City of God (Penguin Classics) (46 page)
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Authors: Saint Augustine
4.
From Varro’s account it emerges that ‘Human Matters’ precede ‘Divine Matters’ among the pagans
In the whole of this impressive sequence, with all those subtle distinctions and this precise arrangement, it is in vain to seek eternal life; it would be the height of impudence to look for it or to hope for it in this context. So much is readily apparent, from what we have already said and from what we are to go on to say, to anyone who is not his own enemy because of the obstinacy of his heart. These institutions are either the work of men, or of demons, and not of ‘good demons’, as the pagans call them, but, to speak frankly, of unclean spirits or undeniably malignant powers. Malignant, because with consummate spite they secretly instil into the thoughts of the impious, and at times openly suggest to their senses, pernicious notions which make the human soul more and more evanescent, and less and less able to adjust itself and attach itself to eternal truth; and they support those notions with fallacious evidence in every way they can.
Varro himself bears witness that the reason for writing about ‘human matters’ before ‘divine matters’ was that human communities first came into existence and divine institutions are afterwards established by them. Whereas it was not any terrestrial community that established true religion; it was true religion, without doubt, that established the Celestial City; and true religion is given to his true worshippers by the inspiration and teaching of the true God, the giver of eternal life.
Varro gives the following explanation of his treatment of ‘human matters’ before ‘divine matters’, on the ground that the ‘divine matters’ were established by men: ‘The painter exists before the picture, the builder before the building: similarly, human communities precede their institutions.’ But he does say that he would have written about the gods before proceeding to men, if he were treating of every aspect of the gods. Are we really to suppose that in this work he is only treating of some part of the divine nature and not of the whole: or that the divine nature, even when considered only in a particular aspect ought not to take precedence over human nature? Further, in his three last books he carefully arranges the gods into the categories of ‘certain’, ‘uncertain’ and ‘select’; does it appear that he leaves any aspect unmentioned? What does he mean, then, when he says, ‘If I were treating of every aspect of the gods and of men, I would have dealt with the divine before starting on the human?’ Either he is writing about every aspect, or some aspects, or no aspect at all. If
about every aspect, then ‘divine matters’ should precede ‘human’; but why should they not, even if he is writing only about some? Would it be improper to make even some aspects of the divine take precedence over the whole of human nature? If it would be too much that one part of the divine should have precedence over all the human matters, would it at least be right for it to do so over merely Roman affairs? For his books on ‘human affairs’ treat only of Roman matters; they do not include the whole world. And yet he claims that he is justified in having given them precedence over his books on ‘divine affairs’, as the painter precedes the picture, the builder comes before the building. Here he plainly admits that ‘divine matters’ are of human institution, like pictures and buildings.
There remains the possibility that he is to be supposed to have written about no aspect of divinity at all; and that he was reluctant to admit this explicitly and left it to be inferred by the intelligent reader. For ‘I have not treated of all’ means, in common usage, ‘I have treated of some’; but it
can
be understood as ‘I have treated of none’; since ‘none’ is the negation of both ‘all’ and ‘some’. Varro himself declares that if he were writing about every aspect of the divine nature it would have to precede the treatment of human affairs; but truth cries out, without need of a word from Varro, that the divine nature, even if treated only in part, should have had precedence over Roman affairs, at least. Yet it properly takes second place; therefore it is not there at all. It was not that Varro decided to rank ‘human affairs’ before ‘divine’, but to give truth the precedence over falsehood. For in his books on ‘human affairs’ he follows the course of history; but his account of what he calls ‘divine affairs’ is a collection of frivolous fantasies. And this is doubtless what he intended to signify by a subtle hint, in writing of them after the other topics, and, not content with this, in giving an explanation for taking this course. If he had said nothing in explanation, others might have defended his procedure on different grounds. But the very explanation he has given leaves others no room for arbitrary speculation and is sufficient proof that he is giving men precedence over their institutions, not ranking human nature before the divine.
Thus Varro has admitted that his books on ‘divine affairs’ do not deal with the truth relating to the divine nature but with the false notions which arise from error. As I have mentioned in the fourth book,
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he states this more clearly in another place, where he acknowledges that he would have written on the principles dictated by
nature, if he had been founding a new community; but since he found himself in a community already ancient, the only course open to him was to conform to its traditional ways.
5.
Varro’s division of theology into ‘mythical’, ‘natural’, and ‘civil’
Then again, what is the significance of Varro’s division of ‘theology’, that is the systematic theory of the gods, into the types: mythical, physical and civil?
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We should have called the first type ‘fabular’, if Latin usage had permitted. Let us call it ‘fabulous’, since the name ‘mythical’ is derived from
mythos
, the Greek word for fable. Usage allows us to call the second type ‘natural’ (
physis
being the Greek for ‘nature’). The third category, ‘civil’, Varro himself designated by a Latin word.
