Category: Augustine

My theme in this work is the glorious city of God, which you, my dearest son Marcellinus, suggested and which I owe to you by my promise. I have undertaken to defend it against those who prefer their own gods to the Founder of this city—a city that is surpassingly glorious, whether we view it as it still lives by faith in this fleeting course of time and lives as a stranger among the ungodly, or as it will dwell in the fixed stability of its eternal home, which it now patiently waits for, expecting the time when righteousness will return to judgment (Psalm 94:15) and it obtains, through its excellence, final victory and perfect peace. This is a great and difficult work, but God is my helper. For I know what ability is needed to persuade the proud of how great the virtue of humility is—humility that raises us, not by human arrogance but by divine grace, above all earthly honors that totter in this changing world. For the King and Founder of this city of which we speak has declared to His people in Scripture a command of divine law in these words: "God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble" (James 4:6 and 1 Peter 5:5). But this prerogative, which belongs to God, is also claimed by the swollen ambition of a proud spirit, which dearly loves to have this counted among its attributes, to

The glorious city of God is my theme in this work, which you, my dearest son Marcellinus, suggested, and which is due to you by my promise. I have undertaken its defense against those who prefer their own gods to the Founder of this city — a city surpassingly glorious, whether we view it as it still lives by faith in this fleeting course of time, and sojourns as a stranger in the midst of the ungodly, or as it shall dwell in the fixed stability of its eternal seat, which it now patiently waits for, expecting until righteousness shall return unto judgment, Psalm 94:15 and it obtains, by virtue of its excellence, final victory and perfect peace. This is a great and arduous work, but God is my helper. For I am aware what ability is requisite to persuade the proud how great is the virtue of humility, which raises us, not by a quite human arrogance, but by a divine grace, above all earthly dignities that totter on this shifting scene. For the King and Founder of this city of which we speak, has in Scripture uttered to His people a dictum of the divine law in these words: God resists the proud, but gives grace to the humble. James 4:6 and 1 Peter 5:5 But this, which is God's prerogative, the inflated ambition of a proud spirit also affects, and dearly loves that this be numbered among its attributes, to

Show mercy to the humble soul, and crush the sons of pride. Virgil, Aeneid, 6.854. [Parcere subjectis et debellare superbos]

Show pity to the humbled soul, And crush the sons of pride. Virgil, Æneid, 6-854. [ Parcere subjectis et debellare superbos]

And so, as the plan of this work we have undertaken requires, and as the opportunity arises, we must also speak of the earthly city, which, though it rules over the nations, is itself ruled by its own lust for power.

And therefore, as the plan of this work we have undertaken requires, and as occasion offers, we must speak also of the earthly city, which, though it be mistress of the nations, is itself ruled by its lust of rule.

The enemies I must defend the city of God against belong to this earthly city. Many of them have indeed turned away from their ungodly error and become quite respectable citizens of this city. But many are so burning with hatred against it and so ungrateful to its Redeemer for His remarkable benefits that they forget they would now be unable to speak a single word against it if they had not found, in its sacred places as they fled from the enemy's sword, the very life they now use to boast against it. Have not these same Romans, who were spared by the barbarians out of respect for Christ, become enemies of Christ's name? The shrines of the martyrs and the churches of the apostles testify to this, for when the city was sacked, these places were open sanctuaries for all who fled to them, whether Christian or pagan. Right up to their very doorways the bloodthirsty enemy raged; there his murderous fury found a boundary. There those enemies who had any compassion brought those they had spared, so that no one less merciful might attack them. And indeed, when even those killers who showed no mercy anywhere else came to those places where what war's license permitted everywhere else was forbidden, their violent rage for slaughter was restrained and their desire to take captives was extinguished. Thus great numbers escaped who now criticize the Christian religion and blame Christ for the disasters that befell their city. But the preservation of their own lives—a gift they owe to the barbarians' respect for Christ—they attribute not to our Christ but to their own good fortune. If they had any proper understanding, they should instead attribute the harsh treatment and suffering inflicted by their enemies to that divine providence which customarily uses punishment to reform corrupt human behavior, and which tests both the righteous and the praiseworthy with similar afflictions—either moving them to a better world once they have endured the trial, or keeping them on earth for further purposes. And they should attribute it to the spirit of these Christian times that, contrary to the customs of war, these bloodthirsty barbarians spared them, sparing them for Christ's sake, whether this mercy was shown in ordinary places or in those places specially dedicated to Christ's name, the very largest of which were chosen as sanctuaries so that the abundant compassion that wanted to shelter a great multitude might have full opportunity. Therefore they should give thanks to God and with genuine confession take refuge in His name, so they may escape the punishment of eternal fire—they who falsely took on this name so they might escape the punishment of present destruction. For among those you see arrogantly and shamelessly insulting Christ's servants, there are many who would not have escaped that destruction and slaughter if they had not pretended to be Christ's servants themselves. Yet now, in ungrateful pride and utterly impious madness, and at the risk of being punished in everlasting darkness, they perversely oppose that name under which they deceitfully protected themselves in order to enjoy the light of this brief life.

