Letters of Saint Augustin
Letters of Saint Augustin
Becoming Bishop of Hippo, and Before the Conference Held with the Donatists at Carthage, and the
Discovery of the Heresy of Pelagius in Africa (a.d. 396-410).Preface.
The importance of the letters of eminent men, as illustrations of their life, character, and
times, is too well understood to need remark. The Letters of Cicero and Pliny have given us a more
vivid conception of Roman life than the most careful history could have given; the Letters of
Erasmus, Luther, and Calvin furnish us with the most trustworthy material for understanding the rapid
movement and fierce conflict of their age; when we read the voluminous correspondence of Pope and his
compeers, or the unstudied beauties of Cowper's letters of friendship, we seem to be in the company
of living men; and modern history has in nothing more distinctly proved its sagacity, than by its
diligence in publishing the Letters of Cromwell, of Washington, of Chatham, and of other historical
personages.
For biography, familiar letters are the most important material. In a man's published writings we
see the general character of his mind, and we ascertain his opinions in so far as he deemed it safe
or advisable to lay these before a perhaps unsympathizing public; in his letters he reveals his whole
character, his feelings as well as his judgments, his motives, his personal history, and the various
ramifications of his interest. In his familiar correspondence we see the man as he is known to his
intimate friends, in his times of relaxation and unstudied utterance.(1) Few men, in writing for the public, can resist the
tendency towards a constrained attitudinizing, or throw off the fixed expression of one sitting for
his portrait; and it is only in conversation, spoken or written, that we get the whole man revealed
in a series of constantly varying and unconstrained expressions. And even where, as in Augustin's
case, we have an autobiography, we derive from the letters many additional traits of character, much
valuable illustration of opinions and progress.(2)
In their function of appendices to history they are equally valuable. It was a characteristic
remark of Horace Walpole's, that "nothing gives so just an idea of an age as genuine letters; nay,
history waits for its last seal from them." A still greater authority, Bacon, in his marvellous
distribution of all knowledge, gives to letters the highest place among the "Appendices to History."
"Letters," he says, "are, according to all the variety of occasions, advertisements, advices,
directions, propositions, petitions commendatory, expostulatory, satisfactory; of compliment, of
pleasure, of discourse, and all other passages of action. And such as are written from wise men are,
of all the words of man, in my judgment, the best; for they are more natural than orations and public
speeches, and more advised than conferences or present speeches. So, again, letters of affairs from
such as manage them, or are privy to them, are of all others the best instructions for history, and
to a diligent reader the best histories in themselves."(3) This is especially true of the Letters of Augustin.
A large number of them are ecclesiastical and theological, and would in our day have appeared as
pamphlets, or would have been delivered as lectures. There are none of his writings which do not
receive some supplementary light from his letters. The subjects of his more elaborate writings are
here handled in an easier manner, and their sources, motives, and origin are disclosed. Difficulties
which his published works had occasioned are here removed, new illustrations are noted, further
developments and fresh complications of heresy are alluded to, and the whole theological movement of
the time is here reflected in a vivid and interesting shape. No controversy of his age was settled
without his voice, and it is in his letters we chiefly see the vastness of his empire, the variety of
subjects on which appeal was made to him, and the deference with which his judgment was received.
Inquiring philosophers, puzzled statesmen, angry heretics, pious ladies, all found their way to the
Bishop of Hippo. And while he continually complains of want of leisure, of the multifarious business
of his episcopate, of the unwarranted demands made upon him, he yet carefully answers all. Sometimes
he writes with the courier who is to carry his letter impatiently chafing outside the door; sometimes
a promptly written reply is carried round the whole known world by some faithless messenger before it
reaches his anxious correspondent; but, amidst difficulties unthought of under a postal system, his
indefatigable diligence succeeds in diffusing intelligence and counsel to the most distant
inquirers.
