early republic’s much-touted prosperity was minimal, with its territory barely extending 20 miles from the city despite centuries of bloodshed.

This section outlines the widespread devastation of the Punic Wars, noting the crushing of smaller kingdoms, demolition of flourishing cities, ruin of states, desolation of distant lands, massive loss of life, and crippling of naval forces. It observes that Rome resorted to vain religious rituals, reviving long-forgotten secular and infernal god games, in a failed attempt to mitigate the suffering of the prolonged conflict.

This section focuses on the capture and cruel death of Roman general Regulus during the First Punic War. It argues that the Roman gods failed to protect this loyal Roman, who was bound by his oath to return to his Carthaginian captors after negotiating a peace, demonstrating the uselessness of the Roman pantheon in averting individual and state calamity.

This section describes two concurrent disasters in Rome during the Punic Wars: a devastating Tiber flood that destroyed lower parts of the city and rotted buildings left submerged, followed by a destructive fire that consumed structures around the Forum and raged in the Temple of Vesta. It notes that priest Metellus risked his life to rescue sacred relics from the temple fire, further proving the Roman gods could not protect even their own sacred spaces or the city itself.

This section details the catastrophic toll of the Second Punic War, noting that even the ultimately victorious Romans suffered more like the conquered. It describes Hannibal's invasion of Italy, which brought continuous bloody battles, the loss of towns to the enemy, and crippling Roman defeats that left the state so depleted of soldiers it had to enlist criminals and freed slaves, and so short of public funds that senators contributed nearly all their personal gold to pay the legions.

This section focuses on the devastating Roman loss at the Battle of Cannae, where Hannibal's forces killed so many Roman elites that he sent three bushels of gold rings from fallen noblemen to Carthage as proof of the scale of the slaughter. It notes that Rome was left so short of manpower that it armed slaves with weapons taken from temples, as the gods had proven unable to use their own arms to protect the state.

This section recounts the destruction of Saguntum, a Spanish city loyal to Rome, which was besieged and destroyed by Hannibal after the Roman state failed to intervene to protect its ally. It describes how the starving inhabitants ultimately committed mass suicide by fire and sword rather than surrender, highlighting the Roman gods' failure to defend a city that had kept its oath to the Roman alliance.

This section argues that the Roman gods failed to protect Saguntum despite its loyalty to the Roman alliance, questioning why the gods did not use storms or lightning to defend the city as they later did against Hannibal outside Rome. It asserts that the gods' inability to save their loyal allies proves they are not guardians of Roman temporal prosperity, and that keeping faith with the gods does not guarantee protection from disaster.

This section describes the ingratitude of Rome toward Scipio Africanus, the general who ended the Second Punic War by defeating Hannibal and destroying Carthage. It notes that after his triumph he was driven into exile by his political enemies, and refused to be buried in the ungrateful city he had saved, illustrating that even the most devoted servants of the Roman gods received no reward for their service.

This section notes that during the period Sallust described as Rome's most virtuous era, proconsul Cn. Manlius introduced destructive Asiatic luxury to Rome after subjugating the Galatians. It lists the new practices brought to the city, including expensive iron bedsteads, costly carpets, and female performers at banquets, which marked the start of Rome's moral decline.

This section cites the unjust Lex Voconia, passed between the Second and Third Punic Wars, which prohibited women from being named as heirs even if they were only daughters, as evidence that Rome's so-called virtuous era was only relatively better than later periods. It argues that the state's moral corruption grew after the final destruction of Carthage, as prosperity and security led to widespread social decay.

This section recounts the edict of Mithridates, king of Asia, ordering the slaughter of all Roman citizens living in Asia on a single day, describing the brutal, widespread murders of Romans in homes, public spaces, and places of worship. It argues that the Roman gods offered no protection to these citizens, many of whom had likely consulted auspices before their travels, proving the futility of Roman religious practices.

This section details the severe internal civil conflicts that ravaged the Roman Republic, which escalated from partisan sedition to full urban warfare marked by widespread bloodshed and devastation across Italy, including the Social, Servile, and Civil Wars. It also describes a portentous event preceding the Social War, in which all domesticated animals (dogs, horses, oxen, donkeys, and other livestock) suddenly turned feral, abandoned their stalls, and became dangerous to approach for both strangers and their owners, which the author interprets as a dire warning of the catastrophic violence to come, noting that if such an event occurred in the Christian era, pagans would blame Christians for it.

This section traces the origins of Rome's devastating civil wars to the sedition sparked by the Gracchi brothers' proposed agrarian reforms, which sought to redistribute land unjustly held by the nobility to the Roman people. The reform attempt proved fatal: the elder Gracchus was killed, followed shortly by his brother, triggering indiscriminate massacres of both noble and common citizens by mobs and armed rioters. The consul Lucius Opimius oversaw the judicial execution of an additional 3000 people after defeating the younger Gracchus' forces in the city, while the assassin of the younger Gracchus sold his head to the consul for its weight in gold, and consular-rank Marcus Fulvius was executed alongside all his children.

This section critiques the Roman Senate's decision to build the Temple of Concord on the exact site of the Gracchi massacre, where thousands of citizens of all social ranks were killed. The author argues the monument is a mockery of the gods: if the goddess Concord had been present in Rome, she would not have allowed such violent division to occur, so the temple either derides divine power or implies Concord abandoned the city and was imprisoned at the massacre site. The author also highlights the inconsistency of deifying Concord while refusing to deify Discord, drawing a parallel to the coexistence of temples to Fever and Health, and references the myth of Discord causing the Trojan War after being excluded from a divine wedding, suggesting Discord would have been further enraged by a temple to her rival built on the site of the violent conflict she incited.

This section details the succession of catastrophic wars that erupted after the construction of the Temple of Concord, which the Senate had hoped would deter future sedition. Far from preventing unrest, later orators sought to emulate and exceed the Gracchi's reform projects, sparking new seditions led by figures including tribune Lucius Saturninus, praetor Caius Servilius, and Marcus Drusus. These conflicts first caused widespread bloodshed, then triggered the Social Wars that left Italy grievously injured and desolate, followed by devastating Servile Wars that began with a band of fewer than 70 gladiators, spread to Macedonia, Sicily, and the Roman coast, and were accompanied by brutal pirate raids that depopulated entire regions.

This section describes the brutal civil war between the factions of Marius and Sylla, a conflict marked by extreme cruelty on both sides. After Marius, already stained with the blood of his political opponents, was driven from the city, he returned alongside Cinna to seize power, leading to the mass killing of Rome's leading citizens. Sylla's subsequent vengeance proved even more destructive than the crimes it punished, as noted by Lucan, who wrote that "the cure was excessive, and too closely resembled the disease," with only the guilty surviving but private hatred running unchecked by law. Beyond battlefield casualties, corpses filled Rome's streets, public spaces, markets, theatres, and temples; after Marius' return from exile, prominent figures including consul Octavius, statesmen Caesar and Fimbria, the elder and younger Crassus, and the pontiff Merula were all murdered, while anyone who failed to receive a personal greeting from Marius was executed on the spot.

This section covers the aftermath of Sylla's victory over the Marian faction, which proved far more brutal than the fighting itself. Despairing of victory, the younger Marius and his ally Carbo carried out indiscriminate massacres of both friends and foes, besieged the senate house, and executed senators as they were led from the curia, including pontiff Mucius Scaevola, who was killed at the altar of Vesta, his blood nearly extinguishing the temple's sacred fire. After entering Rome victorious, Sylla ordered the execution of 7000 unarmed men who had surrendered in the Villa Publica, then allowed his partisans to kill anyone they chose until he published a proscription list naming 2000 high-ranking senators and equestrians for execution, a measure that provided limited relief as survivors faced extreme torture: some were torn apart by executioners, others had their eyes gouged out and limbs removed slowly to prolong their suffering, entire cities were auctioned off like farms, and one city was collectively condemned to mass slaughter. The author argues that this post-war peace was crueler than the war itself, as war allowed the attacked to fight back, while peace delivered only unresisting, helpless death to the survivors.

This section compares the devastation caused by Rome's civil wars to that of foreign invasions, including the Gallic and Gothic sackings of Rome. While the Gauls massacred nearly all senators in the city except those holding the Capitol (which they eventually allowed to surrender with their lives) and the Goths spared most Roman senators, the civil war factions proved far more brutal: Sylla issued death warrants for citizens from the undefiled Capitol while Marius was still alive, and after Sylla's departure, the Marian faction showed no mercy even to Mucius Scaevola, a senator and pontiff who clung to the altar of Vesta for sanctuary. The author notes that Sylla's final proscription list alone killed more senators than the Goths were able to plunder.

This section outlines the unbroken chain of severe, frequent wars that wracked the Roman Republic in the centuries immediately preceding the birth of Christ, including the conflicts sparked by the Gracchi, the civil wars of Marius and Sylla, the wars of Sertorius and Catiline, the conflict between Lepidus and Catulus, the war between Pompey and Caesar, and the civil wars of Augustus. It notes that these conflicts, which Roman historians themselves judged more ruinous than foreign wars, all occurred before the advent of Christianity, and led to the deaths of many of Rome's leading figures, including the statesman Cicero and the assassinated Julius Caesar, whose adopted son Augustus later consolidated power and allowed Cicero's murder to seal an alliance with Mark Antony.

This section condemns the shamelessness of pagans who blame Christian-era calamities on the Christian religion and the abandonment of traditional Roman polytheistic worship, noting that identical or even more severe disasters occurred during the era when Roman gods were actively worshipped. The author cites examples of catastrophic pre-Christian events including volcanic eruptions that destroyed entire cities, plagues of locusts that killed hundreds of thousands of people, and storms that rained literal stones rather than hail, arguing that if these disasters had occurred after the introduction of Christianity, pagans would have unfairly attributed them to the Christian faith. The author also notes that many pagans fled to Christian places of worship for sanctuary during later crises, while worshippers of traditional Roman gods were not spared from pre-Christian disasters.

Footnotes supporting the chapter content, including the following entries: [115] Compare Aug. _Epist. ad Deogratias_, 102, 13; and _De Præd. Sanct._ 19. [116] Ch. iv. [117] Virg. _Georg._ i. 502, 'Laomedonteæ luimus perjuria Trojæ.' [118] _Iliad_, xx. 293 et seqq. [119] _Æneid_, v. 810, 811. [120] Gratis et ingratis. [121] _De Conj. Cat._ vi. [122] Helen's husband. [123] Venus' husband. [124] Suetonius, in his _Life of Julius Cæsar_ (c. 6), relates that, in pronouncing a funeral oration in praise of his aunt Julia, Cæsar claimed for the Julian gens to which his family belonged a descent from Venus, through Iulus, son of Eneas. [125] Livy, 83, one of the lost books; and Appian, _in Mithridat_. [126] The gates of Janus were not the gates of a temple, but the gates of a passage called Janus, which was used only for military purposes; shut therefore in peace, open in war. [127] The year of the Consuls T. Manlius and C. Atilius, A. U. C. 519. [128] Sall. _Conj. Cat._ ii. [129] _Æneid_, viii. 326-7. [130] Sall. _Cat. Conj._ vi. [131] _Æneid_, xi. 532. [132] _Ibid._ x. 464. [133] Livy, x. 47. [134] Being son of Apollo. [135] Virgil, _Æn._ i. 286. [136] _Pharsal._ v. 1. [137] _Æneid_, x. 821, of Lausus: "But when Anchises' son surveyed / The fair, fair face so ghastly made, / He groaned, by tenderness unmanned, / And stretched the sympathizing hand," etc. [138] Virgil, _Æneid_, vi. 813. [139] Sallust, _Cat. Conj._ ii. [140] Ps. x. 3. [141] _Æneid_, ii. 351-2. [142] Cicero, _De Rep._ ii. 10. [143] _Contra Cat._ iii. 2. [144] _Æneid_, vi. 820, etc. [145] His nephew. [146] _Hist._ i. [147] Lectisternia, from _lectus_, a couch, and _sterno_, I spread. [148] _Proletarius_, from _proles_, offspring. [149] The oracle ran: "Dico te, Pyrrhe, vincere posse Romanos." [150] Troy, Lavinia, Alba. [151] Under the inscription on the temple some person wrote the line, "Vecordiæ opus ædem facit Concordiæ"--The work of discord makes the temple of Concord. [152] Cicero, _in Catilin._ iii. _sub. fin._ [153] Lucan, _Pharsal._ ii. 142-146. [154] Virgil, _Æneid_, i. 417.

Recapitulation of the First Book The author recalls the opening of *The City of God*, where he first responded to its enemies who, in pursuit of earthly joys, blame the Christian religion for the sorrows they suffer. He reminds readers that he demonstrated, from the historical records of the pagans themselves, that calamities were commonplace in earlier ages, and he exposed the false gods as unclean spirits and deceitful demons who take delight in crimes celebrated at their festivals. Drawing on Varro's authority, who placed scenic plays among things divine rather than human, the author summarizes the aim of the first book and signals what is to follow.

Summary of Books Two and Three The author reviews his earlier promise to refute those who attribute the calamities of the Roman republic to Christianity, recounting the moral and physical evils the empire suffered even before sacrifices were prohibited. The second book addressed evils of morals, while the third treated the bodily and external misfortunes that even the good endure. He also recalls Apuleius's account of earthly destruction—earthquakes, floods, storms, and volcanic eruptions—and notes that the true God favored the Roman customs that enlarged their empire, while the demons they worshiped as gods only deceived and harmed them.

Empire, War, and True Happiness The author questions the wisdom of boasting in the vast extent of the Roman empire, given that its wars, whether civil or foreign, involve endless slaughters and human bloodshed. Through a comparison of a rich man racked by anxiety with a man of modest means living in peace, piety, and virtue, he shows that true felicity is not found in great dominion but in tranquil righteousness. Good rulers benefit their subjects rather than themselves, while the wicked, even when they reign, are slaves to their own vices.

Kingdoms Without Justice as Robberies Removing justice from the equation, the author argues that kingdoms are nothing more than great robberies, and robberies are merely little kingdoms. The difference lies only in scale and impunity: a band of robbers, once it grows strong enough to seize cities and subdue peoples, openly takes the name of kingdom. He illustrates this with the famous reply of a pirate seized by Alexander the Great, who boldly said that the king was called emperor for doing with a great fleet what he was called a robber for doing with a small ship.

The Runaway Gladiators and Royal Power Turning to a Roman example, the author notes that Romulus's band of fugitives were transformed into peaceful citizens, and similarly the Roman empire itself was once gravely threatened by a handful of gladiators who escaped from the games in Campania, raised a great army under three generals, and devastated Italy. He challenges the pagans to explain which god aided these men, who rose from a contemptible band of robbers to a kingdom feared by Rome, and argues that the brief duration of their power is no argument against divine aid, since the life of any man is short.

Ninus and the Covetousness of Empire Drawing on Justinus (following Trogus Pompeius), the author recounts that in the earliest ages, kings ruled with moderation and kept their kingdoms within their native lands. Ninus, king of the Assyrians, was the first to break this ancestral custom through a new lust of empire, warring on his neighbors, subduing distant nations as far as Libya, and extending his rule throughout the East. The Assyrian kingdom endured for twelve hundred and forty years—longer than Rome has yet attained. The author concludes that waging war on harmless neighbors out of sheer desire to rule is nothing less than great robbery on a massive scale.

Earthly Kingdoms and the Help of the Gods This section opens the inquiry into whether the rise and fall of earthly kingdoms have been aided or abandoned by the help of the gods, setting up the argument that true felicity and the ordering of empires belong to the providence of the one true God rather than to the demons falsely worshipped as divine powers.

The chapter opens by challenging the Roman claim that the empire's greatness and duration must be ascribed to the aid of the Roman gods. If another kingdom could be great and lasting without such aid, the same cause must apply to Rome. If pagans argue that other nations' prosperity also came from divine help, Augustine asks which gods—since Ninus's conquered peoples worshipped their own deities. The Assyrian gods, if they existed, either died with their empire, defected to the Medes and Persians for better pay, or were unfaithful. Such behavior would be shameful even for a man like Camillus, who returned to save Rome from the Gauls despite ingratitude. If gods are overcome by human strength, they are not strong enough to be gods. If they quarrel among themselves, a city should worship its enemies' gods rather than its own. Augustine notes that Christ had not yet been proclaimed when these kingdoms fell, so Christians cannot be blamed; the Roman empire has suffered and been restored before Christ's name was heard, and its recovery should not be despaired of, for who knows God's will? The argument then turns to the absurd specialization of Roman deities. No one would credit the empire's preservation to Cloacina (the privy goddess), Volupia (voluptuousness), Libentina (lust), Vaticanus (infants' crying), or Cunina (cradles). Agriculture was divided among countless minor gods: Rusina for farms, Jugatinus for mountain ridges, Collatina for downs, Vallonia for valleys. Corn crops were parceled out among Seia (seed in the ground), Segetia (green stalks), and Tutilina (stored grain). The joints of stems had Nodotus, the sheaths Volutina, the sprouting spike Patelana, the equalized ears Hostilina, the flowers Flora, the milky grain Lacturnus, the maturing crop Matuta, and the harvested grain Runcina. Even household doors required three gods: Forculus for the door, Cardea for the hinge, Limentinus for the threshold. This ridiculous division shows that none of these petty deities could possibly oversee so vast a work as the Roman empire.

Setting aside the crowd of minor gods, Augustine asks what part the greater gods played in Rome's rise. The obvious answer is Jove, portrayed as king of all gods and goddesses, enthroned on the Capitol with his sceptre. A poet's saying is invoked: "All things are full of Jove." Varro held that even those who worship one God alone without images in effect worship Jove under another name. Yet Varro himself disapproved of making images of this deity, lamenting that those who appointed images for the people took away fear and added error, even though he was overborne by the perverse custom of so great a city.

The chapter next examines the Roman theological assignment of different gods to different cosmic regions. Juno is joined to Jove as sister and wife because Jove occupies the ether and Juno the air. Neptune is assigned the sea, Pluto the earth, with Salacia as Neptune's mate and Proserpine as Pluto's. This requires either three or four elements, and introduces difficulties: if water is still water whether above or below, and earth is still earth, where does Minerva fit? She dwells in the Capitol with Jove and Juno though she is not their offspring. If she occupies the higher ether, she should outrank Jove. The rule that forbids setting the daughter above the father is violated by Jove's own subordination to Saturn, whom they identify with Time. Augustine then questions the claim that Jove (ether) and Juno (earth) were sprung from Time, since both heaven and earth were made and are not eternal. Virgil's line about the ether descending in showers into the bosom of Tellus (the earth) is cited as drawn from philosophical books rather than poetic invention. The Romans distinguish Terra, Tellus, and Tellumo as separate deities, and worship the earth as mother of the gods. Ceres and Vesta are also identified with the earth, though Vesta is more often said to be fire of the hearth, served by virgins because nothing is born of a virgin or of fire. Augustine notes with disgust that Vesta is sometimes called Venus, destroying the meaning of her virgin worship, and surveys various Venuses (of virgins, wives, harlots), with the Phoenicians offering daughters' prostitution to the goddess. The married Venus, wife of Vulcan, is involved in an affair with Mars—a scandal the pagans dismiss as fable while exhibiting these very crimes in their theaters in honor of the gods.

In the final section, Augustine permits the pagan doctors their physical speculations: at one time Jove is the soul of the corporeal world filling and moving the four elements; at another he cedes portions to his sister and brothers; again he is the whole heaven and air impregnating the earth, his wife and mother, with fertilizing showers; and yet again he is the single god of whom the poet sang, "For God pervadeth all things, all lands, and the tracts of the sea, and the depth of the heavens." The argument presses the reader toward the conclusion that the many names and forms of pagan worship reduce to one underlying divine reality, which the Christian recognizes as the one true God whom these fragmentary and confused speculations unwittingly point toward.

The first section examines the view that God is the soul of the world and the world is God's body. If this were true, the cosmos would constitute a single living being, with all individual lives drawn from the vivifying soul. The author argues that this leads to impious conclusions: trampling or killing any creature would mean harming a part of God, and every moral or physical evil would befall a member of the divine. He calls on men of intelligence to scrutinize the irreligious implications of this opinion.

The second section addresses the narrower claim that only rational animals, especially humans, are parts of the one God. The author finds this position untenable, asking how beasts could be excluded if the whole world is God. More troubling still, he asks how a part of God could be whipped, lascivious, iniquitous, or impious, and how God could be angry at those who fail to worship Him when those offenders are themselves parts of Him. The section concludes that each god must possess an independent life, and Jove is credited with establishing and extending Roman dominion.

The third section critiques the ascription of imperial growth to Jove. Since the gods are each occupied with their own offices and may not intrude upon one another, the king of the gods could not have personally conducted so vast an enterprise. The author argues that the goddess Victoria alone would suffice, for with her favor, even an idle Jove would see every nation subdued and every kingdom yield.

The fourth section asks whether it is fitting for good men to desire wider rule. The author argues that the growth of a kingdom depends on the injustice of neighbors, for just and peaceful peoples would not provoke war, and humanity would have been happier with many small kingdoms living in concord. He calls it a bad wish to desire that one's enemy be in a condition fit to be conquered, and judges that it is greater felicity to have a good neighbor at peace than to subdue a bad one through war. Yet conquest may still be a necessary felicity when the alternative is unjust rule over the righteous. The author notes that the injustice of foreigners has co-operated as much as Victoria in extending the empire, and wonders why that injustice has not also been enshrined as a goddess.

The fifth section explores why the Romans built the temple of Quiet (Quies) outside the gates. The author marvels that the Romans assigned gods to single things and to nearly every movement of the mind—Agenoria for action, Stimula for stimulation, Murcia for excessive sloth, Strenua for strenuousness—yet gave the goddess of Quiet only a temple beyond the Colline gate. He interprets this as intimating that those who worship such a crowd of demons cannot dwell with quiet, and points to the true Physician's call to learn meekness and find rest for the soul.

The sixth section considers whether, if Jove holds the highest power, Victoria should still be worshipped. The author observes that if Victory is a goddess under Jove as king, she must act in obedience and cannot resist his will. He notes the inconsistency: if Victory is a goddess, Triumph should also be a god, joined to her as husband, brother, or son. He mocks such inventions as worthy of poets rather than of true deities, and concludes that men should entreat Jove alone, for Victoria could not dare to do her own will contrary to the king of the gods.

The seventh section examines the logic of distinguishing Felicity and Fortune as separate goddesses. The author asks why two names, two temples, two altars, and two rituals are needed for what may be one thing. He observes that fortune may be either good or bad, but felicity, if it were bad, would not be felicity. A blind Fortune who comes at random cannot be good, and a Fortune who discriminates among her worshippers is no longer "fortune" at all. He asks why such a deity should be worshipped, and suggests that if Jove sends Fortune where he pleases, he alone should be worshipped, since Fortune cannot resist his command, while the wicked, lacking merit, may at least invoke her.

This section addresses the pagan Roman deity Fortuna Muliebris, a form of the chance goddess Fortuna honored by Roman matrons, whose reputed spoken approval of their worship is dismissed as a deception orchestrated by malignant demons. The author highlights the irony that the chance-focused Fortuna was said to be capable of speech, while the beneficial Felicitas (goddess of happiness) was mute, arguing this design encouraged people to rely on random fortune rather than righteous living to gain favor, and even the speaking Fortuna would have been expected to use a manly rather than womanly voice if such a miracle were genuine.

This section critiques the pagan practice of deifying Virtue and Faith, arguing these are gifts of the one true God rather than independent goddesses. The author points out the inconsistency of pagans granting divine status to Faith and Virtue while neglecting other praiseworthy human qualities like temperance, fortitude, prudence, and wisdom, even as Roman historical figures were celebrated for these latter traits. He notes that if Virtue and Faith are divine, the entire pantheon of false pagan gods is unnecessary, as prayer to the one true God for these gifts would suffice for all needs.

This section argues that Virtue (defined by ancient thinkers as the art of living well and rightly) and Felicity (happiness) are gifts of the one true God, not independent goddesses, and together fulfill all human needs for righteous action and desired goods. The author dismantles the pagan practice of worshipping a vast array of minor gods for every specific benefit (childbirth, warfare, wealth, daily life milestones, etc.) by noting Felicity alone could grant all these gifts at once if properly worshipped, rendering the entire crowded pantheon redundant. He further reasons that if Felicity is the reward of Virtue, it is a divine gift rather than a deity, and if it is a deity, it would itself be the source of Virtue.

This section critiques the Roman scholar Varro's boast that he had granted Romans a great benefit by documenting the identities, powers, and proper rituals for worshipping each Roman god. The author compares Varro's work to useless knowledge of a physician's name without understanding their skill, arguing that even detailed knowledge of false gods is worthless if it does not lead people to worship the one true God, the source of all good things.

This section highlights the absurdity of the Roman pantheon by pointing out that Felicity, a goddess capable of granting all good things and making humans happy, was neglected for centuries by Roman rulers, who instead worshipped a host of lesser, irrelevant or even degrading deities (including figures like Cloacina, Fear, and Dread associated with sewage, dread, and illness). The author argues that if Felicity is a true goddess, she deserves the highest, most prominent place of worship above even Jupiter, as all humans desire happiness above all else. He concludes that if Felicity is not a goddess (as she is actually a gift of the one true God), Romans must abandon the useless crowd of false gods and worship the giver of felicity instead, rather than worshipping the gift itself and offending its giver.

Pagans defended their worship of divine gifts as gods by asserting their ancestors did not confuse gifts with deities: instead, they named gods after the gifts those divine beings granted (for example, Bellona from the Latin word for war, Cunina from the word for cradles, Pecunia from money) to honor the entities that bestowed those gifts, rather than worshipping the material gifts themselves.

The text argues that if pagans recognized felicity could only be granted by a single unknown god (whom they worshipped under the name Felicitas), this sole giver of felicity should be worshipped exclusively, rather than the full pantheon of pagan gods. This unknown god is explicitly distinguished from Jupiter, whose widely accepted immoral attributes (such as debauchery and sexual assault) make him unworthy of worship as a source of true felicity.

The text rejects the pagan claim that scenic plays were demanded by their gods, noting the plays depict shameful, criminal acts attributed to the deities. It cites the story of Roman peasant Titus Latinius, who was repeatedly punished (first with the death of his son, then a severe, disfiguring illness) by demonic forces disguised as gods for neglecting to report a divine command to resume public games, proving the demand for such plays came from malicious demons, not legitimate divine beings, and that the plays served to honor vile, demonic entities rather than true gods.

The text outlines pontiff Scævola's classification of three categories of gods: those invented by poets (deemed trivial due to their unworthy, fictional portrayals), those described by philosophers (deemed unsuitable for public state worship, as they reveal truths the populace should not know, including that figures like Hercules and Æsculapius were mortal humans, and that true gods lack physical form, sex, or age). Scævola's position that the state should deliberately deceive the public about religious truth is condemned as a hallmark of pagan religion's inherent corruption.

The text argues that pagan gods, as false, demonic beings who delight in shameful worship, could never have enabled the rise or preservation of the Roman Empire. It notes the Greeks worshipped these same gods with even greater honor (via their own theatrical productions) yet never achieved equivalent imperial power, and that worldly commodities like gold, silver, and brass can be possessed without worshipping corresponding false deities, proving the empire's success was permitted by the one true God, not pagan gods.

The text refutes the pagan augury that claimed the Roman Empire would be eternally stable because the gods Mars, Terminus, and Juventas refused to yield to Jupiter, arguing this claim is disproven by historical events: Roman forces were defeated by Gauls within the city of Rome itself, Hannibal captured numerous Roman frontier settlements, Emperor Hadrian ceded three eastern provinces to the Persian Empire, and Julian's reckless military campaign led to further territorial losses. The augury is dismissed as a vain, demonic falsehood, as the "gods" who refused Jupiter were actually demons defying the true divine order.

The text cites admissions from pagan worshippers themselves, including Cicero and Lucilius Balbus, who criticized the absurd, fictional, and immoral portrayals of pagan gods in poetry and religious practice, noting the gods' invented genealogies, wars, and human-like flaws are ridiculous and superstitious. It argues even defenders of pagan religion could not fully reject these superstitious elements without facing public backlash, demonstrating the inherent falsity of pagan worship, which was ultimately overthrown by the Christian faith.

Varro, though placing scenic plays among divine things, indicates through his own words that he does not personally believe many of the religious traditions he records. He admits that if founding a new state, he would enumerate the gods more rationally according to nature, but as a citizen of an ancient nation he feels bound to accept traditional names and narratives. He openly confesses that many religious matters are true but not useful for common people to know, and that it is expedient the populace think otherwise—even falsely—explaining why the Greeks enclosed rites within walls of silence. Augustine argues this "crafty device" (chapter heading notwithstanding, this theme begins here) pleases the demons who possess both deceivers and deceived. Varro further suggests that those who perceived God to be the soul of the world governing by reason and design came nearest to truth, but erred by calling God a soul rather than its maker. Varro also notes that for over 170 years the Romans worshipped gods without images, and had this custom continued, worship would have been purer—citing the Jewish nation as witness. Augustine concludes that Varro came remarkably close to truth: had he been free from inveterate error, he would have affirmed one God worshipped without images, and might have perceived the true God as the immutable nature that created the soul. Whatever these writers say against plurality of gods is forced from them by God's secret will to confess the truth.

