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1. Our condition here, indeed, is such as thou hast heard. But
our condition hereafter how shall we endure, when we are compelled to
give our account for each of those who have been entrusted to us? For
our penalty is not limited to shame, but everlasting chastisement
awaits us as well. As for the passage, "Obey them that have the
rule over you, and submit to them, for they watch in behalf of your
souls as they that shall give account; though I have mentioned it once
already, yet I will break silence about it now, for the fear of its
warning is continually agitating my soul. For if for him who causes
one only, and that the least, to stumble, it is profitable that "a
great millstone should be hanged about his neck, and that he should be
sunk in the depth of the sea;" and if they who wound the consciences
of the brethren, sin against Christ Himself, what then will they one
day suffer, what kind of penalty will they pay, who destroy not one
only, or two, or three, but so many multitudes? For it is not
possible for inexperience to be urged as an excuse, nor to take refuge
in ignorance, nor for the plea of necessity or force to be put
forward. Yea, if it were possible, one of those under their charge
could more easily make use of this refuge for his own sins than bishops
in the case of the sins of others. Dost thou ask why? Because he who
has been appointed to rectify the ignorance of others, and to warn them
beforehand of the conflict with the devil which is coming upon them,
will not be able to put forward ignorance as his excuse, or to say,
"I have never heard the trumpet sound, I did not foresee the
conflict." For he is set for that very purpose, says Ezekiel, that
he may sound the trumpet for others, and warn them of the dangers at
hand. And therefore his chastisement is inevitable, though he that
perishes happen to be but one. "For if when the sword comes, the
watchman does not sound the trumpet to the people, nor give them a
sign, and the sword come and take any man away, he indeed is taken
away on account of his iniquity, but his blood will I require at the
watchman's hands."
2. Cease then to urge us on to a penalty so inevitable; for our
discourse is not about an army, or a kingdom; but about an office
which needs the virtues of an angel. For the soul of the Priest ought
to be purer than the very sunbeams, in order that the Holy Spirit may
not leave him desolate, in order that he may be able to say, "Now I
live; and yet no longer I, but Christ liveth in me." For if they
who dwell in the desert, and are removed far from the city and the
market- place, and the tumult therein, and who enjoy all their time a
haven of rest, and of peacefulness, are not willing to rely on the
security of that manner of life, but add to it numberless other
safeguards, hedging themselves round on every side, and studying both
to speak and to act with great circumspection, so that to the utmost
extent of human power they may draw near to God with assurance, and
with unstained purity, what power and strength, thinkest thou, does
the ordained Priest need so as to be able to tear his soul away from
every defilement, and to keep its spiritual beauty unsullied? For he
has need of far greater purity than they; and whoever has need of
greater purity, he too is subject to more pressing temptations than
they, which are able to defile him, unless by using constant
self-denial and much labor, he renders his soul inaccessible to them.
For beauty of face, elegance of movement, an affected gait and
lisping voice, pencilled eyebrows and enamelled cheeks, elaborate
braiding and dyeing of hair, costliness of dress, variety of golden
ornaments, and the glory of precious stones, the scent of perfumes,
and all those other matters to which womankind devote themselves, are
enough to disorder the mind, unless it happen to be hardened against
them, through much austerity of self restraint. Now to be disturbed
indeed by such things is nothing wonderful. But on the other hand,
that the devil should be able to hit and shoot down the souls of men by
the opposite of these--this is a matter which fills us with
astonishment and perplexity.
3. For ere now some men who have escaped these snares, have been
caught by others widely differing from these. For even a neglected
appearance, unkempt hair, squalid dress, and an unpainted face,
simple behavior, and homely language, unstudied gait, and unaffected
voice, a life of poverty, a despised, unpatronized and lonely
condition, have first drawn on the beholder to pity, and next to utter
ruin; and many who have escaped the former nets, in the way of gold
ornaments and perfumes, and apparel, and all the rest, of which I
have spoken as connected with them, have easily fallen into these so
widely differing from them, and have perished. When then both by
poverty and by riches, both by the adornment and the neglect of the
personal appearance, both by studied and unaffected manners, in short
by all those means which I have enumerated, war is kindled in the soul
of the beholder, and its artifices surround him on every side, how
will he be able to breathe freely while so many snares encompass him?
and what hiding-place will he be able to find--I do not say so as to
avoid being forcibly seized by them (for this is not altogether
difficult)--but so as to keep his own soul undisturbed by polluting
thoughts?