In the present volume we have, as usual, followed the Benedictine edition. Among the many labours
which the Benedictine Fathers encountered in editing the works of Augustin, they undertook the
onerous task of rearranging the Epistles in chronological order. The manner in which this task has
been executed is eminently characteristic of their unostentatious patience and skill. Their order has
been universally adopted; it is to this order that reference is made when any writer cites a letter
of Augustin's; and therefore it matters less whether in each case the date assigned by the
Benedictine editors can be accepted as accurate. It will be seen that we have not considered it
desirable to translate all the letters. Of those addressed to Augustin we have omitted a few which
were neither important in themselves nor indispensable for the understanding of his replies; and,
when any of his own letters is a mere repetition of what he has previously written to another
correspondent, we have contented ourselves, and, we hope, shall satisfy our readers, with a reference
to the former letter in which the arguments and illustrations now repeated may be found.
No English translation of these Letters has previously appeared. The French have in this, as in
other patristic studies, been before us. Two hundred years ago a translation into the French tongue
was published, and this has lately been superseded by M. Poujoulat's four readable and fairly
accurate volumes.
The Editor. 1872.
In the second volume of Letters in Clark's series the editor adds the following
Prefatory Note.
Of the two hundred and seventy-two letters given in the Benedictine edition of Augustin's works,
one hundred and sixty are translated in this selection. In the former volume few were omitted, and
the reason for each omission was given in its own place. As the proportion of untranslated letters is
in this volume much larger, it may be more convenient to indicate briefly here the general reasons
which have guided us in the selection.
We have omitted-
I. Almost all the letters referring to the Donatist schism, as there is enough on this subject in
the works on the Donatist controversy (vol. iii. of this series) and in numerous earlier letters.
This excludes-105, 106, 107, 108, 128, 129, 134, 141, 142, and 204.
II. Almost all the letters relating to Pelagianism, as the series contains three volumes of
Augustin's anti-Pelagian writings (vols. iv. xii. xv.). This excludes-156, 157, 175, 176, 177, 178,
179, 181, 182, 183, 184, 184 bis, 186, 193, 194, 214, 215, 216, 217.
III. Almost all the letters referring to the doctrine of the Trinity, as this has been already
given, partly in earlier letters, and more fully in the volume on the Trinity (vol. vii. of this
series). This excludes-119, 120, 170, 174, 238, 239, 240, 241, 242.
IV. Almost all those which in design, style, and prolixity, are exegetical or doctrinal treatises
rather than letters. This excludes-140, 147, 149, 152, 153, 154, 155, 162, 187, 190, 196, 197, 198,
199, 202 bis, 205.
V. Some of the letters written by others to Augustin. This excludes-94, 109, 121, 160, 168, 225,
226, 230, 270.
VI. A large number of miscellaneous smaller letters, as, in order to avoid going beyond the limits
of one volume, it was necessary to select only the more interesting and important of these. This
excludes-110, 112, 113, 114, 127, 161, 162, 171, 200, 206, 207, 221, 222, 223, 224, 233, 234, 235,
236, 243, 244, 247, 248, 249, 251, 252, 253, 255, 256, 257, 258, 259, 260, 261, 262, 264, 265, 266,
267, 268.
Letter I.
(a.d. 386.)
To Hermogenianus(1) Augustin
Sends Greeting.
1. I Would not presume, even in playful discussion, to attack the philosophers of the
Academy;(2) for when could the authority of
such eminent men fail to move me, did I not believe their views to be widely different from those
commonly ascribed to them? Instead of confuting them, which is beyond my power, I have rather
imitated them to the best of my ability. For it seems to me to have been suitable enough to the times
in which they flourished, that whatever issued pure from the fountainhead of Platonic philosophy
should be rather conducted into dark and thorny thickets for the refreshment of a very few
men, than left to flow in open meadow-land, where it would be impossible to keep it clear and
pure from the inroads of the vulgar herd. I use the word herd advisedly; for what is more brutish
than the opinion that the soul is material? For defence against the men who held this, it appears to
me that such an art and method of concealing the truth(3) was wisely contrived by the new Academy. But in
this age of ours, when we see none who are philosophers,-for I do not consider those who merely wear
the cloak of a philosopher to be worthy of that venerable name,-it seems to me that men (those, at
least, whom the teaching of the Academicians has, through the subtlety of the terms in which it was
expressed, deterred from attempting to understand its actual meaning) should be brought back to the
hope of discovering the truth, lest that which was then for the time useful in eradicating obstinate
error, should begin now to hinder the casting in of the seeds of true knowledge.