Varro observes that common people followed the poets rather than the natural philosophers, causing the ancient Romans to believe in the sex, generations, and marriages of the gods. Augustine contends this was done deliberately by prudent and wise men to deceive the people in religious matters, imitating the demons whose greatest desire is to deceive. Just as demons can only possess those they have tricked by guile, so unjust princes in the name of religion persuaded peoples to accept as true what they themselves knew to be false, thereby binding citizens more firmly in civil society so they might be ruled as subjects. Augustine asks how any weak and unlearned person could escape the combined deceits of state princes and demons.

The true God, being the sole author and giver of felicity, Himself grants earthly kingdoms to both good and bad rulers. He does not do so fortuitously (since He is God, not fortune) but according to an order of times hidden from us yet thoroughly known to Him—an order He rules as lord rather than serves as subject. Felicity itself is given only to the good, regardless of whether one is subject or king; full felicity awaits the life to come where such distinctions cease. Earthly kingdoms are given to good and bad alike so that worshippers with weak minds will not covet these gifts as great things. This is the mystery of the Old Testament concealing the New: even there earthly gifts were promised, but the spiritually minded understood even then the eternity symbolized by them and where true felicity is found.

To demonstrate that earthly goods remain in the power of the one true God rather than the many false gods, God multiplied His people in Egypt and delivered them with wonderful signs. The Hebrew women invoked no Lucina in childbirth; without Rumina the infants sucked, without Cunina they were cradled, without Educa and Potina they were nourished, without puerile gods they were educated, without nuptial gods they married, without Priapus they knew conjugal union. The sea parted without Neptune; they received manna without goddess Mannia; water from the rock without Nymphs or Lymphs; they waged war without rites of Mars and Bellona, crediting victory to God not goddess; they enjoyed harvests without Segetia, oxen without Bubona, honey without Mellona, apples without Pomona. Receiving from the one God what Romans sought from a crowd of false deities, the Jews would have retained their kingdom—more happy if not more spacious than Rome's—had they not sinned through impious curiosity that seduced them toward strange gods and idols, culminating in killing Christ. Their worldwide dispersion serves God's providence: since images, altars, groves, temples, and sacrifices of false gods are everywhere overthrown and prohibited, the Jewish scriptures—long preserving the prophets' testimonies—prove these events were foretold, lest when pagans read them in Christian books they suppose the prophecies invented. Augustine closes the book here, reserving continuation for the next.

This section outlines the chapter’s core objectives: first, refuting the attribution of the Roman Empire’s power and expansion to fate, building on prior refutation that the false Roman gods were the source of their dominion; second, proving there is no contradiction between God’s prescience and human free will; third, examining the virtues of ancient Romans to distinguish the role of their own merit and divine counsel in the growth of their empire despite their worship of false gods; and finally, defining the true nature of happiness for Christian emperors.

The preface grounds the chapter’s inquiry in the previously established truth that true felicity (happiness) is a gift of God alone, not a deity worthy of worship, and that only God can grant the full attainment of all human desires. It frames the chapter’s central guiding question: why God granted the Roman Empire such extensive, long-lasting dominion, a fact that cannot be attributed to the false gods the Romans worshipped, a claim the chapter will continue to support with evidence.

This section argues the Roman Empire’s greatness stems from neither random chance nor astrological fate. It defines fortuitous events as those with no intelligible cause, and fatal events as those occurring independent of the will of God and humans, by fixed necessity. It asserts all human kingdoms are established by divine providence. It rejects the widespread astrological view that the position of the stars at a person’s birth or conception determines their character, fortune, or actions, arguing this view insults the celestial realm by attributing wicked decrees to it, and undermines God’s role as judge of human deeds. It also notes the inconsistency of astrologers who claim stars merely signify rather than cause future events, yet still make specific predictive claims based on birth positions.

This section uses the example of twins to refute astrological determinism. It cites the physician Hippocrates’ observation that twins often fall ill with the same disease at the same time, which the Stoic astrologer Posidonius attributed to the twins sharing the same birth constellation. Augustine argues this similarity is far better explained by shared bodily constitutions from conception, and shared post-birth environment, diet, and habits, not star positions. He notes that twins often have vastly different life paths, fortunes, and health outcomes, which cannot be explained by the tiny time difference between their births, which would produce only negligible differences in celestial positions if stars determined fate.

This section dismisses the common astrological defense of twin differences using the "potter’s wheel" analogy attributed to the mathematician Nigidius (nicknamed Figulus). The analogy claims that the rapid rotation of the celestial sphere means even tiny time gaps between twin births correspond to large differences in star positions, explaining their divergent fates. Augustine refutes this by noting that if tiny time differences produce such large predictive effects for twins, astrologers should be able to predict trivial, specific life details (like when to eat, walk, or dine) for non-twins based on birth positions, which they cannot. He argues the analogy is flimsy, designed to obscure the emptiness of astrological claims.

This section uses the biblical twin brothers Esau and Jacob as a stark example of extreme differences between twins born immediately after one another. It notes their opposite life paths: one was a long-term hired servant, the other never served; one was favored by their mother, the other was not; one lost a highly valued cultural honor, the other gained it; they had vastly different wives, children, and possessions, and even harbored mutual hostility. Augustine argues these vast differences cannot be explained by the minuscule time gap between their births, which would produce no meaningful difference in star positions if astrological determinism were true, further undermining astrological claims.

This section delivers a cumulative refutation of astrologers (referred to as mathematicians in the text) by highlighting logical inconsistencies in their claims about twin birth timing and fate. It questions why, if twins conceived at the same time have different fates, twins born at the same time would not also have different fates. It notes the inconsistency of astrologers attributing differences in life outcomes (like travel, marriage, or children) to birth timing, but not differences in sickness timing, even when twins fall ill at the same time. It argues these contradictions expose astrology as a vain, deceptive science with no coherent explanatory power.

This section, addressing "twins of different sexes," argues against the astrological doctrine that the position of the stars at the moment of birth determines a person's entire destiny. The author offers the case of two living twins of different sexes, conceived at the same moment, who resemble each other physically as far as their sex allows, but whose lives diverge enormously: one is a count who serves constantly in foreign military campaigns, the other a woman who never leaves her native district, and even more strikingly, he is married with numerous children while she is a consecrated virgin. If the stars are to be believed, this is incredible, though it is perfectly understandable if one considers the freedom of human wills and God's gracious gifts. The author presses the astrologers further: if the horoscope is significant at birth, why not also at conception, which occurs in a single act of copulation? And he observes that a woman who has once conceived ceases to be susceptible to further conception, suggesting the force of nature. He allows that certain celestial influences may affect bodies—seasons, tides, moon-ripened sea creatures—but rejects the conclusion that human wills should be subjected to the stars. Since twins of different sexes are conceived under identical stellar positions, no appeal to sidereal influence can explain why one is destined for marriage and motherhood while the other is called to consecrated virginity.

This section critiques the practice of choosing particular days for marriage, planting, or sowing, on the grounds that such choices are incompatible with a coherent astrological fatalism. The author presents a hypothetical case: a learned man, whose natal horoscope destined him for a contemptible rather than illustrious son, chooses an auspicious hour for intercourse and thus supposedly creates a new destiny. If so, then the destiny of the natal hour is overridden by the destiny of the chosen day—but the astrologer cannot have it both ways. The same problem arises with agricultural and animal husbandry: chosen days for planting vines, sowing grain, or breeding cattle are supposed to be effective only if constellations rule terrestrial bodies, yet at any given moment countless beings are born or germinated, and these come to vastly different ends. The author mockingly notes that astrologers are tested on the nativities of animals, including dogs, and their answers are applauded—even though this implies the absurd conclusion that during a human birth all other births are suspended, even of flies. Likewise, grains sown at the same moment in the same field meet different fates: some mildewed, some eaten by birds, some harvested—yet the astrologer cannot assign each kernel its own constellation. The author concludes that it is foolish to subject human beings, the only creatures endowed by God with free wills, to the stars while exempting all other things, and suggests that the astrologers' surprisingly accurate answers are to be attributed to the occult inspiration of malevolent spirits rather than to any genuine art.

This section addresses those who define fate not as stellar disposition at conception or birth, but as the whole connected train of causes by which everything becomes what it is. The author states that he need not labor against such people in a merely verbal dispute, since they attribute the order and connection of causes to the will and power of the most high God, who rightly and truly is believed to foreknow all things and to ordain all things, from whom all powers come even though not all wills come from him. To show that the will of God is what chiefly constitutes what they call fate, the author quotes verses attributed to Annaeus Seneca in which the poet addresses the "Father supreme, ruler of the lofty heavens," declaring his readiness to obey willingly or to be dragged unwillingly, ending with the famous line: "The Fates do lead the man that follows willing; but the man that is unwilling, him they drag." The author observes that in the final line Seneca calls "fate" what he had previously called "the will of the Father supreme." Homeric verses, translated by Cicero, are also cited to support this view: "Such are the minds of men, as is the light which Father Jove himself doth pour illustrious o'er the fruitful earth." The author notes that Cicero, in citing these lines, is not endorsing Homer's theology but reporting the Stoic view, since the Stoics used such verses to identify fate with Jupiter, whom they regarded as the supreme god on whom the whole chain of fates depends.

This section confronts Cicero's argument concerning the foreknowledge of God and the free will of man. The author observes that Cicero, in refuting the Stoics, first attacked divination by denying that any knowledge of future things exists—in God or in man—and attempted to overthrow all prophecy. Yet the author judges those who assert stellar fatalism to be more tolerable than those who deny divine foreknowledge, since to confess God and deny his prescience is the height of folly. Cicero saw this and therefore assigned Cotta the role of arguing against the gods in his work on the nature of the gods, while in his work on divination he openly opposed foreknowledge in his own person. The reason, the author explains, is that Cicero feared that, once foreknowledge is granted, fate follows as a necessary consequence and free will is destroyed: laws, praise, blame, exhortation, rewards, and punishments would all become meaningless. To preserve human freedom, Cicero therefore denied foreknowledge, and, as the author puts it, "wishing to make men free, he makes them sacrilegious." The religious mind, by contrast, confesses both freedom and foreknowledge and holds them together by faith. The author then traces the chain of reasoning that so alarmed Cicero: from free will to the denial of fate, from the denial of fate to the denial of a fixed order of causes, from the denial of such an order to the denial of a fixed order of things foreknown by God, and finally to the denial of foreknowledge itself. This is the syllogistic descent by which Cicero sought to dismantle prescience, which the chapter implicitly answers by affirming that the religious mind need not follow him to such a conclusion.

Augustine opens by asserting that God foreknows all things before they come to pass, and that humans act freely by their own will. He rejects the doctrine of fate outright, declaring that nothing comes to pass by fate, and dismisses astrology as delusion. Drawing on Scripture ("God hath spoken once"), he interprets God's immutable speech as signifying His unchangeable knowledge of all future events and actions, contrasting this divine certainty with the Stoic notion of fate.

While affirming that God has an order of all causes, Augustine refuses to call this order "fate," reserving the term only if derived from *fari* (to speak). He quotes Cicero's concession that nothing happens without a cause, but counters that so-called fortuitous causes are not causeless—rather, they are hidden and attributable to the will of God or spirits. Natural causes likewise depend on God's will as their author. Augustine thus reframes the Stoic argument: even if an order of causes exists in God's foreknowledge, this does not eliminate free will, since human wills themselves are included as causes within that order.

Augustine catalogues voluntary causes, distinguishing the wills of God, good angels, wicked angels (demons), and men (both good and wicked), as well as the instinctive movements of animals. All efficient causes belong to the spirit of life, which quickens all things—God Himself, the uncreated spirit. God's supreme will acts upon all created wills, helping the good and judging the evil. While bodies are subject to wills (most of all to God's will), material causes merely execute what wills direct. Augustine concludes that if "fate" is to be applied at all, it should belong to the weaker party, while will belongs to the stronger who holds the other in subjection.

Refuting the Stoics' attempt to exempt wills from necessity, Augustine distinguishes between external necessity (like death) and the nature of willing itself. We are not forced to will, for willing is self-constitutive. Even necessity in the sense of immutability does not destroy freedom: just as God necessarily lives and foreknows without diminishing His power, our wills necessarily operate by free choice. A will that exists but cannot accomplish its aim is still a genuine will, overborne by a more powerful one. All suffering contrary to one's will should be attributed ultimately to God's will, which governs and empowers all other wills.

Augustine affirms that God's foreknowledge does not negate human freedom, because God foreknew something real—the very power of our wills. Believers must embrace both truths: divine prescience (for sound belief) and free will (for righteous living). Laws, reproaches, exhortations, praise, blame, prayers, rewards, and punishments all retain their validity, for God foreknew their efficacy. A man sins not because God foreknew it, but because he himself wills to sin; if he wills not, he sins not—and even this God foreknew.

Augustine extols God supreme and true—one God in Trinity, creator of every soul and body, source of all modes, species, orders, measures, numbers, and weights. God grants happiness through truth, gives various forms of life appropriate to each creature (vegetable, sensuous, intellectual), and imbues even the smallest parts of creation with harmony. Memory, sense, appetite belong to the irrational soul, while intelligence and will belong to the rational. From such comprehensive governance, it is inconceivable that God would leave human kingdoms, dominations, and servitudes outside His providential laws.

Having refuted fate and pagan divine influence, Augustine examines which Roman virtues the true God helped to raise the empire. Quoting Sallust, he identifies their "greed of praise, prodigality of wealth, desire for great glory, and contentment with moderate fortune." Their passionate love of glory led them first to seek liberty, then dominion. After expelling the kings and establishing consular government, Rome grew rapidly. Even Caesar sought great empire and war as a stage for his virtue. Augustine notes that heroic Romans prayed for war to display their valor. Citing Virgil, he affirms that the love of liberty, desire of domination, and passion for praise and glory were the motives that accomplished Rome's great deeds—all under God's providential governance.

Augustine observes that the early Romans' greatest ambition was either to die bravely or to live free. Once liberty was secured, however, a passion for glory seized them, so that liberty alone was not enough—they also sought domination. He cites Virgil's depiction of Juno in the *Aeneid*, where Jupiter foretells that Rome's sons shall reign over Phthia, Mycenae, and humble Argos, noting that Virgil describes as future what was already present to Jupiter's gaze. The point is that next to liberty, the Romans esteemed domination so highly that it joined the ranks of what they most praised.

Augustine turns to Virgil's praise of Roman arts, contrasting them with those of other nations. Where other peoples excel at sculpting bronze and stone, pleading causes, or mapping the heavens, the Roman's special genius is to rule the nations, impose the rule of peace on the vanquished, show pity to the humbled, and crush the proud. These arts were practiced with greater skill the less the Romans indulged in luxury, the enervation of body and mind, and the extortion of wealth from citizens to lavish on stage-players. The baser men of Sallust's and Virgil's day, however, sought honors not by these arts but by treachery and deceit.

Examining what Romans meant by seeking glory through good arts, Augustine identifies this with pursuing glory by virtue rather than by deceitful intrigue. Both good and ignoble men desire glory, honor, and power, but the good press toward them by the true way—virtue itself. He notes the Romans built temples to Virtue and Honour side by side, worshipping as gods the gifts of God, which reveals that the good among them regarded honour as the end of virtue. Cato is praised in a higher way because "the less he sought glory, the more it followed him." Augustine then contrasts this human-glory-seeking virtue with the truer virtue that is content with the testimony of conscience, citing the apostle: true glory is "the testimony of our conscience." Glory, honor, and power should not be sought by virtue, but virtue by them; the honors Cato sought he ought not to have sought, but the state ought to have conferred them on him unsolicited.

Augustine quotes Cato's judgment on the Roman republic, arguing that it was not by arms alone that the ancestors made the state great. Cato insists that in his own day the republic had more allies, citizens, armor, and horses, yet was less flourishing. What made the ancestors great was industry at home, just government abroad, and a mind free in deliberation, addicted to neither crime nor lust. In Cato's time these had been replaced by luxury and avarice, poverty in the state and opulence among citizens, the lauding of riches, the following of laziness, and rewards of virtue seized by intrigue—conditions that made the unprotected republic an easy target.

Augustine cautions against taking Sallust's or Cato's praise of the ancient Romans as applicable to all or even to most of them. Cato himself had written in the second book of this work that from the very beginning the more powerful committed wrongs, leading to the separation of plebs and patricians, and that the only period of just and moderate administration was briefly after the expulsion of the kings, while fear of Tarquin and the war with Etruria lasted. Afterwards the fathers oppressed the people, until the Second Punic War ended these discords. The great achievements were accomplished through a few good men, whose wisdom and forethought first enabled the republic to endure and overcome its evils. Sallust likewise affirms that it was the pre-eminent virtue of a few citizens that achieved the whole, with poverty overcoming wealth and small numbers great multitudes. Even Cato's praise, therefore, applies only to a few.

Augustine explains that when the kingdoms of the East had long flourished, it pleased God to raise up a Western empire, later in time but more illustrious in extent, and to grant it to men who, for the sake of honor, praise, and glory, consulted well for their country, suppressing the desire for wealth and many other vices for this single vice of the love of praise. He acknowledges that the love of praise is itself a vice, citing Horace's satires and lyrics on ambition and domination. Yet those who restrain baser lusts through desire of human praise, rather than through the Holy Spirit or the love of intelligible beauty, are not holy but only less base. Cicero, in *De Republica* and in his philosophical works, openly avows that glory nourishes the arts and stimulates all to the pursuit of studies.

Augustine argues it is far better to resist the desire for human glory than to yield to it, for the purer one is from this defilement, the liker one is to God. Even if the vice is not wholly eradicated, the love of glory should be surpassed by the love of righteousness, so that good things generally discredited may still be pursued and the love of human praise may yield to the love of truth. Citing the Lord—"How can ye believe, who look for glory from one another?"—and John—"They loved the praise of men more than the praise of God"—Augustine contrasts those believers who feared to confess Christ with the holy apostles, who amid maledictions, persecutions, and punishments proclaimed his name, not resting in the glory that followed them but referring it to God's glory. He quotes Christ's double command: not to do righteousness before men to be seen of them, but to let works shine before men so that they might glorify the Father. The martyrs surpassed the Scaevolas, Curtiuses, and Decii in true virtue (because in true piety) and in number. Since the Romans were in an earthly city seeking safety and a kingdom that succumbs to demise and succession, what could they love but glory, by which they wished to live even after death in the mouths of their admirers?

For those to whom God did not purpose to give eternal life with his holy angels in the celestial city—the society of which true piety, which renders the service of religion (λατρεία) only to the true God, conducts—if He had also withheld the terrestrial glory of their most excellent empire, no reward would have been rendered to their good arts, that is, their virtues, by which they sought such great glory. As the Lord says of those who do good to receive glory from men, "they have received their reward." So too the Romans, despising private affairs for the republic, resisting avarice for the treasury, consulting the country's good with a free spirit addicted to neither crime nor lust, pressed forward by the true way to honors, power, and glory; they were honored among almost all nations, imposed their laws on many, and remain glorious in literature and history. They have no reason to complain against God's justice: "they have received their reward."

Augustine turns to the reward of the holy citizens of the celestial city, for whom the example of Roman virtues proves useful. He promises to show that the same God who granted the Romans temporal glory for their civic virtues has prepared an eternal reward—fellowship with the holy angels in the heavenly city—for those whose true piety directs all goodness toward the true God. The very contrast between the Romans' earthly recompense and the saints' heavenly one illustrates the difference between an empire that passes away with the dying succession of mortal citizens and the everlasting kingdom of the City of God.

The reward of the saints is far different from earthly recompense. The citizens of the city of God endured reproaches for that eternal city, which is hateful to the lovers of this world. It is eternal: none are born there, for none die. True and full felicity is not a goddess but a gift of God. There the Sun of Righteousness protects only the good, and no great industry is needed to fill a public treasury by domestic privation, for there is the common treasury of truth. Christians, while still on pilgrimage, receive the pledge of faith and sigh for its beauty, and are thereby taught how much they owe the supernal country for life eternal, since the Romans loved their terrestrial country so ardently for the sake of human glory.

The question is posed: to what profit did the Romans carry on wars, and how much did they contribute to the well-being of those they conquered? Augustine argues that in this brief mortal life it matters little under whose government a man dies, so long as rulers do not force him into impiety and iniquity. The Romans harmed conquered nations only insofar as conquest itself required great slaughter. Had the same results been achieved by consent rather than war, no glory of conquest would have existed, but the nations would have been better off. If, from the start, the Romans had simply granted the rights of citizenship to all subjects and supported the landless at public expense with their willing consent, the result would have been one and the same condition for all—achieved with no slaughter and no mad pomp of human glory.

Considering the condition of the conquered, Augustine observes that they still pay tribute, enjoy no exclusive privilege of learning, and include many senators who have never even seen Rome. Strip away outward show, and all men are simply men. Even if the perversity of the age allowed the better men to be more highly honored, human honor is mere smoke without weight. Still, Augustine says, we should avail ourselves even of these earthly examples to subdue pride: the citizens of the heavenly city should not think they have done anything very great if they have done some good works or endured some evils to obtain it, when the Romans did and suffered such great things merely for a terrestrial country. The remission of sins, which gathers citizens to the celestial country, finds a shadowy resemblance in the asylum of Romulus, where refuge from punishment gathered the founders of Rome.

Human glory is shown to be the "reward" of those who burned with excessive desire for it and waged the most eager wars. But this glory is empty: it is smoke with no weight, and even the best earthly honors should not be held at great price. Nevertheless, the Romans despised great things, endured great things, and subdued great lusts for the sake of human glory, and so merited that glory as a kind of reward. Their example should serve Christians to suppress pride, since the celestial city so far surpasses the earthly one as heaven is above earth, eternal life beyond temporal joy, solid glory beyond empty praise, and the society of angels beyond the society of mortals.

Augustine introduces a catalogue of examples of Roman virtue, showing what Romans did and suffered for love of an earthly city. He notes that the remission of sins in the Christian dispensation has a shadowy resemblance in the asylum of Romulus, where those escaping punishment for crimes formed the original Roman people. These examples are meant to instruct and shame Christians: if pagans could do such things for a terrestrial country, Christians ought to do far more for the eternal one.

Christians are not to boast if they have done anything for the love of the eternal city when the Romans did such great things for human glory and a terrestrial city. To despise the charms of this world, however pleasant, is no great thing if Brutus could put to death his own son for the sake of Rome. It is more difficult to kill one's sons than to distribute wealth to the poor or to let go of one's children under trial for the sake of faith. God, not earthly riches, is the true riches of minds. Yet the very Roman poet who praises Brutus calls him an unhappy father, for country and human praise, not happiness, motivated such deeds.

Brutus put his own sons to death for the liberty of Rome and the desire of human praise. Augustine observes that this is a far harder sacrifice than anything the heavenly city requires of its citizens, for Christians are called only to distribute earthly goods to the poor, or to number Christ's poor among their sons, for the sake of true liberty—freedom from sin, death, and the devil, won not through desire of praise but through desire to free men from demons. The poet even calls Brutus an unhappy father, consoled only by the thought that his country's love outweighs his grief. If a father could kill sons for the liberty of dying men and for mortal praise, what is it for Christians to give up riches, not children, for true and eternal liberty?

Torquatus, another Roman chief, slew his own son—not for fighting against his country, but because, though challenged and victorious, the son had through youthful impetuosity fought contrary to his father's orders as general. Torquatus judged the evil of a despised authority's example worse than the glory of slaying an enemy. Augustine asks: if Torquatus could do this, why should Christians boast of despising earthly goods, which are loved far less than sons, for the laws of a celestial country?

Furius Camillus, condemned by envious citizens despite having freed his countrymen from the yoke of the Veientes, again delivered his ungrateful country from the Gauls, because he had no other country in which to seek a life of glory. Augustine says: if Camillus acted thus for an ungrateful earthly republic, how much less should a Christian be praised for defending the one church—not a heretical sect, but the true church—in which alone eternal life can be obtained, even after suffering grievous injury from her carnal enemies?

Mucius, seeking to make peace with King Porsenna by assassinating him, killed another by mistake; he then stretched out his right hand and held it over a red-hot altar, warning that many others like him had conspired against the king. Terrified, Porsenna made peace. Augustine asks: if Mucius could do this, who shall speak of the Christian's merits for the kingdom of heaven if, not by his own act but through persecution by another, he gives not one hand but his whole body to the flames for the faith?

Curtius, on horseback and armed, hurled himself into a precipitous gulf, obeying the oracles of the Roman gods, which had commanded the Romans to cast into the gulf the best thing they possessed—understood to be an armed man, since they excelled in men and arms. Augustine asks: if he did this, shall we say the Christian has done a great thing who dies a like death for the eternal city, not by precipitating himself but at the hands of an enemy of the faith, especially when the Lord has said, "Fear not them who kill the body, but cannot kill the soul"?

The Decii devoted themselves to death, consecrating themselves with a set form of words so that, falling and appeasing the gods with their blood, they might deliver the Roman army. Augustine warns holy martyrs not to be proud as though they had done some great thing for the eternal city, if they have only shed their blood loving both brethren and even their enemies, vying in faith and love. Even such a sacrifice is surpassed by the love that constrains the Christian.

Marcus Pulvillus, while dedicating a temple to Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva, received false news of his son's death—fabricated to make him leave so that his colleague might claim the glory of the dedication. He received the news with such indifference that he even ordered his son cast out unburied, love of glory conquering grief. Augustine asks: how shall any one claim to have done a great thing in delivering citizens of the heavenly city from error, when the Lord has said, "Follow me, and let the dead bury their dead"?

Regulus, in order not to break his oath even with his cruelest enemies, returned from Rome itself to Carthage, saying he could not retain the dignity of an honorable Roman citizen after having been a slave to the Africans. The Carthaginians put him to death with the utmost tortures for what he had said in the Roman senate against them. Augustine asks: what tortures should the Christian not despise for good faith toward that country to which faith itself leads? What will a man have rendered to the Lord for all He has given, if, for faithfulness owed to Him, he suffers what Regulus suffered at the hands of ruthless enemies for good faith owed to them?

Augustine turns to Roman poverty as an example against Christian boasting. Lucius Valerius, who died while consul, was so poor that the people collected money to pay for his funeral. Christian voluntary poverty, undertaken to walk more lightly toward the true riches, which is God, should not be vaunted when the Romans themselves, in the height of their prosperity, were so poor in their own houses. The Christians' common sharing of riches—with no one claiming anything as his own—is far nobler in purpose, yet even the Romans did well-nigh the same to preserve the glory of their city.

Fabricius could not be prevailed upon to forsake the Roman city by the great gifts of Pyrrhus king of the Epirots, who offered him the fourth part of his kingdom; he preferred to remain poor and a private citizen at Rome. Augustine argues that Christians should not boast of having refused any earthly reward to cling to the heavenly country, when a pagan refused a kingdom to keep his place in an earthly republic.

Quintius Cincinnatus, possessing only four acres of land and cultivating them with his own hands, was taken from the plough to be made dictator—an office more honorable than that of consul. After winning great glory by conquering the enemy, he chose to remain in his poverty. His example, together with that of the consul expelled from the senate of poor men for possessing ten pounds of silver plate, shows how much the Romans despised riches for the sake of their city. Christians, who make common property of their riches for the society of angels, ought not to vaunt themselves as though they had done something uniquely great.

How could such Roman deeds have become so widely known and celebrated by such great fame, had not the Roman empire, extending far and wide, been raised by magnificent successes? Through that long, illustrious, and glorious empire, the reward of earnest aspiration was rendered to the Romans, and examples were set before us for necessary admonition: that we may be ashamed if we have not held fast virtues for the city of God which are at all resembled by those the Romans held fast for an earthly city; and that, if we have held them fast, we may not be lifted up, since "the sufferings of the present time are not worthy to be compared to the glory which shall be revealed in us." In the light of the truth veiled in the Old Testament and revealed in the New—that God is to be worshipped not for temporal benefits, which He gives promiscuously to good and evil, but for eternal life—the Jews were most righteously given as a trophy to the glory of the Romans, who conquered those who in their great depravity slew and rejected the giver of true glory and of the eternal city.

There is a real difference between the desire of human glory and the desire of domination. Although he who delights overmuch in human glory will be prone to aspire after domination, those who desire the true glory even of human praise strive not to displease those who judge well of them. There are many good moral qualities, of which many are competent judges though they are not possessed by many; and by such qualities, as Sallust says, certain men press on by the true way toward glory, honor, and domination.

He who already possesses virtues is greatest in the virtue of despising glory, for such contempt is visible to God though not to men; but he who, lacking the love of human esteem, is nonetheless greedy of domination surpasses the beasts in cruelty and luxuriousness.

Nero Caesar reached the very summit and citadel of this vice, combining effeminate luxuriousness with monstrous cruelty; yet even to such men power is not given save by the providence of the most high God when He judges the state of human affairs to be worthy of such lords.

God grants kingly power on earth to the pious and the impious alike according to His good pleasure, which is always just, while reserving heavenly happiness for the pious alone; the divine Word declares that "by Me kings reign, and tyrants possess the land," and that He "maketh the man who is an hypocrite to reign on account of the perversity of the people."

It is as shameful for the virtues to serve human glory as it is for them to serve bodily pleasure; even when a man disregards the judgment of others, if he still aims at pleasing himself he remains a slave to human praise rather than to the truth.

