Augustine Latin Quotes

Is it not lack of faith that leads men to fear the scrutiny of reason? If the destination is doubtful, than the path must be fraught with fear. A robust faith need not fear, for if God exists, then reason cannot help but lead us to Him. Cogito, ergo Deus est,'says St. Augustine, I think, therefore God is.

credo ut intelligam. (i believe so i can understand).

It is obvious', says Hadamard, 'that invention or discovery, be it in mathematics or anywhere else, takes place by combining ideas....The Latin verb cogito for "to think" etymologically means "to shake together". St. Augustine had already noticed that and also observed that intelligo means "to select among".

In our more arrogant moments, the sin of pride—or superbia, in Augustine's Latin formulation—takes over our personalities and shuts us off from those around us. We become dull to others when all we seek to do is assert how well things are going for us, just as friendship has a chance to grow only when we fare to share what we are afraid of and regret. The rest is merely showmanship. The flaws whose exposure we so dread, the indiscretions we know we would be mocked for, the secrets that keep our conversations with our so-called friends superficial and inert—all of these emerge as simply part of the human condition.

At one time in my infancy I also knew no Latin, and yet by listening I learnt it with no fear or pain at all, from my nurses caressing me, from people laughing over jokes, and from those who played games and were enjoying them. I learnt Latin without the threat of punishment from anyone forcing me to learn it. My own heart constrained me to bring its concepts to birth, which I could not have done unless I had learnt some words, not from formal teaching but by listening to people talking; and they in turn were the audience for my thoughts. This experience sufficiently illuminates the truth that free curiosity has greater power to stimulate learning than rigorous coercion.

Time was also (as an infant) I knew no Latin; but this I learned without fear or suffering, by mere observation, amid the caresses of my nursery and jests of friends, smiling and sportively encouraging me.

Augustine captured the two ideas in two Latin coinages, which prima facie cut against each other: imago dei and peccatum originis. The former says that humans are unique as a species in our having been created in the image and likeness of God, while the latter says that all humans are born having inherited the legacy of Adam’s error, “original sin.”61

We like to think of the old-fashioned American classics as children's books. Just childishness, on our part. The old American art-speech contains an alien quality, which belongs to the American continent and to nowhere else. But, of course, so long as we insist on reading the books as children's tales, we miss all that. One wonders what the proper high-brow Romans of the third and fourth or later centuries read into the strange utterances of Lucretius or Apuleius or Tertullian, Augustine or Athanasius. The uncanny voice of Iberian Spain, the weirdness of old Carthage, the passion of Libya and North Africa; you may bet the proper old Romans never heard these at all. They read old Latin inference over the top of it, as we read old European inference over the top of Poe or Hawthorne. It is hard to hear a new voice, as hard as it is to listen to an unknown language. We just don't listen. There is a new voice in the old American classics. The world has declined to hear it, and has blabbed about children's stories. Why?—Out of fear. The world fears a new experience more than it fears anything. Because a new experience displaces so many old experiences. And it is like trying to use muscles that have perhaps never been used, or that have been going stiff for ages. It hurts horribly. The world doesn't fear a new idea. It can pigeon-hole any idea. But it can't pigeon-hole a real new experience. It can only dodge. The world is a great dodger, and the Americans the greatest. Because they dodge their own very selves.

Then he withdrew in silence, but shaking his head as though inwardly exclaiming, “An Unbeliever.” No! low as I have fallen, I am not an unbeliever. God is my witness that I believe in Him. But how did that old man address me? Nothing to be felt, nothing to affect me, nothing to draw forth tears, nothing which sprung from his heart to enter into mine, — nothing which was addressed from himself to myself. On the contrary, there was something vague, inaccentuated, applicable to any case and to none in particular: emphatic where it should have been profound, flat where it ought to have been simple; a species of sentimental sermon and theological elegy. Now and then a quotation in Latin; here and there the names of Saint Augustine and Saint Gregory, and others of the Calendar. And throughout he had the air of reciting a lesson which he had already twenty times repeated; seeming to go over a theme almost obliterated in his memory from being so long known; but not one look in his eyes, not one accent in his voice, to indicate that he was interested!