For to this earthly city belong the enemies against whom I have to defend the city of God. Many of them, indeed, being reclaimed from their ungodly error, have become sufficiently creditable citizens of this city; but many are so inflamed with hatred against it, and are so ungrateful to its Redeemer for His signal benefits, as to forget that they would now be unable to utter a single word to its prejudice, had they not found in its sacred places, as they fled from the enemy's steel, that life in which they now boast themselves. [Augustine refers to the sacking of the city of Rome in 410 by Alaric the Visigoth. He was the most humane of the barbarian invaders, and had embraced Arianism. He spared the Catholics.] Have not those very Romans, who were spared by the barbarians through their respect for Christ, become enemies to the name of Christ? The reliquaries of the martyrs and the churches of the apostles bear witness to this; for in the sack of the city they were open sanctuary for all who fled to them, whether Christian or Pagan. To their very threshold the bloodthirsty enemy raged; there his murderous fury owned a limit. There did such of the enemy as had any pity convey those to whom they had given quarter, lest any less mercifully disposed might fall upon them. And, indeed, when even those murderers who everywhere else showed themselves pitiless came to those spots where that was forbidden which the license of war permitted in every other place, their furious rage for slaughter was bridled, and their eagerness to take prisoners was quenched. Thus escaped multitudes who now reproach the Christian religion, and impute to Christ the ills that have befallen their city; but the preservation of their own lives — a boon which they owe to the respect entertained for Christ by the barbarians — they attribute not to our Christ, but to their own good luck. They ought rather, had they any right perceptions, to attribute the severities and hardships inflicted by their enemies, to that divine providence which is wont to reform the depraved manners of men by chastisement, and which exercises with similar afflictions the righteous and praiseworthy — either translating them, when they have passed through the trial, to a better world, or detaining them still on earth for ulterior purposes. And they ought to attribute it to the spirit of these Christian times, that, contrary to the custom of war, these bloodthirsty barbarians spared them, and spared them for Christ's sake, whether this mercy was actually shown in promiscuous places, or in those places specially dedicated to Christ's name, and of which the very largest were selected as sanctuaries, that full scope might thus be given to the expansive compassion which desired that a large multitude might find shelter there. Therefore ought they to give God thanks, and with sincere confession flee for refuge to His name, that so they may escape the punishment of eternal fire — they who with lying lips took upon them this name, that they might escape the punishment of present destruction. For of those whom you see insolently and shamelessly insulting the servants of Christ, there are numbers who would not have escaped that destruction and slaughter had they not pretended that they themselves were Christ's servants. Yet now, in ungrateful pride and most impious madness, and at the risk of being punished in everlasting darkness, they perversely oppose that name under which they fraudulently protected themselves for the sake of enjoying the light of this brief life.

