Editor's Preface

"Rome having been stormed and sacked by the Goths under Alaric their king,¹ the worshippers of false gods, or pagans, as we commonly call them, made an attempt to attribute this calamity to the Christian religion, and began to blaspheme the true God with even more than their wonted bitterness and acerbity. It was this which kindled my zeal for the house of God, and prompted me to undertake the defence of the city of God against the charges and misrepresentations of its assailants. This work was in my hands for several years, owing to the interruptions occasioned by many other affairs which had a prior claim on my attention, and which I could not defer. However, this great undertaking was at last completed in twenty-two books. Of these, the first five refute those who fancy that the polytheistic worship is necessary in order to secure worldly prosperity, and that all these overwhelming calamities have befallen us in consequence of its prohibition. In the following five books I address myself to those who admit that such calamities have at all times attended, and will at all times attend, the human race, and that they constantly recur in forms more or less disastrous, varying only in the scenes, occasions, and persons on whom they light, but, while admitting this, maintain that the worship of the gods is advantageous for the life to come. In these ten books, then, I refute these two opinions, which are as groundless as they are antagonistic to the Christian religion.

After the Goths, led by their king Alaric, stormed and sacked Rome,¹ the worshippers of false gods, commonly called pagans, tried to blame the disaster on Christianity. They began to blaspheme the true God with even greater bitterness than usual. This stirred my zeal for the house of God and led me to defend the city of God against its attackers’ accusations and distortions. I worked on it for several years. Many other matters had a prior claim on my attention, and I could not put them off. At last, I completed this great work in twenty-two books. The first five books refute those who believe that worshipping many gods is necessary for worldly prosperity. They also believe that all these overwhelming disasters have come upon us because such worship was forbidden. In the next five books, I address those who admit that such disasters have always afflicted humanity and always will. They acknowledge that disasters keep recurring, some more destructive than others, differing only in place, occasion, and the people affected. Even so, they maintain that worshipping the gods is beneficial for the life to come. In these ten books, then, I refute both views. Both are groundless, and both are hostile to the Christian religion.

"But that no one might have occasion to say, that though I had refuted the tenets of other men, I had omitted to establish my own, I devote to this object the second part of this work, which comprises twelve books, although I have not scrupled, as occasion offered, either to advance my own opinions in the first ten books, or to demolish the arguments of my opponents in the last twelve. Of these twelve books, the first four contain an account of the origin of these two cities—the city of God, and the city of the world. The second four treat of their history or progress; the third and last four, of their deserved destinies. And so, though all these twenty-two books refer to both cities, yet I have named them after the better city, and called them The City of God."

So that no one can say I refuted other people’s beliefs but failed to establish my own, I devote the second part of this work to that task. It contains twelve books. Yet, whenever the opportunity arose, I did not hesitate to present my own views in the first ten books. Nor did I hesitate to refute my opponents’ arguments in the last twelve. Of these twelve books, the first four describe the origins of the two cities, the city of God and the city of the world. The next four deal with their history and development. The final four deal with the destinies they deserve. So, although all twenty-two books concern both cities, I have named the work after the better city and called it The City of God.