Yes, you say, but many of the fathers were saved and even became teachers without the languages. That is true. But how do you account for the fact that they so often erred in the Scriptures?…Even St. Augustine himself is obliged to confess…that a Christian teacher who is to expound the Scriptures must know Greek and Hebrew in addition to Latin. Otherwise, it is impossible to avoid constant stumbling; indeed, there are plenty of problems to work out even when one is well versed in the languages...it is a still greater sin and loss that we do not study languages, especially in these days when God is offering and giving us men and books and every facility and inducement to this study, and desires his Bible to be an open book. O how happy the dear fathers would have been if they had had our opportunity to study the languages and come thus prepared to the Holy Scriptures! What great toil and effort it cost them to gather up a few crumbs, while we with half the labor—yes, almost without any labor at all—can acquire the whole loaf! O how their effort puts our indolence to shame! Yes, how sternly God will judge our lethargy and ingratitude!

The round, unformed script on the fly-leaf said, Francis Crawford of Lymond. She stared at it; then put it down and picked up another. The writing in this one was older; the neat level hand she had seen once before, in Stamboul. This time it said only, The Master of Culter. That dated it after the death of his father, when until the birth of Richard’s son Kevin, the heir’s rank and title were Lymond’s. And all the books were his, too. She scanned them: some works in English; others in Latin and Greek, French, Italian and Spanish.… Prose and verse. The classics, pressed together with folios on the sciences, theology, history; bawdy epistles and dramas; books on war and philosophy; the great legends. Sheets and volumes and manuscripts of unprinted music. Erasmus and St Augustine, Cicero, Terence and Ptolemy, Froissart and Barbour and Dunbar; Machiavelli and Rabelais, Bude and Bellenden, Aristotle and Copernicus, Duns Scotus and Seneca. Gathered over the years; added to on infrequent visits; the evidence of one man’s eclectic taste. And if one studied it, the private labyrinth, book upon book, from which the child Francis Crawford had emerged, contained, formidable, decorative as his deliberate writing, as the Master of Culter.

If there are so many references in the Mass to poverty, sadness, failure and loss, it is because the Church views the ill, the frail of mind, the desperate and the elderly as representing aspects of humanity and (even more meaningfully) of ourselves which we are tempted to deny, but which bring us, when we can acknowledge them, closer to our need for one another. In our more arrogant moments, the sin of pride – or superbia, in Augustine’s Latin formulation – takes over our personalities and shuts us off from those around us. We become dull to others when all we seek to do is assert how well things are going for us, just as friendship has a chance to grow only when we dare to share what we are afraid of and regret. The rest is merely showmanship. The Mass encourages this sloughing off of pride. The flaws whose exposure we so dread, the indiscretions we know we would be mocked for, the secrets that keep our conversations with our so-called friends superficial and inert – all of these emerge as simply part of the human condition. We have no reason left to dissemble or lie in a building dedicated to honouring the terror and weakness of a man who was nothing like the usual heroes of antiquity, nothing like the fierce soldiers of Rome’s army or the plutocrats of its Senate, and yet who was nevertheless worthy of being crowned the highest of men, the king of kings.

Ma conversion aux Tifinagh ne s’est pas faite du jour au lendemain car, influencé par Mammeri, je pensais que notre langue ne s’épanouirait vraiment qu’à travers les caractères latins. A la veille donc de créer Imazighène, notre revue, je réunis Jacques Bénet, Augustin Ibazizen, Ait Hamou, inspecteur de l'enseignement, le sénateur Achour et Hanouz dans le but de choisir une transcription. Mais cette expérience fut pour moi décevante, car malgré la qualité des hommes sus-cités les problèmes linguistiques leurs échappaient complètement. Ce fut ainsi que je fus amené à choisir les Tifinagh, suivant en cela les conseils de Mahdjoubi-Aherdane et le chemin tracé depuis un bon moment déjà par un de nos plus ardents militants, je veux nommer Smaïl Bellache. Celui-ci, après avoir appris l'écriture ancestrale telle qu’elle était pratiquée par les Imouhars, me dit combien elle intéressait les gens du fait même qu’elle est à nous. Lui ayant fait remarquer un jour qu’elle était peu pratique en raison des nombreux points qui servent à la formation de certaines lettres, source de confusion, il se mit à la simplifier [...]