And I pass by honors, which are the cause of countless evils. For
those which come from the hands of women are ruinous to the vigor of
self-restraint, and often overthrow it when a. man does not know how
to watch constantly against such designs; while those which come from
the hands of men, unless a man receive them with much nobleness of
mind, he is seized with two contrary emotions, servile flattery and
senseless pride. To those who patronize him, he is obliged to
cringe; and towards his inferiors he is puffed up, on account of the
honors which the others confer, and is driven into the gulf of
arrogance. We have mentioned these matters indeed, but how harmful
they actually are, no one could well learn without experience. For
not only these snares, but greater and more delusive than these, he
must needs encounter, who has his conversation in the world. But he
who is content with solitude, has freedom from all this, and if at any
time a strange thought creates a representation of this kind, the image
is weak, and capable of being speedily subdued, because there is no
fuel added to the flame from without, arising from actual sight. For
the recluse has but himself to fear for; or should he be forced to have
the care of others they are easily counted: and if they be many, yet
they are less than those in our Churches, and they give him who is set
over them much lighter anxiety about them, not only on account of their
fewness, but because they are all free from worldly concerns, and have
neither wife nor children, nor any such thing to care about; and this
makes them very deferential to their rulers, and allows them to share
the same abode with them, so that they are able to take in their
failings accurately at a glance and correct them, seeing that the
constant supervision of a teacher is no little help towards advance in
virtue.
4. But of those who are subject to the Priest, the greater number
are hampered with the cares of this life, and this makes them the
slower in the performance of spiritual duties. Whence it is necessary
for the teacher to sow every day (so to speak), in order that by its
frequency at least, the word of doctrine may be able to be grasped by
those who hear. For excessive wealth, and an abundance of power, and
sloth the offspring of luxury, and many other things beside these,
choke the seeds which have been let fall. Often too the thick growth
of thorns does not suffer the seed to drop even upon the surface of the
soil. Again, excess of trouble, stress of poverty, constant
insults, and other such things, the reverse of the foregoing, take
the mind away from anxiety about things divine; and of their people's
sins, not even the smallest part can become apparent; for how should
it, in the case of those the majority of whom they do not know even by
sight?
The Priest's relations with his people involve thus much difficulty.
But if any inquire about his relations with God, he will find the
others to be as nothing, since these require a greater and more
thorough earnestness. For he who acts as an ambassador on behalf of
the whole city--but why do I say the city? on behalf of the whole
world indeed--prays that God would be merciful to the sins of all,
not only of the living, but also of the departed. What manner of man
ought he to be? For my part I think that the boldness of speech of
Moses and Elias, is insufficient for such supplication. For as
though he were entrusted with the whole world and were himself the
father of all men, he draws near to God, beseeching that wars may be
extinguished everywhere, that tumults may be quelled; asking for peace
and plenty, and a swift deliverance from all the ills that beset each
one, publicly and privately; and he ought as much to excel in every
respect all those on whose behalf he prays, as rulers should excel
their subjects.
And whenever he invokes the Holy Spirit, and offers the most dread
sacrifice, and constantly handles the common Lord of all, tell me
what rank shall we give him? What great purity and what real piety
must we demand of him? For consider what manner of hands they ought to
be which minister in these things, and of what kind his tongue which
utters such words, and ought not the soul which receives so great a
spirit to be purer and holier than anything in the world? At such a
time angels stand by the Priest; and the whole sanctuary, and the
space round about the altar, is filled with the powers of heaven, in
honor of Him who lieth thereon. For this, indeed, is capable of
being proved from the very rites which are being then celebrated. I
myself, moreover, have heard some one once relate, that a certain
aged, venerable man, accustomed to see revelations, used to tell
him, that he being thought worthy of a vision of this kind, at such a
time, saw, on a sudden, so far as was possible for him, a multitude
of angels, clothed in shining robes, and encircling the altar, and
bending down, as one might see soldiers in the presence of their
King, and for my part I believe it. Moreover another told me,
without learning it from some one else, but as being himself thought
worthy to be both an ear and eye witness of it, that, in the case of
those who are about to depart hence, if they happen to be partakers of
the mysteries, with a pure conscience, when they are about to breathe
their last, angels keep guard over them for the sake of what they have
received, and bear them hence. And dost thou not yet tremble to
introduce a soul into so sacred a mystery of this kind, and to advance
to the dignity of the Priesthood, one robed in filthy raiment, whom
Christ has shut out from the rest of the band of guests? The soul of
the Priest should shine like a light beaming over the whole world.
But mine has so great darkness overhanging it, because of my evil
conscience, as to be always cast down and never able to look up with
confidence to its Lord. Priests are the salt of the earth. But who
would easily put up with my lack of understanding, and my inexperience
in all things, but thou, who hast been wont to love me beyond
measure. For the Priest ought not only to be thus pure as one who has
been dignified with so high a ministry, but very discreet, and skilled
in many matters, and to be as well versed in the affairs of this life
as they who are engaged in the world, and yet to be free from them all
more than the recluses who occupy the mountains.