2. In that age the studies of contending schools of philosophers were pursued with such ardour,
that the one thing to be feared was the possibility of error being approved. For every one who had
been driven by the arguments of the sceptical philosophers from a position which he had supposed to
be impregnable, set himself to seek some other in its stead, with a perseverance and caution
corresponding to the greater industry which was characteristic of the men of that time, land the
strength of the persuasion then prevailing, that truth, though deep and hard to be deciphered, does
lie hidden in the nature of things and of the human mind. Now, however, such is the indisposition to
strenuous exertion, and the indifference to the liberal arts, that so soon as it is noised abroad
that, in the opinion of the most acute philosophers, truth is unattainable, men send their minds to
sleep, and cover them up for ever. For they presume not, forsooth, to imagine themselves to be so
superior in discernment to those great men, that they shall find out what, during his singularly long
life, Carneades,(4) with all his diligence,
talents, and leisure, besides his extensive and varied learning, failed to discover. And if,
contending somewhat against indolence, they rouse themselves so far as to read those books in which
it is, as it were, proved that the perception of truth is denied to man, they relapse into lethargy
so profound, that not even by the heavenly trumpet can they be aroused.
3. Wherefore, although I accept with the greatest pleasure your candid estimate of my brief I
treatise, and esteem you so much as to rely not less on the sagacity of your judgment than on the
sincerity of your friendship, I beg you to give more particular attention to one point, and to write
me again concerning it,-namely, whether you approve of that which, in the end of the third
book,(5) I have given as my opinion, in a tone
perhaps of hesitation rather than of certainty, but in statements, as I think, more likely to be
found useful than to be rejected as incredible. But whatever be the value of those treatises [the
books against the Academicians], what I most rejoice in is, not that I have vanquished the
Academicians, as you express it (using the language rather of friendly partiality than of truth), but
that I have broken and cast away from me the odious bonds by which I was kept back from the
nourishing breasts of philosophy, through despair of attaining that truth which is the food of the
soul.
Letter II.
(a.d. 386.)
To Zenobius Augustin Sends Greeting.(6)
1. We are, I suppose, both agreed in maintaining that all things with which our bodily senses
acquaint us are incapable of abiding unchanged for a single moment, but, on the contrary, are moving
and in perpetual transition, and have no present reality, that is, to use the language of Latin
philosophy, do not exist.(7) Accordingly, the
true and divine philosophy admonishes us to check and subdue the love of these things as most
dangerous and disastrous, in order that the mind, even while using this body, may be wholly occupied
and warmly interested in those things which are ever the same, and which owe their attractive power
to no transient charm. Although this is all true, and although my mind, without the aid of the
senses, sees you as you really are, and as an object which may be loved without disquietude,
nevertheless I must own that when you are absent in body, and separated by distance, the pleasure of
meeting and seeing you is one which I miss, and which, therefore, while it is attainable, I earnestly
covet. This my infirmity (for such it must be) is one which, if I know you aright, you are well
pleased to find in me; and though you wish every good thing for your best and most loved friends, you
rather fear than desire that they should be cured of this infirmity. If, however, your soul has
attained to such strength that you are able both to discern this snare, and to smile at those who are
caught therein, truly you are great, and different from what I am. For my part, as long as I regret
the absence of any one from me, so long do I wish him to regret my absence. At the same time, I watch
and strive to set my love as little as possible on anything which can be separated from me against my
will. Regarding this as my duty, I remind you, in the meantime, whatever be your frame of mind, that
the discussion which I have begun with you must be finished, if we care for each other. For I can by
no means consent to its being finished with Alypius, even if he wished it. But he does not wish this;
for he is not the man to join with me now in endeavouring, by as many letters as we could send, to
detain you with us, when you decline this, under the pressure of some necessity to us unknown.
Letter III.
(a.d. 387.)