Complicating the work further was the fact that Latin American buyers were known to have a taste for the world’s finest things even when they could not afford to pay the world’s highest prices. As a result, European manufacturers “sought constantly to improve one element of quality, that of finish, whilst at the same time avoiding parallel improvements in other elements, notably in fineness.

The flaw that I thought most greatly de-legitimized modern Christian theology was the intellectual and moral respect it continued to show modern atheism long after the twentieth century had revealed—and continued to reveal—the violence beating in the heart of programmatic atheism. Was there anything in pro-grammatic atheism’s creatures—National Socialism, Marxist Communism,and Scientificism—that had not revealed itself as tyrannical and vicious? And yet Christian theologians continued to treat atheism with intellectual respect, as if programmatic atheists were modern versions of free-thinkers in French salons (like, e.g., Voltaire). The fact that modern atheism had clearly revealed itself to have more in common with Jean-Paul Marat than with Voltaire was ignored: judgment was never passed. The myth of self-definition of atheist thinkers was taken at face value: each such intellectual was treated as sui-generis—a philosophical freelancer, with no history that needed to be acknowledged and repented of. While even the most independent of any free church Christianity, traditionally anti-Catholic and thus rejecting the history of Christianity prior to the 1860s, was nonetheless regarded as implicated in century old “crimes of Christianity” and denied any status of “freelancing,” atheism was a moral blank slate that could be, and had to be, taken seriously and respected: any atheist had no history that needed to be accounted for. In my eyes the credentialing of pro-grammatic atheism was a deep moral and intellectual failure by modern theologians.

Being (in the sense of "God is Being, from whom all creation takes its being") is an auto-kenetic crystalline active power unfolding within itself unceasingly. The key concept is that of intrinsic cyclic motion, power to act. Existence is a verb, an action, a doing. "Action springs forth" (from "to be") as the "Word leapt.

Ironically, the Neoplatonic version of religious Hellenism has had a seminal influence on Christianity, most notably on the works of Augustine of Hippo in the Latin West and Dionysius the Areopagite in the Greek East.

According to St. Augustine of Hippo (354—430), “The highest good, than which there is no higher, is God … And consequently, if He alone is unchangeable, all things that He has made, because He has made them out of nothing, are changeable.” Augustine also used the idea of logoi spermatikoi in the context of seminal reasons (rationes seminales, Latin from the Greek λόγοι σπερματικοὶ or logoi spermatikoi), or “seedlike principles,” “causal principles.” Based on this theory, God created the world by inseminating the void with seed. Other Christian thinkers accepted the idea, including Justin Martyr (100—165), Athenagoras of Athens (133—190), Tertullian (155—220), Gregory of Nyssa (335—395), Bonaventure (1221—1274), Albertus Magnus (1200—1280), and Roger Bacon (1219/20—1292).

The Strategy of Scheduling is a powerful weapon against procrastination. Because of tomorrow logic, we tend to feel confident that we’ll be productive and virtuous—tomorrow. (The word “procrastinate” comes from cras, the Latin word for “tomorrow.”) In one study, when subjects made a shopping list15 for what they’d eat in a week, more chose a healthy snack instead of an unhealthy snack; when asked what they’d choose now, more people chose the unhealthy over the healthy snack. As St. Augustine famously prayed, “Grant me chastity and continency,16 only not yet.” Tomorrow.

It is a striking fact that the weight of opposition to universalism in primitive times is found in the Latin Church, is found most vigorous where, as in Augustine's case, the Greek language was never really mastered.