Certain philosophers paint a word-picture of Pleasure enthroned like a luxurious queen with Prudence, Justice, Fortitude, and Temperance standing around as her slaves, each virtue compelled to do whatever she commands; Augustine agrees the spectacle is monstrous, yet contends it is no less base to depict the virtues as servants of vainglory.

It is equally disgraceful to portray the virtues as slaves of vainglory, for they would then provide, distribute, and moderate nothing save to the end that men be pleased; such pretended despisers of glory are still enslaved to praise, since he who seeks to please himself still seeks to please man.

The truly pious man, fixing his attention on those things in which he displeases himself, does not attribute whatever is praiseworthy in him to his own merit but to the mercy of God, giving thanks for what is healed and praying for what yet remains unhealed.

All power and dominion are to be attributed to the one true God, who gives kingly power on earth to the pious and the impious alike as it pleases His just will, and who established the Roman kingdom when, as, and as great as He would.

The same God who gave the harvests and other earthly blessings to the Persians, though they worshipped only two gods, gave dominion to the Assyrians, the Persians, and the Romans, and granted power to the Hebrew people so long as they were a kingdom worshipping none but Him.

He who gave power to Marius gave it also to Caius Caesar, to Augustus as to Nero, and to the Christian Constantine as to the apostate Julian; divine providence distributes such gifts according to His pleasure, and His hidden motives are not therefore unjust.

Julian, whose gifted mind was seduced by sacrilegious curiosity and the love of power, burned his supply ships in confidence won from vain oracles and was soon slain, leaving his army unprovisioned; even the god Terminus yielded to necessity though he had not yielded to Jupiter, and these events manifestly proceed from the one God ruling as He pleases.

The durations and issues of wars are determined by God according to His righteous will, sometimes shortened, sometimes prolonged, in order to afflict or console the human race; those who rail against Christianity for any present war of unexpected length are challenged to remember the long, calamitous wars of ancient Rome.

The Samnite war lasted nearly fifty years with the Romans even put under the yoke, the first Punic war twenty-three years, the second eighteen years with seventy thousand Romans falling in two battles, the Mithridatic war forty years, and the Italian and gladiator wars, though disastrous, were ended within a few years.

Radagaisus, king of the Goths and a worshipper of demons, encamped with a vast and savage host near the city and was overthrown in a single day without a single Roman being wounded, more than a hundred thousand of his army being prostrated, and he and his sons being captured and put to death.

In His mercy, God caused Radagaisus to be conquered in a miraculous manner so that glory should not accrue to the demons he was known to be supplicating and the minds of the weak should not be overthrown; the Romans, who had been chastised mercifully, were afterward shown that pagan sacrifices were not necessary even for the safety of present things.

When Rome was taken by barbarians, those invaders—contrary to the custom of all former wars—protected through reverence for the Christian religion those who fled to the sacred places and opposed the rites of impious sacrifices so fiercely that they seemed to be waging a far more terrible war with the demons than with men, encouraging the faithful to cling all the more firmly to true religion in confident expectation of eternal life.

Section 24 defines the genuine happiness of Christian emperors, distinguishing it from mere temporal success. Augustine acknowledges that long reigns, peaceful deaths, succession by sons, and military victories were also granted to demon-worshippers, so these cannot be the basis of Christian happiness. True happiness lies in ruling justly, remembering one's humanity, making imperial power serve God's worship, fearing and loving God, preferring the eternal kingdom over earthly dominion, being slow to punish yet ready to pardon, ruling one's own depraved desires before ruling any nation, and doing all through love of eternal felicity rather than empty glory. Such emperors are happy in the present through hope and destined for happiness in the reality itself when what is awaited arrives.

Section 25 explains why God granted the Emperor Constantine exceptional earthly prosperity. The good God gave Constantine—worshipper of the true God and not of demons—such fullness of earthly gifts that no one would dare wish for more: sole rule over the entire Roman world, military victory, the founding of Constantinople as a companion to Rome without any temple or image of demons, a long reign, and a peaceful death of old age leaving sons as successors. Yet God took Jovian far sooner than Julian and permitted Gratian to be slain by a tyrant, lest any emperor become Christian merely to merit Constantine's temporal happiness when all should be Christian for eternal life. Gratian's death, though grievous, was mitigated when Theodosius, whom Gratian had associated with himself in the empire, avenged him.

Section 26 extols the faith and piety of Theodosius Augustus. Theodosius preserved fidelity to Gratian and afterward protected the boy Valentinian, Valentinian's brother, against the usurper Maximus, adopting him as joint emperor out of beneficence rather than ambition. Anxious before the war with Maximus, he sought counsel not from sacrilegious curiosity but from John the prophet in the Egyptian desert, receiving assurance of victory. After defeating Maximus and restoring Valentinian, he later marched against the tyrant Eugenius relying on further prophecy and won through prayer more than the sword; soldiers reported that a divine wind turned the enemy's missiles back upon themselves, an event Claudian praised in verse. Theodosius overthrew the statues of Jupiter set up in the Alps, presented their golden thunderbolts to his couriers in mirth, treated the sons of slain enemies with Christian love, and enacted merciful laws protecting the troubled church against the Arian oppression of Valens. His religious humility shone when, having promised to pardon the Thessalonians' crime and being restrained by episcopal discipline, he performed public penance. These good works earn eternal happiness, while all earthly blessings—light, air, empire, and the like—are lavished by the true God on both good and evil. Augustine concludes by addressing critics preparing written replies, urging them to choose correction by the wise rather than praise by the foolish.

It is absurd and impious folly to seek eternal life from gods assigned to minute temporal functions. If it is incongruous to ask wine from the Lymphs or water from Liber, how much more monstrous to seek eternal life from any of these deities? Even when earthly kingdoms were shown not to be established by such gods, the argument holds with greater force for eternal life, which is incomparably superior to any terrestrial kingdom. These gods are not too exalted to care for mortal matters; rather, they appear unworthy even of those limited functions entrusted to them. Nor can it be said that their worship is directed toward the life to come while their temporal assignments are merely incidental, because those assignments have proven useless: worshippers of Juventas are not notably vigorous, and suppliants of Fortuna Barbata do not grow handsome beards. If the human heart acknowledges such worship vain for swiftly passing gifts, it is foolish to suppose it fruitful for eternal life.

Marcus Varro, "universally informed," investigated pagan sacred rites more carefully, learnedly, and acutely than any other writer, and Cicero himself called him "the most acute of all men, and without any doubt the most learned." Yet despite his erudition, Varro was not made free by the Holy Spirit and was overpowered by the customs and laws of his state. Rather than opposing the so-called divine things he described, he sought to preserve them from being lost through citizen negligence, comparing his preservative zeal to that of Metellus rescuing the relics of Vesta or Aeneas saving the Penates from Troy. The result is a body of writing that is judged unfit to read and hostile to the truth of religion. A man so acute and learned would not have produced such ridiculous, contemptible, and detestable material had he openly treated these rites as superstition; he spoke of them under the pretext of commending religion while inwardly serving convention.

Varro wrote forty-one books of antiquities, divided into human and divine things: twenty-five on human things and sixteen on divine things. The human books were organized according to who performs, where, when, and what—four categories, each occupying six books (men, places, times, and rites themselves), with one introductory volume treating all four conjunctly. The divine books followed the same quadruple order—men, places, times, and sacred rites—distributed across twelve books, three to each category. Because it was necessary to discuss to whom sacred rites are performed, Varro added three final books on the gods themselves, giving a fivefold division of three books each (certain gods, uncertain gods, and the chief and select gods), plus a single introductory volume, for the total of sixteen. The detailed breakdown ranges from high priests, augurs, and the fifteen presiding men, through chapels, temples, and religious places, to holidays, circus games, and scenic plays, and finally to consecrations, private rites, and public rites.

Varro's ordering of his own work proves that pagans regard human things as more ancient and more important than divine things. He wrote first of human things and afterward of divine, because states existed first and instituted the rites afterward, "as the painter is before the painted tablet, the mason before the edifice." Had he been writing concerning the whole nature of the gods, he would have placed divine things first; since he wrote only of Roman religion, not the whole divine nature, he could not give it proper precedence. Yet the argument forces a conclusion: either he wrote of all divine nature (which should precede human things), of some part of it (which should still take precedence over Roman things), or of none of it at all. His placement after human things therefore implies he wrote of no true divine nature but only of the falseness belonging to error. Varro's arrangement was driven not by a desire to exalt human things over divine, but by his unwillingness to prefer false things to true—he followed history in human matters and mere conjecture in so-called divine matters.

Varro distinguishes three kinds of theology—mythical (poetic), physical (philosophical), and civil (popular/priestly)—assigning the mythical to the theatre, the physical to the world, and the civil to the city. Augustine observes that Varro freely condemns the fabulous kind for attributing absurd and base deeds to the gods, confines philosophical disputes about the divine nature to the schools, and yet does not exclude the base fictions from the populace. Augustine presses the difficulty: if natural theology is true, civil theology excludes it without justification; if civil theology is not natural, it has no merit in being admitted. By Varro's own admission, the theatre is part of the city and the state itself instituted scenic performances, so the divine matters of which Varro writes cannot be confined to philosophers.

Augustine addresses Varro directly as an acute and learned man who perceives that divine things must be separated from human trifles yet fears to offend popular superstition. Varro wishes to worship the natural gods but is compelled to worship the civil ones, and his criticisms of the fabulous gods inevitably bespatter the civil gods as well. Augustine argues that neither the fabulous nor the civil theology offers any hope of eternal life: the one sows base fictions about the gods, the other reaps and consecrates them; the one sings of divine crimes, the other loves them. The civil theology is not really separated from the mythical but is a tempered blend drawn from both poets and philosophers. Augustine concludes that worship polluted by base representations cannot yield eternal life, just as wicked human companionship corrupts; how much more the society of demons worshipped through their own alleged crimes.

Augustine demonstrates the congruence between the fabulous and civil theologies, arguing that the latter incorporates rather than excludes the former. Examples abound: bearded Jupiter, beardless Mercury, obscene Priapus, old Saturn, young Apollo, the gendered door-gods Forculus and Limentinus with feminine Cardea—all appear identically in shrines and on stage. Varro's Capitoline rites, including the Epulones feasting as parasites of Jupiter and the wet-nurse of Jupiter in the Capitol, witness that gods were believed to delight in human pleasures. Augustine recounts the tale of the sacristan of Hercules who dices with the god and offers him the harlot Larentina, who later enriches the Roman people and receives divine honours—showing how temple fictions rival theatrical ones in absurdity. Sacred rites of Juno, Ceres, Venus, and the mother of the gods reenact unseemly myths, celebrated by mutilated Galli whom the obscenity of the stage itself would never admit. Augustine concludes that actors have actually shown restraint compared to priests, and that holiness cannot be plausibly transacted through ministers whom even the chorus of harlots would not have tolerated.

Section 8 examines the pagan teachers' claim that obscene mythological rites have physical or natural meanings, and rejects this defense as turning theology into physics. If the mother of the gods is simply the earth, then in true theology the earth is God's work, not His mother. Effeminate rites cannot be justified by any reading of nature, since they are contrary to nature itself. Interpretations such as Saturn's devouring of his children (signifying time consuming what it begets, or seed returning to the earth) belong equally to poetical fictions, which are rightly censured. Varro dared to reject the fabulous theology but not the civil one, exposing their similarity so that thoughtful readers would reject both; yet neither theology, tied as it is either to deified men or to deceiving demons, can bestow eternal life.

Section 9 mocks the absurdly minute division of divine functions. Two nurses for an infant yield two goddesses, Educa and Potina; Liber and Libera preside over the emission of seed; the Bacchanalia, even by Varro's admission, reveal the power of unclean spirits over excited minds. Three guardian gods—Intercidona, Pilumnus, Diverra—must be mustered with hatchet, pestle, and besom to repel Silvanus from a woman in childbirth. The marriage bedchamber swarms with deities: Jugatinus unites the couple, Domiducus brings the bride home, Domitius keeps her in the house, Manturnae keeps her with her husband, while Virginiensis, Subigus, Prema, Pertunda, Venus, and Priapus attend the loss of virginity, the last commanding the bride to sit upon his unsightly member. Varro's full enumeration from conception to the funeral goddess Nænia nowhere names a god from whom eternal life may be sought; civil and theatrical theologies are shown to be one disgraceful whole.

Section 10 observes that Seneca possessed the freedom Varro lacked, condemning civil and urban theology more vehemently than Varro condemned the fabulous. In his book against superstition, Seneca mocked images shaped as men, beasts, fish, or monsters of mixed sex and body; he derided the deification of Cloacina by Tatius, Picus and Tiberinus by Romulus, and Pavor and Pallor by Tullus Hostilius as rivals to the heavens. He censured rites in which men castrated themselves or cut their arms to gain divine favor—cruelties surpassing even those of tyrants, since no tyrant ever commanded a man to mutilate himself. The multitude of such madmen, Seneca observed, became the very defense of their insanity, marking these devotees as lacking reason rather than sanctity.

Ridicule of the Capitol Rites Seneca describes with bold derision the absurdities enacted in the Capitol. After mocking the Egyptian rites of Osiris—where grief and joy are feigned yearly—Seneca portrays a frenzied scene in which attendants whisper divine commands to a god, a lictor officiates, an anointer mimics anointing with mere arm movements, women stand far from Juno's and Minerva's images while moving their fingers as if arranging the goddesses' hair, others hold mirrors or call the gods to assist in legal matters, and even an old, distinguished comedian performs daily mimicry before deities. The text notes that every kind of artificer dwells there in idleness. Seneca further observes that women sit in the Capitol who believe themselves beloved by Jupiter, and are not even frightened by the wrathful Juno of poetic fame, since their folly is protected by custom.

Varro's Timidity Versus Seneca's Boldness Augustine contrasts Varro's restraint with Seneca's boldness. While Varro censured only the poetical theology, he was unwilling to attack the civil theology; Seneca, however, preferred that a wise man outwardly observe these rites as commanded by law while inwardly regarding them with no real esteem. Augustine condemns Seneca for worshipping what he censured and doing what he condemned out of deference to civic custom, arguing that this hypocritical conduct was worse than the open performance of a stage-actor.

Seneca on the Marriage of the Gods Seneca criticizes the civil theology's practice of uniting the gods in marriage, including unnatural unions of brothers and sisters: Bellona is joined to Mars, Venus to Vulcan, and Salacia to Neptune. Some deities are left unmarried, such as Populonia, Fulgora, and the goddess Rumina—goddesses for whom suitors have been lacking. Seneca counsels that this ignoble crowd of gods, amassed by the superstition of ages, should be adored in such a way that worshippers remember the rites belong to custom rather than to reality.

Seneca's Criticism of Jewish Customs Among other civil superstitions, Seneca found fault with Jewish sacred things, especially the sabbaths, arguing that keeping the seventh day was useless and caused a seventh part of life to be lost in idleness, with many urgent matters suffering damage. Though Christians were already hostile to the Jews, Seneca did not dare mention them by name, fearing that praise would conflict with Roman custom and blame would conflict with his own will.

The Spread of Jewish Rites Seneca expresses astonishment that the customs of the Jewish nation, which he calls most accursed, have gained such strength that they have been received in all lands, and the conquered have given laws to the conquerors. Unaware of God's providence, he adds that the Jews know the cause of their rites while the greater part of the people do not know why they perform their own. Augustine notes that the question of why and to what extent Jewish solemnities were divinely instituted, and later withdrawn from the people of God to whom the mystery of eternal life was revealed, has been treated elsewhere—particularly against the Manichaeans—and will be addressed more suitably in this work.

The Three Theologies and Eternal Life Augustine distinguishes three theologies known to the Greeks as mythical, physical, and political (in Latin: fabulous, natural, and civil). Since neither the fabulous, which even polytheists freely censured, nor the civil, which is convicted of being a part of it or even worse, can offer eternal life, anyone seeking fuller treatment should consult the many dissertations concerning God as the giver of felicity contained in the previous books, especially the fourth.

False Gods Cannot Bestow Happiness The gods worshipped in the civil theology, worshiped as they are with such shame and even more shamefully enraged when not so worshipped, are thus confessed to be foul spirits and cannot be the givers of happiness. Since eternal life is defined as endlessly happy life, he who cannot give happiness cannot give eternal life. Augustine defines eternal death as the alienation of the soul, created immortal by nature, from the life of God in an eternity of punishment.

True Felicity as the Gift of God Augustine argues that men should consecrate themselves to the giver of happiness, since happiness is not a goddess but a gift of God. Only He who gives true happiness gives eternal life—an endlessly happy life. Since the gods of the civil theology have been proven unable to bestow this happiness, they ought not to be worshipped even for temporal goods, as shown in the first five books, much less for eternal life after death, as argued especially in this sixth book with the cooperation of the others. Augustine concludes by warning that, because the strength of inveterate habit is deeply rooted, anyone not yet convinced that the civil theology should be rejected is invited to attend to another book to be joined to this one with God's help.

A brief argument stating the book's thesis: that eternal life is not to be found in the worship of the select gods of the civil theology, namely Janus, Jupiter, Saturn, and the other chief deities of the Roman state religion.

A preface in which Augustine addresses readers whose quicker understandings have already been persuaded by earlier books, asking for their patience as he undertakes the more laborious task of rooting out deeply entrenched false opinions. He emphasizes that the true divinity should be sought not for the sake of mortal life but for eternal and blessed life, though it also aids the present frail existence.

Beginning the examination of whether divinity is to be found in the select gods, since the previous book showed it absent from the civil theology at large. Augustine notes that the select gods were chosen from many for greater offices, similar to how in the church or military some are chosen from the elect for higher service, without the rest being rejected. He does not accept Tertullian's witty remark that selecting gods is like selecting onions; rather, the question is what these select gods are and why they were chosen.

Identifying the select gods as listed by Varro: Janus, Jupiter, Saturn, Genius, Mercury, Apollo, Mars, Vulcan, Neptune, Sol, Orcus, father Liber, Tellus, Ceres, Juno, Luna, Diana, Minerva, Venus, and Vesta—twelve male and eight female deities. Augustine observes that these supposedly superior gods perform the same minor functions attributed to the obscure plebeian gods: Janus opens the way for seed, Saturn provides it, Liber and Libera oversee its emission, and Juno presides over the menses alongside the ignoble goddess Mena. Meanwhile, far more important gifts of life and sensation are given by the obscure deities Vitumnus and Sentinus, who are not select.

Arguing that no rational cause can be given for the selection of certain gods, since the so-called select deities are assigned to humble works in which they are exceeded by inferior gods. The obscure Vitumnus and Sentinus bestow life and sensation, which are far more excellent than the seeds and beginnings handled by the select gods. The selection of certain gods over others was therefore not based on the importance of their cosmic offices but on their greater fame, attributable to chance or Fortune. Augustine notes the absurd consequence that Virtus, Felicitas, Pecunia, and even Fortune herself ought by rights to have been placed among the select gods, while the inclusion of Mars and Orcus among them shows that the selection is governed by blind chance rather than merit.

Observing that the inferior, non-select gods have actually been better treated than the select gods, since obscurity has protected them from infamy. Just as a vessel passed through many silversmiths' hands might be finished by a single skilled craftsman, the division of divine functions among many gods is artificial. While almost no obscure deity is associated with notorious crime, scarcely any of the select gods has escaped the brand of infamy. Janus, the most innocent among them, was nonetheless depicted with two or four faces—perhaps, Augustine suggests ironically, because his greater innocence deserved a greater number of faces to match the greater infamy of the other select gods.

Augustine turns to the "more secret doctrine of the pagans," beginning with Varro's physical interpretations, which were designed to make the worship of images appear to be a deeper philosophy. According to Varro, the ancients invented images, badges, and adornments for the gods so that initiates into the mysteries might, with their bodily eyes, see representations that would lead their minds to behold the soul of the world and its parts—the true gods. The human form was chosen because the rational soul, residing in a human body, is likened to the immortal mind, just as a vessel represents what it contains. Augustine marvels that so learned a man could lose his native prudence amid such mysteries and notes that Varro himself admitted the ancient Romans worshipped the gods more chastely without images. Augustine concludes that no soul can reach the true God through these mysteries, because the true God is not the soul of all things but the maker of every soul. He promises to examine these physical interpretations in detail in the following sections.

Varro, speaking by anticipation in his work on the select gods, states his opinion that God is the soul of the world (which the Greeks call κόσμος), and that the world itself is God; as a wise man is called wise on account of his mind, so the world is called God on account of its mind, though it consists of both mind and body. The world is divided into two parts—heaven and earth—each again divided in two: heaven into ether and air, earth into water and land. All four parts are full of souls; those in the ether and air are immortal (the stars, planets, Heroes, Lares, and Genii), while those in the water and on the earth are mortal. Augustine acknowledges that this natural theology has extended as far as the soul but has not reached the true God who made the soul, and he resolves to investigate later whether Varro has been able to reconcile his civil and natural theologies.

Augustine raises the question of why the pagans separated Janus and Terminus as two distinct deities, attributing to Janus the beginnings of things and to Terminus their ends. Two months—January and February—are dedicated to them in addition to the ten from March to December, and the Terminalia are celebrated in February. Since all things that begin in the world also end in the world, Augustine considers it foolish to give Janus only half a role, especially when his image bears two faces. A more elegant interpretation would be that Janus and Terminus are the same god, with one face turned toward beginnings and the other toward ends, since whoever works must look both backward and forward. He further argues that if the blessed life is begun in this world but perfected beyond it, then Terminus, not Janus, ought to receive greater honour; and that even now, since endings bring more joy than beginnings, Terminus deserves the greater consideration.

The pagans explain the two-faced image of Janus by likening the world to the human mouth, noting that the Greeks call the palate οὐρανός (heaven) and that some Latin poets call the heavens palatum; from the gaping mouth, they say, there is an exit through the teeth and an entrance through the gullet. Augustine ridicules this interpretation, observing that it would make Janus worthy of worship only on account of saliva, and that it is absurd to seek in the throat and gullet what cannot be found in the world itself. When the pagans make Janus four-faced (calling him "double Janus"), they say this refers to the four quarters of the world—but this contradicts the two-faced image, since the world is not properly called "double" when north and south are added to east and west. They cannot find four doorways in the world analogous to the two they found in the human mouth, unless perhaps they borrow a fish from Neptune with its gill openings. Augustine concludes that only the soul that hears Christ saying "I am the door" escapes this vanity.

Turning to Jupiter, Augustine notes that the pagans identify him as the god who holds the power of the causes by which anything comes to be in the world, citing Virgil's praise of those who have learned the causes of things. Varro explains that Janus rules over first things and Jupiter over highest things, with highest things excelling in dignity though first things precede in time. Augustine, however, observes that beginnings and endings are both temporal parts of what is done or made, whereas the causes attributed to Jupiter are efficient causes, which always precede in time anything that is made or done; therefore the efficient causes cannot be prevented by the beginnings of things. He condemns as shocking sacrilege the worship of a Jupiter described as both ruling the world through highest causes and yet indulging in adultery and inflicting thunderbolts, having in his power the nature of all things but not having his own causes good. If Janus is the world (and thus God by virtue of its soul), it is unclear how Jupiter, who is also the world, can be a separate god within the same definition.

Since Janus is the world and Jupiter is also the world, Augustine asks why they are worshipped as two distinct gods with separate temples, altars, rites, and images. If the distinction rests on the difference between beginnings and causes, he argues, then by the same logic a single man holding two offices or arts should be counted as two persons. Furthermore, if a single god may be split into many because of different powers, then Jupiter should be multiplied into as many gods as he has surnames, each corresponding to a different power attributed to him. Augustine promises to enumerate some of these surnames and their diverse applications in the passages that follow, pressing his argument that the pagan system of gods lacks any proper or coherent basis for distinction.

Augustine surveys the many surnames of Jupiter—Victor, Invictus, Opitulus, Impulsor, Stator, Centumpeda, Supinalis, Tigillus, Almus, and Ruminus—and argues that these names were applied to one god on account of diverse powers and causes, not to many gods. He highlights the absurdity that so vast a range of functions, from holding together the world to giving the pap to nursing animals, is attributed to a single deity. Augustine further notes, citing Valerius Soranus, that Jupiter is called both "progenitor" and "mother," implying that Juno herself is nothing other than Jupiter.

Augustine critiques the pagan explanation that Jupiter is called Pecunia (Money) because all things belong to him, calling this a mean and contumelious name for the king of the gods. He distinguishes true riches from money, noting that the wise may be rich without money while the greedy remain inwardly poor despite great wealth. He observes that avarice invented this name so that lovers of money might imagine themselves devoted to the supreme god, and argues that a wholesome philosophy would have called this god Wisdom rather than Money.

Augustine argues that when the nature of Saturn and Genius is properly expounded, both are shown to be Jupiter. Saturn, said to have dominion over all sowings, is identified with Jupiter as the world that emits and receives all seeds. Genius, the god of begetting, is likewise identified with Jupiter through Valerius Soranus's verses calling him "progenitor and mother." Augustine concludes that the soul of the world is the universal genius and is therefore Jupiter, leaving the doctrine of many gods as an empty opinion.

Augustine examines the offices of Mercury and Mars, noting that pagan theologians could not refer them to parts of the world and so assigned them to human activities—speech and war. If speech itself is Mercury, then Mercury is not a god; and the same logic applies to Mars, since war, a work of men, cannot be divine. Augustine suggests that if Felicitas brought perpetual peace, Mars would have nothing to do, and he wishes it were as true that war is not a god as it is true that there need be no war at all.

Augustine turns to the stars named after the gods—Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, and Venus—and finds further absurdities. Jupiter, who is said to be the king of all and the whole world, has a star surpassed in brilliancy by that of Venus; Saturn is placed higher in the heavens than Jupiter despite his lower mythological status; and Janus, also identified with the world, receives no star at all. Augustine also notes the strange omission of the zodiacal signs—Aries, Taurus, Cancer, Scorpio, and the rest—from the ranks of gods, despite their importance among the heavenly bodies.

Augustine catalogs how the select gods are identified with parts of the world: Apollo with the sun, Diana with the moon and guardian of roads (and a virgin because roads bear no fruit), Vulcan with the world's fire, Neptune with its waters, Dis with its lowest earthly part, Liber and Ceres with male and female seeds (or fluid and dry parts of seed), Ceres also with the Great Mother and Juno, Minerva with the highest æther or the moon, and Vesta with the earth and milder domestic fire. All these are ultimately referred back to Jupiter as the whole world. Augustine observes that the pagans both make one god many things and one thing many gods, producing endless confusion rather than coherent theology.

Augustine observes that the pagan theologians do not explain but rather involve and confuse the nature of the gods, shifting restlessly under the impulse of erratic opinion. Even Varro, he notes, preferred doubt to affirmation: in his book on the uncertain gods, Varro confessed he could more easily doubt what he had written in his book on the certain gods, and in his book on the select gods he declared he would state what he thought, not what he was prepared to maintain, since it is for man to think such things and for God to know them.

This section proposes a far more credible origin for pagan religious error: the gods were originally mortal men whose distinct talents, deeds, and life circumstances led communities to create sacred rites in their honor, which spread widely over time, embellished with falsehoods by poets and promoted by deceitful spirits. It dismisses Varro's natural interpretation of the Saturn-Jupiter overthrow myth as logically incoherent: if Jupiter represents cause and Saturn represents seed, cause must always precede seed, so Saturn could not be Jupiter's father. It also notes that even the most perceptive scholars are left confused and frustrated when trying to assign rational natural meaning to nonsensical fables and ordinary human actions.

This section dissects and critiques Varro's rationalized interpretations of Saturn worship, highlighting their internal contradictions and absurdity. Varro claims Saturn devouring his children symbolizes seeds returning to the earth from which they grew, and the myth of a lump of earth being offered to Saturn in place of Jupiter refers to early humans burying seeds in soil before the invention of plowing; the text points out these interpretations are logically inconsistent, and that Saturn's associated pruning knife (linked to agriculture) is anachronistic, as agriculture did not exist in Saturn's mythical reign. It also notes Varro's justification for human sacrifices to Saturn (practiced by Carthaginians and Gauls) as honoring the finest of all seeds, and critiques the contradictory interpretation of Saturn castrating his father Cœlus (the heavens, also called Jupiter) as signifying divine seed belongs to Saturn, not the heavens, while Saturn is simultaneously said to be Cœlus's son. It adds that Varro claims Saturn's Greek name Κρόνος references time, as seed cannot be productive without time, and observes that no single deity is deemed sufficient to govern seeds, leading to the addition of other gods like Liber and Libera for the same function.

This section covers the famous Eleusinian rites of Ceres, highly revered by the Athenians. Varro interprets the rites as tied to two core myths: Ceres's discovery of corn, and the abduction of her daughter Proserpine (who represents the fecundity of seeds) by Orcus, ruler of the underworld. The myth explains the seasonal agricultural cycle: Proserpine's abduction causes the earth to become sterile and mournful in winter, while her return from the underworld brings renewed fertility and joy in spring, forming the basis of the public celebrations and mourning central to the rites. Varro notes many other elements of the mysteries also relate directly to the discovery and cyclical growth of agricultural crops.

