59. Civ. Dei 14.13 (CCL 48:434–35); trans. Walsh and Monahan, FOTC 14:380–83. (continued)
was now doomed to eternal death, from which nothing could save him but grace. . . .
Actually, in the punishment for that sin the only penalty for disobedience was, to put it in a single word, more disobedience. There is nothing else that now makes a person more miserable than his own disobedience to himself. Because he would not do what he could have, he can no longer do what he should. It is true that even in the Garden, before sinning, he could not do everything; but he could still do all he desired to do, since he had no desire to do what he could not do. It is different now. As Scripture says, "Human beings are like a breath of air" (Ps 143:4). That is what we see in Adam's progeny. In too many ways to mention, we cannot do what we desire to do, for the simple reason that our very self refuses to obey us; that is to say, neither the self nor even the body obeys the will. For in spite of the will, the self is frequently troubled and the body feels pain, grows old, and dies. Now if only our nature, wholly and in all its parts, would obey our will, we would not have to suffer these and all our other ills so unwillingly.60
Politics and the Earthly City
Torture and Truth
Book 19 is perhaps the most studied book of On the City of God. In it, Augustine meditates on political realities within human cities, on the anguishing and often dangerous compromises that their politics require, their often subtle power plays and brutal mechanisms of repression. How, given the social nature of human beings, can one really find happiness and truth and justice? Augustine catalogs the anxious instabilities and everyday betrayals within even the best of human relationships, that is, within families and among friends. He goes on to think about the run-of-the-mill violence that plagues even the best cities, and so examines the Roman judicial system that claimed to punish criminals and dispense justice. He notes how ancient judges routinely had both the accused and the witnesses tortured to extract the truth. For Augustine, this serves as a sort of brutal parable of life in the earthly city. From On the City of God, Book 19:
60. Civ. Dei 14.15 (CCL 48:436–37); trans. Walsh and Monahan, FOTC 14:385–86. See also Gn. litt. 9.11.19; pecc. mer. 1.16.21.
On the City of God 355 (6) Even when a city is enjoying the profoundest peace, some people must sit in judgment on fellow citizens. Even at their best, what misery and grief they cause! No human judge can read the consciences of those before him. That is why so many innocent witnesses are tortured, to find what truth there is in the alleged guilt of others. It is even worse when the accused himself is tortured to find out if he be guilty. Here someone still unconvicted must undergo certain suffering for an uncertain crime—not because his guilt is known, but because his innocence is unproven. Thus it often happens that the ignorance of the judge turns into tragedy for the innocent party. There is something still more insufferable, deplorable beyond all cleansing with our tears. Often enough, when a judge tries to avoid putting someone to death whose innocence is not manifest, he has him put to torture, and so it happens, because of woeful lack of evidence, that he both tortures and kills someone blameless whom he tortured lest he kill him without just cause. And if, on Stoic principles, the innocent man chooses to escape from life rather than endure such torture any longer, he will confess to a crime he never committed. And when it is all over, the judge will still be in the dark whether the man he put to death was guilty or not guilty, even though he tortured him to save his innocent life, and then condemned him to death. Thus, to gather evidence, he tortures an innocent man, and, lacking evidence, kills him.
Such being the effect of human ignorance even in judicial procedure, will any philosopher-judge dare to take his place on the bench? You may be sure, he will. He would think it very wrong indeed to withdraw from his bounden duty to society. But that the innocent should be tortured as witnesses in trials not their own; that the accused should be so overcome by pain as falsely to plead guilty and then die, as they were tortured, in innocence; that many should die as a result of or during their torturings, prior to any verdict at all—in all this our philosopher-judge will condemn to death, as sometimes happens, ones who had nothing but the good of society at heart. To prevent crimes from going unpunished, people go to court; but the witnesses lie and the guilty party holds out inhumanly under the torture and makes no confession; the accusation, in spite of the facts, is not sustained, and it is the accuser who is condemned. No, our philosopher-judge does not reckon such abuses as burdens on his conscience because he has no intention of doing harm. Often, he would say, he cannot get at the truth, yet the good of society demands he hand down decisions. My only point is that, as a man, surely his cannot be the "happy life" even though his philosophy may save him from a sense of wrongdoing. Granted his ignorance and his office are to blame for the torture and death of the innocent, is it any consolation to feel free of the responsibility? Is he really happy? Surely it would be more compassionate and