Such is the account given by Augustine himself² of the occasion and plan of this his greatest work. But in addition to this explicit information, we learn from the correspondence³ of Augustine, that it was due to the importunity of his friend Marcellinus that this defence of Christianity extended beyond the limits of a few letters. Shortly before the fall of Rome, Marcellinus had been sent to Africa by the Emperor Honorius to arrange a settlement of the differences between the Donatists and the Catholics. This brought him into contact not only with Augustine, but with Volusian, the proconsul of Africa, and a man of rare intelligence and candour. Finding that Volusian, though as yet a pagan, took an interest in the Christian religion, Marcellinus set his heart on converting him to the true faith. The details of the subsequent significant intercourse between the learned and courtly bishop and the two imperial statesmen, are unfortunately almost entirely lost to us; but the impression conveyed by the extant correspondence is, that Marcellinus was the means of bringing his two friends into communication with one another. The first overture was on Augustine's part, in the shape of a simple and manly request that Volusian would carefully peruse the Scriptures, accompanied by a frank offer to do his best to solve any difficulties that might arise in such a course of inquiry. Volusian accordingly enters into correspondence with Augustine; and in order to illustrate the kind of difficulties experienced by men in his position, he gives some graphic notes of a conversation in which he had recently taken part at a gathering of some of his friends. The difficulty to which most weight is attached in this letter, is the apparent impossibility of believing in the Incarnation. But a letter which Marcellinus immediately despatched to Augustine, urging him to reply to Volusian at large, brought the intelligence that the difficulties and objections to Christianity were thus limited merely out of a courteous regard to the preciousness of the bishop's time, and the vast number of his engagements. This letter, in short, brought out the important fact, that a removal of speculative doubts would not suffice for the conversion of such men as Volusian, whose life was one with the life of the empire. Their difficulties were rather political, historical, and social. They could not see how the reception of the Christian rule of life was compatible with the interests of Rome as the mistress of the world.⁴ And thus Augustine was led to take a more distinct and wider view of the whole relation which Christianity bore to the old state of things,—moral, political, philosophical, and religious,—and was gradually drawn on to undertake the elaborate work now presented to the English reader, and which may more appropriately than any other of his writings be called his masterpiece⁵ or life-work. It was begun the very year of Marcellinus' death, a.d. 413, and was issued in detached portions from time to time, until its completion in the year 426. It thus occupied the maturest years of Augustine's life—from his fifty-ninth to his seventy-second year.⁶

Augustine himself gives this account² of the occasion and plan of his greatest work. His correspondence³ tells us more. His friend Marcellinus repeatedly urged him to extend this defense of Christianity beyond a few letters. Shortly before the fall of Rome, Emperor Honorius had sent Marcellinus to Africa. His task was to settle the differences between the Donatists and the Catholics. This brought him into contact with Augustine and with Volusian, the proconsul of Africa. Volusian was a man of rare intelligence and openness. He was still a pagan, but Marcellinus found that he was interested in Christianity. Marcellinus therefore set his heart on converting him to the true faith. Almost all the details of the significant exchange that followed have unfortunately been lost. It took place between the learned, courteous bishop and the two imperial statesmen. The surviving correspondence suggests that Marcellinus brought his two friends into contact. Augustine made the first approach. He made a straightforward and forthright request that Volusian read the Scriptures carefully. He also frankly offered to do his best to resolve any difficulties Volusian might encounter. Volusian then began corresponding with Augustine. To illustrate the difficulties faced by men in his position, he vividly described a recent conversation among friends. His letter gave the most weight to the apparent impossibility of believing in the Incarnation. Marcellinus immediately sent Augustine a letter urging him to give Volusian a full reply. He explained that Volusian had limited his objections to Christianity out of courtesy. He knew how precious the bishop's time was and how many demands were made on it. In short, Marcellinus's letter revealed an important fact. Resolving speculative doubts would not be enough to convert men like Volusian, whose lives were bound up with the empire. Their difficulties were instead political, historical, and social. They could not see how adopting the Christian way of life was compatible with Rome's interests as ruler of the world.⁴ Augustine was thus led to take a clearer and broader view of Christianity's relationship to the old order. That order was moral, political, philosophical, and religious. He was gradually drawn into undertaking the elaborate work now presented to the English reader. More appropriately than any of his other writings, it may be called his masterpiece⁵ or life's work. He began it in 413, the very year of Marcellinus' death. He published it in separate portions from time to time until he completed it in 426. It occupied the most mature years of Augustine's life, from his fifty-ninth to his seventy-second year.⁶

From this brief sketch, it will be seen that though the accompanying work is essentially an Apology, the Apologetic of Augustine can be no mere rehabilitation of the somewhat threadbare, if not effete, arguments of Justin and Tertullian.⁷ In fact, as Augustine considered what was required of him,—to expound the Christian faith, and justify it to enlightened men; to distinguish it from, and show its superiority to, all those forms of truth, philosophical or popular, which were then striving for the mastery, or at least for standing-room; to set before the world's eye a vision of glory that might win the regard even of men who were dazzled by the fascinating splendour of a world-wide empire,—he recognised that a task was laid before him to which even his powers might prove unequal,—a task certainly which would afford ample scope for his learning, dialectic, philosophical grasp and acumen, eloquence, and faculty of exposition.