This section details the obscene, shameful rites dedicated to Liber, the god associated with both liquid fruit seeds (such as wine) and animal reproductive seeds. Varro describes how in Italy, Liber's worship at crossroads involved parading the male generative organ on a cart through rural crossroads and then into the city as a sacred object. In the town of Lavinium, a full month of unbridled debauchery was dedicated to Liber, culminating in the organ being carried through the forum, where the most prominent local matron was forced to place a wreath on it in front of the entire public. The text condemns these rites as driven by a depraved desire to multiply deities and engage in unclean worship, abandoned by the one true God to be defiled by false demons, with these sacrilegious acts falsely framed as sacred observances intended to protect seeds and drive enchantment from fields.

This section critiques the absurd, unnecessary duplication of sea goddesses in Neptune's worship. Varro claims Salacia represents the receding wave of the sea, while Venilia represents the wave that reaches the shore, but the text notes this is a meaningless distinction: the same wave both arrives and retreats, so two separate goddesses are entirely unnecessary, a reflection of the depraved human soul's desire to multiply the number of demons it worships. It also highlights the internal inconsistency of Varro's theological framework: if Neptune is defined as the part of the world soul that pervades the sea, a single wave cannot be two separate parts of the world or world soul, giving the two goddesses no rational justification. It further questions why Salacia, supposedly Neptune's subordinate wife, is assigned the surface receding wave rather than the nether sea waters as originally claimed.

This section addresses Varro's claim that the earth is a goddess (Tellus) because the divine world soul, which Varro holds as the true god, pervades the earth. It lays out Varro's three-tiered model of the world soul: the lowest tier (lifeless but vital, equivalent to bones and nails) pervades plants, earth, and stone; the second tier (capable of sensation) pervades the sensory organs of the world and celestial bodies like the sun, moon, and stars; the highest tier (mind and intelligence, present only in humans) is the ether, which imbues the stars with divinity and pervades the earth to make it the goddess Tellus, and the sea to make it the god Neptune. The text critiques the absurdity of this framework: if the earth is a goddess because the world soul pervades it, then humans (who possess souls) should be considered gods, but they are not, and are instead deludedly subjected to worship of lesser, non-divine beings. It also points out contradictions in Varro's system: if the entire earth is made divine by the pervading world soul as the single goddess Tellus, there is no logical place for the separate gods Orcus (Dis, ruler of the underworld) and Proserpine (goddess of the lower earth), yet they are worshipped as distinct deities with their own separate rites, altars, and priests. It further questions the worship of four agricultural earth deities: Tellus (the feminine principle of the earth that receives seed), Tellumo (the masculine principle that produces seed), Altor (who nourishes growing things), and Rusor (to whom all things return), noting there is no clear distinction between their roles, making their separate worship an arbitrary multiplication of gods.

This section explores the surnames and associated significations attributed to the earth goddess Tellus, arguing that while the many surnames reflect the single goddess's manifold virtues, they do not justify the belief that each name corresponds to a separate, distinct goddess. It critiques Varro's contradictory position: he first claims Tellus is one goddess with many names, then immediately asserts this view does not conflict with the traditional belief in many goddesses, and rejects the false conflation of multiple names for a single deity with multiple distinct deities. It further notes that all symbolic elements of Tellus's worship (including the tympanum, towers, Galli priests, cymbals, and lion imagery) are tied to agricultural practices and mortal seed, and hold no promise of eternal life.

This section addresses and refutes the Greek sages' interpretation of the mutilation of Atys, a figure linked to worship of the Great Mother. It recounts philosopher Porphyry's claim that Atys symbolizes spring flowers, which fall before fruit ripens, justifying his castration as a representation of this natural cycle, but dismisses this reasoning as incoherent: the interpretation applies only to Atys's genitals rather than the figure himself, and the castration produced sterility rather than the fruit the symbol is supposed to represent. It also notes that Varro omitted any mention of Atys or an interpretation of his mutilation, even as the castration of the Galli priests is tied to Great Mother worship.

This section condemns the abhorrent sacred rites associated with worship of the Great Mother, focusing on the consecration of effeminate, mutilated Galli priests to her service. It describes the public, degrading displays of these consecrated individuals in Carthage, and argues that no reasonable justification exists for these practices, which require cruel self-mutilation and the degradation of human modesty. It compares the Great Mother's abominations to the misdeeds of other Roman gods, concluding that her worship demands the emasculation of men, a cruelty exceeding even the violent acts attributed to other deities, and that these rites are the work of malicious demons rather than legitimate divine figures.

This section critiques the figments of the physical theologists, who frame pagan deities as symbolic representations of natural elements or cosmic principles rather than deified humans or demons. It argues that even if pagan worship were framed as symbolic of natural concepts, it would still be unacceptable for failing to worship the true Creator God, and that the physical theologists' justifications only address temporal, corporeal, and mutable things, not the eternal true God. It further states that worship of any created thing (even a pure one) with rites reserved for the true God is impious, while worship of a created thing with foul, obscene rites is a double sin: both treating a non-divine entity as God, and using degrading, inappropriate rites in worship. It concludes that pagan rites are designed to attract wicked demons to idolatrous images, allowing them to possess and deceive foolish people.

This section exposes the internal inconsistencies in Varro's theological system, in which he attempts to tie all pagan gods to the principles of heaven (masculine, active) and earth (feminine, passive). It highlights contradictions in Varro's assignments: he first places Minerva (a goddess) above heaven as a symbol of Platonic ideas, then later assigns her to earth as a female deity, while male gods like Neptune (god of the sea, tied to earth) and Pluto (god of the underworld, also tied to earth) are assigned to earth rather than heaven. It also notes the absurdity of calling Janus the head of the gods and Tellus the head of the goddesses, given that Janus's deformity is limited to his images while the Great Mother's worship involves actual cruelty and the mutilation of people. It concludes that Varro's attempts to tie pagan deities to the natural world fail, and these figures are better identified as deified wicked humans or malicious demons.

Augustine contends that everything the physical theologians referred to the world and its parts through so-called physical interpretation should instead be ascribed to the true God who made heaven and earth, created every soul and body, and gives life in its various forms—whether without sensation, with sensation, or with both sensation and reason. Worship is due not to heaven and earth or to souls diffused through living things, but to their Maker.

Piety requires distinguishing the one true God from His works. Augustine enumerates the divine attributes that the physical theologians distributed among many false gods: God appoints the beginnings and ends of created natures, governs causes, creates the virtue of seeds, bestows rational souls, gives speech, grants the faculty of foretelling the future, regulates wars, governs fire, water, sun, moon, and the nether world, provides nourishment, governs the earth, orders the arts, institutes marriage, and grants the gift of fire. Unlike the false gods confined to particular spheres, the true God is wholly everywhere, included in no space, mutable in no part, and fills heaven and earth with omnipresent power without need.

Beyond the general benefits God lavishes on good and bad alike, He grants His followers a unique manifestation of great love: though laden with sins and averse to His light, He sent His only-begotten Word to assume flesh, suffer, and die as the unique sacrifice for the purification of all sins. By the outpouring of love through His Spirit, believers may surmount all difficulties and enter eternal rest and the ineffable sweetness of contemplating God—a gift for which no heart or tongue can render sufficient thanks.

The mystery of eternal life in Christ was announced from the beginning of the human race through signs and sacraments suited to the times. The Hebrew people were congregated into a single republic to perform and foretell this mystery through prophets who sometimes understood and sometimes did not understand their words. Later, that nation was dispersed among the nations as a witness to the scriptures. Not only the prophecies and moral precepts but also the rites, priesthood, tabernacle, temple, altars, sacrifices, and ceremonies of the Hebrew service—all signified and fore-announced what believers now see fulfilled, in process of fulfilment, or confidently expected.

Only the true Christian religion has been able to manifest that the gods of the nations are most impure demons, who falsely claim divinity under the names of deceased souls or the appearances of mundane creatures and rejoice in infamous honors. They envy human souls their conversion to the true God, from whose cruel dominion man is liberated by believing on Christ, who provided an example of humility by which fallen human pride may be overcome. Varro's attempts to refer the infamous rites of the select gods to natural reasons only prove that such rites have no rational foundation and that the demons, not natural causes, are their true origin.

Augustine cites Varro's account of how the books of Numa Pompilius, containing the causes of sacred rites, were unearthed by a ploughman on the Janiculum and brought to the praetor. The senate, though reluctant to condemn ancestral religion, judged the contents so unworthy that they ordered the books burned rather than reburied, since reburial would only inflame curiosity. Augustine concludes that the causes of those rites, instituted by Numa himself, were unfit for any knowledge—whether by people, senate, or priests—and that Numa hid them through illicit curiosity with demons, daring neither to teach nor to destroy what he had learned.

Numa, receiving no prophet or holy angel from God, resorted to hydromancy—a form of divination introduced from Persia and later used by Pythagoras—in order to see images of the gods in water and learn what sacred rites to ordain. Augustine argues that Varro's fanciful physical interpretations could not have been contained in Numa's burned books, otherwise the senate would have burned Varro's own works as well. Numa's marriage to the nymph Egeria was a fanciful explanation of his carrying water for hydromancy. The demons, though powerful enough to deceive Numa, could neither prevent the plough from exposing his books nor stay the pen of Varro from recording the event, demonstrating that they act only as permitted by the hidden providence of the true God.

This section assembles etymological observations on a variety of Latin words, including _vicus argentarius_ (the silver-workers' street), _quadrifrons_ (four-fronted), _frons_ (forehead, used figuratively for "face" or shamelessness), _tigillus_ (a rafter or small beam), _ruma_ (an archaic or dialectal form), _egesserit_ (a perfect subjunctive form meaning "has carried out"), _cœlo_ and _cœlum_ (related to "heaven" or "sky"), and _summa_ (noting that the term also encompasses the meaning "last"). The annotations trace how individual words acquired extended or metaphorical senses and how variant spellings reflect older or regional forms.

Citations from classical Roman literature are gathered here, particularly from Virgil and Cicero. Virgil is quoted from the _Æneid_ (viii. 357–358 and viii. 319–320) and from the _Eclogues_ (iii. 60, where he in turn borrows from the _Phænomena_ of Aratus), as well as the _Georgics_ (ii. 470). Cicero is cited from the _Tusculanæ Quæstiones_ (v. 13) and _De Natura Deorum_ (ii. 18), the latter quoting Ennius. A notable Ciceronian passage, "Quanto iste innocentior esset, tanto frontosior appareret," is explained as illustrating how _frons_ came to connote shamelessness rather than mere innocence, paralleling the English use of "face" for impudence.

This section addresses the Roman calendar and the reforms attributed to King Numa. An account of Numa's changes to the Roman year is drawn from Plutarch's _Life of Numa_, while Ovid's _Fasti_ (book ii) is cited for the etymology of February, noting that it was the last month of the old year and took its name from the lustrations performed at that season: "Februa Romani dixere piamina patres." The section thereby links linguistic derivation to religious and institutional history.

Latin terms relating to Roman topography and physical settings are collected under this heading, including _vicus argentarius_ (a street associated with silversmiths and bankers), _quadrifrons_ (a four-way arch or intersection), and _tigillus_ (a structural element of buildings). These terms illustrate how place names and architectural features encoded civic functions and commercial activity in the Roman cityscape.

This section gathers terms connected to religion, philosophy, and cosmology. Key entries include _mundus_ (with its derivative _immundum_, meaning "unclean"), discussed in the context of Varro's _De Lingua Latina_ (v. 68); _nuncius_ and _enunciantur_, relating to announcement and declaration; _cœlo_ and _cœlum_, signifying the heavens; and references to the nourishing and returning functions attributed to deities or cosmic principles. The section also engages with Plutarch's _Numa_, Livy (xl. 29), and Lactantius (_Institutiones_ i. 6) on matters of ritual purity and cosmological order.

Economic and property-related Latin terminology is treated here, centered on the word _pecunia_. The annotation explains that _pecunia_ originally denoted property in cattle before extending to mean wealth or property of any kind, with a cross-reference to Augustine's _De Disciplina Christianorum_ (6). Sallust's _Catilina_ (chapters 8 and 11) is also cited in connection with these economic concepts, situating the linguistic discussion within broader Roman social history.

This section addresses Greek loanwords and concepts appearing in Latin texts. The Greek word Χρόνος (_Chronos_, meaning "Time") is explicitly identified, and references to the _Timæus_ of Plato suggest the transmission of Greek philosophical vocabulary into Latin discourse. Aratus's _Phænomena_, cited via Virgil, exemplifies how Greek astronomical and cosmological poetry entered the Roman literary tradition.

A range of Roman literary and scholarly sources is enumerated here, including Varro's _De Lingua Latina_ (v. 68) for linguistic analysis, the _De Ratione Naturali Deorum_ (cited anonymously for a definition of "nourisher"), and the works of Soranus (a medical writer active around 100 B.C., referenced via Smith's _Dictionary_). These sources collectively represent the encyclopedic and antiquarian traditions through which Roman knowledge of language, medicine, and religion was preserved.

This section addresses deities, sacred names, and cosmological concepts, including _mundus_ in both its cosmic sense ("world" or "ordered universe") and its derivative _immundum_ ("unclean, disordered"), as well as the paired concepts of the "nourisher" and the "returner" — labels applied to divine or cosmic functions. Biblical reference to John x. 9 ("I am the door") is included alongside classical material, illustrating how sacred and cosmological terminology crosses between pagan and Christian traditions. The interplay of deity, ritual purity, and cosmic order is a unifying theme.

Augustine explains that the present question demands far greater intensity of thought than previous books, since it concerns natural theology and must be discussed with philosophers rather than ordinary men. Unlike the fabulous (theatrical) and civil (urban) theologies, natural theology concerns those who acknowledge a divine nature concerned with human affairs yet deny that worship of the one unchangeable God suffices for obtaining blessed life after death. Augustine selects from among such philosophers those with whom it is worthwhile to engage. He notes that the Platonists approach nearer to the truth than Varro, since they acknowledge God as existing above all soul, as Creator of the visible world and every soul, and as the one who gives blessedness to the rational soul through participation in His own unchangeable and incorporeal light. Philosophy itself, the love of wisdom, points to God if wisdom is understood as God who made all things.

The chapter surveys the two principal Greek schools of philosophy: the Italic school, originating in Magna Græcia and founded by Pythagoras of Samos, who reportedly coined the term "philosophy" out of modesty; and the Ionic school, founded by Thales of Miletus, one of the seven sages, who predicted eclipses through astronomical calculation and held water to be the first principle of things. Augustine traces the succession: Thales was followed by Anaximander, who posited infinite principles generating innumerable worlds; then Anaximenes, who attributed all causes to infinite air and held that gods sprang from the air; then Anaxagoras, who perceived a divine mind as the productive cause of all things; and Diogenes, who posited air possessed of divine reason. Archelaus, the disciple of Anaxagoras, taught that all things consist of homogeneous particles pervaded by a divine mind—a teacher under whom Socrates is said to have studied.

Augustine turns to Socrates, who is said to have been the first to direct philosophy toward the correction and regulation of manners rather than the investigation of physical phenomena. Augustine considers whether Socrates did this from weariness of obscure matters, wishing to find something manifest and certain for obtaining blessed life, or from a belief that minds defiled with earthly desires could not raise themselves to divine things. Socrates believed that the causes of things could only be comprehended by a purified mind, requiring diligence in moral purification. Augustine describes Socrates's pleasant and insinuating style in exposing the foolishness of the ignorant, and his eventual condemnation and death at Athens, after which the city publicly bewailed him and punished his accusers. Socrates left many disciples who vied with one another in handling questions about the chief good. Because Socrates's disputations often raised and then demolished positions without clearly stating his own view, his followers diverged widely: Aristippus placed the chief good in pleasure, while Antisthenes placed it in virtue.

Among the disciples of Socrates, Plato shone with a glory far excelling the others. Born an Athenian of honourable parentage and richly endowed by nature, Plato judged the Socratic discipline insufficient for perfecting philosophy and traveled widely, learning from the Egyptians and from the Pythagoreans in Italy. He made Socrates the speaker in all his dialogues, blending moral disputation with the grace of the Socratic style. Augustine notes that Socrates excelled in the active part of wisdom, Pythagoras in the contemplative part, while Plato is praised for combining both into one. Plato divides philosophy into three parts: the moral (concerned with action), the natural (concerned with contemplation), and the rational (discriminating between true and false). Augustine remarks that it is difficult to discover Plato's own opinions clearly, since Plato used the Socratic method of dissimulation. Nevertheless, he notes that those who most closely followed Plato may entertain an idea of God in whom are found the cause of existence, the ultimate reason for understanding, and the end for regulating the whole life—corresponding to the natural, rational, and moral parts of philosophy respectively.

Augustine argues that disputations on matters of theology must be carried on especially with the Platonists, since their opinions are preferable to those of all other philosophers. The Platonists are praised as having most closely followed Plato, who is justly preferred to all other Gentile philosophers, and as having manifested the greatest acuteness in understanding him. Augustine indicates that these thinkers, favorable in many respects to the true religion, will be the most suitable partners for the theological inquiry at hand, as the discussion of natural theology continues.

Plato defined the wise man as one who imitates, knows, and loves the supreme God, and who is rendered blessed through fellowship with Him in His own blessedness. From this definition Augustine concludes that no philosophers come nearer to the Christian position than the Platonists, and so all other schools may be set aside.

Both the fabulous theology, which delights the mind with the crimes of the gods, and the civil theology, in which impure demons under the name of gods seduce earthly peoples into obscene rites mixing the temple with the theatre, must yield to the Platonic philosophers. The Platonists have recognised the true God as the author of all things, the source of the light of truth, and the bountiful bestower of all blessedness.

The interpretations of Varro must likewise give place to the Platonists. Although Varro explains the sacred rites as referring to heaven and earth and to the seeds and operations of perishable things, those rites do not in fact carry the meaning he assigns them; and even if they did, the rational soul ought not to worship as god things placed below it in the order of nature, nor prefer such things to itself.

Similar in rank to Varro's interpretations are the writings of the sacred rites which Numa Pompilius concealed by having them buried with himself, and which, when later turned up by the plough, were burned by order of the senate. To these Augustine joins the letter which Alexander of Macedon sent to his mother as communicated by Leo, an Egyptian high priest. That letter revealed not only deified mortals like Picus, Faunus, Aeneas, Romulus, Hercules, Aesculapius, Liber, and the Tyndarids, but even the principal gods—Jupiter, Juno, Saturn, Vulcan, Vesta, and others whom Varro tried to identify with parts of the world—as having been men. Like the priest who begged Alexander to burn the letter, Numa too feared to have revealed a mystery.

Under the name of gods, impure demons of civil theology have seduced the peoples of the earth given up to earthly pleasures, desiring to be honoured by human error. By filling the minds of their worshippers with impure desires, they have made the representation of their crimes part of the rites of worship, finding in spectators a pleasing spectacle. Whatever was honourable in the temple was defiled by mixture with the obscenity of the theatre, and whatever was base in the theatre was vindicated by the abominations of the temples.

The philosophers whose minds were enslaved to their bodies must also yield to the Platonists. These include Thales, who held water as the first principle; Anaximenes, who held air; the Stoics, who held fire; and Epicurus, who held atoms or minute corpuscles. Whether they believed that living things could spring from lifeless things, or that all things, living or lifeless, spring from a living but material principle, they all supposed bodies, simple or compound, animate or inanimate, to be the cause and principle of all things. They were able to suppose only what their sense-bound hearts vainly suggested.

Even materialist philosophers possess within themselves something they cannot see: they inwardly represent to themselves things they have seen without, even when merely thinking of them. Such representation in thought is no longer a body, but only the similitude of a body, and the faculty by which this similitude is seen is neither a body nor its similitude. The faculty judging whether the representation is beautiful or ugly is superior to the object judged of. This faculty is the understanding of man, the rational soul, which is itself not a body, since it beholds and judges of a similitude that is not a body. The soul is therefore none of the four elements—earth, water, air, or fire—of which the visible world is composed.

If the rational soul is not a body, then God, its Creator, cannot be a body either. All philosophers who have identified God with any bodily element or with the material world, as well as those who have made the soul consubstantial with God, must give place to the Platonists. God is wholly incorporeal and unchangeable, the maker of all things.

Some philosophers, ashamed to say that God is a body, have nevertheless thought that our souls are of the same nature as God. They have not been staggered by the great changeableness of the soul—an attribute impious to ascribe to the divine nature—but say that it is the body which changes the soul, the soul being in itself unchangeable. Augustine answers that as well might one say that flesh is wounded by some body because in itself it is invulnerable: that which is unchangeable can be changed by nothing, so that what can be changed by the body cannot properly be called immutable.

The Platonists, justly exalted above the rest, have seen that no material body is God and have therefore transcended all bodies in seeking Him. They have seen that whatever is changeable is not the most high God and have therefore transcended every soul and every changeable spirit in seeking the supreme. They have seen that in every changeable thing the form which makes it what it is can only be through Him who truly is, because He is unchangeable.

Whether one considers the whole body of the world with its figure, qualities, and orderly movement, and all bodies in it, or all life—whether that which nourishes and maintains like the life of trees, or that which also has sensation like the life of beasts, or that which adds intelligence like the life of man, or that which needs no nutriment but only maintains, feels, and understands like the life of angels—all can only be through Him who absolutely is. To Him to be, to live, to understand, and to be blessed are one and the same, not distinct attributes.

The Platonists have understood that all things must have been made by God and that He could have been made by none. Considering that whatever is is either body or life, and that life is better than body, and that the nature of body is sensible while the nature of life is intelligible, they have preferred the intelligible to the sensible. Sensible things are those perceived by the sight and touch of the body; intelligible things are those understood by the sight of the mind.

There is no corporeal beauty, whether in the condition of a body as figure or in its movement as in music, of which it is not the mind that judges. This could never have been had there not existed in the mind itself a superior form of these things, without bulk, without noise, without space and time. Since body and mind may be more or less beautiful, and would have no existence without form, there must be some existence in which is the first form, unchangeable and admitting no degrees, and this is rightly believed to be the first principle of things, un-made and by which all things were made.

In logic, or rational philosophy, the Platonists far surpass the Epicureans and Stoics, who attributed to the bodily senses the faculty of discriminating truth and thought all learning is to be measured by their untrustworthy rules. The Stoics in particular ascribed to the senses the dialectical expertness they loved, asserting that from the senses the mind conceives the notions which they explicate by definition. The Platonists, by contrast, distinguished things conceived by the mind from things perceived by the senses, neither taking from the senses what is competent to them nor attributing to them what is beyond them.

Augustine marvels at those who say none are beautiful but the wise, for by what bodily sense have they perceived that beauty, and by what eyes of the flesh have they seen wisdom's comeliness of form? The Platonists rightly judged that bodily sense cannot judge wisdom's beauty, since the mind is the proper judge of intelligible things.

The Platonists affirmed that the light of our understandings, by which all things are learned by us, is that selfsame God by whom all things were made. Thus God is not only the author of being but the source of truth and the illumination by which the mind knows.

The remaining part of philosophy is morals, or ethics, in which is discussed the chief good—that which leaves us nothing further to seek in order to be blessed, if we refer all our actions to it and seek it for its own sake. This beatific good has been placed by different philosophers in the body, in the mind, or in both together, and some have added a third kind of extrinsic goods such as honour, glory, and wealth, which are sought not for themselves but for the sake of something else.

Whether the chief good has been sought from the body, from the mind, or from both, philosophers have always sought it only from man, giving rise to many dissenting sects. All these must give place to those philosophers who have not affirmed that man is blessed by the enjoyment of the body or the mind, but by the enjoyment of God—not as the mind enjoys the body or itself, nor as one friend enjoys another, but as the eye enjoys light.

Plato determined the final good to be to live according to virtue, and affirmed that only he who knows and imitates God can attain to virtue. Knowledge and imitation of God are the only cause of blessedness. To philosophize, therefore, is to love God, whose nature is incorporeal, and the philosopher becomes blessed when he begins to enjoy God. No one is blessed who does not enjoy what he loves, and he who loves the true and highest good, which is God, is blessed in His enjoyment.

Whatever philosophers have taught that God is both the maker of all created things, the light by which things are known, and the good in reference to which things are to be done, and that in Him we have the first principle of nature, the truth of doctrine, and the happiness of life—whether they are called Platonists, Pythagoreans, or wise men among the Atlantics, Libyans, Egyptians, Indians, Persians, Chaldeans, Scythians, Gauls, Spaniards, or other nations—Augustine prefers them to all other philosophers and confesses that they approach nearest to the Christian faith.

The Christian religion surpasses all the science of philosophers. Although the Platonists have come nearest to the truth concerning God as creator, light, and supreme good, the fullness of truth and the way of salvation belong to the revelation given in Christ, which transcends even the highest achievements of natural philosophical reason.

Section 11 examines the striking parallels between Plato's thought and Christian revelation, asking how the philosopher could have approached Christian knowledge so closely. Augustine first entertains the view that Plato met the prophet Jeremiah in Egypt or read the Hebrew scriptures, but chronology refutes this: Plato was born roughly a century after Jeremiah prophesied and lived eighty-one years, while the Hebrew scriptures were not translated into Greek until the time of Ptolemy. Augustine therefore suggests Plato may have learned their contents through conversation with Jewish or Egyptian informants. To support this, he compares Genesis 1 with Plato's Timaeus, noting the parallel between the opening "In the beginning God made the heaven and earth" and Plato's union of earth and fire, and between "the Spirit of God moved over the waters" and Plato's two intermediary elements. The most decisive parallel, Augustine argues, is the divine name revealed to Moses—"I am who am"—which expresses the unchangeable being of God in a way that matches Plato's conviction that true being belongs only to what is immutable, while mutable created things only "are" in a derivative sense. Augustine leaves open whether Plato drew these insights from prior writers, from the apostle Paul's declaration that God has manifested Himself through creation, or from direct acquaintance with Hebrew tradition.

Section 12 addresses the paradox that despite the Platonists' true and exalted teaching about the one God who made heaven and earth, they nevertheless held that sacred rites must be performed to many gods. Augustine explains his choice to engage the Platonists specifically: their superior view of God has earned them lasting renown, and although Aristotle founded the Peripatetics during his master's lifetime and Speusippus and Xenocrates led the Academy after Plato's death, the later followers of Plato, including Plotinus, Iamblichus, and Porphyry among the Greeks and Apuleius among Africans, preferred the name "Platonists" and eclipsed the rival schools in fame. Yet all of these, Plato included, maintained that worship must be offered to many gods. Augustine will press this point against them: if all gods are good, then rites are owed only to good gods, and there is no need to appease evil deities; but the mythological rites the Platonists inherited involve gods who behave badly, contradicting the very goodness they attribute to the divine.

Section 13 presses Plato's own definition of the gods as entirely good and as friends of virtue, exposing the contradiction this creates with the traditional sacred rites. Augustine asks to whom sacred rites should be offered—to the good, the bad, or both—and affirms that Plato held all gods to be good, so that rites are properly given only to good beings. This demolishes the common pagan practice of propitiating wicked gods through sacrifice while seeking the help of good ones. Augustine then turns to the scandal of scenic plays: these are demanded by gods who enjoy indecent spectacles, even though Plato himself held that poets who composed disgraceful songs about the gods ought to be banished from a well-ordered state. The gods thus contend against Plato by commanding the very theatrical crimes Plato wished to silence. Augustine illustrates this with the story of Titus Latinius, who was punished by the gods with his son's illness for refusing to stage the inaugural games and was only relieved after he complied. Plato, Augustine insists, did not fear such deities and would purge the state of these sacrilegious poetical fictions, recognizing that the gods who delight in such displays are themselves impure.

Labeo proposed that bad deities are to be propitiated with bloody sacrifices and fasts, while good deities are to be honored with theatrical plays and joyful celebrations. Augustine raises a problem: Plato, the demi-god, dared to take away these very pleasures not merely from demi-gods but from the good gods themselves. The gods themselves, as shown in the case of Latinius, demonstrated that they could be wanton, sportive, cruel, and terrible—contradicting Labeo's neat division. The Platonists must therefore explain how all the gods can be considered good, honorable, and friendly to virtue when the gods themselves exhibit such contrary characteristics.

The Platonists propose a threefold division of rational beings: gods occupy the highest region (heaven), men the lowest (earth), and demons the middle region (air). The gods are the best, men the lowest, and demons occupy an intermediate position. Demons share immortality of body with the gods but passions of the mind with men, which explains their delight in theatrical obscenities and poetic fictions. Therefore, when Plato condemned theatrical pleasures and expelled poets from the state, he was not depriving the gods—who are above all human contamination—but the demons. This was meant to instruct the human soul to despise the shameful commands of demons and choose virtue instead.

Apuleius of Madaura wrote a whole treatise titled "Concerning the God of Socrates," in which he argued that the familiar spirit attending Socrates was not a god but a demon. He explained Plato's teaching on the lofty estate of the gods, the lowly estate of men, and the middle estate of demons. However, Augustine points out a contradiction in Apuleius: Plato simultaneously honored demons and removed from the ideal state the very things in which demons delighted. Apuleius titled his work "On the God of Socrates" rather than "On the Demon of Socrates" because the very name "demon" had become so repugnant that readers would have doubted his sanity. In the end, Apuleius found nothing to praise in demons except their bodily subtlety, strength, and higher place of habitation.