For since he must mix with men who have wives, and who bring up
children, who possess servants, and are surrounded with wealth, and
fill public positions, and are persons of influence, he too should be
a many-sided man--I say many- sided, not unreal, nor yet fawning
and hypocritical, but full of much freedom and assurance, and knowing
how to adapt himself profitably, where the circumstances of the case
require it, and to be both kind and severe, for it is not possible to
treat all those under one's charge on one plan, since neither is it
well for physicians to apply one course of treatment to all their sick,
nor for a pilot to know but one way of contending with the winds.
For, indeed, continual storms beset this ship of ours, and these
storms do not assail from without only, but take their rise from
within, and there is need of much condescension, and circumspection,
and all these different matters have one end in view, the glory of
God, and the edifying of the Church.
5. Great is the conflict which recluses undergo, and much their
toil. But if any one compare their exertions with those which the
right exercise of the Priesthood involves, he will find the difference
as great as the distance between a king and a commoner. For there, if
the labor is great indeed, yet the conflict is common to body and
soul, or rather the greater part of it is accomplished by the condition
of the body, and if this be not strong, the inclination remains
undeveloped, and is unable to come out into action. For the habit of
intense fasting, and sleeping on the ground, and keeping vigil, and
refraining from the bath, and great toil, and all other means which
they use for the affliction of the body are given up, when the body to
be thus disciplined is not strong. But in this case purity of soul is
the business in hand, and no bodily vigor is required to show its
excellence. For what does strength of body contribute towards our
being not self-willed, or proud, or headstrong, but sober and
prudent, and orderly, and all else, wherein St. Paul filled up the
picture of the perfect Priest? But no one could say this of the
virtues of the recluse.
6. But as in the case of wonder-workers, a large apparatus is
required, both wheels and ropes and daggers; while the philosopher has
the whole of his art stored up in his mind,not requiring any external
appliances: So accordingly in the case before us. The recluse
requires both a good condition of body, and a place suitable for his
course of life, in order that such may not be settled too far from
intercourse with their fellow men, and may have the tranquillity which
belongs to desert places, and yet further, may not fail to enjoy the
most favorable climate. For nothing is so unbearable to a body worn
with fastings as a climate which is not equable. And what trouble they
are compelled to take in the preparation of their clothing and daily
food, as they are themselves ambitious of doing all with their own
hands, I need not speak of now. But the Priest will re quire none
of these things to supply his wants, I but is unconcerned about them,
and participates in all things which are harmless, while he has all his
skill stored up in the treasure-house of his mind. But if any one
admire a solitary life, and retirement from the society of the
multitude, I should say myself that such a life was a token of
patience, but not a sufficient proof of entire fortitude of soul. For
the man who sits at the helm in harbor, does not yet give any certain
proof of his art. But if one is able to guide his ship safely in the
midst of the sea, no one would deny him to be an excellent steersman.
7. It would be, therefore, in no wise excessively surprising to
us, that the recluse, living as he does by himself, is undisturbed
and does not commit many and great sins. For he does not meet with
things which irritate and excite his mind. But if any one who has
devoted himself to whole multitudes, and has been compelled to bear the
sins of many, has remained steadfast and firm, guiding his soul in the
midst of the storm as if he were in a calm, he is the man to be justly
applauded and admired of all, for he has shown sufficient proof of
personal manliness. Do not thou, therefore, for thy part wonder if
I, who avoid the market-place and the haunts of the multitude, have
not many to accuse me. For I ought not to wonder, if I sinned not
when asleep, nor fell when I did not wrestle, nor was hit if I did
not fight. For who, tell me, who will be able to speak against me,
and reveal my depravity? Can this roof or cell? Nay, they would not
be able to give tongue? Would my mother, who best of all knows my
affairs? Well, certainly with her I am neither in communication,
nor have we ever come to a quarrel, and if this had happened, no
mother is so heartless and wanting in affection for her child as to
revile and accuse before all him whom she travailed with, and brought
forth, and reared, if there were no reason to constrain her, nor any
person to urge her to such an act. Nevertheless, if any one desires
to make a careful inspection of my mind, he will discover much which is
corrupt there. Nor art thou unaware of this who art specially wont to
extol me with praises before all. Now that I do not say these things
out of mere modesty, recollect how often I said to thee, when this
subject was being discussed between us, "If any one were to give me
my choice whether I would rather gain distinction in the oversight of
the Church, or in the life of the recluse, I would vote a thousand
times over for accepting the former. For I have never failed to
congratulate those who have been able to discharge this office well,
and no one will gainsay that what I counted blessed I would not have
shunned were I able to take part in it filly. But what am I to do?