This brief sketch shows that, although the accompanying work is essentially a defense of Christianity, Augustine’s defense cannot merely revive the rather worn, if not outdated, arguments of Justin and Tertullian.⁷ Augustine considered what was required of him. He had to explain the Christian faith and justify it to educated people. He had to distinguish it from all the competing philosophical and popular forms of truth and show its superiority to them. These were then struggling for dominance, or at least for a place. He also had to show the world a vision of glory. It had to be one that might attract even those dazzled by the captivating splendor of a worldwide empire. He recognized that the task before him might be beyond even his abilities. It would certainly give full scope to his learning, skill in argument, philosophical understanding and insight, eloquence, and ability to explain.

But it is the occasion of this great Apology which invests it at once with grandeur and vitality. After more than eleven hundred years of steady and triumphant progress, Rome had been taken and sacked. It is difficult for us to appreciate, impossible to overestimate, the shock which was thus communicated from centre to circumference of the whole known world. It was generally believed, not only by the heathen, but also by many of the most liberal-minded of the Christians, that the destruction of Rome would be the prelude to the destruction of the world.⁸ Even Jerome, who might have been supposed to be embittered against the proud mistress of the world by her inhospitality to himself, cannot conceal his profound emotion on hearing of her fall. "A terrible rumour," he says, "reaches me from the West, telling of Rome besieged, bought for gold, besieged again, life and property perishing together. My voice falters, sobs stifle the words I dictate; for she is a captive, that city which enthralled the world."⁹ Augustine is never so theatrical as Jerome in the expression of his feeling, but he is equally explicit in lamenting the fall of Rome as a great calamity; and while he does not scruple to ascribe her recent disgrace to the profligate manners, the effeminacy, and the pride of her citizens, he is not without hope that, by a return to the simple, hardy, and honourable mode of life which characterized the early Romans, she may still be restored to much of her former prosperity.¹⁰ But as Augustine contemplates the ruins of Rome's greatness, and feels, in common with all the world at this crisis, the instability of the strongest governments, the insufficiency of the most authoritative statesmanship, there hovers over these ruins the splendid vision of the city of God "coming down out of heaven, adorned as a bride for her husband." The old social system is crumbling away on all sides, but in its place he seems to see a pure Christendom arising. He sees that human history and human destiny are not wholly identified with the history of any earthly power—not though it be as cosmopolitan as the empire of Rome.¹¹ He directs the attention of men to the fact that there is another kingdom on earth,—a city which hath foundations, whose builder and maker is God. He teaches men to take profounder views of history, and shows them how from the first the city of God, or community of God's people, has lived alongside of the kingdoms of this world and their glory, and has been silently increasing, "crescit occulto velut arbor ævo." He demonstrates that the superior morality, the true doctrine, the heavenly origin of this city, ensure its success; and over against this, he depicts the silly or contradictory theorizings of the pagan philosophers, and the unhinged morals of the people, and puts it to all candid men to say, whether in the presence of so manifestly sufficient a cause for Rome's downfall, there is room for imputing it to the spread of Christianity. He traces the antagonism of these two grand communities of rational creatures, back to their first divergence in the fall of the angels, and down to the consummation of all things in the last judgment and eternal destination of the good and evil. In other words, the city of God is "the first real effort to produce a philosophy of history,"¹² to exhibit historical events in connection with their true causes, and in their real sequence. This plan of the work is not only a great conception, but it is accompanied with many practical advantages; the chief of which is, that it admits, and even requires, a full treatment of those doctrines of our faith that are more directly historical,—the doctrines of creation, the fall, the incarnation, the connection between the Old and New Testaments, and the doctrine of "the last things."¹³