He goes on to say, ‘The name “mythical” applies to the theology used chiefly by the poets, “physical” to that of the philosophers, “civil” to that of the general public. The first type contains a great deal of fiction which is in conflict with the dignity and nature of the immortals. It is in this category that we find one god born from the head, another from the thigh, a third from drops of blood;
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we find stories about thefts and adulteries committed by gods, and gods enslaved to human beings.
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In fact we find attributed to gods not only the accidents that happen to humanity in general, but even those which can befall the most contemptible of mankind.’ In this passage he has the courage to take the chance, when he thinks he can do it with impunity, of casting off all obscurity and ambiguity, and making it quite clear what injustice is done to the nature of the gods by these lying fables. For he is talking, not about ‘natural’, or ‘civil’ theology but about ‘fabulous’ theology, which he thinks he has the right to criticize quite candidly.
Let us see what he says about the second type:
The second type which I have pointed out, is one on which the philosophers have left a number of works, in which they discuss who the gods are, where they are, of what kind and of what character they are: whether they came into being at a certain time, or have always existed: whether they derive their being from fire (the belief of Heraclitus) or from numbers
(as Pythagoras thought) or from atoms (as Epicurus alleges).
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And there are other like questions all of which men’s ears can more readily tolerate within the walls of a lecture-room than in the market-place outside.
He has no fault to find with this ‘physical’ theology, which is the special preserve of philosophers, except for a mention of the philosophical controversies, which have given rise to a multitude of dissident sects. All the same, he removes the subject from the marketplace, that is, from the general public, and shuts it up between the walls of a lecture-room. But he has not removed the first type – the mythical – with all its lies and flith. What sensitive ears ordinary people have, including the Roman people, in matters of religion! They cannot tolerate the discussions of philosophers about the immortal gods. Yet they not merely tolerate, they listen with pleasure to fictions, sung by poets and acted by players, which offend against the dignity and the nature of the gods, because such adventures are appropriate to human nature, or rather to human nature at its most contemptible. More than this, they have decided that such stories are pleasing to the gods, and must be employed to obtain their favour.
Now perhaps someone is going to say, ‘Let us make the same distinction as Varro himself makes between the “mythical” and “physical” (“fabulous” and “natural”) and the “civil” variety of theology. We are now discussing “civil” theology; let us see how Varro describes it.’ I do indeed see why Varro had to distinguish the fabulous type; because it is false, degraded, and unworthy. But to wish to separate natural theology from civil, is surely tantamount to an admission that civil theology itself is false. If ‘natural’ theology is really natural, what is found wrong with it, to cause its exclusion from the city? While if so-called ‘civil’ theology is not natural, what merit has it to cause its admission? This is, we may suppose, the reason why Varro treated ‘human affairs’ before ‘divine affairs’ – in ‘divine affairs’ he was dealing not with something in nature but with purely human institutions.
Let us inspect this ‘civil theology’. ‘The third variety,’ says Varro, ‘is that which the citizens in the towns, and especially the priests, ought to know and put into practice. It contains information about
the gods which should be worshipped officially and the rites and sacrifices which should be offered to each of them.’ We should pay special attention to the statement which follows. Varro says, ‘The first type of theology is particularly suited to the theatre; the second is particularly concerned with the world; the special relevance of the third is to the city.’ It is easy to see to which he gives the first prize. Obviously it is the second type, the theology, as he said earlier, of the philosophers. He claims that this is concerned with the world, and, in the opinion of the philosophers,
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the world is the most important of all existing things. As for the two other theologies, the first (that of the theatre) and the second (that of the city), does he separate them or associate them? For what belongs to a city is not necessarily connected with the world, although a city is in the world. It may happen that cults are practised in a city, and beliefs held, which are based on mistaken ideas which correspond to no reality in the world or outside it. But a theatre must of necessity be in a city; for only a city community establishes a theatre. And the sole object of a theatre is the presentation of stage shows. And stage shows can only be classed among ‘divine affairs’, which are treated with such subtlety in these books of Varro’s.
6.