Augustine argues that the true religious mind should not suppose demons superior to men merely because they possess better bodies, since many beasts surpass humans in sensory acuity, swiftness, strength, and longevity. As humans excel all animals through reason and understanding, so they should excel demons through virtuous living. Divine Providence gave demons superior bodies precisely to teach humans to value the soul over bodily excellence. Immortality of body, if accompanied by eternal punishment, is no blessing at all—purity of soul is what truly matters.

It is absurd to consider demons superior simply because they inhabit the air while humans dwell on the earth, since this reasoning would place birds above humans. Plato's law arranging the four elements—fire, air, water, and earth—warns against judging the merits of living creatures by the grades of the elements. A soul of higher order may inhabit a body of lower grade, and vice versa. Apuleius himself acknowledges that terrestrial man is to be placed above aquatic animals, despite water's superiority in the elemental order. Men, not demons, deserve religious submission because of the hope of piety that demons do not share.

Apuleius describes demons as being subject to the same mental perturbations as humans: they are provoked by injuries, propitiated by services and gifts, pleased by honors, delighted by sacred rites, and annoyed by neglect. Divinations of augurs, soothsayers, prophets, dream revelations, and magical miracles all depend on them. Apuleius's concise definition states that demons are "of an animal nature, passive in soul, rational in mind, aerial in body, eternal in time"—of which the first three qualities are shared with humans, the fourth is peculiar to them, and the fifth is shared with the gods. Augustine exposes how meager this definition is: their animal nature is shared even with beasts, their rationality with humans, and their eternity without blessedness is a curse rather than a blessing.

Examining Apuleius's five characteristics, Augustine shows that demons share being animals with gods, men, and beasts; share rationality with gods and men; share eternity only with the gods; share passionate souls only with men; and possess aerial bodies alone. Being animals, rational, and eternal are not admirable in themselves—eternity without happiness is worse than temporal happiness, and passion of soul is a misery. The only true excellence would be virtue, wisdom, and happiness, but Apuleius could not attribute these to demons. Their eternal misery makes them utterly unworthy of divine honor.

Augustine questions why demons, who inhabit the air, are subject to mental perturbations that beasts do not experience, since beasts lack reason against which such commotions could be contrary. The gods are free from perturbations because they are blessed, not miserable; beasts are free because they are incapable of either blessedness or misery; therefore demons, like humans, are subject to perturbations because they are miserable. The madness of submitting in religious worship to demons becomes clear when their very vices—anger, susceptibility to gifts, flattery by honors, hatred, disquietude of heart—are precisely the vices from which true religion seeks to deliver humans.

True religion commands the faithful not to be angry, not to favor anyone for gifts, not to be moved by honors, to love even enemies, and to put away all disquietude and agitation of soul. Yet these are exactly the traits Apuleius attributes to demons. Worshipping beings whose qualities one is commanded to resist is foolishness and miserable error. The highest duty of religion is to imitate Him whom one worships; if one does not wish to be like demons in life, one should not pay them religious homage.

The Platonists placed demons in the middle region to serve as mediators, carrying men's prayers to the gods and the gods' answers to men, because Plato held that no god should have direct intercourse with man. Augustine finds this absurd: a chaste person innocent of magical crimes must use as patrons demons who love precisely those crimes. Chastity and innocence must rely on enemies as mediators. The Platonists cannot justify the fictions of the poets and the mockeries of the stage, and Augustine appeals to Plato himself against the very religious system built on his name.

Augustine argues that the magic arts cannot be the works of deities worthy of worship, since they were already condemned under the most ancient Roman laws of the Twelve Tables and prosecuted before Christian judges, as in the case of Apuleius himself. Even Apuleius, when accused of magic, denied practising these arts—showing that he knew they could not be innocently committed. All magical miracles, which Apuleius rightly condemns, are performed according to the teaching and power of demons, whose works cannot be the channel through which prayers reach the true God. The chapter contrasts the martyrs, who confessed true religion even at the cost of death, with Apuleius, who disowned magic rather than vindicate it; and it asks how demons who have driven men into sorcery could possibly intercede for penitent sorcerers, since pride and the desire for divine honors cannot coexist with true penitence.

Augustine challenges the supposed necessity of demons as mediators by exposing the absurdity of a divine nature that refuses intercourse with a supplicating, penitent, or philosophically pious man, yet readily consorts with arrogant, deceiving, and wicked demons. He catalogs the contradictions: gods who shun a man expelling the poets from a well-regulated state, yet dwell with a demon requesting theatrical performances of those same poets' mockeries; gods who shun a man punishing magical crimes by just laws, yet associate with a demon teaching and practising those very arts. The so-called "necessity" that compels this arrangement reveals not holiness in the divine nature, but detestable and vain error.

Examining the claim that ethereal gods require aerial demons as messengers because of the distance between elements, Augustine shows that this hypothesis implies either that the gods are ignorant of terrestrial affairs—rendering their worship useless—or that they can be deceived by demonic falsehoods. He lays out four possible scenarios regarding what the demons have communicated or concealed about Plato's prohibition of false divine myths and about the demons' own pleasure in theatrical mockeries of the gods, and demonstrates that each alternative forces an impious and untenable conclusion about the divine nature. No defensible account of demonic mediation can be constructed.

Since none of the four alternatives is acceptable, Augustine rejects outright Apuleius's view that demons serve as messengers and interpreters carrying human prayers to the gods and divine responses back to men. Demons are instead depicted as spirits eager to inflict harm, swollen with pride, pale with envy, and subtle in deceit, who inhabit the air as a prison in just punishment for their fall from the higher heaven. Though they are not superior in merit to men who, though dwelling in earthly bodies, excel through piety of mind and the worship of the true God, they tyrannize over the unworthy through lying wonders and predictions. Some philosophers, recognizing their wickedness, refused to call them gods but still granted them an intermediate honor, fearing to offend the inveterate superstition of the multitude.

The Egyptian Hermes Trismegistus held that some gods were made by the supreme God and others by men—the latter being statues inhabited by spirits invited to dwell in them, spirits capable of inflicting harm or fulfilling the desires of their worshippers. Quoting Hermes at length, Augustine shows that humanity, imitating the divine act of creation, has fashioned for itself temple-gods after its own likeness. Hermes himself mournfully prophesied a coming time when the Egyptians' pious worship would come to nought, which Augustine identifies with the triumph of Christianity over all lying figments. Though Hermes bore witness to the one true God and even to the truth of Christianity by a kind of sorrowful prophecy, the "darkening of his heart" led him to lament the downfall of these man-made gods rather than rejoice in the deliverance of men from the tyranny of their own handiwork. For man, by preferring what he has made to Him who made him, sinks below the beasts, while the work of his hands can never surpass the work of God made in His own image.

Hermes Trismegistus sorrowed at the foretold removal of the vain, deceitful, and sacrilegious man-made idols of Egypt, though his knowledge of this future destruction came from demonic spirits rather than the Holy Spirit, unlike the revelations granted to the holy prophets of Israel.

The holy prophets (including Isaiah, Simeon, Anna, Elisabeth, and Peter) received their foreknowledge of the coming end of idolatry and the arrival of Christ from the Holy Spirit, leading them to exult at the coming fulfillment of God's promises, in stark contrast to Hermes's grief over the loss of false gods.

Hermes openly confessed the error of his ancestors, admitting that due to their severe error, lack of faith, and neglect of true divine worship and service, they invented the art of making gods by evoking the souls of demons or angels to inhabit crafted images, granting those images the power to help or harm men.

Hermes explicitly identifies the origins of the art of making gods as his forefathers' profound error in understanding the divine, their incredulity, and their aversion to proper divine worship and service, practices that led them to create the system of deifying crafted objects by binding supernatural souls to them.

The eventual overthrow of idolatry was brought about by causes directly opposite to those that led to its invention: truth corrected error, faith refuted incredulity, and conversion to the one true holy God rectified aversion to divine worship, a process occurring across the entire earth rather than being limited to Egypt.

The end of idolatry and demonic domination fulfills the prophetic call for all the earth to "sing a new song to the Lord," as the holy Church (the spiritual city of God, a house built of living stones) is established across the world following the end of the captivity in which demons held pagan worshippers.

While man-made idols are themselves lifeless, inanimate objects, the true harm of idolatry stems from the unclean demonic spirits bound to these images via the impious art of god-making; these spirits captivate the souls of worshippers, drawing them into fellowship with demons, a practice the apostle explicitly condemned as idolatrous sacrifice to demons rather than to God.

The text rejects the pagan view (such as that held by Apuleius) that demons act as mediators or interpreters between mortal men and the true gods, noting that demons are fundamentally separated from good holy angels in character and disposition, are inferior even to the erring humans who created them, and only possess the power to harm men where permitted by God's secret providence.

Fellowship with holy angels and the one true God is not achieved through demonic mediation, but by cultivating a good will that aligns with the angels' virtue; this spiritual alignment allows believers to dwell in fellowship with the angels despite physical distance on earth, with faith in Christ bringing believers near to the angels' eternal blessedness.

Hermes's own lament that Egypt would be "full of sepulchres and dead men" after the abolition of idolatry reveals that nearly all pagan gods were deified dead mortal men, a conclusion confirmed by the pagan scholar Varro, who noted that pagans regarded all dead men as gods Manes, with funeral games (rites reserved exclusively for divinities) performed in their honour.

Hermes's own testimony confirms that two prominent pagan gods, Aesculapius (the legendary discoverer of medicine, buried in a temple in Libya) and Mercury (Hermes's own ancestor, buried in the city of Hermopolis named for him), were once mortal men who were worshipped as gods after death, proving the pagan pantheon consisted of deceased humans rather than divine beings.

This section clarifies that Christians do not build temples, ordain priests, or offer sacrifices to martyrs, as martyrs are not their gods (the Christian God is the same God worshipped by all believers). Christians honour the reliquaries of martyrs as memorials to holy men who died for the truth to expose false religions, and never direct sacrifices to martyrs at altars built over their tombs: all sacrifices at these sites are offered to the God who created the martyrs and granted them celestial honour, to give thanks for their victories and inspire believers to imitate their faithfulness. The practice of bringing food to martyr sites (not universal among Christians, and absent in most parts of the world) is not a sacrifice to the martyrs: the food is first presented and prayed over in the name of the Lord of the martyrs to be sanctified through the martyrs’ merits, then either consumed or given to the needy. The only true Christian sacrifice at these locations is offered to God alone, and Christian veneration of martyrs does not involve the divine honours or shameful rites associated with pagan god worship.

This section uses Hermes’ statements to confirm that pagan gods are man-made and inhabited by demons. Hermes explicitly states that earthly, mundane gods are created and composed by humans from soul (the demon, which is the soul of a dead man) and body (the man-made image), as humans lack the ability to create souls, so demons take possession of crafted idols via a false human art. Hermes, inspired by a fallacious spirit, also admits that Egypt, the holiest site of pagan shrines and temples, is already full of sepulchres of dead men that are worshipped as gods, confirming that pagan worshipped deities are not divine but are demons inhabiting man-made images.

This section draws a sharp distinction between Christian veneration of martyrs and pagan worship of deified figures. Unlike pagans, who offer sacrifices, institute sacred rites, and give divine honours to dead men they worship as gods, Christians only honour the memory of martyrs, never treating them as divine. Christians also reject the pagan practice of celebrating the real or fictional crimes of their deified figures in sacred rites and shameful public plays, and do not associate any such criminal acts with their holy martyrs.

This section emphasizes that no sacrifices are offered to martyrs at their tombs, only to God. It reiterates that the practice of bringing food to martyr sites is not a sacrifice to the martyrs: the food is first presented and prayed over in the name of the Lord of the martyrs to be sanctified through the martyrs’ merits, then either taken away to be eaten or distributed to the needy. The only sacrifice performed at these sites is the Christian sacrifice offered to God alone, confirming that martyrs are not recipients of sacrificial worship.

This section rejects any comparison between pagan deified figures and Christian martyrs. It notes that the pagan gods had sacred rites instituted in their honour that were tied to their own abominable acts, including criminal deeds they committed while alive (if they were ever human) or fictitious crimes invented for the pleasure of noxious demons, as recorded in Egyptian mystic writings (such as those detailing the acts of Isis, wife of Osiris, and her parents) and celebrated in public plays. Christian martyrs, by contrast, are holy figures who died for the true faith, and Christians offer them no sacrifices, celebrate no crimes in their honour, and reserve all sacred rites for God alone.

Augustine outlines the book's core argument: he will refute the Platonist view that demons can serve as mediators between humans and good gods, proving all demons are wicked and that only Christ is the source of eternal blessedness for humanity.

Augustine recaps the state of the preceding debate: some philosophers argue there are both good and bad gods, while others hold all gods are good and attribute malicious acts to demons, whom they position as mediators between gods and humans. He has already shown demons cannot fulfill this mediator role, and will now address the claim that demons are split between good and evil, warning that venerating supposed "good" demons would ensnare souls away from the true God, who alone grants blessedness to rational human souls.

Augustine poses the question of whether any demons are good spirits capable of guiding human souls to true blessedness, noting the widespread belief that demons are divided into good and evil. He stresses this view must be directly addressed to prevent people from worshipping good demons as intermediaries to the good gods, which would lead them far from the true God.

Citing the Platonist Apuleius, Augustine notes that Apuleius attributes rational minds to demons but denies them virtue, as their minds are tormented by the same turbulent passions (pity, indignation, grief, joy, etc.) as foolish humans. These passions make demons distant from the tranquil celestial gods, worse than wise humans who can resist such passions, and incorrigible in their longstanding iniquity.

Augustine details the two dominant philosophical views on mental passions (πάθη): Peripatetics/Aristotelians hold the wise person experiences passions but moderates them with reason, while Stoics claim the wise are free from passions. He argues this is largely a verbal dispute, citing Aulus Gellius's account of a Stoic philosopher who paled with fear during a deadly storm, and Epictetus's teaching that even the wise are subject to involuntary passion impressions but do not consent to them, meaning both schools agree the wise person's reason remains undisturbed by passions.

Augustine contrasts philosophical views with Christian teaching, which subjects the mind to God and passions to the mind, redirecting passions to righteous ends. He argues that anger at wrongdoers seeking reform, sadness at suffering aimed at relief, and fear of harm are not vices, and that compassion (condemned by Stoics as a vice) is a virtue when it prompts right action without violating righteousness. He notes that holy angels and even God are described with such emotions in Scripture not due to weakness, but because their actions mirror the effects of these passions, with God's "anger" referring to the effect of his vengeance, not mental perturbation.

Augustine returns to Apuleius's claim that mediating demons are ruled by passions, arguing that if their rational minds (which should govern their lower passions) are themselves tossed by passion, then no part of them is wise or virtuous enough to be pleasing to the gods or fit to guide humans to purity, as their passion-driven minds only make them more skilled at deception and seduction.

Platonists, following Apuleius, argue that poets wrong the true gods by attributing petty, partisan emotional traits (such as violent love or hatred of specific humans) to them, when these traits are actually unique to demons. Poets falsely label demons as gods, depicting them as taking sides in human conflicts out of irrational favor or prejudice—such as the Homeric depiction of Minerva intervening for the Greeks against the Trojans, which Apuleius claims is a fictional portrayal of a demon, not the true goddess Minerva who dwells in the blessed ethereal realm. The Platonists insist this conflation of demons with gods is a poetical fiction, as the true gods are wholly good, blessed, and detached from human affairs.

Apuleius categorizes rational beings by their abodes and core attributes: celestial gods dwell in the highest ethereal realm, are wholly good and blessed, and free from emotional disturbance; demons occupy the middle aerial realm, defined by five traits: they are animals by nature, rational in mind, subject to passion in their souls, possess aerial bodies, and exist eternally; humans inhabit the earth, have mortal bodies and immortal souls, and are defined by weakness, corruption, and emotional instability. Apuleius provides no distinguishing positive traits for good demons that separate them from wicked ones, implying all demons share the same flawed nature, with only their eternal aerial bodies aligning them with the gods, and their passion-ridden souls aligning them with humans.

The text argues that demons cannot serve as valid mediators between humans and the good celestial gods, as they share only their inferior, bodily trait of eternal existence with the gods, while sharing their defective, passion-ridden soul with humans. Since the soul is the superior, ruling part of any living being (as Sallust notes, humans use the soul to rule and the body to obey), these mediators are fundamentally misaligned: their superior, ruling part (the soul) is bound to human wretchedness, while only their inferior, serving part (the body) is linked to the gods, making their role as harmonizers between human and divine realms incoherent, as religion is a spiritual, not bodily, matter.

Drawing on Plotinus’s interpretation of Platonic thought, the text argues that mortal humans are less wretched than eternal demons. It holds that God’s mercy granted humans mortal bodies, so they are not trapped in earthly misery forever, while demons were denied this mercy: they have the same miserable, passion-driven soul as humans, but are bound to eternal, immortal bodies, meaning their suffering is endless, with no possibility of release through death or moral progress to become gods, as Plotinus explicitly states demons remain demons for all eternity.

Some Platonists claim that disembodied human souls become demons: good souls become benevolent household spirits called Lares, bad souls become harmful, haunting spirits called Lemures or Larvæ, and souls of uncertain moral standing become neutral Manes. They also claim the Greek term eudemons (blessed ones) refers to good souls, or good demons, confirming their view that human souls become demons after death. The text critiques this view as deeply morally destructive, as it encourages wicked people to believe they will gain divine honors after death, enabling them to inflict harm on the living with impunity.

Platonists distinguish the two extremes of rational beings (gods and humans) via three paired opposite qualities: gods possess sublime heavenly abodes, eternal life, and perfect blessedness, while humans have lowly earthly abodes, mortal life, and inherent misery. Demons occupy the middle spatial realm between these two extremes, though the text will later question whether this spatial middle position constitutes a true intermediate nature, rather than just a middle location.

The text explores the claim that demons can mediate between gods and men despite lacking shared blessedness or misery, arguing that for demons to be true intermediates, they must share one key quality with each extreme: eternity with the gods, and misery with humans, resulting in a state of "miserable eternity" or "eternal misery" that defines their intermediate status. However, the text critiques this as incoherent, as this supposed middle state is actually a state of endless wretchedness, not a balanced mean. It further notes that good, blessed demons cannot be true intermediates, as eternal blessedness would align them fully with the gods, separating them entirely from miserable mortals, with no true middle ground between the two extremes. True intermediates, by contrast, would share one quality with each extreme (such as humans, who are rational like angels and mortal like beasts), but the Platonist demon fails to meet this standard.

Augustine addresses the great question of whether mortal man can be blessed. Some have denied it, while bolder thinkers have maintained that wise men may attain blessedness even in mortality. If this were true, such wise men could serve as mediators between miserable mortals and blessed immortals, sharing mortality with one and blessedness with the other. Yet Augustine notes that, far more probably and credibly, all men are miserable so long as they are mortal, which makes a different kind of intermediary necessary.

If mortals are also miserable, the mediator required must be not only man but also God—one whose transient mortality and permanent blessedness can translate men from mortal misery to blessed immortality. Christ assumed the infirmity of flesh without diminishing the divinity of the Word, died and rose again, so that those for whose redemption He became Mediator would not remain eternally in bodily death. Good angels cannot mediate, for they are immortal and blessed, sharing neither mortality nor misery with men; evil angels can mediate, but only as immortal yet miserable beings seeking to hinder humanity's passage to blessedness. Against them stands the good Mediator, whose death and blessedness destroy the demons' power, while His resurrection demonstrates His power to make mortals immortal and the miserable blessed, joining them directly to the Trinity rather than to the angelic order.

Augustine refutes the Platonist claim, attributed to Plato, that no god holds intercourse with men and that the gods' exaltation is shown by their freedom from human contamination. He shows the absurdity of this position: if the gods would be contaminated by contact with men, the demons who do mingle with men and yet are not contaminated must be superior to the gods. If the demons are contaminated, they cannot cleanse men but pollute both parties. The argument collapses on every side—whether through sight, hearing, smell, or touch—since the celestial bodies themselves are not polluted by shining upon earthly filth. The Platonist position thus makes demons either purer than gods or makes gods pollutable by demons, neither of which serves human blessedness.

Augustine declares that to obtain the blessed life, which consists in partaking of the supreme good, man needs a mediator furnished not by demons but by Christ alone. Quoting Plotinus's exhortation to flee to the Father and become like God, Augustine notes that unlikeness to God is itself the soul's distance from Him, and that the soul craves temporal and mutable things in proportion to its unlikeness. What is needed is a Mediator who, by the mortality of His body, is united to humanity below, and who, by the immortal righteousness of His spirit, is able to cleanse and liberate the soul from above. The incarnate God demonstrates both that true divinity cannot be polluted by flesh and that demons are not superior to humans simply because they lack flesh.

Augustine exposes the deceitful demons, who promise to conduct men to God but in reality hinder their spiritual progress. These false mediators, miserable and malignant in spirit, use their aerial bodies and proximity to intervene between humanity and God. Even on their own bodily scheme, in which aerial demons are placed between ethereal gods and earthly men to preserve local separation, the demons are contaminated by men, the gods remain contaminable, and men are contaminated rather than cleansed. No rational person would choose a way of purification in which all parties are polluted. The better way escapes demonic contamination altogether and joins the purified soul to the incontaminable God and the uncontaminated angels.

Some demon-worshippers, such as Labeo, allege that the demons are also called angels. Augustine distinguishes the usage: while Scripture recognizes both good and bad angels, it never speaks of good demons, and the term is everywhere applied only to wicked spirits. Among pagans themselves, no one would praise a slave by saying "you have a demon," for the term universally carries a malevolent sense. Since the Christian can easily speak of good angels without giving offence, there is no need to explain away statements that have scandalized by the use of the word "demon."

The Greek root of the word "demon" signifies knowledge. The apostle teaches that knowledge puffs up, while charity builds up; knowledge without charity merely inflates with empty windiness. Demons possess knowledge without charity, and so they become proud and crave the divine honors and religious services due to the true God, exacting them from all under their influence. Against this demonic pride, under which the human race was justly held in bondage, God opposed the humility of His incarnation. Yet men, resembling demons in pride but lacking their knowledge, puffed up with uncleanness, failed to recognize the humble God who came to save them.

Christ's Manifestation to the Demons Augustine explains that the demons recognized Christ's divine power even when He was clothed in human flesh, as shown by their cry, "What have we to do with Thee, Jesus of Nazareth? Art Thou come to destroy us before the time?" Their words reveal that they possessed great knowledge but lacked charity: they feared His punishing power without loving His righteousness. Christ revealed Himself to the demons not as He does to the holy angels—through participation in His eternal Word—but only through temporal effects of His power sufficient to strike terror into those from whose tyranny He would deliver the predestined. During the temptation, the prince of demons doubted whether Jesus were the Christ, but afterward, as the holy angels ministered to Him, the demons increasingly recognized His authority, so that none dared resist despite the apparent weakness of His flesh.

The Difference Between the Knowledge of the Holy Angels and That of the Demons The holy angels, sanctified by their love of God, hold cheap all material and transitory knowledge, contemplating temporal things in the eternal wisdom of God and thus possessing a more certain understanding of them. Their blessedness consists in the unchangeable and ineffable beauty of God, which they enjoy without end. By contrast, the demons do not behold eternal causes in God's wisdom but merely foresee future events through greater familiarity with hidden signs and through their own intentions; consequently they are frequently deceived. It is one thing to conjecture temporal changes by means of mutable things—a faculty permitted to the demons—and another to know God's infallible will by participating in His Spirit, which is granted to the holy angels by a just discretion and constitutes their eternal blessedness in God their Creator.

The Name of Gods Falsely Given to the Gods of the Gentiles Augustine concedes that if the Platonists prefer to call the blessed immortal angels "gods" rather than "demons," the dispute is largely verbal, since both sides agree these beings are immortal, created by the supreme God, and blessed through union with their Creator. He notes that Scripture itself applies the title "gods" both to holy angels and to men belonging to God's people, and even more expressly to the latter, so that believers may be assured He who is called God of gods is their God. The name "demon," however, is so detestable that it cannot be applied to the holy angels in any sense. Since the demons are justly miserable in punishment for their wickedness and grudge rather than bestow blessedness upon mortals, the friends of demons have no reason to advocate their worship. As for the blessed immortal spirits to whom worship might be offered, Augustine promises to show in the following book that they themselves desire religious worship to be paid to God alone, by whom they were created and blessed.

The Argument: Augustine teaches that the good angels wish God alone, whom they themselves serve, to receive that divine honour which is rendered by sacrifice, and which is called "latreia." He then goes on to dispute against Porphyry about the principle and way of the soul's cleansing and deliverance, opening with the question whether the Platonists themselves have determined that God alone can confer happiness either on angels or men, and whether those spirits whom they direct us to worship wish sacrifice to be offered to themselves or to the one God only.

The Platonists have determined that God alone can confer happiness either on angels or men, yet it remains a question whether those spirits whom they direct us to worship wish sacrifice to be offered to themselves or to the one God only. All men desire happiness, and the Platonists perceived that the human soul, immortal and rational or intellectual, cannot be happy except by partaking of the light of that God by whom both itself and the world were made, and that the happy life cannot be reached without cleaving with a pure and holy love to the one supreme, unchangeable God. Augustine examines the terminology of worship—*latreia*, *cultus*, *religio* (for *thrēskeia*), and *pietas* (for *eusebeia* and *theosebeia*)—showing that each Latin term is ambiguous, and concludes that this worship, the service of God only, belongs only to the true God who makes His worshippers gods; therefore any immortal and blessed inhabitants of heaven who love us cannot wish our blessedness to flow from any other source than theirs.

The opinion of Plotinus the Platonist regarding enlightenment from above: Plotinus, commenting on Plato, repeatedly and strongly asserts that not even the soul which they believe to be the soul of the world derives its blessedness from any other source than we do, namely from that intelligible Light which is distinct from it and created it, and by whose intelligible illumination it enjoys light in things intelligible. He compares spiritual things to the vast and conspicuous heavenly bodies, as if God were the sun and the soul the moon, and affirms that the rational or intellectual soul, in which class he comprehends the souls of the blessed immortals who inhabit heaven, has no nature superior to it save God the Creator, these heavenly spirits deriving their blessed life and the light of truth from the same source as ourselves. This agrees with the Gospel where John the Baptist bears witness that he was not the true Light but came to bear witness of the Light which lighteth every man that cometh into the world, showing that the rational or intellectual soul cannot be its own light but needs illumination from another, and John himself avows, "We have all received of His fulness."

The Platonists, though knowing something of the Creator of the universe, have misunderstood the true worship of God by giving divine honour to angels, good or bad. If, knowing God, they had glorified Him as God and given thanks, and not become vain in their own imaginations, they would acknowledge that neither the blessed immortals could retain nor we miserable mortals reach a happy condition without worshipping the one God of gods, who is both theirs and ours. Augustine describes the true worship owed to God: we are all His temple, individually and together; our heart is His altar; His Only-begotten is the priest who intercedes; we sacrifice bleeding victims when we contend for His truth unto blood; we offer the incense of holy and pious love, the sacrifice of humility and praise, the devotion of ourselves and His gifts. Our good is nothing else than to be united to God, to draw near to Him, fulfilling the two commandments of loving God with all our heart and our neighbour as ourselves. Any immortal power, then, who worships God cannot wish to be worshipped in God's stead, but rather acquiesces heartily in the divine sentence, "He that sacrificeth unto any god, save unto the Lord only, he shall be utterly destroyed."

Sacrifice is due to the true God only. While many parts of divine worship are unduly used in showing honour to men, whether through excessive humility or pernicious flattery, those who are thus venerated or adored are still reckoned no more than human; but whoever thought of sacrificing save to one whom he knew, supposed, or feigned to be a god? The antiquity of sacrifice as a part of God's worship is sufficiently shown by the two brothers Cain and Abel, of whom God rejected the elder's sacrifice and looked favourably on the younger's.

Of the sacrifices which God does not require, but wished to be observed for the exhibition of those things which He does require. God has no need, not only of cattle or any other earthly and material thing, but even of man's righteousness, and whatever right worship is paid to God profits not Him but man. The ancient animal sacrifices, which the people of God now read of without imitating, prove that those sacrifices signified the things which we do for the purpose of drawing near to God and inducing our neighbour to do likewise: a sacrifice is the visible sacrament or sacred sign of an invisible sacrifice. Hence the penitent in the Psalm says, "If Thou desiredst sacrifice, I would give it: Thou delightest not in whole burnt-offerings. The sacrifice of God is a broken heart: a heart contrite and humble God will not despise"—showing that God requires not the sacrifice of a slaughtered beast but the sacrifice of a contrite heart. So the prophet asks whether he shall come before God with burnt-offerings, thousands of rams, or ten thousands of rivers of oil, and is answered, "He hath showed thee, O man, what is good; and what doth the Lord require of thee, but to do justly, and to love mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God?" Likewise, "I desire mercy rather than sacrifice." All the divine ordinances concerning the sacrifices in the service of the tabernacle or temple are to be referred to the love of God and our neighbour, on which two commandments hang all the law and the prophets.

Augustine defines a true sacrifice as any work done in order to be united to God, referring to the supreme good in which alone we are blessed. Mercy shown to men counts as a sacrifice only when done for God's sake. A consecrated person who dies to the world and lives to God is a sacrifice, as is the body chaste through temperance and offered to God, and the soul inflamed with divine love and remoulded in the image of permanent beauty. The whole redeemed city, the community of saints, is offered to God as a sacrifice through the great High Priest, Christ, who offered Himself in His passion. The Church continually celebrates this mystery in the sacrament of the altar.