The occasion for this great defense of Christianity gives it both grandeur and vitality. After more than eleven hundred years of steady, triumphant progress, Rome had been captured and sacked. It is difficult for us to appreciate the shock this sent throughout the entire known world. It is impossible to overestimate it. People generally believed that Rome’s destruction would be followed by the destruction of the world. This belief was held not only by pagans, but also by many of the most open-minded Christians.⁸ Even Jerome cannot hide his deep emotion on hearing of Rome’s fall. One might have expected him to resent the proud mistress of the world for her unwelcoming treatment of him. He says, "A terrible rumor reaches me from the West. It tells of Rome besieged, ransomed with gold, then besieged again, with lives and property destroyed together. My voice falters, and sobs choke the words I dictate. For that city which held the world captive is now a captive herself."⁹ Augustine never expresses his feelings as theatrically as Jerome does. But he is equally clear in mourning Rome’s fall as a great calamity. He does not hesitate to blame her recent disgrace on her citizens’ immoral habits, effeminacy, and pride. Yet he still hopes that Rome may recover much of her former prosperity. This could happen if she returned to the simple, hardy, and honorable way of life of the early Romans.¹⁰ Augustine contemplates the ruins of Rome’s greatness. At this crisis, he shares the whole world’s sense that even the strongest governments are unstable. He also sees that even the most authoritative statesmanship is inadequate. Yet above these ruins appears the splendid vision of the city of God, "coming down out of heaven, adorned as a bride for her husband." The old social order is crumbling on every side. But Augustine seems to see a pure Christian community rising in its place. He sees that human history and destiny are not wholly bound to the history of any earthly power. This is true even of a power as cosmopolitan as the Roman Empire.¹¹ He calls attention to another kingdom on earth, a city with foundations, whose builder and maker is God. He teaches people to take a deeper view of history. He shows how the city of God, the community of God’s people, has lived alongside the kingdoms of this world and their glory from the beginning. It has quietly grown, "crescit occulto velut arbor ævo," growing unseen over time like a tree. He demonstrates that this city’s superior morality, true doctrine, and heavenly origin ensure its success. In contrast, he portrays the foolish or contradictory theories of pagan philosophers and the disordered morals of the people. He asks all fair-minded people whether such a clear and sufficient cause for Rome’s downfall leaves room to blame Christianity’s spread. He traces the conflict between these two great communities of rational beings. He follows it back to their first separation in the fall of the angels. He then follows it forward to the end of all things, the last judgment, and the eternal destiny of good and evil. In other words, the City of God is "the first real effort to produce a philosophy of history."¹² It seeks to show historical events in relation to their true causes and in their actual sequence. This plan is not only a great idea. It also has many practical advantages. Chief among them is that it allows, and even requires, a full treatment of the more directly historical doctrines of our faith. These include creation, the fall, the incarnation, the connection between the Old and New Testaments, and "the last things."¹³

The effect produced by this great work it is impossible to determine with accuracy. Beugnot, with an absoluteness which we should condemn as presumption in any less competent authority, declares that its effect can only have been very slight.¹⁴ Probably its effect would be silent and slow; telling first upon cultivated minds, and only indirectly upon the people. Certainly its effect must have been weakened by the interrupted manner of its publication. It is an easier task to estimate its intrinsic value. But on this also patristic and literary authorities widely differ. Dupin admits that it is very pleasant reading, owing to the surprising variety of matters which are introduced to illustrate and forward the argument, but censures the author for discussing very useless questions, and for adducing reasons which could satisfy no one who was not already convinced.¹⁵ Huet also speaks of the book as "un amas confus d'excellents materiaux; c'est de l'or en barre et en lingots."¹⁶ L'Abbé Flottes censures these opinions as unjust, and cites with approbation the unqualified eulogy of Pressensé.¹⁷ But probably the popularity of the book is its best justification. This popularity may be measured by the circumstance that, between the year 1467 and the end of the fifteenth century, no fewer than twenty editions were called for, that is to say, a fresh edition every eighteen months.¹⁸ And in the interesting series of letters that passed between Ludovicus Vives and Erasmus, who had engaged him to write a commentary on the City of God for his edition of Augustine's works, we find Vives pleading for a separate edition of this work, on the plea that, of all the writings of Augustine, it was almost the only one read by patristic students, and might therefore naturally be expected to have a much wider circulation.¹⁹