There are histories of countless wars, both before Rome was built and after it rose to power and extended its rule. Let these be read, and let someone point to a single case where foreign conquerors, after capturing a city, spared those who had fled for refuge to the temples of their gods. Or point to a single case where a barbarian general ordered that no one should be killed who had been found in a particular temple. Did not Aeneas see

There are histories of numberless wars, both before the building of Rome and since its rise and the extension of its dominion; let these be read, and let one instance be cited in which, when a city had been taken by foreigners, the victors spared those who were found to have fled for sanctuary to the temples of their gods; [The Benedictines remind us that Alexander and Xenophon, at least on some occasions, did so.] or one instance in which a barbarian general gave orders that none should be put to the sword who had been found in this or that temple. Did not Æneas see

Here at the altar altar dying Priam falls, staining with his blood the hearth he himself had consecrated.

Dying Priam at the shrine, Staining the hearth he made divine? Virgil, Æneid, 2:201-2. The renderings of Virgil are from Conington.

Did not Diomede and Ulysses drag the fatal image of Pallas from her sanctuary, killing the guards and staining with blood the virgin fillets of the goddess, and not fearing to handle and carry off that which, according to Virgil, no one was permitted to touch? The passage says: "They with bold hands the fatal statue bore; The virgin's fillets touch'd with gore." This does not mean they were afraid after committing this act. Why would the poet say "they dared" if the gods immediately punished their boldness with terror and made them suffer for their sacrilege? Instead, the poet goes on to describe the Greeks' return home, and though he shows they were tossed by storms, he never attributes this to the anger of the gods but to natural winds and rough weather. But these famous Greek heroes were confident enough to violate and desecrate with bloodshed even the temple of that goddess whom they supposed to defend them. What greater folly is there than to believe that Troy fell because it lost Minerva's image? Could Minerva herself not have remained, even if her image was lost? And if her presence was dependent on an image, what reason was there to suppose she herself had not already fled, given that her image could be stolen?

Did not Diomede and Ulysses

drag with bloodstained hands her fateful image from your shrine after killing the sentry, touch her pure hair, and stain with blood the virgin crown she wore? Virgil, Aeneid, 2:266.

Drag with red hands, the sentry slain, Her fateful image from your fane, Her chaste locks touch, and stain with gore The virgin coronal she wore? Virgil, Æneid, 2:266.

I notice that the paragraph text appears to be incomplete – it cuts off mid-sentence with "Neither is that true which follows, that".

Could you please provide the complete paragraph text that needs to be rewritten? I'm ready to rewrite it according to your specifications once I have the full content.

Neither is that true which follows, that

From that point on, the tide of fortune changed, and Greece grew weak. Virgil, Aeneid, 2:266.

Thenceforth the tide of fortune changed, And Greece grew weak. Virgil, Æneid, 2:266.

For after this they conquered and destroyed Troy with fire and sword; after this they beheaded Priam as he fled to the altars. Troy did not perish because it lost Minerva. For what had Minerva herself first lost that would cause her to perish? Her guards perhaps? Certainly, just her guards. For as soon as they were killed, she could be stolen. In fact, it was not the men who were protected by the image, but the image by the men. How, then, was she called upon to defend the city and the citizens when she could not defend her own defenders?

For after this they conquered and destroyed Troy with fire and sword; after this they beheaded Priam as he fled to the altars. Neither did Troy perish because it lost Minerva. For what had Minerva herself first lost, that she should perish? Her guards perhaps? No doubt; just her guards. For as soon as they were slain, she could be stolen. It was not, in fact, the men who were preserved by the image, but the image by the men. How, then, was she invoked to defend the city and the citizens, she who could not defend her own defenders?