The holy angels, who inhabit celestial dwellings and compassionately regard mortal humanity, do not desire sacrifice for themselves but for the one true God, whose sacrifice they know themselves to be together with us. Together, angels and humans form the one city of God, with the human part sojourning on earth and the angelic part aiding from above. From that heavenly council, holy Scripture descended to us by angelic ministry, confirming through miracles that sacrifice belongs to the Lord alone.

God confirmed His promises, especially those made to Abraham regarding the blessing of all nations in his seed, through numerous miracles. Augustine surveys wonders surrounding Abraham's household, the destruction of Sodom and Lot's rescue, the contest with Pharaoh's magicians in Egypt, the ten plagues, the crossing of the Red Sea, the wilderness provisions of sweetened waters, manna, quails, victories over enemies through Moses' outstretched hands, the swallowing of seditious persons, the striking of the rock, and the healing of the people from serpent bites by the brazen serpent, which prefigured the crucifixion and was later wrongly worshipped as an idol until the godly king Hezekiah destroyed it.

The miracles confirming true worship were wrought by simple faith, not by illicit arts such as magic, necromancy, or theurgy, all of which are in fact slavish engagements with deceitful demons invoked under angelic names. Porphyry himself, while hesitant, promises a kind of purgation of the soul through theurgy, yet concedes that it cannot secure a return to God. He vacillates, warning against theurgy as deceitful and dangerous, then recommending it for cleansing the spiritual part of the soul. He distinguishes angels from demons but advises cultivating a demon's friendship for posthumous assistance, and acknowledges that theurgy involves gods and demons subject to passions, fears, and the manipulative influence of envious practitioners.

Porphyry, a learned Platonist, admits that theurgy subjects even the gods to passions and perturbations: by adjurations they were so terrified that they could not confer purity of soul, nor could theurgy free them from the terror imposed by a wicked command. Augustine argues this reveals the whole system as a fiction of deceiving demons, since a well-disposed soul seeking purification should have prevailed over an envious one's hindrance if the gods were good. Such pretended visions of angels and gods in theurgic initiation are, in truth, Satan transforming himself into an angel of light to entangle souls in false worship and turn them from the true God, who alone cleanses and heals.

In his letter to the Egyptian Anebo, Porphyry adopts a better tone, assuming the role of an inquirer to unmask sacrilegious arts. He repudiates demons as foolish beings attracted by sacrificial vapours and dwelling below the moon, though he inconsistently allows for some "benignant" demons. He questions how sacrifices compel the gods, how corporeal celestial bodies can be gods if gods are incorporeal, and how some are beneficent while others are harmful. He suggests a deceitful race of beings, full of contrivances, simulates gods, demons, and the dead, makes wickedness easy, obstructs virtue, and delights in flattery and sacrificial odours. Augustine commends Porphyry's struggle against this fraternity of devils, which any Christian woman would confidently detest, but notes Porphyry's restraint, likely to avoid offending Anebo and other patrons of the mysteries.

Porphyry, writing to Anebo in the character of a sincere inquirer, records a number of rites and beliefs of the Egyptian mysteries that no sober judgment could attribute to any but malicious and deceitful powers. Why are worse spirits commanded to fulfil the wicked desires of men after the better class of spirits has been invoked? Why are the priests forbidden to touch a dead body, while the mysteries themselves are celebrated almost entirely by means of dead bodies? Why should a man addicted to vice utter threats, not to a demon or to the soul of a dead man, but to the sun and moon, intimidating them by imaginary terrors that they may do his will? Porphyry further reports that Chaeremon, deeply versed in these rites, wrote of the famous mysteries of Isis and Osiris that they had very great power to compel the gods when the practitioner threatened to divulge or destroy the mysteries and to scatter the limbs of Osiris. Augustine observes that Porphyry rightly marvels that such empty threats should avail against gods of the highest rank, and gives it to be understood that these things are accomplished by that race of spirits whom he had described as deceivers, simulating gods and dead men, and who are in truth demons. Their pretended operations through herbs, stones, animals, incantations, and astrological figures are mere mystification practised for their own amusement upon their dupes. Porphyry was either sincere in exposing this, or adopted the humble inquirer's posture in order to lead his Egyptian correspondent to a wiser view. Towards the end of the letter he asks for the Egyptian teaching on the way to blessedness, dismisses those who consult the gods only about runaway slaves, bargains, or marriages, and concludes that such spirits, even granting some truth in their utterances, must be the deceiver or mere fictions of the imagination rather than gods or good demons.

Since wonders surpassing human power are performed by these arts, and since they form no part of the worship of the one God in whom, as the Platonists themselves testify, all blessedness consists, they must be the pastime of wicked spirits seeking to seduce and hinder the truly godly. On the other hand, all miracles wrought by angels or by other means, so long as they commend the worship and religion of the one God, are wrought by those who love us in a godly sort, or through their means, God Himself working in them. Augustine rejects the opinion of those who maintain that the invisible God works no visible miracles: even they confess that He made the world, which is surely visible, and the whole standing miracle of the visible creation is greater than the rarest prodigy. Man himself is a greater miracle than any miracle done through his instrumentality. The Creator, though hidden and incomprehensible in His own nature, does not disdain to work visible miracles in heaven and earth in order to awaken the soul immersed in visible things to worship Himself, the Invisible. The place and time of such miracles are ordered by His unchangeable will, in which future things are already present; He moves temporal things without Himself moving in time, knowing in one way what is to be, what has been, and what is prayed. Even when His angels hear us, it is He Himself who hears us in them, as in His true temple not made with hands, and in His saints; and His answers, though accomplished in time, are arranged by His eternal appointment.

There is no cause for surprise that the invisible God has often appeared visibly to the patriarchs. As the audible word is not the inner thought itself, so the form by which God, invisible in His own nature, became visible was not God Himself in His proper substance; yet it was truly He who was seen under that form, as the thought is heard in the sound of the voice. The patriarchs recognised that, though the bodily form was not God, they saw the invisible God. Moses himself, who conversed with God, prayed, "If I have found grace in Thy sight, show me Thyself, that I may see and know Thee." Because the law was given, not to one or a few enlightened men, but to a whole populous nation, awe-inspiring signs and great marvels were wrought before the people by the ministry of angels on the mount where the law was being delivered through one man. The Israelites did not believe Moses on the ground that he had received his laws from Jove or Apollo, as the Lacedaemonians believed Lycurgus; but, when the law enjoining the worship of one God was promulgated, earthquakes and marvellous signs, such as the divine wisdom judged sufficient, were brought about in the sight of all, that they might know that it was the Creator who could thus use creation to set forth His law.

The education of the human race, represented by the people of God, has advanced through certain epochs, gradually rising from earthly to heavenly things and from the visible to the invisible. Even in the period when temporal rewards were promised, the one God was set before men as the object of worship, that they might not acknowledge any other than the true Creator and Lord even in the matter of earthly and transitory blessings. He who denies that all things which angels or men can give us are in the hand of the one Almighty is a madman. The Platonist Plotinus, from the beauty of flowers and foliage, argues that from the supreme God, whose unseen beauty is ineffable, providence reaches down even to earthly things, and that these frail and perishing objects could not possess so exquisite an elaborate beauty were they not fashioned by Him whose unseen and unchangeable beauty continually pervades all things. The Lord Jesus teaches the same: "Consider the lilies, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin. And yet I say unto you that Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these. But if God so clothe the grass of the field, which to-day is and to-morrow is cast into the oven, how much more shall He clothe you, O ye of little faith!" It was therefore fitting that the soul, still weakly desiring earthly things, should be accustomed to seek from God alone even these petty temporal boons, in order that the very desire of them might not draw it away from the worship of Him to whom we come by despising and forsaking such things.

It has pleased Divine Providence that the law enjoining the worship of one God should be given by the disposition of angels, as is read in the Acts of the Apostles. Among them the person of God Himself visibly appeared, not in His proper substance, which ever remains invisible to mortal eyes, but through the infallible signs furnished by creation in obedience to its Creator. He made use of the words of human speech, uttered syllable by syllable, though in His own nature He speaks not in a bodily but in a spiritual way, not to sense but to the mind, not in words that occupy time but, as it were, eternally, neither beginning to speak nor coming to an end. What He says is heard, not by the bodily but by the mental ear of His immortal ministers and messengers, who are blessed in the enjoyment of His unchangeable truth, and the directions which they in some ineffable way receive they execute without delay or difficulty in the sensible and visible world. The law was given in conformity with the age of the world, and contained at the first earthly promises which, however, symbolised eternal ones, and these eternal blessings few understood, though many shared in the celebration of their visible signs. With one consent, both the words and the visible rites of that law enjoin the worship of one God, not one among a crowd of gods, but Him who made heaven and earth and every soul and every spirit other than Himself. He created; all else was created; and, both for being and well-being, all things need Him who created them.

Which angels, then, are to be believed in the matter of blessed and eternal life — those who wish to be worshipped with religious rites and demand that men sacrifice to them, or those who say that all such worship is due to one God the Creator and teach us to render it to Him, by the vision of whom they are themselves already blessed and in whom they promise that we shall be so? That vision of God is a beauty so great and so infinitely desirable that Plotinus does not hesitate to say that he who enjoys all other blessings in abundance, and has not this, is supremely miserable. Since miracles are wrought by some angels to induce the worship of this God, and by others to induce the worship of themselves, and since the former forbid worship of these while the latter dare not forbid the worship of God, to which are we to listen? Even if neither party had wrought miracles, a godly mind could discern which command proceeded from proud arrogance and which from true religion. If those who demand sacrifice for themselves had worked miracles while the others had entirely foregone visible miracles, the authority of the latter was still to be preferred by all who use reason as well as eyes. But since God, for the sake of commending the oracles of His truth, has by means of His immortal messengers, who proclaim His majesty and not their own pride, wrought miracles of surpassing grandeur, certainty, and distinctness, the weak among the godly may not be drawn aside to false religion by those who demand sacrifice for themselves. As for the marvels ascribed to the gods of the heathen — the moving of the household gods carried by Aeneas, the cutting of a whetstone with a razor by Tarquin, the Epidaurian serpent, the Phrygian Mother's ship drawn by a chaste woman, the vestal carrying a sieve full of water from the Tiber — none of these is to be compared for greatness and virtue to those wrought among God's people, and the magical and theurgic marvels, most of which are illusions upon the senses, are far inferior. If any of them seem to equal those wrought by the godly, the end for which they are done distinguishes them and shows ours to be incomparably the more excellent: those commend the worship of a plurality of gods who deserve worship the less the more they demand it; these commend the one God, who by His own Scriptures and by the eventual abolition of sacrifices proves that He needs no such offerings. If any angels demand sacrifice for themselves, we must prefer those who demand it, not for themselves, but for God the Creator of all, that they may bring us to Him from whom they themselves have never strayed. If any angels bid us sacrifice, not to one but to many, we must prefer the angels of the one God of gods, who so bid us worship Him as to preclude the worship of any other. And if, as their pride and deceitfulness indicate, they are wicked demons demanding sacrifice for themselves, what better protection can we choose than that of the one God whom the good angels serve, the angels who bid us sacrifice, not to themselves, but to Him whose sacrifice we ourselves ought to be?

The law commanding worship of the one God was deposited in the ark of the testimony, from which God's responses and signs proceeded. The law was engraved on stone tablets, and the ark was carried reverently with the tabernacle during the wilderness sojourn, accompanied by a cloud by day and fire by night guiding the camp. Miraculous testimonies included the parting of the Jordan, the falling of Jericho's walls after the ark was carried around them, the shaming of Dagon's idol when the Philistines placed the ark in his temple, and the return of the ark by cows who chose their own path back to the Hebrews. These wonders, though small to God, terrify and instruct men, and confirm that sacrifice is to be offered to God alone, who signified the transition to a better sacrifice by a better Priest, not for His own glory but to stir up human love and devotion.

Whoever claims the biblical miracles are false may equally deny that any gods care for human affairs, since pagan gods have been worshipped only through alleged miraculous works. Augustine explains that he refutes not those denying divine power, but those who prefer their own god to the true Founder of the holy city, who is also the invisible Creator of the visible world. The Psalmist's confession, "It is good for me to be united to God," surpasses all philosophical notions of the supreme good, whether wealth, pleasure, or spiritual strength. The worshippers of many gods, if they believe the miracles in their own histories, magic, or theurgy, have no reason to reject the far greater miracles to which Scripture witnesses, since He to whom alone sacrifice is taught is incomparably greater.

Those who suppose visible sacrifices belong to other gods while invisible offerings of purity and holiness are due to the supreme God forget that visible sacrifices are signs of invisible ones, as words are signs of thoughts. Just as prayer directs intelligible words to God while the heart offers the true feeling, so visible sacrifice is offered to Him to whom the heart presents itself as an invisible sacrifice. Angels and higher powers rejoice when worship is rightly directed to God, but decline it when offered to themselves, as Scripture records when angels forbade such homage, and as Paul and Barnabas refused the Lycaonians' attempts to sacrifice to them. Deceitful spirits claim such honor not from love of victims' smoke, of which they have abundance, but because they delight in the suppliant spirit they hold in subjection, hindering it from drawing near to the true God.

The true Mediator, the man Christ Jesus, in His servant form chose to be the sacrifice rather than receive one, so that no one might suppose sacrifice should be rendered to any creature. Though in the form of God He receives sacrifice with the Father, in the form of a servant He Himself is both the Priest who offers and the Sacrifice offered. The Church, being His body, learns to offer herself through Him, a truth daily signified in the Church's sacrifice. The ancient saints' varied sacrifices prefigured this one true sacrifice, just as many words may signify one thing to relieve weariness; to this supreme sacrifice all false ones have given place.

The power granted to demons at appointed seasons to express their hostility against the City of God, stirring up their followers and extorting sacrifice by persecution, is not merely harmless but useful to the Church, completing the number of martyrs whom the city honors as its most illustrious citizens. If ecclesiastical usage permitted, these martyrs might be called "heroes," though the name is mythically derived from Juno, mistress of the air, where demons and the souls of the dead were supposed to dwell. The martyrs, however, conquer the powers of the air not by propitiating them but by divine virtue. Porphyry errs in saying a good genius cannot come to a man unless an evil one is first appeased, for in the true religion the saints overcome hostile powers, not by gifts, but by goodness, as Scipio is more rightly called Africanus for conquest than for appeasing his enemies.

Men of God cast out the hostile aerial power not by propitiating it but by exorcising it, and they overcome temptations by praying to their own God against the adversary. The devil can subdue only those in league with sin, and is conquered in the name of Him who assumed humanity without sin, being both Priest and Sacrifice to effect the remission of sins and reconcile us to God. Men are separated from God only by sin, which in this life is cleansed not by human virtue but by divine compassion; whatever virtue we have is itself a gift of God's goodness. The Mediator's grace cleanses us, polluted by sinful flesh, through the likeness of sinful flesh, governs us by faith in this life, and leads us to the fullest perfection through the vision of immutable truth.

Porphyry admits that divine oracles revealed we are not purified by sacrifices to sun or moon, implying purification is not obtained by sacrificing to any gods. He speaks instead of "principles" that can purify, meaning by these God the Father and God the Son, whom he calls the intellect or mind of the Father, though regarding the Holy Spirit he speaks unclearly, perhaps placing it as a mean between the others. Unlike Plotinus, who places the soul of nature after the Father's intellect, Porphyry places it between the Father and the Son. Augustine affirms that the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of both the Father and the Son, noting that philosophers speak freely on such matters, while Christians are bound by a certain rule to avoid impious opinion.

The one only true principle that alone purifies and renews human nature is the grace of God through the Mediator, Christ Jesus, in contrast to the Platonic "principles" of Porphyry which lack the power to effect genuine purification from sin.

Augustine affirms that Christians do not affirm two or three gods or principles, yet properly distinguish the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as each truly God, refusing the Sabellian identification of the persons. The true claim that man is cleansed only by one Principle is corrected against the Platonists' plural "principles." Porphyry, dominated by the envious demons whose influence he was ashamed to abandon, refused to recognize Christ as this incarnate Principle and Purifier. The good Mediator demonstrated that sin, not flesh, is the evil, and that flesh and soul can be assumed, died in, and raised without sin. The Principle itself is the Word by which all things were made; the flesh purifies only through the indwelling Word. When questioned, Christ declared Himself to be the Principle, a mystery inaccessible to carnal and sinful men unless they themselves are cleansed. This mediation reaches the lapsed through the seed "ordained by angels," under whose ministry the law itself was given.

All saints, both before and under the Mosaic law, were justified by faith in the mystery of Christ's incarnation, since God and His angels were always present as instructors. The promises of spiritual things under the Old Testament were conveyed in carnal figures, giving it the name "Old." Augustine quotes the Psalmist's great confession, "It is good for me to cleave to God," showing how the distinction between the Testaments is announced in that psalm. The Psalmist stumbled over the prosperity of the ungodly until he entered God's sanctuary and understood their end; he learned to seek even earthly goods only from the one true God, and confessed that God Himself, not His gifts, is his portion. Earthly blessings are "left-hand" blessings, and the heart, once cleansed, draws the flesh upward. The Psalmist ends by declaring hope in God and a resolve to proclaim His praises in the gates of the daughter of Zion, the heavenly city. The blessed angels do not desire our worship, but invite us to join them as fellow-citizens and fellow-sacrifices to the one true God.

Augustine charges that Porphyry blushed for his theurgist friends, knowing the truth but lacking the frankness to condemn polytheistic worship outright. Porphyry distinguished between angels who reveal the Father's will and those who descend to theurgists, and even judged that men should imitate rather than invoke angels. Yet he inconsistently credited demonic mediators with divine revelations, despite his own admission that wicked demons had been bound by the incantations of an envious man and could not be loosed by a good one. Augustine presses the philosopher: if these beings do not declare the Father's will, what divine truth can they communicate? They must be proud and wretched demons, not loyal subjects of God. Porphyry's persistence in elevating them above the air and even into the celestial regions, placing them among the sidereal gods, betrays a shame that does injury even to the stars themselves.

Augustine judges Apuleius's error more tolerable: Apuleius confined demons' malefic influence to the sublunar realm and spared the ethereal and celestial gods from any share in human passions. Porphyry, by contrast, learned from Chaldaean teachers to drag human vices into the empyreal and celestial spheres so that theurgists could claim divine revelations, while exempting himself as a philosopher who needed no such purifications. Yet he still recommended these arts to non-philosophers, drawing the unphilosophical majority into theurgic consultation. These demons, feigning to be ethereal gods, promise theurgic purification of the spiritual soul short of return to the Father; but Christ purifies mind, spirit, and body alike by assuming the whole of human nature without sin. Augustine laments that Porphyry did not commit himself to Christ, whom the oracles themselves confessed holy and immortal. He cites Virgil's Fourth Eclogue, spoken under the Cumaean sibyl's inspiration, on the obliteration of the traces of our crimes—a witness to Christ the pagans unwittingly bore. Demons, whose own spirits are unclean, cannot purify the human spirit; and Porphyry's very admission that theurgy cannot justify the intellectual soul and cannot make the spiritual soul eternal exposes the futility of the whole system to which the world, flocking to Christ, has long since turned away.

Porphyry, despite his intellectual attainments and his admission that the spiritual soul can be purified by chastity apart from theurgic arts, remained blind to the true wisdom revealed in Christ, despising the humble incarnation of the unchangeable Son of God and the scandal of the cross as things beneath his lofty philosophy. Although he acknowledged the Father and His intellectual Son as a kind of Trinity, and conceded that only a few attain God through grace rather than human sufficiency, he rejected the very mediation of a human nature by which mortals might pass to the immortal and the changeable to the unchangeable, his pride preventing him from bending to the lowliness required for faith. The author further shows that Porphyry himself was not afraid to emend Plato on important points—such as restricting transmigration to human bodies, denying the soul's return to the material world, and refusing the Platonic doctrine of a necessary cycle of alternating happiness and misery—yet refused to follow the same path of submission to divine truth when it came to recognizing Christ as the Father's mind and the mediator of grace.

Augustine criticizes Porphyry for failing to recognize Christ as the very wisdom and virtue of God, even though the Platonist conceded that the soul could be purified by chastity without theurgic arts and acknowledged that only the Father's mind or intellect could remove the ignorance and vices of the soul. Although the Platonists glimpse from afar a triune God of Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, they refuse the incarnation of the unchangeable Son, despising the humility of His birth from a woman and the shame of the cross; yet Augustine argues that nothing in this doctrine is incredible, for if the intellectual soul can become consubstantial with the divine intelligence, it is fitting that one soul be assumed uniquely for the salvation of many, and he contrasts their proud speculations with the lowly Christian confession that the Word was made flesh. Augustine further commends Porphyry for correcting Plato on transmigration, restricting the soul's return to human bodies and rejecting the Platonic cycle whereby purified souls would be summoned back to earth through the river Lethe, since such a return would make perfect blessedness the cause of future misery. Finally, he overturns the Platonist objection that nothing eternal could have had a beginning by pointing to Plato's own admission that the gods of the world were created and yet are everlasting, concluding that human reason must yield to divine authority and to the sacrifice of the incarnate Priest who offered Himself for our redemption.

The passage criticizes Porphyry for his stubborn blindness in refusing to recognize Christ as the virtue and wisdom of God, even while he admits that the spiritual part of the soul can be purified by chastity apart from theurgic arts, and chastises the Platonists for their impious reluctance to acknowledge the incarnation of the unchangeable Son. Augustine then surveys Porphyry's emendations of Plato—his correction of transmigration into animal bodies, his rejection of the Lethe-oblivion and cyclical return taught in Platonic doctrine, and his insistence that purified souls return to the Father and are never again entangled with evil—and treats these improvements as evidence that even a Platonist could recognize and surpass his master's errors. Finally, Augustine dismantles the Platonist argument that the soul must be co-eternal with God because nothing eternal can have had a beginning, pointing out that their own doctrine of the soul's endless blessedness, which admittedly begins in time, refutes the very premise they press against Christian teaching, and he urges the proud philosophers to yield to divine authority and the humility of the incarnate Christ.

Against the Soul's Co-Eternality with God

The Christian religion possesses the universal way for delivering the soul; apart from this way, no one can be saved. It is a royal path leading not to a tottering temporal dignity but to a kingdom established on eternal foundations.

In *De Regressu Animæ*, Porphyry concedes that no system of doctrine—whether from the truest philosophy, Indian ideas and practices, Chaldæan reasoning, or any other source—has yet presented the universal way of the soul's deliverance. His acknowledgment shows he believed such a way must exist, even though he had not discovered it.

This universal way is uniquely royal, leading to a kingdom that does not waver like earthly dignities but rests firmly on eternal foundations, in contrast to all transitory worldly powers.

Because Porphyry's philosophy had not revealed the universal way, it was either not the truest philosophy or it failed to comprehend this saving path. His diligence in studying the deliverance of the soul still left him lacking the commanding authority necessary for matters of such supreme importance.

The universal way of deliverance is granted by divine compassion to all nations. No people who receive its knowledge have a right to question its timing, for the design of the One who bestows it lies beyond human comprehension.

Abraham, himself a Chaldæan by birth, was called to leave his country and kindred to receive the promise that "in thy seed shall all nations be blessed." Through his obedience he was delivered from Chaldæan superstitions, and from his offspring was to arise a Mediator in whom the universal way would be opened to all nations.

Christ, born long afterward of Abraham's seed, declares of Himself, "I am the way, the truth, and the life," fulfilling and embodying the universal way promised to all peoples.

Holy prophecy foretold this universal way: "God be merciful unto us, and bless us, and cause His face to shine upon us; that Thy way may be known upon earth, Thy saving health among all nations." Scripture thus anticipated a salvation that would extend beyond one nation to the whole earth.

Isaiah prophesied that in the last days the mountain of the Lord's house would be exalted above all hills, all nations would flow to it, and the law and word of the Lord would go forth from Zion and Jerusalem to be universally diffused. The way therefore belongs not to one nation but to all.

After His resurrection the Mediator opened the disciples' understandings to the Scriptures, showing that repentance and remission of sins must be preached in His name among all nations, beginning at Jerusalem—confirming the catholic scope of the gospel way.

Before the Mediator's incarnation, the universal way was disclosed in part through holy angels and prophets, especially within the Hebrew nation. The tabernacle, temple, priesthood, and sacrifices of that commonwealth served to prefigure and fore-announce the city of God gathered from all nations.

To prevent the notion that different parts of human nature require separate purifications, the mighty and truthful Purifier and Saviour assumed the whole human nature. The incarnation itself becomes the foundation for the salvation of the complete person.

This way purifies the whole man and prepares every part of the mortal for immortality. Whether in the period of the promises or in the proclamation of their fulfillment, no one has been, is, or will be delivered except by this way.

Augustine challenges Porphyry's claim that historical study never revealed the universal way. He asks what history is more remarkable than one that has won the whole world by its authoritative voice, or more trustworthy than one that narrates the past and predicts the future with equal clarity.

The unfulfilled predictions of Scripture compel belief through those that have already been fulfilled. Neither Porphyry nor any Platonist can justly despise true divination and prediction, even as they rightly reject ordinary soothsaying and demonic arts.

Beyond ordinary predictions, the saints foretold truly important and divine events: the incarnation of Christ, the marvels accomplished in His name, the repentance and conversion of human wills, the remission of sins, the grace of righteousness, the worldwide multiplication of believers, the overthrow of idolatry and demon worship, the trials and purification of the faithful, and the working of miracles including the casting out of unclean spirits, healing of sicknesses, and the raising of the dead.

The Scriptures of this way also predict the day of judgment, the resurrection of the dead, the eternal damnation of the ungodly, and the eternal kingdom of the most glorious city of God, ever-blessed in the vision of God. With so many predictions already fulfilled, believers justly and piously trust that the remainder will also come to pass.

Those who refuse to believe that this is the straight way to the vision of God and eternal fellowship with Him may rage against the position but cannot overturn it, for it rests on the fulfillment of prophecy and the authoritative spread of the faith throughout the world.

Augustine concludes the first ten books by noting that, with divine aid, he has refuted the objections of the ungodly who prefer their own gods to the Founder of the holy city. The first five books answered those who sought the gods for the blessings of this life; the second five answered those who sought them for the life to come.

In fulfillment of the promise made in the first book, Augustine will now proceed, as God shall aid him, to treat the origin, history, and deserved ends of the two cities, which in this world are commingled and implicated with one another, awaiting the next part of the work.

Augustine introduces the second part of the work, which will explain the origin and end of the two cities. He identifies the City of God through scriptural testimony, including the psalmist's declaration that "Glorious things are spoken of thee, O city of God." He distinguishes the true God from the false gods preferred by the earthly city's citizens and notes that he has already replied to the enemies of this city in the ten preceding books. He now proposes to treat the origin, progress, and deserved destinies of the two cities, first explaining how their foundations were laid in the difference that arose among the angels.

Augustine explains that a man can attain knowledge of God only through the Mediator between God and men, the man Christ Jesus. While it is a rare achievement for a man to pass beyond all creation and attain to the unchangeable substance of God, the mind is disabled by inveterate vices and must first be impregnated with faith, purified, and gradually healed. The truth itself—God's Son, assuming humanity without destroying His divinity—established and founded this faith, providing a way for man to reach man's God through a God-man, who is both God our end and man our way.

This Mediator, having spoken through the prophets, His own lips, and the apostles, has also produced the canonical Scriptures, which have paramount authority. Just as we trust those who have seen visible objects we have not seen ourselves, so we must trust those who have contemplated in incorporeal light the things perceived by the mind and spirit that are remote from our own interior sense.

Augustine refutes the idea that the world was created by a new decree of God. Citing Genesis—"In the beginning God created the heavens and the earth"—he argues that the world itself bears witness to its creation by God. He challenges those who would ascribe only a creational, not a temporal, beginning to the world, showing that such positions lead to absurdities regarding the soul's new misery, its alternation of happiness and misery, and accusations of mutability in God. He concludes that one should believe, regarding the world as well as the soul, that it was made in time without any violation of God's immutable counsel.

Augustine turns to those who accept God as Creator but have difficulties about the time of creation. As they demand why the world was created then and no sooner, he asks why it was created in this place and not elsewhere. He shows the parallel between imagining infinite times before the world and infinite spaces outside it, warning that the latter would lead to Epicurus's dream of innumerable worlds. Since the divine substance is spiritually present everywhere, it is no more absent from the infinite spaces beyond the world than God was idle during the infinite times before it.

Augustine distinguishes eternity from time by noting that time requires movement and transition. Since God, in whose eternity there is no change, is the Creator and Ordainer of time, the world could not have been created after spaces of time had elapsed unless some creature existed by whose movement time could pass. The scriptural phrase "in the beginning" indicates that God made nothing previously, so the world was made not in time but simultaneously with time. The six or seven days of creation, with their mornings and evenings, demonstrate this; though the precise nature of those days is extremely difficult, if not impossible, for us to comprehend.

The First Days Before the Sun examines how the initial three days had morning and evening without a sun, since it was created on the fourth day. Augustine explores what kind of light was made on the first day and how evening and morning occurred, suggesting it may have been a material light, the holy city of angels, or a spiritual reality. He notes that Scripture calls these "one day" repeatedly and uses "evening and morning" rather than "night," because the knowledge of creatures compared to the Creator is like twilight, dawning into morning when creatures are drawn to praise and love the Creator.