There is nothing so prejudicial to the oversight of the Church as this
inactivity and negligence of mine, which others think to be a sort of
self-discipline, but which I hold to be a veil as it were of my
personal infirmity, covering the greater number of my defects and not
suffering them to appear. For he who is accustomed to enjoy such great
freedom from business, and to pass his time in much repose, even if he
be of a noble nature, is confused by his inexperience, and is
disturbed, and his inactivity deprives him of no small part of his
natural ability. But when, besides, he is of slow intellect, and
ignorant also of these severe trials, which I take it is my case, he
will carry on this ministry which he has received no better than a
statue. Wherefore of those who have come to such great trial, out of
that school, few shine; and the greater part betray themselves, and
fall, and undergo much hardship and sufferings; and no wonder. For
the trials and the discipline are not concerned with the same things.
The man who is contending in no wise differs from those who are
untrained. He who thus enters this list should despise glory, be
superior to anger, full of great discretion. But for the exercise of
these qualities there is no scope in his case who affects a secluded
life. For he does not have many to provoke him in order that he may
practise chastising, the force of his anger: nor admirers and
applauders in order that he may be trained to despise the praises of the
multitudes. And of the discretion which is required in the Church,
there is no taking account in their case. Whenever, therefore, they
come to the trials of which they have never had practical experience,
they get bewildered, their heads are turned, they fall into a state of
helplessness, and besides adding nothing to their excellence, may have
often lost that which they brought with them.
8. BASIL: What then? shall we set over the administration of
the Church those who move in society, and who are careful about the
concerns of this world, who are adepts at wrangling and vituperation,
are full of countless artifices, and versed in luxurious ways?
CHRYSOSTOM: Hush, dear friend that thou art! Thou
shouldest never entertain in thy thoughts such men as these, when the
Priesthood is under discussion, but only such as are able after mixing
and associating with all, to keep their purity undefiled, and their
unworldliness, their holiness, constancy and sobriety unshaken, and
to possess all other virtues which belong to recluses, in a greater
degree than they. He who has many defects, but is able to hide them,
by means of his seclusion, and to make them ineffectual, because he
does not associate with any one, when he comes into society will gain
nothing, but the position of a laughing-stock, and will run greater
risks still, which I was very nearly experiencing myself, had not the
providence of God quickly warded off such fire from my head. For it
is not possible for one in such a position to escape notice when he is
so conspicuously placed, but everything then is detected, and as the
fire tests the material of metals, so too the trial of the clerical
office searches the souls of mortal men; and if any one be passionate
or mean, or ambitious of fame, if he be boastful, or anything else of
the kind, it unveils all; and speedily lays bare his defects, and not
only lays them bare, but increases their painfulness and strength.
For the wounds of the body, if they are galled, become harder to
heal, and the emotions of the mind when chafed and irritated, are
naturally more exasperated, and those who possess them are driven to
commit greater sins. For they excite him who does not restrain them,
to love of glory, and to boastfulness, and to desire for this world's
goods, and draw him downwards, both to luxury and laxity of life, and
to laziness, and, little by little, to evils worse than these which
result from them. For many are the circumstances in society which have
the power to upset the balance of the mind, and to hinder its
straightforward course; and first of all is his social intercourse with
women. For it is not possible for the Bishop, and one who is
concerned with the whole flock, to have a care for the male portion of
it, but to pass over the female, which needs more particular
forethought, because of its propensity to sins. But the man who is
appointed to the administration of a Bishopric must have a care for the
moral health of these, if not in a greater, at least in no less a
degree than the others. For it is necessary to visit them when they
are sick, to comfort them when they are sorrowful, and to reprove them
when they are idle, and to help them when they are distressed; and in
such cases the evil one would find many opportunities of approach, if a
man did not fortify himself with a very strict guard. For the eye,
not only of the unchaste, but of the modest woman pierces and disturbs
the mind. Flatteries enervate it, and favors enslave it, and fervent
love--the spring one may say of all good--becomes the cause of
countless evils to those who do not make a right use of it. Constant
cares too have ere now blunted the edge of the understanding, and have
made that which was buoyant heavier than lead, while anger has burst in
like smoke, and taken possession of all the inner man.