Here is the paragraph rewritten in clear, modern English:

These are the gods to whom the Romans were happy to entrust the protection of their city! What a terribly tragic mistake! And they get angry at us when we speak this way about their gods, even though they are far from getting angry at their own writers. In fact, they pay money to learn what those writers say. Indeed, the teachers who instruct students in these authors are considered worthy of receiving a salary from public funds and other honors. Take Virgil, for example, who is read by young students so that this great poet—the most famous and respected of all poets—may fill their young minds and not be easily forgotten by them, just as Horace said,

And these be the gods to whose protecting care the Romans were delighted to entrust their city! O too, too piteous mistake! And they are enraged at us when we speak thus about their gods, though, so far from being enraged at their own writers, they part with money to learn what they say; and, indeed, the very teachers of these authors are reckoned worthy of a salary from the public purse, and of other honors. There is Virgil, who is read by boys, in order that this great poet, this most famous and approved of all poets, may impregnate their virgin minds, and may not readily be forgotten by them, according to that saying of Horace,

A new cask long retains its first flavor. Horace, Epistles I. 2:29.

The fresh cask long keeps its first tang. Horace, Ep. I. 2:29.

A race I despise now sails the sea, carrying Troy to Italy along with their defeated household gods.

A race I hate now ploughs the sea, Transporting Troy to Italy, And home-gods conquered. Æneid, 1:11.

And should prudent men have entrusted the defense of Rome to these conquered gods? But it will be said that this was only the saying of Juno, who, like an angry woman, did not know what she was saying. What, then, does Æneas himself say—Æneas who is so often called pious? Does he not say,

And ought prudent men to have entrusted the defense of Rome to these conquered gods? But it will be said, this was only the saying of Juno, who, like an angry woman, did not know what she was saying. What, then, says Æneas himself –Æneas who is so often designated pious? Does he not say,

Look! Panthus, who escaped death by running away, a priest of Apollo on the heights, carries his conquered gods with trembling hands and urgently seeks shelter. Isn't it clear that the gods (whom he doesn't hesitate to call conquered) were actually entrusted to Aeneas rather than he to them, when it is said to him, "The gods of her domestic shrines your country entrusts to your care"?

Lo! Panthus, 'scaped from death by flight, Priest of Apollo on the height, His conquered gods with trembling hands He bears, and shelter swift demands? Is it not clear that the gods (whom he does not scruple to call conquered) were rather entrusted to Æneas than he to them, when it is said to him, The gods of her domestic shrines Your country to your care consigns?

If Virgil says that the gods were like this and were conquered, and that once conquered they could not escape except under a man's protection, what madness it is to think that Rome had been wisely entrusted to these guardians, and could not have been captured unless it had lost them! Indeed, to worship conquered gods as protectors and champions—what is this but to worship not good divinities, but evil omens? Would it not be wiser to believe, not that Rome would never have fallen into such a great disaster if they had not first perished, but rather that they would have perished long ago if Rome had not preserved them as long as she could? For who does not see, when thinking about it, what a foolish assumption it is that Rome could not be conquered under conquered defenders, and that Rome only perished because it had lost its guardian gods, when in fact the only reason for its perishing was that it chose as protectors gods condemned to perish? Therefore, when the poets composed and sang these things about the conquered gods, they had no intention of inventing falsehoods, but spoke, as honest men, what the truth forced from them. However, this will be carefully and thoroughly discussed in another and more appropriate place. Meanwhile I will briefly, and to the best of my ability, explain what I meant to say about these ungrateful people who blasphemously blame Christ for the disasters which they deservedly suffer as a result of their own wicked ways, while they do not even bother to notice what is spared them for Christ's sake despite their wickedness. And in their mad and blasphemous insolence, they use against His name those very lips with which they falsely claimed that same name so their lives might be spared. In the places consecrated to Christ, where for His sake no enemy would harm them, they restrained their tongues so they might be safe and protected. But as soon as they leave these sanctuaries, they unleash these tongues to hurl against Him curses full of hate.