God's Resting on the Seventh Day explains that God's rest should not be understood as if work were toil to Him, since He spoke and it was done by His eternal word. Rather, God's rest signifies the rest of those who rest in God, analogous to how we say a house is joyful meaning the inhabitants are joyful. This rest was prefigured in the sabbath law given to the ancient people of God and promises eternal rest to those who, through faith, draw near to God in this life.

The Creation of the Angels argues that angels must be included among God's works, even though Scripture does not explicitly name them in the creation account. Augustine cites passages from the Hymn of the Three Children and the Psalms where angels are called God's works and are said to have been created by His command. He contends the angels are the "light" called "Day" on the first day, created as partakers of the eternal light which is the unchangeable Wisdom of God, the only-begotten Son. Angels who turn from this light become impure, since evil is not a positive nature but the loss of good.

The Simple and Unchangeable Trinity affirms that God is the alone simple and therefore alone unchangeable Good, by whom all other goods were created. The Father and Son, both simple and unchangeable, together with the Holy Spirit, are one God—a true Trinity, not merely nominal as the Sabellian heretics claim. The divine nature is simple because quality and substance are identical, and each person is what He has, except in relation to the other persons. Augustine contrasts this with created things, where substance and quality differ, so that what has something can be deprived of it. Even the promised incorruptible body has its incorruption as a quality distinct from its substance.

The Fallen Angels and Their Original Blessedness inquires whether the angels who fell ever shared the blessedness now enjoyed by the holy angels. Augustine reasons that if the fallen angels had fully participated in that blessedness, they would have remained eternally blessed, since perfect blessedness requires the certainty of eternity. Their ignorance of whether their good would last—whether through fear or doubt—shows they did not possess the plenitude of blessedness. While God alone is truly blessed in the highest sense, the holy angels are perfectly blessed according to their capacity, a state the fallen angels did not attain before their fall.

The blessedness of an intelligent being is shown to extend beyond the angels, for our first parents in Paradise were also blessed prior to their sin, even though they were uncertain whether their felicity would endure. In present comfort, the first man in Paradise was more blessed than any just man in the insecure state of this life, since the first man enjoyed undisturbed happiness while the just man remains uncertain of perseverance. However, with respect to hope of future good, a person who certainly knows that he shall eternally enjoy the most high God in the company of angels surpasses even the felicity of Paradise, regardless of bodily torments, because certainty of eternal blessedness is a greater good than present pleasure coupled with uncertainty of fate.

The blessedness that an intelligent being rightly desires arises from two combined elements: uninterrupted enjoyment of the unchangeable good, which is God, and freedom from all doubt, with certain knowledge that the enjoyment will last forever. While the angels of light are piously believed to possess this blessedness, reason suggests that the fallen angels did not enjoy it even before their sin, because their blessedness was destined to end. If, at the moment of creation, some angels were made in ignorance of their perseverance or fall while others were assured of eternity, this inequality is hard to accept, but it is even harder to believe that the holy angels remain uncertain of their eternal blessedness. Since the gospel promises the faithful that they will be equal to the angels and will go away into eternal life, and since the truth does not deceive, the good angels must be certain of their blessedness, which means that they came to know it after the perdition of the others, unless one holds that the devil never was blessed with the holy angels at all and refused to submit to his Creator from the very beginning.

The Lord's words, "He abode not in the truth, because the truth is not in him," present an unusual order of phrasing, because it seems to make the absence of truth the cause of his not abiding in it, whereas the not abiding is rather the cause of the absence. This is comparable to the psalmist's "I have called upon Thee, for Thou hast heard me, O God," where the effect demonstrates the earnestness of the prayer. The correct understanding is that the devil first fell from the truth, and only afterwards was the truth no longer in him, because he had abandoned it of his own will.

Those who suppose that "the devil sinneth from the beginning" means he was made with a sinful nature misunderstand the passage, for if sin were natural it would not be sin at all. The prophetic testimonies from Isaiah, depicting the devil under the figure of the king of Babylon, and from Ezekiel, describing him as having been in the garden of God and as having been perfect in his ways, prove that he was at first without sin. The phrase therefore means that he was once in the truth but did not remain in it, and "from the beginning" refers not to the beginning of his created existence but to the beginning of his sin, when pride caused him to fall. Passages in Job and the Psalms that call the devil a sport for the angels do not imply that he was originally created for this purpose, but rather that this was appointed as his punishment after his fall. Nevertheless, his very beginning as a creature is the handiwork of God, who is the source of all measure, form, and order, and who therefore must be the creator of the angelic nature, which surpasses in dignity all else that He has made.

Among existing beings that are not of God's essence, those that have life are ranked above those that have none, those that have the power of generation or desire above those that lack it, the sentient above the insensate, the intelligent above the non-intelligent, and the immortal above the mortal, following the order of nature. However, according to human utility, different standards of value prevail, so that inanimate objects are often preferred to sentient creatures, and even among men, a horse may be valued more than a slave or a jewel more than a maid. The contemplative reason judges a thing by its place in the scale of creation, necessity judges it by how it meets need, and pleasure judges it by how it titillates bodily sense. Yet in rational natures the weight of will and love is of such consequence that, although angels outrank men in the order of nature, good men are of greater value than bad angels by the scale of justice.

The words "this is the beginning of God's handiwork" refer to the nature of the devil, not to his wickedness, because vice or wickedness can only be a flaw in a nature that was previously not vitiated. Vice is so contrary to nature that it cannot but damage it, and departure from God would not be vice at all unless it occurred in a nature whose property it was to abide with God, so that even a wicked will is a strong proof of the goodness of the nature. God, as the supremely good Creator of good natures, is also the most just Ruler of evil wills, so that while they make ill use of good natures, He makes a good use even of evil wills. Thus He caused the devil, good by God's creation but wicked by his own will, to be cast down and to become a mockery of His angels, so that his temptations benefit those whom he wishes to injure. The psalm's reference to leviathan as a sport shows that even when God in His goodness created him good, He had already foreseen and arranged how He would make use of him when he became wicked.

God would never have created an angel, or even a man, whose future wickedness He foreknew, unless He had equally known to what uses in behalf of the good He could turn him, thereby embellishing the course of the ages as an exquisite poem set off with antitheses. These oppositions of contraries, called antitheses, are among the most elegant of the ornaments of speech, and as they lend beauty to language, so the beauty of the course of this world is achieved by similar oppositions arranged, as it were, by an eloquence not of words but of things. The Apostle Paul makes a graceful use of antithesis in his Second Epistle to the Corinthians, and the Book of Ecclesiasticus plainly states that good is set against evil, life against death, and the sinner against the godly, and that all the works of the Most High come in pairs, one against another.

The obscurity of the divine word carries this advantage, that it gives rise to many opinions and discussions about the truth, with each reader discerning some fresh meaning. Whatever meaning is proposed for an obscure passage should be confirmed by the testimony of obvious facts or supported by other, less ambiguous texts, and the obscurity is beneficial whether the author's sense is at last reached or whether, though it remains concealed, other truths are brought out by the discussion. It is not incongruent with God's working to understand that the angels were created when the first light was made, and that a separation was effected between the holy and the unclean angels when God divided the light from the darkness and called the light Day and the darkness Night, for only He who could foreknow their fall could make this discrimination. With respect to ordinary day and night, God commanded the luminaries of heaven to divide the light from the darkness, but only He Himself could divide the light, which is the holy company of angels spiritually radiant with the illumination of truth, from the opposing darkness, which is the noisome foulness of those angels who, turning away from the light of righteousness, abide in the darkness of pride, a separation grounded in the foreknowledge of their wicked will, which was a matter of will and not of nature.

God's Approval of the Light This section analyzes the precise placement of God's approval in the Genesis narrative. Augustine observes that after "Let there be light, and there was light," the text immediately adds "And God saw the light that it was good." However, when the light is separated from the darkness and given the names Day and Night, no such approval follows—lest the divine seal appear to endorse darkness itself. In contrast, when darkness is later divided by the heavenly bodies from the light visible to our eyes, both receive approval after the division, because both are sinless. Augustine interprets this as showing that the angelic darkness, though ordained, was not approved because it was evil not by nature but by its own fault, while the light alone merited the Creator's approbation in this first instance.

God's Eternal and Unchangeable Knowledge and Will Augustine explains that the refrain "And God saw that it was good" does not signify God discovering the goodness of His work but rather teaches that it is good. God did not first learn its goodness in the act of making it; nothing would have been made had He not known it beforehand in His design. Augustine corrects Plato's notion that God was "elated with joy" upon completing the universe, clarifying that the statement simply indicates the work met its Maker's approval as it had in design. God's knowledge is not successive or varied—He does not pass from one thought to another but beholds all things with absolute unchangeableness. Future, present, and past are all comprehended in His stable and eternal presence. The three truths communicated by "God said, Let there be light… And God saw the light that it was good" reveal who made it (God), by what means (the Word), and why (that good might be created by the good God)—a reason Plato also recognized.

Those Who Reject the Goodness of Creation Augustine criticizes heretics (especially Manichaeans) who fail to recognize that the good God created a good world. They fixate on troublesome things like fire, frost, and wild beasts, which harm frail human flesh, without perceiving how admirable these things are in their own places, how well-adjusted to creation as a whole, and how serviceable even to humanity when used properly. Even poisons become medicinal when used correctly, while pleasant things like food, drink, and sunlight become harmful when immoderately used. Augustine declares that no nature is evil—evil being nothing but the want of good—and that concealment of utility exercises humility and levels pride. The Manichaeans, who posit an evil nature propagating from an opposing principle, are refuted: the soul that can be altered by its own will is not a part of God nor of the same nature, but a created thing far different from its Creator.

The Error of Origen's Doctrine Augustine turns to those within the faith who, though believing in one Creator, refuse the simple explanation that a good God made a good creation. They claim souls (created, not part of God) sinned by abandoning God and merited debasement into diverse bodies as prison-houses, making the world's purpose not the production of good things but the restraining of evil. Augustine blames Origen for this in his work "On Origins." It contradicts Scripture, which by repeating "God saw that it was good" and concluding "it was very good" plainly teaches that good creatures were made by a good God. Furthermore, on Origen's view, the most wicked devils should possess the grossest earthly bodies, but in fact the wickedest devil has an ethereal body while venial man received a body of clay even before sin. The absurdity extends to the sun: if only one soul merited such a body, there should be as many suns as souls of equivalent guilt—a patent absurdity. Augustine cautions that such thinkers should restrain themselves rather than speculate ignorantly about souls, and notes the question of whether the Trinity is mystically indicated in the threefold answer (who, by what means, why) is too deep to settle fully here.

The Divine Trinity and Its Presence in Creation Augustine affirms and preaches the orthodox doctrine of the Trinity: the Father begat the Word (Wisdom) by whom all things were made, the only-begotten Son, one with the Father, eternal and supremely good; the Holy Spirit is the Spirit of both, consubstantial and co-eternal, and the whole is a Trinity of distinct persons and one God of indivisible substance and omnipotence. While hesitating to call the Holy Spirit the "goodness" of Father and Son, Augustine readily calls Him the "holiness" of both, since the third person is distinctively named the Holy Spirit—substantial holiness consubstantial with the others. If divine goodness equals divine holiness, then the Trinity is enigmaticaly hinted at when Scripture reveals who made creation (the Father), by what means (the Word), and why (because it was good, the Holy Spirit). The entire Trinity is thus revealed in creation, which is also the origin, enlightenment, and blessedness of the holy city above. That city has its being by subsisting in God, its light by contemplating Him, and its joy by abiding in Him—in God's eternity, truth, and goodness.

Augustine observes that philosophers arrived at a threefold division of philosophy—physical, logical, and ethical (natural, rational, and moral)—not by invention but by discovery. Though they did not consciously reflect on the Trinity, Plato saw that God alone is the author of nature, the bestower of intelligence, and the kindler of love. Augustine then distinguishes the three things every artificer requires: nature, education, and practice. He clarifies the difference between *enjoying* (what delights in itself) and *using* (what serves a further end), warning against the perversity of those who would use God and enjoy money rather than the reverse. Since God is the author of our nature, He must also be our teacher and the source of blessed sweetness.

Augustine identifies an image of the supreme Trinity in human nature itself: we both are, and know that we are, and delight in our being and our knowledge of it. These three are grasped without any delusive phantasms, unlike sense-perception of external objects. He defends this certainty against the Academic skeptics: "if I am deceived, I am," for non-being cannot be deceived. From this foundation he extends the certainty: as I know I am, so I know I know; and I likewise love both my being and my knowledge, a third reality of equal weight. He concludes with the observation that no one wishes to be unhappy, and no one wishes not to be at all, for how could one be happy without existence?

The very fact of existence is so naturally pleasant that even the wretched prefer immortal misery to annihilation. Augustine extends this observation down the scale of being: irrational animals from dragons to worms flee death, plants root themselves more deeply to preserve their life, and even lifeless bodies seek their natural position by gravity or levity. Human nature likewise loves knowledge and recoils from deception—preferring grief with a sound mind to joy in madness. The irrational animals have a likeness of knowledge, while material things are "sensible" only as objects of our senses. But man has an inner sense by which he perceives justice itself, and by it is assured that he is, that he knows, and that he loves.

Augustine asks whether the love by which we love our existence and knowledge is itself loved, and answers affirmatively: a merely good knower is not yet a good man; one must love the good. He distinguishes the love that leads to life from the love that leads to evil, both of which can coexist within a person, with the former meant to grow and the latter to diminish until the whole life is transmuted into good. He illustrates by analogy how beasts, trees, and stones each "love" according to their nature, before turning to the dignity of man, created in God's image. He urges that image-bearer to return to his Creator, where being has no death, knowledge no error, and love no mishap. The chapter closes by looking ahead to the holy angels who maintained their allegiance to God.

The holy angels come to know God not through audible words but through the immediate presence of immutable truth in their souls—the only-begotten Word. They know the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit as an indivisible Trinity, one substance, one God, with a clarity exceeding our self-knowledge. They likewise know the creature in two ways: in the divine Wisdom (the art or design) with noonday clarity, and in the creature itself with twilight dimness. Examples include the firmament, the gathering of waters, the dry land and its vegetation, sun, moon, and stars, the animals of water and land, and humanity itself. When these works are referred back to the praise of the Creator, the angels' knowledge of them is as morning dawning in their minds.

This section explains why God's works of creation are said to have been completed in six days. Six is identified as a perfect number because it is the first number that is exactly composed of its own aliquot parts added together (one-sixth, one-third, and one-half, that is 1+2+3=6). Augustine illustrates this by contrasting six with other numbers: nine, whose aliquot parts sum to less than the whole; ten, whose parts also fall short; and twelve, whose parts exceed the whole. The six days therefore signify the perfection of God's completed work, not a need for extended time, since God could have created all things at once. Augustine urges the reader not to despise the science of numbers, citing its evident usefulness in Scripture, and closes with the scriptural declaration that God has ordered all things in number, measure, and weight.

This section treats the seventh day as the symbol of God's rest, completeness, and hallowing. Seven is also a perfect number, but for another reason: it is composed of three, the first whole odd number, and four, the first whole even number, and so it is often used in Scripture to signify the whole or completeness. Augustine cites the texts "A just man falleth seven times, and riseth up again" and "Seven times a day will I praise Thee," interpreting them as expressions of totality rather than literal arithmetic. The seventh day is hallowed not by works but by God's rest, which has no evening because it is not a creature. In it the Holy Spirit is signified, who teaches all truth. The saints labor in part as long as they know in part, but in the eternal sabbath they will share the holy angels' untroubled knowledge and rest.

This section engages the question of whether the angels were created before the world described in Genesis. Augustine addresses an opponent who argues that the angels were made before the firmament and even before "the beginning" itself, since "beginning" designates the Wisdom or Word by whom all things were made. He does not contest this view, finding pleasure in the way it allows the Trinity to be celebrated from the opening of Genesis: the Father creating in the Son, and the Holy Spirit moving upon the waters. Each reader may take it as he pleases, for the passage is profound and admits several interpretations, all within the rule of faith. What is certain is that the holy angels, though not co-eternal with God, are secure in eternal felicity, that the saints are equal to the angels of God, and that the angels in heaven always behold the face of the Father.

This section teaches that the words "light" and "darkness" in Genesis signify two contrary communities of angels. The Apostle Peter's declaration that God spared not the angels that sinned but cast them down to hell proves that there is a separation between the faithful and the apostate angels. The faithful are rightly called light, blazing with the love of God and serving as ministers of His goodness, while the rebellious are called darkness, swollen with pride, cast from the heaven of heavens, and tempest-tossed by unclean desires. Augustine contrasts the two in a series of paired descriptions: one humble and tranquil, the other proud and raging; one tenderly succoring, the other cruelly striving to hurt. Both communities are good by nature, but differ in will, and Paul himself calls the faithful the children of light. Whether the sacred author intended this spiritual meaning, the discussion has not been wasted, for it adheres to the rule of faith and shows how the visible creation resembles the invisible.

This section examines the opinion of those who suppose that the angels are meant by the waters above the firmament and that the phrase "Let there be a firmament in the midst of the waters" records not their creation but their separation. Augustine notes the difficulty such interpreters have with the natural weight and fluidity of the waters, and turns their objection against them by appealing to the human head, in which a cold and moist humor is rightly placed despite its heaviness. He also refutes the folly of those who deny that the waters were created by God because no creative word is recorded for them, since the same objection could be made about the earth, and the Scripture itself affirms, "The sea is His, and He made it." Concluding that too detailed an inquiry into the Genesis creation account would digress from his purpose, Augustine closes the book, having now treated the two diverse communities of angels in which the origins of the two human communities to be discussed later are foreshadowed.

This section gathers the general editorial footnotes and reference apparatus accompanying the text. Note [481] clarifies that "vice" carries the meaning of sinful blemish in the given passage. Note [483] explains that Quintilian commonly uses a term in the sense of antithesis. Note [492] supplies the Latin original _Proprietas_. Note [496] notes an alternative reading of "aliquot parts." These notes provide philological clarification, alternative readings, and brief editorial guidance to assist the reader in interpreting Augustine's terminology and argument.

This section enumerates the scriptural citations referenced throughout the chapter. They include Ps. civ. 26 [482]; 2 Cor. vi. 7-10 [484]; Ecclus. xxxiii. 15 [485]; Gen. i. 14-18 [486]; Jas. i. 17 [488]; Gen. i. 31 [491]; Wisd. xi. 20 [499]; Prov. xxiv. 16 [500]; Ps. cxix. 164 [501]; Ps. xxxiv. 1 [502]; John xvi. 13 [503]; Isa. xi. 2 [504]; 1 Cor. xiii. 10 [505]; John viii. 25 [506]; Ps. civ. 24 [507]; Matt. xxii. 30 [508]; Matt. xviii. 10 [509]; 2 Peter ii. 4 [510]; Eph. v. 8 [511]; Ps. cxlviii. 2 [512]; Matt. iv. 9 [513]; Jas. iv. 6 [514]; 1 Thess. v. 5 [515]; Gen. i. 6 [517]; and Ps. xcv. 5 [519]. The citations span the Old and New Testaments, with particular concentration in Genesis, the Psalms, and the Pauline epistles, forming the scriptural backbone of the chapter's exegesis.

This section identifies the Platonic and philosophical allusions in the chapter. Notes [487] and [489] cite passages from Plato's _Timæus_ (pp. 37 C. and 29 D. respectively), where the Creator's delight in the created image and His freedom from envy are described. Note [493] draws on Sir William Hamilton's note A in his edition of _Reid_ (p. 744), which pairs an Augustinian passage with Descartes's "Cogito, ergo sum" as evidence that consciousness of certain modes of existence yields absolute certainty of existence. Note [498] directs the reader to Smith's _Dictionary_, article "number," for passages illustrating early opinions regarding numerology. These allusions situate Augustine's theology of creation in dialogue with classical philosophy and modern metaphysical reflection.

This section collects the theological and doctrinal notes. Note [490] identifies the heretical group under discussion as the Manichæans. Note [495] refers the reader to chapter 7. Note [504] observes that Augustine's eighth sermon develops the subject of the "spirit of wisdom" from Isa. xi. 2, lest the reader suppose he referenced Rev. iii. 1. Note [506] notes that Augustine refers to John viii. 25 (p. 415) though Rev. iii. 14 might have been more apt. Note [516] records that Augustine published an idea in _Confessions_ xiii. 32 but later retracted it in _Retract._ II. vi. 2 as "said without sufficient consideration," with Epiphanius and Jerome ascribing the view to Origen. Note [497] compares the argument to _De Genesi ad Litteram_ iv. 2 and _De Trinitate_ iv. 7. Together, these notes clarify doctrinal positions, correct possible misattributions, and trace the development of Augustine's thought.

This section addresses the historical and heretical sects mentioned in the chapter. Note [490] identifies the Manichæans as the group whose views are being critiqued. Note [518] identifies the Audians and Sampsæans as insignificant heretical sects mentioned by Theodoret and Epiphanius in connection with Gen. i. 6. The chapter thus engages with groups ranging from major dualist heretics (the Manichæans) to marginal ascetic sects whose idiosyncratic readings of the creation account are noted for the reader's edification.

This section assembles Augustine's cross-references to his own works and to related authorities. Note [494] directs the reader to compare _Confessions_ xiii. 9. Note [497] cites _De Genesi ad Litteram_ iv. 2 and _De Trinitate_ iv. 7 as parallel discussions. Note [504] refers to Augustine's eighth sermon. Note [506] refers to p. 415, where Augustine cites John viii. 25. Note [516] cites _Confessions_ xiii. 32 and _Retractationes_ II. vi. 2, alongside the patristic witnesses Epiphanius and Jerome. These cross-references form an internal index linking the present commentary to Augustine's broader literary output and to the patristic tradition that interprets him.

Angels, whether good or evil, share one and the same nature and origin, created as they are by God, the good Author of all essences. The difference between them lies wholly in will and desire: the good steadfastly clung to the common good in God, while the evil, enamoured of their own power, lapsed into a private, prideful, deceptive, and envious self-love. Because blessedness belongs to those who adhere to God and misery to those who do not, God alone is the good of every rational creature. Even mutable creatures can become blessed by clinging to the immutable good, and the very capacity of the angelic nature to cleave to God—so that its failure to do so is a fault—proves how gloriously noble that nature was from its creation.

The apostate angels cannot be thought to possess a different origin from the good, for nothing is contrary to God save nonentity itself. Since God supremely is and is unchangeable, all that He made He empowered to be, though not supremely; He distributed existence in ranks, granting fuller being to some and more limited being to others. Thus the only opposite to the supreme Being, who is the source of all being, is that which altogether is not.

Those called God's enemies are so by will, not by nature; their vice opposes God's rule but cannot injure the unchangeable God, only themselves. Vice, as evil, is contrary to God as good, and is contrary to the nature it vitiates as both evil and hurtful. Yet because vice can only harm a good nature, vice itself bears witness that it corrupts something originally good; a harmless vice is impossible. Even natures marred by an evil will remain good insofar as they are natures, and when punished they acquire the further good of justice.

It would be absurd to condemn the perishing of beasts, plants, and other irrational or lifeless things, since these mutable creatures received their existence precisely to pass away and give place to successors, securing the beauty of the seasons and the ordered harmony of the universe. Although human frailty prevents us from perceiving the whole in which these fragments fit, the creatures in their own nature and rank glorify their Maker. Even penal fire, despite its destructiveness, is beautiful in its flaming nature and useful in its warming and restorative functions; creatures are to be judged by what they are in themselves, not by human convenience.

Every nature, insofar as it exists with its own rank, species, and internal harmony, is good, and in its appointed place it preserves the being it has received. Transitory things, when they perish, serve the order to which the Creator's law has made them subservient and contribute to the designed result of the divine government. God, who supremely is, created all beings that do not supremely exist; nothing made of nothing could equal Him, yet His creatures, in their very natures, call forth His praise rather than censure.

The blessedness of the good angels is caused by their cleaving to Him who supremely is, while the misery of the bad is caused by their forsaking Him and turning to themselves, who possess no such essence. This departure from God is pride—"the beginning of sin"—a turning in which the angels preferred themselves to the supreme Being and so diminished the ample existence they enjoyed. By abandoning God, their nature did not cease to be, but became lesser and therefore wretched, since it was created to find its blessedness only in enjoyment of the Supreme.

Augustine examines whether the evil will has an efficient cause, finding that none can be assigned. The will itself makes the action bad, so the evil will is the cause of the bad action, but nothing causes the will to become evil. If a hypothetical cause had a will, that will would either be good (which cannot produce an evil will, lest good be the cause of sin) or evil (which only pushes the question back to what caused the first evil will). Illustrating with two men of identical temperament who behold the same bodily beauty, one yielding to illicit desire and the other remaining chaste, Augustine shows that all external conditions—bodily beauty, flesh, disposition, even demonic suggestion—were identical for both. The only difference is that one willed to fall away and the other did not, so the cause of the evil will is nothing other than the will itself, which was a good nature created by God before it became wicked. Because the will was made of nothing, it possesses a mutability that allows it to fall into evil.

Augustine urges that no one should look for an efficient cause of the evil will, for it is not efficient but deficient. The will is not an effecting but a defect—a defection from supreme being to that which has less of being. To seek the causes of these defections is like trying to see darkness or hear silence: both are known by their absence rather than by any positive actuality. The mind perceives intelligible forms positively, but apprehends defects by not knowing them, since "who can understand defects?" The evil will, therefore, is known precisely as something that cannot be positively known.

Since God's nature can never be defective while natures made of nothing can, the will becomes evil only by willing to do so, and its failings are justly punished as voluntary. The defection is itself evil, not the inferior things turned toward, for avarice is the vice of the one who inordinately loves gold, luxury the vice of the heart that inordinately loves pleasure, boasting the fault of the soul inordinately fond of human praise, and pride the fault of one who loves his own power above the just dominion of a higher authority. In every case, the evil lies in disordered love that prefers a lesser good over a greater, and whoever inordinately loves the good possessed by any nature, even when he obtains it, becomes evil in that good and is made wretched by being deprived of a greater good.

Augustine argues that the good will of the holy angels is not self-produced but created in them by God through the grace of the Holy Spirit. If the angels had existed even briefly without a good will, they would have made themselves better than their Maker made them—an impossible thought—since without a good will they would have been evil, or at least not as good as when they received the will that cleaved to God. The good will itself cannot be the cause of itself, whether it already exists or not; therefore God, in one and the same act, created the angelic nature and endowed it with the chaste love by which it clung to Him. The evil angels, though created good, fell by their own will through voluntary defection from good; the holy angels received a more abundant assistance and attained the certainty that they would never fall. Thus it can be said of them, as of holy men, that "the love of God is shed abroad in their hearts by the Holy Ghost, which is given unto them," forming with God and with one another a holy fellowship that is the one City of God. Augustine now turns from the rise of this city among the angels to its origin among mortal men.

Augustine dismisses the conjectures of those who claim the human race has always existed, citing Apuleius's view that individuals die but the race is immortal, and the response that periodic fires and floods so devastated the earth that populations had to be restored, producing the illusion of new beginnings. Such speculations are contradicted by the mendacious Egyptian documents that assign thousands of years to the world's past, which fall apart when checked against credible sources. Alexander the Great's letter to his mother Olympias, recording what an Egyptian priest claimed from their archives, assigned over five thousand years to the kingdom of Assyria and over eight thousand to the Persian and Macedonian empires, whereas the Greek historians reckon only about 1,300 years from Bel, the first king of Assyria, 233 years for the Persians, and 485 for the Macedonians—even after multiplying the Greek figures three times to account for the Egyptians' former use of a four-month year. The Greek chronology deserves greater credit because it does not exceed the true scriptural account of less than six thousand years. Holy Scripture is vindicated both by the worldwide belief it foretold and would obtain, and by its true narration of the past through the exact fulfillment of its predictions of the future.

Some philosophers deny the eternity of the world but suppose either that there are numberless worlds, or that the single world perishes and is reborn at fixed intervals. Augustine points out that even on such views, the human race must have existed before other men could beget them, since these theorists believe the world itself is renewed out of its own material, and the human race was similarly produced from the elements and propagated like other animals.

Augustine answers those who object that man was not created during the countless past ages but only recently, within the last six thousand years. He argues that whatever finite span of time one supposes—five thousand, sixty thousand, six hundred thousand, or an incalculable number of years—the same question could always be asked: why not sooner? Any definite, limited duration compared with boundless past eternity is utterly negligible, like a drop of water against the ocean. The first man himself might on the very day of his creation have asked why he was made no sooner, and the difficulty would have been identical at any period.

Some philosophers, unable to resolve the difficulty of the world's beginning, have introduced cycles of time in which the same order of nature perpetually recurs—either one permanent world passing through all cycles, or the world periodically dying and being renewed. They extend these cycles even to immortal souls, condemning wisdom to endless transmigration between delusive happiness and real misery. Augustine rejects such fantasies, asking how anything can be truly blessed that has no assurance of eternity, and argues that sound doctrine avoids these circuitous paths devised by deceiving and deceived sages.