9. Why should any one speak of the injuries that result from grief,
the insults, the abuse, the censure from superiors, from inferiors,
from the wise, and from fools; for the class who are wanting in right
judgment are particularly fond of censuring, and will never readily
allow any excuse. But the truly excellent Bishop ought neither to
think lightly of these, but to clear himself with all men of the
charges which they bring against him, with great forbearance and
meekness, pardoning their unreasonable fault-finding, rather than
being indignant and angry about it. For if St. Paul feared lest he
should incur a suspicion of theft, among his disciples, and therefore
procured others for the management of the money, that "no one" he
says, "should blame us in this abundance which is administered by us,
how ought we not to do all so as to remove evil suspicions, even if
they happen to be false, and most unreasonable, and very foreign to
our thought? For we are not so utterly removed from any sin as St.
Paul from theft; notwithstanding, though so far from this evil
practice, he did not, therefore, slight the suspicion of the world,
although it was very absurd, and even insane. For it was madness to
have any such suspicion about that blessed and admirable character.
But none the less does he remove far off the causes of this suspicion,
unreasonable though it was, and such as no one who was in his senses
would entertain, and he neither disdained the folly of the multitudes,
nor did he say, "To whose mind did it ever occur to suspect such
things of us, after the signs which I have wrought, and the
forbearance which has marked my life, and when you all revered and
admired us?" Quite the contrary: he foresaw and expected this base
suspicion, and pulled it up by the roots, or rather did not suffer it
to grow at all. Why? "Because," saith he, "we provide things
honest not only before the Lord, but before all men." So great,
yea and far greater zeal must we use, to uproot and prevent floating
reports which are not good, but to see beforehand from afar whence they
come, and to remove beforehand the causes from which they are
produced, not to wait till they are established and are the common
topics in every one's mouth. For then it is not easy in the future to
destroy them, but very difficult, perhaps impossible, and not without
mischief, because this is done after many have been injured. But how
far shall I continue pursuing the unattainable? For to enumerate all
the difficulties in this direction, is nothing more nor less than
measuring the ocean. Even when any one should clear himself from every
passion (which is a thing impossible) in order to correct the failings
of others, he is forced to undergo countless trials, and when his own
infirmities are added, behold, an abyss of toil and care, and all
that he must suffer, who wishes to subdue the evils in himself and in
those around him.
10. BASIL: And now, art thou free from toils? hast thou no
cares while thou livest by thyself?
CHRYSOSTOM: I have indeed even now. For how is it possible
for one who is a man, and who is living this toilsome life of ours, to
be free from cares and conflict? But it is not quite the same thing
for man to plunge into a boundless ocean and to cross a river, so great
is the difference between these cares and those. For now, indeed, if
I were able to become serviceable to others, I should wish it
myself, and this would be a matter of prayer with me. But if it is
not possible to help another, yet if it be practicable to save and
rescue myself from the waves, I shall be contented.
BASIL: Dost thou then think this to be a great thing? and dost
thou fancy that thou wilt be saved when thou art not profitable to any
other?
CHRYSOSTOM: Thou hast spoken well and nobly, for I am not
myself able to believe that it is possible for one who has not labored
for the salvation of his fellow to be saved, nor did it at all profit
the wretched man in the Gospel that he had not diminished his talent;
but he perished through not increasing it and bringing it doubled to his
master. Nevertheless, I think that my punishment will be milder when
I am called to account, because I have not saved others, than it
would be if I should destroy myself and others too by becoming far
worse after so great an honor. For now I trust that my chastisement
will be proportioned to the amount of my sins, but after receiving this
office, I fear it would be not double, or threefold, but manifold,
because I should have caused very many to stumble, and after
additional honor should have offended the God who honored me.
11. For this very cause God accuses the Israelites more
vehemently, and shows that they were worthy of greater chastisement,
because they sinned after so many honors had come to them from Him,
saying in one place: "But you only have I known of all the families
of the earth, therefore will I punish you for your iniquities," and
again, "and I raised up of your sons for prophets, and of your young
men for Nazarites; and before the times of the prophets, wishing to
show that sins receive sorer punishment by far when they occur in the
case of the Priest than in the case of the laity, He enjoins as great
a sacrifice to be offered for the Priest as for the whole people, and
this amounts to a proof on his part, that the wounds of the Priesthood
need more assistance--that is, as great as those of all the people
together, and they would not have needed a greater, except they were
worse; and they are not worse in their nature, but are aggravated
through the dignity of the Priest, who dares to commit them. And why
do I speak of the men who follow this ministration. For the daughters
of the Priests, who have no part in the Priestly office, yet on
account of their father's dignity undergo a far bitterer punishment for
the same sins as others, and the offense is the same in their case and
in the daughters of the laity; namely, fornication in both; yet the
penalty is far severer for the former. Dost thou see with what
abundant proof God shows thee that he demands much greater punishment
for the ruler than for the ruled? For no doubt he who punishes to a
greater degree than others the daughter of a certain man for that man's
sake, will not exact the same penalty from the man who is the cause of
her additional chastisement as from others, but a much heavier one;
and very reasonably; for the mischief does not merely involve himself,
but it destroys the souls of the weaker brethren and of them who look up
to him, and Ezekiel, writing to show this, distinguishes from one
another the judgment of the rams and of the sheep.