If, then, Virgil says that the gods were such as these, and were conquered, and that when conquered they could not escape except under the protection of a man, what a madness is it to suppose that Rome had been wisely entrusted to these guardians, and could not have been taken unless it had lost them! Indeed, to worship conquered gods as protectors and champions, what is this but to worship, not good divinities, but evil omens? Would it not be wiser to believe, not that Rome would never have fallen into so great a calamity had not they first perished, but rather that they would have perished long since had not Rome preserved them as long as she could? For who does not see, when he thinks of it, what a foolish assumption it is that they could not be vanquished under vanquished defenders, and that they only perished because they had lost their guardian gods, when, indeed, the only cause of their perishing was that they chose for their protectors gods condemned to perish? The poets, therefore, when they composed and sang these things about the conquered gods, had no intention to invent falsehoods, but uttered, as honest men, what the truth extorted from them. This, however, will be carefully and copiously discussed in another and more fitting place. Meanwhile I will briefly, and to the best of my ability, explain what I meant to say about these ungrateful men who blasphemously impute to Christ the calamities which they deservedly suffer in consequence of their own wicked ways, while that which is for Christ's sake spared them in spite of their wickedness they do not even take the trouble to notice; and in their mad and blasphemous insolence, they use against His name those very lips wherewith they falsely claimed that same name that their lives might be spared. In the places consecrated to Christ, where for His sake no enemy would injure them, they restrained their tongues that they might be safe and protected; but no sooner do they emerge from these sanctuaries, than they unbridle these tongues to hurl against Him curses full of hate.

Troy itself, the mother of the Roman people, was not able—as I have said—to protect its own citizens in the sacred places of their gods from the fire and sword of the Greeks, even though the Greeks worshiped the same gods. Not only that, but

Troy itself, the mother of the Roman people, was not able, as I have said, to protect its own citizens in the sacred places of their gods from the fire and sword of the Greeks, though the Greeks worshipped the same gods. Not only so, but

Phoenix and Ulysses were stationed in the empty courtyards by Juno's temple to guard the plunder. There lay the great treasure of Ilium, snatched away from the burning shrines: rich altars, bowls of solid gold, and captured garments, all carelessly piled together in one confused heap. Meanwhile, boys and mothers, overcome with fear, stood nearby in a long line.

Phoenix and Ulysses fell In the void courts by Juno's cell Were set the spoils to keep; Snatched from the burning shrines away, There Ilium's mighty treasure lay, Rich altars, bowls of massy gold, And captive raiment, rudely rolled In one promiscuous heap; While boys and matrons, wild with fear, In long array were standing near. Virgil, Æneid. 2:261.

In other words, the place dedicated to such a great goddess was chosen not so that no one could be taken captive from it, but so that all the captives could be confined in it. Now compare this asylum—not the asylum of some ordinary god, not one of the common gods, but of Jove's own sister and wife, the queen of all the gods—with the churches built in memory of the apostles. Into that temple were gathered the spoils rescued from the burning temples and taken from the gods, not to be returned to the defeated, but to be divided among the victors. But into these churches, everything that belonged to them was carried back with the most religious care and respect, even if it was found elsewhere. In that temple, liberty was lost; in these churches, it was preserved. There bondage was enforced; here it was strictly forbidden. Into that temple men were driven to become the property of their enemies, who now ruled over them. Into these churches men were led by their relenting enemies so that they might be free. In short, the civilized Greeks used that temple of Juno for their own greed and pride, while these churches of Christ were chosen even by the savage barbarians as the proper places for humility and mercy. But perhaps, after all, the Greeks in their victory spared the temples of those gods whom they worshiped in common with the Trojans, and did not dare to kill or capture the wretched and defeated Trojans who fled there. And perhaps Virgil, in the manner of poets, has described what never actually happened. But there is no question that he described the usual practice of an enemy when sacking a city.