Advocates of recurring cycles cite Solomon in Ecclesiastes: "There is no new thing under the sun." Augustine explains that Solomon's words refer to the succession of generations, the orbit of the sun, the course of rivers, or the recurring kinds of creatures—men, plants, and even monstrous productions—rather than to literal repetition of identical persons and events. No true believer should suppose that these words justify cycles in which Plato and his Academy recur at vast intervals. Christ died for our sins once and rises no more; the saints shall be ever with the Lord, and the wicked merely walk in a circle of false doctrine.

Though God is eternal and without beginning, He caused time to have a beginning and created man in time—not from any new or sudden resolution, but from His unchangeable and eternal design. Augustine acknowledges this as an unsearchable depth of wisdom: God always has been, yet willed to make man in time whom He had never before made, without any change of will. The Psalmist's words, "According to the depth of Thy wisdom Thou hast multiplied the children of men," express this inscrutable purpose which no human conjecture can comprehend.

Augustine hesitates to affirm what God could be Lord of if there had never been any creature, lest he speak presumptuously beyond his knowledge. He is certain that God was always Lord and that man had no existence before time, but he acknowledges that many questions about God's eternal sovereignty and the existence of creatures are beyond his capacity. He cautions readers against hazardous questions and urges them to think soberly according to the measure of faith, lest overtaxing their understanding they dwindle rather than grow.

Angels could not have existed before being created, yet to say they were created "before all time" raises the question of how creatures could "always" exist. Augustine resolves this by observing that time itself was created, though it has been in all time. Similarly, angels have always been because they have been in all time, time being impossible without a creature whose changing movements admit of succession. They were created, yet are not co-eternal with the Creator, because He exists in unchangeable eternity while they, though immortal, have movements passing from future to past. God has always had creatures under His dominion, but they are made out of nothing, not begotten of Him, and He precedes them not by lapse of time but by His abiding eternity.

God's Promise of Life Eternal Before the Eternal Times The apostle speaks of "eternal times" with reference to the past as well as the future, when he says God promised eternal life "before the eternal times" and manifested it in due time. This raises the question of how God could make a promise to men who did not yet exist. The answer is that in God's own eternity and co-eternal Word, what was to be in its own time was already predestined and fixed. Thus the promise does not require a temporal recipient but rests in God's eternal counsel.

Against the Doctrine of Revolving Cycles Sound faith rejects the philosophical claim that God's works must eternally repeat in revolving cycles that restore all things as they were. Proponents argue that God's goodness could never have been idle, and that to avoid positing either past inactivity or sudden, unknowing creation, the same temporal things must recur in fixed rotations. Against this, reason and faith together show that these men wrongly measure God's unchangeable and infinitely capacious mind by their own changeable intellects. God is not affected differently when working and when resting; His former repose and subsequent operation are terms applied only to creatures, not to any alteration in His will. By one and the same eternal and unchangeable will, He decreed both that creatures should not be before they were, and that they should come into existence in their own time. From eternity, God dwelt without creatures in no less perfect blessedness, demonstrating that creation flows from His gratuitous goodness.

God's Knowledge Comprehends the Infinite The argument that God's knowledge cannot comprehend infinite things collapses on its own terms, for it would imply that God does not know all numbers, which are admittedly infinite. Scripture affirms that God ordered all things in number, measure, and weight, and that even the hairs of our head are numbered. Since God's understanding is infinite, the infinity of number is not incomprehensible to Him. Every infinity is in some ineffable way made finite to God, comprehensible by His knowledge. Therefore it is absurd to fix limits to His knowledge or to claim that God could not foreknow or know His creatures without the repetition of cycles. God's knowledge is manifold yet uniform, and He produces novel works not by sudden thought but by eternal foreknowledge.

Of Worlds Without End, or Ages of Ages The phrase "ages of ages" admits of several possible interpretations: a continuous series of successive ages in which only the ransomed abide in blessed immortality exempt from vicissitude; the unchangeable ages fixed in God's wisdom that serve as the efficient causes of temporal ages; or simply a Hebrew idiom for "age of age," as "heavens of heavens" means "heaven of heaven." Determining which meaning is correct is a profound question that need not hinder the present discussion. Whichever interpretation is adopted, it equally follows that the philosophical cycles bringing round the same things have no existence, and nothing more thoroughly refutes them than the eternal life of the saints.

The Impiety of Endless Cycles of Bliss and Misery It is impious to claim that souls enjoying true blessedness must, in periodic revolutions, return to labour and misery. No pious ears could bear the notion that after attaining the vision of God, participation in His unchangeable immortality, and the contemplation of spiritual light, the saints should be cast down from eternity, truth, and felicity into infernal mortality and accursed woes, only for the cycle to repeat endlessly. Such a doctrine is self-defeating: if we forget these future woes we suffer now for nothing, and if we remember them, our expectation of unhappiness becomes happier than our experience of happiness. Even Porphyry, a Platonist, abjured his school's opinion on the ceaseless passing away and returning of souls, either struck by its extravagance or sobered by Christian truth. True religion promises a blessedness that is genuinely eternal, unthreatened by any disaster, and the Christian turns away from unreal cycles to follow the straight path of Christ.

The author argues against the Platonic teaching, derived from the tenth book, that the soul is sent into the world to experience evil, be purified, and then return to the Father never to suffer again. He insists that Christians must abjure and abominate this opinion as unfounded and hostile to faith. If the soul, once delivered, is never again exposed to misery, then something new happens in its experience—namely, secure entrance into eternal felicity—which contradicts any theory of fixed cycles. Even the Platonists' own position implies novelty: if blessedness is a return to a prior state, then misery and deliverance from it are nonetheless new experiences. The author concludes that there is no necessity to deny the human race a beginning in time simply because novelty is admitted into nature.

Having dismissed the eternal cycles, the author argues it is entirely consistent with godly reason to believe God can create new things never before created while preserving His will unaltered. He addresses whether the number of redeemed souls can be indefinitely increased or must be finite. In either case, God's creating new things is possible: if the number grows, the increase itself is something new; if the number is fixed, that definite number had a beginning that never before existed. The chapter then pivots to a related inquiry about why the human race was created from a single individual.

God was pleased to produce the human race from one individual rather than several, in order to commend the unity of society and the bond of concord. Unlike other animals—some solitary like eagles and lions, others gregarious like pigeons and deer, all created in groups—man alone was created singly, with woman formed from his side. Man's nature stands between the angelic and the bestial: if he remains obedient to his Creator, he passes into the company of the angels and obtains blessed immortality without death; if he sins through pride, he becomes subject to death, lives as the beasts do, and is doomed to eternal punishment. The whole human race thus derives from one man to emphasize the kinship and affection binding all people together.

God was not ignorant that man would sin and, being now subject to death, would propagate a race of mortals who would wage wars more terrible than those of lions or dragons. Yet He also foresaw that by His grace a people would be adopted, justified through the remission of sins, and united by the Holy Spirit with the holy angels in eternal peace, with death itself as the last enemy destroyed. This people would benefit from contemplating how God caused all men to descend from one, in order to show how highly He prizes unity within a multitude.

God made man in His own image by creating for him a soul endowed with reason and intelligence, so that he might excel all the creatures of earth, air, and sea. The author discusses whether the soul was already made when God breathed it into man, or whether it was made by the breathing itself, and notes that God's "hand" is His power, working invisibly to produce visible results. The creation of the woman from the man's side is likewise to be understood not in a carnal fashion, by those who judge God's power by ordinary human craft, but as a divine work beyond their comprehension.

Turning to those who follow Plato in believing that mortal animals were created not by the supreme God but by lesser gods created by Him, the author declares it blasphemy to believe or say that any other than God is the creator of any nature, however small or mortal. Although the angels, whom the Platonists prefer to call gods, do assist in the production of surrounding things insofar as they are permitted and commissioned, they are not for that reason to be called creators—any more than gardeners are the creators of the fruits and trees they tend. The author aims to deliver such persons from the superstition that prompts them to offer divine honours to these alleged creators.

The author distinguishes between an external form imposed on bodily substance by artisans, and an internal form that, as efficient cause, produces the natural bodily forms and even the life of living creatures. While the first kind of form belongs to every craftsman, the second belongs to God alone—the Creator who made the world and the angels without the help of world or angels. By the same divine and creative energy that gave roundness to the earth and sky, He gave roundness to the eye and the apple. The author argues that angels, themselves created first, could not have assisted the Creator in making other things in any sense that would make them co-creators. Just as we attribute cities to their founding kings rather than to masons and architects, so all natures must be attributed to God alone, who uses no material or workmen not made by Himself, and without whose creative power all things would relapse into the nothingness from which they were called.

The author refutes the Platonic view that the immortal soul comes from God Himself, while mortal bodies, including the human body, are created by lesser gods. This position, he argues, makes these "gods" not parents but jailers and turnkeys, forging the chains of bodily entanglement from which souls must escape. The Platonists cannot consistently threaten us with our bodies as punishment while urging us to worship as gods those whose work we are told to flee. Both opinions are false: souls do not return to this life to be punished, and there is no other creator of anything in heaven or earth than He who made heaven and earth. Even on Plato's own principles, if the world required all kinds of creatures to be most beautiful and good, and if God embraced the ideas of all animals in His eternal intelligence, then He must Himself have made them all.

Augustine contends that the entire plenitude of the human race was embraced in the first man created by God. In Adam, God foresaw which portion of humanity would be honoured and rewarded, and which would be condemned and punished. This doctrine of representation in the first parent undergirds the unity of the human race and serves as a foundation for understanding God's providential ordering of all humanity through a single origin.

The true religion rightly recognizes and proclaims that the same God who created the universal cosmos also created all animals—both their souls and their bodies. This affirmation counters philosophical denials of God's creative activity in the animal realm and establishes that the Creator of the heavens and earth is likewise the author of every living creature upon the earth, including the immaterial soul that animates the body.

Among all terrestrial animals, man was uniquely made by God in His own image. For the reasons Augustine had previously given, man was created as a single individual rather than emerging from multiple origins. This singular creation underscores the distinctive dignity of human nature and lays the groundwork for understanding the social bonds that would follow from the first man's solitary formation.

Human nature is supremely social by nature but becomes unsocial through corruption. To prevent discord and to heal it where it arises, nothing is more effective than the remembrance of the first parent from whom all are descended. By creating one man alone from whom the entire multitude would be derived, God admonished humanity to preserve unity. This single origin serves as a constant reminder of the brotherhood that binds all human beings together despite their multiplication across the earth.

The fact that woman was fashioned from man's side plainly signifies how dear the bond between husband and wife should be. This divine institution of marriage from the very beginning of creation reveals the intimate union that should characterize the marital relationship. The mode of woman's creation—drawn from man's own body—prefigures the closeness and inseparability of the conjugal bond that God established for the human race.

The works of God in creation appear extraordinary precisely because they are the first works. Augustine argues that those who refuse to believe these foundational creative acts ought not to believe any prodigies, for something is called a prodigy precisely because it departs from the ordinary course of nature. If the first creative works are rejected as impossible, then the category of prodigy itself becomes unintelligible, undermining the very basis for recognizing divine intervention in the world.

Nothing happens in vain within the grand governance of divine providence, however hidden its cause may be. Citing the Psalmist—"Come, behold the works of the Lord, what prodigies He hath wrought in the earth"—Augustine affirms that God's purposes are always operative, even when they exceed human comprehension. This principle assures believers that the mysterious aspects of creation, such as why woman was formed from man's side, are not arbitrary but carry divine meaning to be explored elsewhere.

In the first man, created in the beginning, there was laid the foundation—not evidently, but in God's foreknowledge—of the two cities or societies that comprise the human race. From Adam all men were to be derived: some to be associated with the good angels in their reward, and others with the wicked angels in punishment. This foundational claim establishes that the division between the city of God and the earthly city has its roots not in historical accident but in the eternal foreknowledge of God working through the first human being.

All human destinies are ordered by the secret yet just judgment of God. Since Scripture declares that "all the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth," neither can His grace be unjust nor His justice cruel. This affirmation safeguards both divine attributes: God's merciful election of some remains perfectly just, and His condemnation of others remains perfectly merciful. The mystery of God's discriminating judgment, though hidden from human view, never violates the harmony of mercy and truth that characterizes all divine ways.

Augustine transitions from questions about the origin of the world and humanity to the fall of the first man and the origin and propagation of human death. Unlike the angels, humanity was created in a conditional state: obedience would have led to angelic immortality and a blessed eternity without death, while disobedience justly brought death. This sets the theological foundation for the rest of the book.

The nature of death is examined with care. While the soul is immortal in the sense that it does not cease to live and feel, it experiences a death of its own when forsaken by God. The death of the body occurs when the soul forsakes it. The death of the whole man happens when the soul, abandoned by God, abandons the body. This is followed by the second death, in which the soul dies in punishment because it does not live in God, while the body, animated by the soul, feels torment. Such penal existence is called death rather than life because it is painfully punitive rather than pleasurably sweet or wholesomely restful.

A key question is raised: if death is the punishment of sin, how can it be good for the righteous? Augustine answers that the first men were created so that without sin they would have experienced no death; but having sinned, they were punished with death, and all their descendants share this punishment. Human nature was deteriorated so that what was punishment in the first parents became natural consequence in their children. Infants are born in helpless infirmity as a result of the fall, yet those delivered by the Redeemer's grace need only suffer bodily death, not the second endless death.

The question of why those absolved from sin through regeneration still suffer death is addressed by reference to Augustine's earlier work on the baptism of infants. Bodily death remains even after sin is remitted so that faith is not enervated by immediate immortality. By the Saviour's grace, the punishment of sin is turned into the service of righteousness: what was once proclaimed to deter sin ("if thou sinnest, thou shalt die") is now commanded to prevent sin ("Die, that thou sin not"). The punishment of the sinner becomes the reward of the righteous, and death, once an evil, becomes the instrument by which life is reached.

Drawing on the apostle's teaching, Augustine observes that the law, though good, becomes the strength of sin for those who do not love righteousness, and prohibition increases the desire for illicit action. Likewise, death, though evil as the wages of sin, becomes an instrument of glory for those who suffer it for the truth. The wicked make ill use of the good law, and the good die well despite death being an evil. The name of punishment does not cease to apply even when the anguish of dying is faithfully borne and increases the merit of patience.

Bodily death, considered as the violent separation of soul from body, is good to no one while it is being endured. The wrenching apart of flesh and spirit brings harsh and jarring pain, though this may sometimes be forestalled by a sudden stroke or swift departure of the soul. Death proceeding from the first man by ordinary generation is the punishment of all born of him, yet when endured for righteousness' sake it becomes the glory of those born again and secures that nothing further be awarded to sin. Its usefulness derives not from its own virtue but from divine interference turning it to profitable ends.

Unbaptized persons who die confessing Christ receive the same remission of sins as if washed in the baptismal font, for Christ's words about confession before men and losing life for His sake serve as an exception alongside the requirement of water and Spirit. The death of His saints is precious because through it sins are forgiven and merits multiplied. Those who chose death by confessing Christ over baptism obtained by denial surpass those baptized only at the point of unavoidable death. Death is not thereby a good thing in itself, but is divinely redirected from a deterrent against sin into a means of producing righteousness.

Even when a man dies faithfully for the truth, he is still in a sense avoiding death, for he submits to a part of death in order to escape the whole—separation of soul from body lest the soul be separated from both God and body, completing the first death and leading to the second. Death is not good to anyone while it is being suffered, but it is meritoriously endured for the sake of retaining or winning what is good. After death, it is no absurdity to say that death is good to the good and evil to the evil: the spirits of the just rest, while those of the wicked suffer punishment until the resurrection, which leads the just to life everlasting and the unjust to the eternal second death.

The Moment of Death: In the Experience of the Dying or the Dead?** Augustine asks whether the moment at which the soul separates from the body should be called the experience of the dying or of the dead. While sensation remains, the person is still alive and so not yet in death; once sensation is gone, death is past and the person is dead. Between living and dead, there seems to be no definable instant of "dying," since he who yet lives has not yet reached death, and he who has ceased to life is already past it. Scripture nonetheless uses expressions like "in death there is no remembrance of thee," treating the dead as being in death until the resurrection. Augustine notes the peculiarity that the Latin word *moritur* cannot be regularly declined, its perfect taking the adjectival form *mortuus*, so that the very grammar mirrors the indeclinable reality of death itself.

The Life of Mortals Is Rather Death Than Life** From the moment we begin to live in this mortal body we are ceaselessly moving toward death; every year, day, and hour brings us closer to the end, so that our whole existence is a race toward death, none allowed to pause or slow. Whether life is long or short, the same speed of moments carries all forward impartially; the longer-lived merely has farther to go, not a slower pace. Once death begins its slow withdrawal of life, the person is in death; when life is fully consumed, he is after death. Therefore, while dwelling in this dying body, man is never simply in life—if he cannot be in life and death at once—or rather, he is in both, life being consumed while death is being undergone.

Whether One Can Be Both Living and Dead at Once** If it is absurd to say a man is in death before reaching it, and improper language to call him at once alive and dead, then it is hard to say when he is actually dying. Three times correspond to three states—before death (living), in death (dying), after death (dead)—yet no place remains for the middle state, since as long as the soul is in the body the man lives, and once the soul has departed he is dead. By customary speech, however, we may speak of people being in death until the resurrection, just as those in sleep are said to be sleeping. Still, we call sleepers "sleeping" but cannot call the dead "dying." Augustine contrasts our present condition with the second death, where the lost will be endlessly dying, never living, never dead, but in a deathless death—the worst of all evils.

What Death God Intended in Threatening Our First Parents** When God threatened our first parents with death, the threat embraced every kind of death: the death of soul (deprived of God), the death of body (deprived of the soul), the whole first death of the complete man, and finally the second death, which is everlasting and has none after it. As the whole earth is made up of many lands and the universal Church of many churches, so universal death consists of all deaths. The threatening "In the day thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die" therefore includes the entire train of deaths culminating in the second, which has no end.

The First Punishment of Our First Parents' Transgression** As soon as Adam and Eve transgressed, divine grace withdrew and they were confounded by their own wickedness. They covered their shame with fig-leaves, experiencing for the first time a rebellious motion of the flesh, the strict recompense of their disobedience to God. The soul, having spurned service to its superior Lord, lost its rule over the inferior body. Hence began the lust of the flesh against the Spirit, and with it we are born, inheriting from the first transgression a seed of death and a vitiated nature in which the flesh often conquers.

The State in Which Man Was Made and the Estate into Which He Fell** God, the author of natures and not of vices, created man upright; but man, corrupted by his own will and justly condemned, begot corrupted and condemned offspring. We were all in that one man when he fell, for the seminal nature from which we were propagated was already present in him and was vitiated by sin, bound by the chain of death, and justly condemned. From the misuse of free will there thus springs the whole concatenation of evils that leads the human race, as from a corrupt root, to the destruction of the second death—except for those delivered by the grace of God.

Adam Forsook God Before God Forsook Him** Though God said "Ye shall die the death" in the singular, the threat cannot refer only to the soul's death in being deserted by God, for the other deaths followed as its inevitable consequence. The soul was not first deserted by God and so deserted Him; rather, it deserted Him and was therefore justly deserted. God's question "Adam, where art thou?" was not inquiry in ignorance but a summons to consider where the man now stood, no longer in God's presence. The soul's first disobedient stirring was the death of the soul in being forsaken by God; the body's return to dust is the death of the body. These two together compose the first death of the whole man, followed finally by the second unless grace intervenes. Hence all Christians holding the catholic faith confess that we are subject to bodily death not by God's original ordinance for man, who was made for life, but as righteous punishment for sin.

Augustine refutes philosophers who claim that the soul reaches perfect blessedness only by escaping every body. He notes that Scripture identifies the *corruptible* body as the soul's burden, not the body as such. Turning the philosophers' own master against them, he cites Plato's *Timaeus* (as rendered by Cicero), in which the Supreme promises the lesser gods that they shall never be loosed from their immortal bodies by death. Plato thus treats continued embodiment, not separation, as a divine gift. Augustine observes that the Platonists, while ridiculing Christians for wanting the soul to remain in the body, must explain why their own founder represents the gods as dreading that very separation. He postpones the question of whether the heavenly bodies are actually ensouled, noting only that Plato's authority undermines the argument that bodily existence is penal.

Augustine challenges those who insist that earthly bodies cannot be made eternal, while freely granting eternity to the world itself and to the bodies of their own celestial gods. He presses the inconsistency: if God, by an invincible will, can keep composite beings from dissolving, why is it thought impossible for Him to preserve fleshly bodies from death? He also exposes the contradiction in maintaining that souls are blessed only when stripped of every body, yet assigning eternal souls to the stars, to fire, and—under Plato—to the cosmos as a whole, with the soul of Jupiter pervading all the elements. Such souls are confessedly happy though permanently embodied. The true obstacle to blessedness is therefore not the body but corruption, cumbrousness, and mortality—qualities introduced by sin, not by God's original design for human flesh.

Augustine meets the objection that the natural weight of earthly bodies must keep them on or draw them to the earth, and so disqualify them for heavenly dwelling. He urges careful consideration of "weight," since it has implications for the ascension of Christ's body and the resurrection of the saints. Human craft already makes metals float that would otherwise sink; how much more can God, by hidden operation, free resurrected flesh from downward pressure? He notes that the soul carries its own healthy, massive body more easily than a wasted, sickly one, showing that the perceived burden of flesh depends on condition rather than on material weight. He further notes that angels transport earthly creatures without toil, and that Plato concedes to the supreme God the power to preserve born things from death and joined things from dissolution. The same God can therefore withdraw corruption and burdensome weight from the flesh while preserving its nature and form.

Augustine contends that the first human beings would have been immortal had they not sinned, against those who deny this conditional immortality. He argues that even philosophers who hold it best to be quit of every body do not dare rank wise human souls above the immortal gods, whom Plato represents as blessed in perpetual union with their bodies. He reviews Plato's doctrine of the soul's necessary alternation between embodied and disembodied states—a cycle in which the wise, after a brief repose among the stars, return again to mortal bodies, and the foolish transmigrate into animal forms—and notes Porphyry's later embarrassment at this teaching in a Christian era. Porphyry, while denying the resurrection of bodies in order to contradict Christ, still acknowledged the superior rank of gods who remain eternally embodied. Augustine concludes that Christian teaching is entirely consistent: the first parents were created for immortal embodiment as the reward of obedience, and the saints will in the resurrection possess the very bodies in which they toiled, now incorruptible and free from every burden of grief.

Flesh Raised to Perfection Surpassing First Parents.** The souls of departed saints remain unaffected by physical death because their flesh rests in hope, trusting in God's promise of resurrection. While on earth the spirit often had to constrain the flesh through spiritual law, in the resurrection the flesh itself becomes spiritual—not by being converted into spirit, but by attaining perfect obedience to the spirit, with all corruption, reluctance, and slowness removed. The resurrected body will surpass even the pre-sin condition of Adam and Eve, whose bodies were animal rather than spiritual. Though they were sustained against decay by the tree of life alongside other nourishment, their bodies required food and were vulnerable to death. The tree of life functioned as a kind of sacrament, comparable to divine wisdom, while other fruits served as ordinary nourishment.

Spiritual and Historic Truth of Paradise.** Some have allegorized Paradise entirely as virtues and habits, denying its literal existence, but this approach is rejected. Allegorical interpretation must not sacrifice historic truth, just as the historic reality of Sarah and Hagar does not negate their symbolic significance, and the literal water from the rock does not prevent Christ from being prefigured in it. Paradise can legitimately signify the life of the blessed: its four rivers represent the four cardinal virtues (prudence, fortitude, temperance, justice), its trees signify useful knowledge, its fruits the customs of the godly, the tree of life wisdom herself, and the tree of the knowledge of good and evil the experience of a broken commandment. More profitably, Paradise can also be understood as prophetically foreshadowing the Church: the four rivers become the four gospels, the fruit-trees the saints, the tree of life the holy of holies (Christ), and the tree of knowledge the will's free choice. Man who despises God's will destroys himself, but when chastened learns to wait upon the Lord.

Saints' Spiritual Resurrection Bodies.** The bodies of the righteous in the resurrection shall need neither fruit nor physical nourishment to preserve them from decay, hunger, or thirst, for they shall be invested with inviolable immortality. They will eat only when they choose, not out of necessity, much like the angels who appeared to men in bodily form not because they could not do otherwise but out of willing service. The example of Tobias, who saw the angel Raphael eat "in vision," supports this understanding. Regarding Christ Himself, faith leaves no doubt that after His resurrection He ate and drank with His disciples in real but spiritual flesh—not because the power of eating was taken away, but because the need was removed. Such bodies are spiritual not by ceasing to be bodies, but by subsisting through the quickening spirit.

The Animal and Spiritual Body.** Just as soul-informed bodies are truly bodies and not souls, so spiritual bodies—quickened by the Spirit—retain their bodily substance without the unwieldiness and corruption of flesh. Man will be heavenly not by losing his earthly nature but by changing its quality, becoming a fit inhabitant of heaven through heavenly endowment. The first Adam was made a living soul with an animal body requiring food and lacking inherent immortality, sustained only by the tree of life; this rank of quickening spirit was reserved as a reward of obedience. When God said, "In the day thou eatest thereof thou shalt surely die," nature was altered and death's necessity introduced, even though separation of soul and body did not occur that very day. The apostle calls the body "dead" because it already lies under the necessity of dying. The first death is common to all as a result of Adam's sin, but the second death is reserved for those outside God's predestinating grace, excepting those called according to His purpose. Adam's body before sin was animal, not spiritual; the notion that he possessed a spiritual body which was degraded into an animal body as punishment contradicts Paul's testimony that "The first man Adam was made a living soul."

The Breath of God and the Living Soul.** Some have hastily supposed that when God breathed into Adam's nostrils the breath of life, an already-existing soul was merely quickened by the Holy Spirit, encouraged by Christ's breathing on His disciples and saying, "Receive ye the Holy Spirit." However, the narrative shows that man, formed from the dust of the earth (or moistened clay after the mist watered the ground), became a living soul when the soul was received into this fashioned dust. The apostle's teaching confirms that the animated body is what is meant by "a living soul"—the dust itself was made a living soul. The context of Adam's creation differs fundamentally from the post-resurrection gift of the Spirit to Christ's disciples.

Man is neither body alone nor soul alone, but a composite being; yet Scripture's usage permits calling either part "man" singly. While united in life, and even after death, language refers to the soul or the body separately by the name of "man," reflecting the colloquial and scriptural convention under examination.

Scripture explicitly speaks of the "inward man" (the soul) and the "outward man" (the body), as in 2 Corinthians 4:16, treating each part as if it were a distinct man, though together they form only one.

The statement that man is in the image of God concerns the rational soul, communicated to the body by God's breath or inspiration; the declaration that he is dust and returns to dust concerns the body formed from the earth. Together these yield a "living body," that is, a living soul.

When the Lord breathed on His disciples and said, "Receive ye the Holy Ghost," He indicated that the Holy Spirit is not only the Spirit of the Father but of the only-begotten Son, being the same Spirit shared by both and constituting with them the uncreated Trinity.

The Greek distinguishes between πνοή (a word more frequently used of the creature) and πνεῦμα (uniformly used for spirit, including the Creator Spirit). Latin translators variously rendered πνοή as "breath," "spirit," "inspiration," "aspiration," or "soul," whereas πνεῦμα is rendered as _spiritus_ whether applied to man, beast, wind, or the uncreated God.

The opponents claimed that "spirit of life" and "living" must signify the Holy Spirit. Augustine replies that the soul by its very nature lives, so that these phrases are idiomatic; and that Scripture uses the same expressions for animals created from the earth, so that the wording of Genesis 2:7 does not prove the Holy Spirit is meant.

Scripture speaks of the "living soul" and the "spirit of life" with reference to beasts as well as to man; the word πνοή is used of all living creatures in Genesis, indicating that the language does not uniquely refer to the Holy Spirit.

Although animals share a sensitive soul derived from earth and water, man's rational soul was specially created by the breath of God, giving him a soul of a different order that animates an animal body, yet is itself distinct in its rational character.

Though Scripture says the breath of life was breathed from God's mouth, this does not imply consubstantiality with the divine nature. Just as a human breath is drawn from surrounding air rather than from the very substance of man, so God could produce breath from nothing, immaterial but not immutable, created rather than uncreated; even Wisdom is said to "proceed" from God's mouth, not all that proceeds being equal to God.

The apostle distinguishes the animal body (that of the first Adam, capable of death if sin intervened) from the spiritual body (that of the last Adam, the Lord from heaven, incapable of death). The earthy image is borne now, the heavenly image is to be borne hereafter.

The soul is immortal by creation and cannot utterly cease to live or feel, even when estranged from God through sin. The rebellious angels likewise cannot die utterly; even the wicked endure torment after the second death. The saved, however, shall possess spiritual bodies incapable of sin or death, clothed with an incorruptible nature while the substance of their flesh remains.

A remaining question is posed but not answered in this book: if the disorderly concupiscence of the first parents and their awareness of nakedness arose only when divine grace withdrew after sin, how would they have procreated children had they remained sinless? The question is deferred to the following book for fuller treatment.

Transcriber's Notes: The transcriber has fixed obvious punctuation and spelling errors throughout the text, while preserving the original inconsistent hyphenation as it appeared in the source.

End of The City of God, Volume I This marks the conclusion of the Project Gutenberg edition of "The City of God, Volume I" by Aurelius Augustine, signaling the end of the transcribed text.