12. Do we then seem to thee to entertain a reasonable fear? for in
addition to what has been said, although much toil is needful on my
part, so that I should not be completely overwhelmed by the passions
of my soul, yet I endure the toil, and I do not shun the conflict.
For even now I am taken captive by vainglory, but I often recover
myself, and I see at a glance that I have been taken, and there are
times when I rebuke my soul, which has been enslaved; outrageous
desires even now come over me, but they kindle only a languid flame,
since m bodily eves cannot fasten upon any fuel to feed the fire. From
speaking ill of any, or from hearing any one evil spoken of, I am
utterly removed, since I have no one to talk with; for surely these
walls would never give tongue; yet it is not altogether in like manner
possible to avoid anger, although there be none to provoke it. For
often when the recollection of outrageous men has come over me, and of
the deeds done by them, it makes my heart swell. But not
permanently, for I quickly subdue its kindling, and persuade it to be
quiet, saying that it is very inexpedient and extremely despicable to
leave one's own fault alone, and to busy one's self about the faults
of one's neighbors. But were I to come among the multitude, and to
be involved in countless excitements, I should not be able to have the
benefit of this warning, nor to experience reflections which take me
thus to task. But just as they who are driven over precipices by a
torrent, or in some other way, are able to foresee the destruction to
which they are finally going, and are unable to think of any means of
help, so I, when I have fallen into the great tumult of my
passions, shall be able to see at a glance my chastisement daily
increasing. But to be master of myself as I am now, and to rebuke
diseases of this sort raging on every side, would not be equally easy
for me as it was before. For my soul is weak and puny, and easily
mastered, not only by these passions, but by envy, which is bitterer
than all of them.
Neither does it know how to bear insults or honors temperately. But
these do exceedingly elate it, while those depress it. As, then,
savage wild beasts, when they are in good condition, and in full
vigor, overcome those that fight with them, particularly, too, if
they be feeble and unskillful; but if any one were to weaken them by
starvation, he will put their rage to sleep, and will extinguish most
of their strength; so that one, not over valiant, might take up the
conflict and battle with them: so also with the passions of the soul.
He who makes them weak, places them in subjection to right reason;
but he who nourishes them carefully, makes his battle with them
harder, and renders them so formidable that he passes all his time in
bondage and fear.
What then is the food of these wild beasts? Of vainglory, indeed,
it is honors and applause;of pride, abundance of authority and power;
of envy, the reputation of one's neighbors; of avarice, the
munificence of the generous; of incontinence, luxury and the constant
society of women; and other passions have their proper nutriment? And
all these things will sorely attack me if I come forth into the world,
and will tear my soul to pieces, will be the more formidable and will
make my battle with them the harder. Whereas, while I am established
here they will be subdued; and then, indeed, only with great
exertion; yet at the same time, by the Grace of God, they will be
subdued, and there will not be anything worse then than their bark.
For these reasons I keep to this cell, and am inaccessible,
self-contained, and unsociable, and I put up with hearing countless
complaints of this kind, although I would gladly efface them, and
have been vexed and grieved because I cannot; for it is not easy for
me to become sociable, and at the same time to remain in my present
security. Therefore I beseech thee, too, to pity rather than to
censure one beset with such great difficulty.
But we cannot yet persuade thee. Accordingly the time is now come
that I should utter to thee the only thing which I have left spoken.
Perhaps it may seem to many to be incredible, but even so I shall not
be ashamed to bring it before the world, for though what is said is
proof of an evil conscience and of many sins, yet, since God, who is
about to judge us, knows all accurately, what gain will result to us
from the ignorance of men? What then is this, which is yet unspoken?
From that day on which thou didst impart to me the suspicion of the
bishopric, my whole system has often been in danger of being completely
unhinged, such was the fear, such the despondency which seized my
soul; for on considering the glory of the Bride of Christ, the
holiness, the spiritual beauty and wisdom, and comeliness, and then
reckoning up my own faults, I used not to cease bewailing both her and
myself, and amidst continual distress and perplexity, I kept
saying--who then made such a suggestion as this? why has the Church
of God made so great a mistake? why has she so provoked her Master,
as to be delivered over to me, the unworthiest of all men, and to
undergo such great disgrace? Considering these things often by
myself, and being unable to bear the thought of so monstrous a thing,
I used to be like thunderstruck people, speechless, and unable either
to see or hear. And when this condition of great helplessness left
me, for there were times when it passed off, tears and despondency
succeeded to it, and after the flood of tears, then fear again,
entered in their stead, disturbing, confusing and agitating my mind.