To Nebridius Augustin Sends Greeting.(8)
1. Whether I am to regard it as the effect of what I may call your flattering language, or
whether the thing be really so, is a point which I am unable to decide. For the impression was
sudden, and I am not yet resolved how far it deserves to be believed. You wonder what this can be.
What do you think? You have almost made me believe, not indeed that I am happy-for that is the
heritage of the wise alone-but that I am at least in a sense happy: as we apply the designation
man to beings who deserve the name only in a sense if compared with Plato's ideal man, or
speak of things which we see as round or square, although they differ widely from the
perfect figure which is discerned by the mind of a few. I read your letter beside my lamp after
supper: immediately after which I lay down, but not at once to sleep; for on my bed I meditated long,
and talked thus with myself-Augustin addressing and answering Augustin: "Is it not true, as Nebridius
affirms, that I am happy?" "Absolutely true it cannot be, for that I am still far from wise he
himself would not deny." "But may not a happy life be the lot even of those who are not wise?" "That
is scarcely possible; because, in that case, lack of wisdom would be a small misfortune, and not, as
it actually is, the one and only source of unhappiness." "How, then, did Nebridius come to esteem me
happy? Was it that, after reading these little books of mine, he ventured to pronounce me wise?
Surely the vehemence of joy could not make him so rash, especially seeing that he is a man to whose
judgment I well know so much weight is to be attached. I have it now: he wrote what he thought would
be most gratifying to me, because he had been gratified by what I had written in those treatises; and
he wrote in a joyful mood, without accurately weighing the sentiments entrusted to his joyous pen.
What, then, would he have said if he had read my Soliloquies? He would have rejoiced with much
more exultation, and yet could find no loftier name to bestow on me than this which he has already
given in calling me happy. All at once, then, he has lavished on me the highest possible name, and
has not reserved a single word to add to my praises, if at any time he were made by me more joyful
than he is now. See what joy does."
2. But where is that truly happy life? where? ay, where? Oh! if it were attained, one would spurn
the atomic theory of Epicurus. Oh! if it were attained, one would know that there is nothing here
below but the visible world. Oh! if it were attained, one would know that in the rotation of a globe
on its axiS, the motion of points near the poles is less rapid than of those which lie half way
between them,-and other such like things which we likewise know. But now, how or in what sense can I
be called happy, who know not why the world is such in size as it is, when the proportions of the
figures according to which it is framed do in no way hinder its being enlarged to any extent desired?
Or how might it not be said to me-nay, might we not be compelled to admit that matter is infinitely
divisible; so that, starting from any given base (so to speak), a definite number of corpuscles must
rise to a definite and ascertainable quantity? Wherefore, seeing that we do not admit that any
particle is so small as to be insusceptible of further diminution, what compels us to admit that any
assemblage of parts is so great that it cannot possibly be increased? Is there perchance some I
important truth in what I once suggested confidentially to Alypius, that since number, as cognisable
by the understanding, is susceptible of infinite augmentation, but not of infinite diminution,(9) because we cannot reduce it lower than to the
units, number, as cognisable by the senses (and this, of course, just means quantity of material
parts or bodies), is on the contrary susceptible of infinite diminution, but has a limit to its
augmentation? This may perhaps be the reason why philosophers justly pronounce riches to be found in
the things about which the understanding is exercised, and poverty in those things with which the
senses have to do. For what is poorer than to be susceptible of endless diminution? and what more
truly rich than to increase as much as you will, to go whither you will, to return when you will and
as far as you will, and to have as the object of your love that which is large and cannot be made
less? For whoever understands these numbers loves nothing so much as the unit; and no wonder, seeing
that it is through it that all the other numbers can be loved by him. But to return: Why is the world
the size that it is, seeing that it might have been greater or less? I do not know: its dimensions
are what they are, and I can go no further. Again: Why is the world in the place it now occupies
rather than in another? Here, too, it is better not to put the question; for whatever the answer
might be, other questions would still remain. This one thing greatly perplexed me, that bodies could
be infinitely subdivided. To this perhaps an answer has been given, by setting over against it the
converse property of abstract number [viz. its susceptibility of infinite multiplication].
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