It is impossible to measure the effect of this great work accurately. Beugnot declares that its effect could only have been very slight.¹⁴ He speaks with a certainty we would consider presumptuous in any less competent authority. The work’s effect was probably quiet and slow. It likely influenced educated minds first and reached the people only indirectly. Its effect must certainly have been weakened by its publication in separate installments over time. Its intrinsic value is easier to assess. Yet authorities on literature and the Church Fathers differ widely on this question too. Dupin admits that it is very pleasant reading. He attributes this to the surprising variety of subjects introduced to illustrate and advance the argument. But he criticizes Augustine for discussing very useless questions. He also faults him for giving reasons that could satisfy no one who was not already convinced.¹⁵ Huet also calls the book “a confused mass of excellent materials, gold in bars and ingots.”¹⁶ L’Abbé Flottes condemns these opinions as unjust and approvingly cites Pressensé’s unqualified praise.¹⁷ But the book’s popularity is probably its best defense. One measure of that popularity is the demand for editions between 1467 and the end of the fifteenth century. At least twenty were needed, or a new edition every eighteen months.¹⁸ The correspondence between Ludovicus Vives and Erasmus also offers evidence. Erasmus had hired Vives to write a commentary on the City of God for his edition of Augustine’s works. In their interesting letters, Vives argues for a separate edition of the work. He says it was almost the only one of Augustine’s writings read by students of the Church Fathers. It could therefore naturally be expected to have a much wider circulation.¹⁹

If it were asked to what this popularity is due, we should be disposed to attribute it mainly to the great variety of ideas, opinions, and facts that are here brought before the reader's mind. Its importance as a contribution to the history of opinion cannot be overrated. We find in it not only indications or explicit enouncement of the author's own views upon almost every important topic which occupied his thoughts, but also a compendious exhibition of the ideas which most powerfully influenced the life of that age. It thus becomes, as Poujoulat says, "comme l'encyclopédie du cinquième siècle." All that is valuable, together with much indeed that is not so, in the religion and philosophy of the classical nations of antiquity, is reviewed. And on some branches of these subjects it has, in the judgment of one well qualified to judge, "preserved more than the whole surviving Latin literature." It is true we are sometimes wearied by the too elaborate refutation of opinions which to a modern mind seem self-evident absurdities; but if these opinions were actually prevalent in the fifth century, the historical inquirer will not quarrel with the form in which his information is conveyed, nor will commit the absurdity of attributing to Augustine the foolishness of these opinions, but rather the credit of exploding them. That Augustine is a well-informed and impartial critic, is evinced by the courteousness and candour which he uniformly displays to his opponents, by the respect he won from the heathen themselves, and by his own early life. The most rigorous criticism has found him at fault regarding matters of fact only in some very rare instances, which can be easily accounted for. His learning would not indeed stand comparison with what is accounted such in our day: his life was too busy, and too devoted to the poor and to the spiritually necessitous, to admit of any extraordinary acquisition. He had access to no literature but the Latin; or at least he had only sufficient Greek to enable him to refer to Greek authors on points of importance, and not enough to enable him to read their writings with ease and pleasure.²⁰ But he had a profound knowledge of his own time, and a familiar acquaintance not only with the Latin poets, but with many other authors, some of whose writings are now lost to us, save the fragments preserved through his quotations.