In such a tempest I used to pass the time that is gone; but thou wast
ignorant of it, and thoughtest that I was spending my time in a
perfect tranquillity, but I will now try and unveil to thee the storm
of my soul, for it may be thou wilt henceforth pardon me, abandoning
your accusations. How then shall I unveil this to thee? For if thou
wouldest see this clearly, it is not otherwise possible than by laying
bare my own heart; but as this is impossible, I will try and show you
as well as I can, by a certain faint illustration, the gloom of my
despondency, and from this image please to infer my condition.
Let us suppose that the daughter of the King of all the earth under
the sun is the betrothed of a certain man, and that this damsel has
matchless beauty, transcending that of human nature, and that in this
respect she outstrips by a long distance the whole race of women; also
that she has virtues of the soul, so great as to distance by a long way
the whole generation of men that have been, or that shall be; and that
the grace of her manners transcends all Standards of art, and that the
loveliness of her person is eclipsed by the beauty of her countenance;
and that her betrothed, not only for the sake of these things, is
enamored of the maiden, but apart from these things has an affection
for her, and by his ardor throws into the shade the most passionate of
lovers that ever were. Then let us suppose, whilst he is burning with
love, he hears from some quarter that some mean, abject man, low
born, and crippled in body, in fact a thoroughly bad fellow, was
about to wed this wondrous, well-beloved maiden. Have we then
presented to thee some small portion of our grief? and is it enough to
stay my illustration at this point?
So far as my despondency is concerned, I think it is enough; for
this was the only purpose for which I introduced the comparison, but
that I may show you the measure of my fear, and my terror, let me
proceed to another description.
Let there be an armament composed of infantry, cavalry, and marines,
and let a number of triremes cover the sea, and phalanxes of foot and
horse cover most of the plains, and the ridges of the mountains, and
let the metal of their armor reflect the sunshine, and the glitter of
the helmets and shields be reflected by the beams which are emitted from
them; let the clashing of spears and the neighing of horses be borne up
to the very heavens, and let neither sea nor land appear, but only
brass and iron in every direction. Let the enemy be drawn up in battle
array opposite to these, fierce and savage men, and let the time of
the engagement be now at hand. Then let some one suddenly seize some
young lad, one of those brought up in the country, knowing nothing but
the use of the shepherd's pipe and crook; let him be clad in brazen
armor, and let him be led round the whole camp and be shown the
squadrons and their officers, the archers, slingers, captains,
generals, the foot and horse, the spearmen, the triremes and their
commanders, the dense mass of soldiers in the ships, and the multitude
of engines of war lying ready on board. Let him be shown, moreover,
the whole array of the enemy, their repulsive aspect, and the varied
stores and unusual quantity of their arms; the ravines also and
precipices of the mountains, deep and difficult. Let him be shown
further on the enemies' side, horses flying by some enchantment and
infantry borne through the air, and sorcery of every power and form;
and let him consider the calamities of war, the cloud of spears, the
hailstorm of arrows, that rest mist and obscurity that gloomiest night
which the multitude of weapons occasions, eclipsing the sunbeams with
their cloud, the dust no less than the darkness baffling the eyesight.
The torrents of blood, the groanings of the falling, the shouts of
the surviving, the heaps of slain, wheels bathed in blood, horses
with their riders thrown headlong down, owing to the number of
corpses, the ground a scene of general confusion, blood, and bows,
and arrows, hoofs of horses and heads of men lying together, a human
arm and a chariot wheel and a helmet, a breast pierced through, brains
sticking to swords, the point of a dart broken off with an eye
transfixed upon it. Then let him reckon up the sufferings of the naval
force, the triremes burning in the midst of the waves, and sinking
with their armed crews, the roaring of the sea, the tumult of the
sailors, the shout of the soldiers, the foam of the waves mixed with
blood, and dashing over into all the ships; the corpses on the decks,
some sinking, some floating, some cast upon the beach, overwhelmed by
the waves, and obstructing the passage of the ships. And when he has
been carefully instructed in all the tragedy of warfare, let the
horrors of captivity and of slavery be added to it, worse than any kind
of death; and having told him all this, bid him mount his horse
straightway, and take command of all that armament.
Dost thou really think that this lad would be equal to more than the
mere description, and would not, at the very first glance, lose
heart?