It must be admitted that sexual intercourse in marriage is not sinful, provided the intention is to beget offspring. Yet even in marriage a virtuous man will wish that he could manage without lust. Even in marriage, as the desire for privacy shows, people are ashamed of sexual intercourse, because 'this lawful act of nature is (from our first parents) accompanied with our penal shame'. The cynics thought that one should be without shame, and Diogenes would have none of it, wishing to be in all things like a dog; yet even he, after one attempt, abandoned, in practice, this extreme of shamelessness. What is shameful about lust is its independence of the will. Adam and Eve, before the fall, could have had sexual intercourse without lust, though in fact they did not. Handicraftsmen, in the pursuit of their trade, move their hands without lust; similarly Adam, if only he had kept away from the apple-tree, could have performed the business of sex without the emotions that it now demands. The sexual members, like the rest of the body, would have obeyed the will. The need of lust in sexual intercourse is a punishment for Adam's sin, but for which sex might have been divorced from pleasure. Omitting some physiological details which the translator has very properly left in the decent obscurity of the original Latin, the above is St Augustine's theory as regards sex. It is evident from the above that what makes the ascetic dislike sex is its independence of the will. Virtue, it is held, demands a complete control of the will over the body, but such control does not suffice to make the sexual act possible. The sexual act, therefore, seems inconsistent with a perfectly virtuous life.

Books were expensive and only the wealthy had them. Stephen, who had a secret liking for books, idly opened it. It was written in Latin. He recognized it as the confessions of St. Augustine.

Adam's sin would have brought all mankind to eternal death (i.e. damnation), but that God's grace has freed many from it. Sin came from the soul, not from the flesh. Platonists and Manichæans both err in ascribing sin to the nature of the flesh, though Platonists are not so bad as Manichæans. The punishment of all mankind for Adam's sin was just; for, as a result of this sin, man, that might have been spiritual in body, became carnal in mind.10 This leads to a long and minute discussion of sexual lust, to which we are subject as part of our punishment for Adam's sin. This discussion is very important as revealing the psychology of asceticism; we must therefore go into it, although the Saint confesses that the theme is immodest. The theory advanced is as follows. It must be admitted that sexual intercourse in marriage is not sinful, provided the intention is to beget offspring. Yet even in marriage a virtuous man will wish that he could manage without lust. Even in marriage, as the desire for privacy shows, people are ashamed of sexual intercourse, because 'this lawful act of nature is (from our first parents) accompanied with our penal shame'. The cynics thought that one should be without shame, and Diogenes would have none of it, wishing to be in all things like a dog; yet even he, after one attempt, abandoned, in practice, this extreme of shamelessness. What is shameful about lust is its independence of the will. Adam and Eve, before the fall, could have had sexual intercourse without lust, though in fact they did not. Handicraftsmen, in the pursuit of their trade, move their hands without lust; similarly Adam, if only he had kept away from the apple-tree, could have performed the business of sex without the emotions that it now demands. The sexual members, like the rest of the body, would have obeyed the will. The need of lust in sexual intercourse is a punishment for Adam's sin, but for which sex might have been divorced from pleasure. Omitting some physiological details which the translator has very properly left in the decent obscurity of the original Latin, the above is St Augustine's theory as regards sex. It is evident from the above that what makes the ascetic dislike sex is its independence of the will. Virtue, it is held, demands a complete control of the will over the body, but such control does not suffice to make the sexual act possible. The sexual act, therefore, seems inconsistent with a perfectly virtuous life.

Where the African church failed was in not carrying Christianity beyond the Romanized inhabitants of the cities and the great estates, and not sinking roots into the world of the native peoples. Like most regions of the Western empire, such as Gaul and Spain, Africa was divided between Latin-speaking provincials and old-stock natives, who spoke their ancient languages—in this case, varieties of Berber. Unlike these other provinces, though, the African church had made next to no progress in taking the faith to the villages and the neighboring tribes, nor, critically, had they tried to evangelize in local languages. This would not have been an unrealistic expectation, in that already by the fourth century missionaries elsewhere were translating the scriptures into Gothic, and Hunnic languages followed by the sixth century. Evidence of the neglect of the countryside can be found in the letters of Saint Augustine, by far the best known of African bishops, whose vision was sharply focused on the cities of Rome and Carthage; he expressed no interest in the rural areas or peoples of his diocese.3