Criticism of Varro’s treatment of ‘mythical’ and ‘civil’ theology
Marcus Varro, you are the shrewdest of men, and, without a shadow of doubt, the most erudite. You are only a man, for all that; you are not God, and you have not been borne aloft by the Spirit of God into truth and liberty so that you could see things divine and bring news of them to men. You do indeed discern how important it is to separate divine matters from the follies and falsehoods of men. But you are afraid of falling foul of pernicious popular notions and traditional practices in state-established superstitions. You yourself feel, when you consider them in all their aspects, that they are utterly alien from the nature of the gods, even of those gods which the human mind, in its weakness, suspects to exist in the elements of this world; and the whole of your literature is loud in condemnation of them. And yet how does your native talent – which, for all its pre-eminence, is merely human – acquit itself at this point? What support do you derive, in this quandary, from your learning – which is also merely human, however manifold and immense? You desire to worship ‘natu
ral’ gods; you are compelled to worship the ‘gods of the city’. You have found other gods, those of the fables, and you can be less reserved in loosing off your feelings about
them
. But, whether you like it or not, some of your shots land on the ‘civil’ gods as well. You say, to be sure, that the ‘fabulous’ gods are appropriate to the theatre, the ‘natural’ gods are relevant to the world, the ‘civil’ deities to the city. But, surely, the world is a divine work, while cities and theatres are works of men? And the gods who are laughed at in the theatres are the same as those adored in the temples, and the deities to whom you offer sacrifices are identical with those for whom you put on games. You would have shown much more candour and percipience in your division if you had distinguished between ‘natural gods’ on one side and ‘gods of human institution’ on the other, observing that the writings of poets on the latter display a different attitude from the teaching of the priests, but that poetry and priestcraft are allied in a fellowship of deception, and so are equally acceptable to the demons, whose enemy is the teaching of truth.
Leaving on one side, for later discussion, the so-called ‘natural theology’, we may ask whether we are really prepared to ask or hope for eternal life from the gods of poetry and the theatre, the gods of the games and the plays? A thousand times, no! The God of truth forbids that we should entertain such monstrous, blasphemous insanity. What! Are we to seek eternal life from gods who are pleased and appeased by shows at which scandalous stories about them are enacted for all to see? No one, I conceive, has reached this degree of insanity, this bottomless pit of blasphemous delirium. It is agreed, then, that no one attains to everlasting life by means either of ‘fabulous’ or ‘civil’ theology. The former sows a crop of shame by inventing foul stories about the gods; the latter by supporting them, reaps the harvest. The one scatters lies: the other collects them. The one slanders ‘divine matters’ with false reports: the other includes among ‘divine matters’ the shows in which the slanders are presented. The one chants in verse the unspeakable fictions of human imagination about the gods; the other consecrates those fictions in the festivals of the gods. The one sings the crimes and shames of the deities; the other views them with complacence. The one reveals, or else invents them; the other either attests them as true, or enjoys them, even if false. Both ‘theologies’ are disgusting, both deserve condemnation. The theology of the theatre proclaims the degradation of the people; the theology of the city makes that degradation into an amenity. Can eternal life be looked for from a source of corruption to this short life of time? Or are we to suppose
that while association with evil men corrupts our life, if they insinuate themselves into our affections and secure our approval, the society of demons has no such effect, although those outrageous tales form part of their cult? If the tales are true, how degraded are the gods! If false, how degraded the worship!
In saying this we may give the impression to one who had but scant acquaintance with the subject, that it is only in the songs of the poets and in performances on the stage that these fables, so insulting to the divine majesty, so ludicrous and detestable, are presented to the public in honour of gods of this kind, while the sacred rites, which are conducted by priests, not by actors, are pure from any disgrace and unconnected with any such pollution. If this were true, no one would ever decide that obscenities should be presented on the stage in honour of the gods, and the gods themselves would never have ordered such exhibitions for themselves. In fact, it is just because this kind of thing goes on in the temples that there is no shame about putting on similar performances in the theatre.
It comes to this; that our authority, in attempting to distinguish ‘civil theology’ as a third category separate from ‘fabulous’ and ‘natural’ theology, really meant it to be regarded as a mixture of the two others, rather than distinct from them. For he distinctly states that what the poets write is inadequate to serve as a model for the people to follow, while the writings of philosophers are too demanding for the common folk to find profit from their study. ‘These two theologies,’ says Varro, ‘are incompatible; and yet quite a number of ingredients have been taken from them to help to form the principles of “civil” theology. For that reason, where elements in “civil theology” coincide with elements in the other categories, we shall enter them under “civil theology”. But we ought to cultivate the society of the philosophers more than that of the poets.’ This implies that we should not utterly shun the society of the poets. Besides, in another passage, dealing with the ‘generation of the gods’, he says that people in general are more inclined to believe the poets than the ‘naturalists’.
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In the former passage he is talking about what
ought
to happen, in the second about what actually does happen. He says that the ‘naturalists’ have written with a view to edification; the poets to give pleasure. Thus the poets have written about the scandalous conduct of the gods, which gives pleasure to the general public – and to the gods; but they do not offer models for the people to imitate. As he says, poets write to give
pleasure, not for edification. All the same, they write the kind of things the gods ask for and that the people present to them.