13. Do not think that I have exaggerated the matter by my account,
nor suppose that because we are shut up in this body, as in some prison
house, and are unable to see anything of the invisible world, that
what has been said is overstated. For thou wouldest see a far greater
and more formidabl econflict than this, couldest thou ever behold,
with these eyes of thine, the devil's most gloomy battle array, and
his frantic onset. For there is no brass or iron there. No horses,
or chariots or wheels, no fire and darts. These are visible things.
But there are other much more fearful engines than these. One does
not need against these enemies breastplate or shield, sword and spear,
yet the sight only of this accursed array is enough to paralyze the
soul, unless it happen to be very noble, and to enjoy in a high degree
as a protection to its own courage the providential care of God. And
if it were possible by putting off this body, or still keeping it, to
see clearly and fearlessly with the naked eye the whole of his battle
array, and his warfare against us, thou wouldest see no torrents of
blood, nor dead bodies, but so many fallen souls, and such disastrous
wounds that the whole of that description of warfare which I just now
detailed to thee thou wouldest think to be mere child's sport and
pastime rather than war: so many are there smitten every day, and the
wounds in the two cases do not bring about the same death, but as great
as is the difference between the soul from the body, so great is the
difference between that death and this. For when the soul receives a
wound, and falls, it does not lie as a lifeless body, but it is
thenceforth tormented, being gnawed by an evil conscience; and after
its removal hence, at the time of judgment, it is delivered over to
eternal punishment; and if any one be without grief in regard to the
wounds given by the devil, his danger becomes the greater for his
insensibility. For whoever is not pained by the first wound, will
readily receive a second, and after that a third. For the unclean
spirit will not cease assaulting to the last breath, whenever he finds
a soul supine and indifferent to his first wounds; and if thou wouldest
inquire into the method of attack, thou wouldest find this much more
severe and varied. For no one ever knew so many forms of craft and
deceit as that unclean spirit. By this indeed, he has acquired the
greater part of his power, nor can any one have so implacable a hatred
against his worst enemies as the evil one against the human race. And
if any one inquire into the vehemence with which he fights, here again
it would be ludicrous to bring men into comparison with him. But if
any one choose out the fiercest and most savage of beasts, and is
minded to set their fury against his, he will find that they were meek
and quiet in comparison, such rage does he breathe forth when he
attacks our souls; and the period of the war fare indeed in the former
case is brief, and in this brief space there are respites; for the
approach of the night and the fatigue of slaughter, meal-times also,
and many other things, afford a respite to the soldier, so that he can
doff his armor and breathe a little, and refresh himself with food and
drink, and in many other ways recover his former strength. But in the
case of the evil one it is not possible ever to lay aside one's armor,
it is not possible even to take sleep, for one who would remain always
unscathed. For one of two things must be: either to fall and perish
unarmed, or to stand equipped and ever watchful. For he ever stands
with his own battle array, watching for our indolence, and laboring
more zealously for our destruction, than we for our salvation.
And that he is not seen by us, and suddenly assails us, which things
are a source of countless evils to those who are not always on the
watch, proves this kind of war to be harder than the other. Couldest
thou wish us, then, in such a case to command the soldiers of
Christ? yea, this were to command them for the devil's service, for
whenever he who ought to marshal and order others is the most
inexperienced and feeble of all men, by betraying through this
inexperience those who have been entrusted to his charge, he commands
them in the devil's interests rather than in Christ's.
But why dost thou sigh? why weep? For my ease does not now call for
wailing, but for joy and gladness.
BASIL: But not my case, yea this calls for countless
lamentations. For I am hardly able yet to understand to what degree
of evil thou hast brought me. For I came to thee wanting to learn
what excuse I should make on thy behalf to those who find fault with
thee; but thou sendest me back after putting another case in the place
of that I had. For I am no longer concerned about the excuses I
shall give them on thy behalf, but what excuse I shall make to God
for myself and my own faults. But I beseech thee, and implore thee,
if my welfare is at all regarded by thee, if there be any consolation
in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any bowels, and mercies, for
thou knowest that thyself above all hast brought me into this danger,
stretch forth thine hand, both saying and doing what is able to restore
me, do not have the heart to leave me for the briefest moment, but now
rather than before let me pass my life with thee.
CHRYSOSTOM: But I smiled, and said, how shall I be able
to help, how to profit thee under so great a burden of office? But
since this is pleasant to thee, take courage, dear soul, for at any
time at which it is possible for thee to have leisure amid thine own
cares, I will come and will comfort thee, and nothing shall be
wanting of what is in my power.
On this, he weeping yet more, rose up. But I, having embraced him
and kissed his head, led him forth, exhorting him to bear his lot
bravely. For I believe, said I, that through Christ who has
called thee, and set thee over his own sheep, thou wilt obtain such
assurance from this ministry as to receive me also, if I am in danger
at the last day, into thine everlasting tabernacle.
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