If asked why this work is so popular, we would mainly point to its great variety of ideas, opinions, and facts. Its importance to the history of ideas cannot be overstated. It reveals or explicitly states the author’s views on almost every important subject he considered. It also gives a concise account of the ideas that most strongly influenced life in his age. As Poujoulat says, it is “comme l'encyclopédie du cinquième siècle,” an encyclopedia of the fifth century. It reviews all that is valuable, along with much that is not, in the religion and philosophy of classical antiquity. On some parts of these subjects, one well-qualified judge says it has “preserved more than the whole surviving Latin literature.” At times, we may grow tired of its overly detailed refutations of opinions that seem obviously absurd to modern readers. But if these opinions were common in the fifth century, historians will not object to how the information is presented. Nor will they make the absurd mistake of attributing the foolishness of these opinions to Augustine. Instead, they will give him credit for disproving them. Augustine was a well-informed and impartial critic. This is shown by the courtesy and openness he always displayed toward his opponents, by the respect he won from pagans themselves, and by his own early life. Even the most rigorous criticism has found him wrong about facts only on a few rare occasions. These errors can easily be explained. His learning would not compare with what we consider learning today. His life was too busy, and too devoted to the poor and those in spiritual need, for him to acquire extraordinary learning. He had access only to Latin literature. Or, at most, he knew enough Greek to consult Greek authors on important points, but not enough to read them with ease and pleasure.²⁰ But he had a deep knowledge of his own time. He was familiar not only with Latin poets but also with many other authors. Some of their writings are now lost, apart from the fragments preserved in his quotations.

But the interest attaching to the City of God is not merely historical. It is the earnestness and ability with which he developes his own philosophical and theological views which gradually fascinate the reader, and make him see why the world has set this among the few greatest books of all time. The fundamental lines of the Augustinian theology are here laid down in a comprehensive and interesting form. Never was thought so abstract expressed in language so popular. He handles metaphysical problems with the unembarrassed ease of Plato, with all Cicero's accuracy and acuteness, and more than Cicero's profundity. He is never more at home than when exposing the incompetency of Neoplatonism, or demonstrating the harmony of Christian doctrine and true philosophy. And though there are in the City of God, as in all ancient books, things that seem to us childish and barren, there are also the most surprising anticipations of modern speculation. There is an earnest grappling with those problems which are continually re-opened because they underlie man's relation to God and the spiritual world,—the problems which are not peculiar to any one century. As we read these animated discussions,

But the interest of The City of God is not merely historical. Augustine gradually fascinates readers with the seriousness and skill with which he develops his philosophical and theological views. He helps them see why the world has placed it among the few greatest books of all time. Here he sets out the basic principles of his theology in a comprehensive and engaging way. Never has such abstract thought been expressed in such accessible language. He handles metaphysical problems with Plato’s effortless ease, Cicero’s precision and sharpness, and greater depth than Cicero. He is never more at ease than when exposing the inadequacy of Neoplatonism or showing the harmony between Christian doctrine and true philosophy. Like all ancient books, The City of God contains things that seem childish and unproductive to us. Yet it also anticipates modern thought in the most surprising ways. Augustine grapples earnestly with problems that are continually reopened because they underlie humanity’s relationship with God and the spiritual world. These problems are not peculiar to any one century. As we read these lively discussions,

It is true, the style of the book is not all that could be desired: there are passages which can possess an interest only to the antiquarian; there are others with nothing to redeem them but the glow of their eloquence; there are many repetitions; there is an occasional use of arguments "plus ingenieux que solides," as M. Saisset says. Augustine's great admirer, Erasmus, does not scruple to call him a writer "obscuræ subtilitatis et parum amœnæ prolixitatis;"²¹ but "the toil of penetrating the apparent obscurities will be rewarded by finding a real wealth of insight and enlightenment." Some who have read the opening chapters of the City of God, may have considered it would be a waste of time to proceed; but no one, we are persuaded, ever regretted reading it all. The book has its faults; but it effectually introduces us to the most influential of theologians, and the greatest popular teacher; to a genius that cannot nod for many lines together; to a reasoner whose dialectic is more formidable, more keen and sifting, than that of Socrates or Aquinas; to a saint whose ardent and genuine devotional feeling bursts up through the severest argumentation; to a man whose kindliness and wit, universal sympathies and breadth of intelligence, lend piquancy and vitality to the most abstract dissertation.