Parmenides said: “To think and to be are one and the same.” Philosophers had similar thoughts about this question from Plato, Aristotle, and Saint Augustine to Avicenna. “Je pense, donc je suis“ (“I think, therefore I am, “or “I am thinking, therefore I exist.“) Descartes used first in French in his Discourse on the Method (1637) and later in Latin in Principles of Philosophy and Meditations on First Philosophy. One of the easiest ways to reconcile Descartes’ cogito ergo sum argument with counterarguments against it would be to modify it slightly: I am the thought. This thought exists. Therefore, I exist. Everything that exists, regardless of whether it is aware of its existence, is information itself, a message, or a thought of the Universal Eternal Source of everything. The I that thinks, whatever it may be, exists. An I is not the source of thinking, but thinking is the source of an I. An I is the consequence of thinking. An I does not presuppose existence but is only a confirmation of existence. Existence is not the consequence of an I. I do not exist because I am an I. Thinking I is a confirmation of existence per se, independent of whether I am that I or not. The sole possibility that I may think I am thinking is enough to prove the existence of a being that thinks or thinks that it (he-she) thinks. Otherwise, this being would not be able to be wrong or right, delusional, or deceived. Identification of an I, and with an I, or with the self, is not the source of existence: I do not exist because I think, but my thinking, even if not mine, proves the existence of whatever or whoever is thinking.

During the barbarian invasions and the Dark Ages that followed, the power to read and write Latin became the privileged property of a tiny few. It was only the relentless reproduction of Boethius’s works, by generations of forgotten monks and scribes from Subiaco and Monte Cassino in Italy to Kells in Ireland, that allowed some fragments of that Greek legacy to enter the Western consciousness. When writers talk about the monks of Ireland “saving civilization,” this is what they mean: how from the age of Charlemagne to the Crusades, they copied and recopied the manuscripts of Boethius, alongside Saint Augustine, Cicero and Virgil, and Saint Jerome’s Latin Bible.

Quid est enim fids nisi crdere quod nn vids? (Augustine Evang. Iohan.

know it to be based on a notoriously confused reading of scripture, one whose history goes all the way back to the late Augustine—a towering genius whose inability to read Greek and consequent reliance on defective Latin translations turned out to be the single most tragically consequential case of linguistic incompetence in Christian history. In

Aud alteram partem. (Augustine Man. 14.22: pars, partis, f., part, share; party, side, position [in a dispute]; “partisan.”)

It irked St Augustine (CG, 6, 4, 1-2) that Varro put human affairs before divine ones, for - the Latin antiquary explained - cities had existed before religious institutions, 'as the artist exists before the picture and the architect before the building'. Such an attitude was typical of a Roman, for whom religion was not a matter of personal devotion, but concerned a collective interest.

Poured Out Moab has been at rest from youth, like wine left on its dregs, not poured from one jar to another. . . . So she tastes as she did, and her aroma is unchanged. Jeremiah 48:11 (NIV) God is working in you a process that goes beyond simple obedience down to the roots of unrighteousness that produce disobedience. He is cleansing you moment by moment, moving you from one level to the next and never leaving you to “sit on your dregs.” Jeremiah is describing Moab as people who have never been challenged and forced to face disappointment or disruption of their lives. They are like wine on its dregs, which becomes bitter and harsh. Wine making involves different stages and vessels of different size, shape, and construction. A wine must be moved from vessel to vessel. Each stage accomplishes something different for the final product—the wine that it is becoming. At each stage, the dregs settle to the bottom and must be strained out. Only the winemake can tell the stage at which a wine must be emptied from one vessel to another God, the great Winemaker, is fermenting a rich and perfect wine in you. Do you feel yourself being emptied from vessel to vessel? Just as you get used to the shape and feel of your life as it is, you find yourself being emptied out. It is disorienting. Then you find yourself poured into a life of a completely different shape and size. Don’t be frightened when the shape of your life seems to be changing. God will not let you sit on your dregs. You will not be locked into your immaturity, retaining the same aroma as in your youth. God is ripening you, fermenting you, enriching you. Embrace his transitions, because God moves only forward. Father, you are the Winemaker—fermenting my life until it is a perfect vintage with beautiful aroma. I trust you and thank you for all the stages of my journey. With you, nothing is wasted or capricious but is part of a beautiful process. I yield myself to you. Faith is to believe what you do not yet see; the reward for this faith is to see what you believe. —ST. AUGUSTINE (354–430), Latin North African theologian and philosopher,