It is true that the book’s style is not everything one could wish for. Some passages will interest only historians of the past. Others have nothing to recommend them except the brilliance of their eloquence. There is much repetition. Augustine also occasionally uses arguments that are “more ingenious than sound,” as M. Saisset says. Erasmus, a great admirer of Augustine, does not hesitate to call him a writer of “obscure subtlety and rather tedious wordiness.”²¹ But “the effort of understanding what seems obscure will be rewarded with a real wealth of insight and enlightenment.” Some who have read the opening chapters of City of God may have thought it a waste of time to continue. But we are convinced that no one has ever regretted reading the whole book. The book has its faults. Yet it effectively introduces us to the most influential theologian and the greatest teacher of ordinary people. We meet a genius who cannot lose his spark for more than a few lines. He is a thinker whose reasoning is more formidable, sharper, and more probing than that of Socrates or Aquinas. He is a saint whose passionate and genuine devotion bursts through even his most rigorous arguments. He is also a man whose kindness, wit, sympathy for all, and broad intelligence give zest and vitality to even the most abstract discussion.

The propriety of publishing a translation of so choice a specimen of ancient literature needs no defence. As Poujoulat very sensibly remarks, there are not a great many men now-a-days who will read a work in Latin of twenty-two books. Perhaps there are fewer still who ought to do so. With our busy neighbours in France, this work has been a prime favourite for 400 years. There may be said to be eight independent translations of it into the French tongue, though some of these are in part merely revisions. One of these translations has gone through as many as four editions. The most recent is that which forms part of the Nisard series; but the best, so far as we have seen, is that of the accomplished Professor of Philosophy in the College of France, Emile Saisset. This translation is indeed all that can be desired: here and there an omission occurs, and about one or two renderings a difference of opinion may exist; but the exceeding felicity and spirit of the whole show it to have been a labour of love, the fond homage of a disciple proud of his master. The preface of M. Saisset is one of the most valuable contributions ever made to the understanding of Augustine's philosophy.²²

Publishing a translation of such an excellent example of ancient literature needs no defense. As Poujoulat sensibly observes, not many people today will read a work of twenty-two books in Latin. Perhaps even fewer should do so. Among our busy neighbors in France, this work has been a great favorite for 400 years. There are, one might say, eight independent French translations, though some are in part merely revisions. One of these translations has gone through as many as four editions. The most recent appears in the Nisard series. But the best, as far as we have seen, is by Émile Saisset, the accomplished Professor of Philosophy at the College of France. His translation leaves nothing to be desired. Here and there something is omitted, and opinions may differ about one or two renderings. But its exceptional grace and spirit show it to have been a labor of love. It is the affectionate tribute of a disciple proud of his master. M. Saisset’s preface is one of the most valuable contributions ever made to the understanding of Augustine’s philosophy.²²

Of English translations there has been an unaccountable poverty. Only one exists,²³ and this so exceptionally bad, so unlike the racy translations of the seventeenth century in general, so inaccurate, and so frequently unintelligible, that it is not impossible it may have done something towards giving the English public a distaste for the book itself. That the present translation also might be improved, we know; that many men were fitter for the task, on the score of scholarship, we are very sensible; but that any one would have executed it with intenser affection and veneration for the author, we are not prepared to admit. A few notes have been added where it appeared to be necessary. Some are original, some from the Benedictine Augustine, and the rest from the elaborate commentary of Vives.²⁴

There has been an inexplicable shortage of English translations. Only one exists,²³ and it is exceptionally bad. It lacks the lively style typical of seventeenth-century translations. It is so inaccurate and so often unintelligible that it may even have helped turn English readers against the book itself. We know that the present translation could also be improved. We are well aware that many people were better qualified for the task in terms of scholarship. But we are not prepared to admit that anyone would have undertaken it with greater affection and reverence for the author. A few notes have been added where they seemed necessary. Some are original, some come from the Benedictine edition of Augustine, and the rest come from Vives’s extensive commentary.²⁴

The Editor.

The Editor.

Glasgow, 1871.

Glasgow, 1871.