Spanish word sendereando, for hiking, is compact and pretty (sendero is path), but the wisest phrase for this activity is the Latin solvitur ambulando (“it is solved by walking”), attributed to Saint Augustine. The phrase was mentioned by the long-distance walker Patrick Leigh-Fermor to Bruce Chatwin. “Hearing it, immediately Bruce whipped out his notebook,” Chatwin’s biographer wrote. Walking to ease the mind is also an objective of the pilgrim. There is a spiritual dimension too: the walk itself is part of a process of purification. Walking is the age-old form of travel, the most fundamental, perhaps the most revealing.

Many read Jesus’ action in the temple as a criticism of the way the money changers were profaning a sacred space. There is another way to understand this action, though. The world is God’s house, and every misuse of money is a violation of God’s command to love my neighbor as myself. In this respect, money is no different from any other of the tools people use, except perhaps in the frequency with which we use it. Jesus’ criticism points to the ways that people tend to act differently in the sacred space (the temple), which ought to mirror life in God’s kingdom, from the places “outside the temple” (in Latin, pro fanum). Many are tempted to use money not for the sake of building the kingdom, but to become (in the words of St. Augustine) “turned inward on themselves” (incurvatus in se). Like the child holding his thumb up to block the sun, our sinful attitude toward money prevents us from seeing the great good that Christ is trying to work in us.

Here he employed himself in reading St. Augustine and the school men; but, in turning over the leaves of the library, he accidentally found a copy of the Latin Bible, which he had never seen before. This raised his curiosity to a high degree: he read it over very greedily, and was amazed to find what a small portion of the scriptures was rehearsed to the people.

My father was a man of iron will. He had a red beard and eyes like caves. He married my mother sensibly for the triple joy of her widowhood, the three estates, but he was concerned - as an English country gentleman and an epitome of the chivalric virtues - with the making of a son. Having heard well of the giant's child-inspiring powers, my father takes my mother by the hand and leads her up to him the night before their wedding. It had been a hot day, the hottest day that any man could remember, the skylarks swooning in the sticky air, milk turning sour in the cows' udders. At the end of that hottest day now it is suddenly Midsummer Eve and the giant stands out bold and wonderful and monstrous on his long green Dorset hill, the moon at the full above his knobbled club. My father lays my mother down on the giant's thistle, in the modest shade of Mr Wiclif's burgeoning fig tree. 'Dear hart,' he says, taking off his spurs and his liripipe hat, 'I shall require an heir.' If ever widow woman blushed then my mother blushed hot when she saw my father unbuttoned above her in the moonlight. 'My womb,' she says, 'is empty.' My father engages the key in the lock. It is well-oiled. He turns and enters and makes himself at home. 'I have been told,' he says, 'that any true woman,' he says, 'childless,' he adds, 'who lies,' he says, 'on the Cerne giant, - my father takes a shuddering juddering breath - 'conceives without fail,' he explains. My father goes on, without need of saying. It is sixty yards if it is an inch from the top to the toe of the giant of Cerne Abbas. The creature's club alone must be every bit of forty yards. 'O Gog,' says my mother eventually. 'O Gog, O Gog, O Gog.' 'I do believe,' says my father, 'Magog.' Now, in the moment of my conception, as a star falls into my mother's left eye, as the wind catches its breath, as the little hills skip for joy, and the moon hides her face behind a cloud - a bit of local history. When St Augustine came calling in those parts the people of Cerne tied a tail to his coat and whipped him out of their valley. The saint was furious. He got down on his knees and prayed to God to give tails to all the children that were born in Dorset. 'Right,' said the Omnipotence. This went on, tails, tails, tails, tails, until the folk regretted their pagan manners. When they expressed their regret, St Austin came back and founded the abbey, calling it Cernal because he was soon seeing his visions there - from the Latin, 'cerno', I see, and the Hebrew, 'El, God. That's enough history. I prefer mystery.