In other words, the place consecrated to so great a goddess was chosen, not that from it none might be led out a captive, but that in it all the captives might be immured. Compare now this asylum — the asylum not of an ordinary god, not of one of the rank and file of gods, but of Jove's own sister and wife, the queen of all the gods — with the churches built in memory of the apostles. Into it were collected the spoils rescued from the blazing temples and snatched from the gods, not that they might be restored to the vanquished, but divided among the victors; while into these was carried back, with the most religious observance and respect, everything which belonged to them, even though found elsewhere. There liberty was lost; here preserved. There bondage was strict; here strictly excluded. Into that temple men were driven to become the chattels of their enemies, now lording it over them; into these churches men were led by their relenting foes, that they might be at liberty. In fine, the gentle Greeks appropriated that temple of Juno to the purposes of their own avarice and pride; while these churches of Christ were chosen even by the savage barbarians as the fit scenes for humility and mercy. But perhaps, after all, the Greeks did in that victory of theirs spare the temples of those gods whom they worshipped in common with the Trojans, and did not dare to put to the sword or make captive the wretched and vanquished Trojans who fled there; and perhaps Virgil, in the manner of poets, has depicted what never really happened? But there is no question that he depicted the usual custom of an enemy when sacking a city.

Even Caesar himself provides clear testimony about this custom. In his speech to the senate concerning the conspirators, he says (as the historian Sallust, known for his distinguished truthfulness, writes) that virgins and boys are violated, children are torn from their parents' arms, married women are subjected to whatever pleases the conquerors, temples and houses are plundered, slaughter and burning are widespread, and in short, everything is filled with weapons, corpses, blood, and wailing. If he had not mentioned temples here, we might think that enemies habitually spared the dwellings of the gods. And the Roman temples faced these dangers not from foreign enemies, but from Catiline and his allies, who were among the most noble senators and citizens of Rome. But someone might say these were wicked men and traitors to their own country.

Even Cæsar himself gives us positive testimony regarding this custom; for, in his deliverance in the senate about the conspirators, he says (as Sallust, a historian of distinguished veracity, writes) that virgins and boys are violated, children torn from the embrace of their parents, matrons subjected to whatever should be the pleasure of the conquerors, temples and houses plundered, slaughter and burning rife; in fine, all things filled with arms, corpses, blood, and wailing. If he had not mentioned temples here, we might suppose that enemies were in the habit of sparing the dwellings of the gods. And the Roman temples were in danger of these disasters, not from foreign foes, but from Catiline and his associates, the most noble senators and citizens of Rome. But these, it may be said, were abandoned men, and the parricides of their fatherland.

Why, then, does our argument need to take note of the many nations who have waged wars against one another and have nowhere spared the conquered in the temples of their gods? Let us look at the practice of the Romans themselves. Let us recall and review the Romans, whose chief praise has been to spare the vanquished and subdue the proud, and who preferred to forgive rather than to avenge an injury. Among the many great cities they stormed, captured, and destroyed to extend their dominion, let us be told which temples they customarily exempted so that whoever took refuge in them was safe. Or did they actually do this, and the historians of these events suppressed the fact? Is it believable that men who eagerly sought out things they could praise would omit what they themselves considered the most remarkable proofs of piety? Marcus Marcellus, a distinguished Roman who captured Syracuse, a magnificently adorned city, is reported to have mourned its coming destruction and to have shed his own tears over it before he shed its blood. He also took steps to preserve the chastity even of his enemy. Before he gave orders for the assault on the city, he issued an edict forbidding the violation of any free person. Yet the city was sacked according to the custom of war, and we nowhere read that even this chaste and gentle commander gave orders that no one should be harmed who had fled to this or that temple. This certainly would not have been omitted when neither his weeping nor his edict protecting chastity could be passed over in silence. Fabius, the conqueror of the city of Tarentum, is praised for refraining from plundering the statues. When his secretary asked him what he wished done with the statues of the gods, which had been captured in large numbers, he disguised his restraint with a joke. He asked what sort they were, and when they reported to him that there were not only many large statues but some of them armed, he said, "Let us leave the Tarentines their angry gods." Since the writers of Roman history could not pass over in silence either the weeping of one general or the laughing of the other, neither the chaste mercy of one nor the humorous restraint of the other, on what occasion would it have been omitted if, out of honor for any of their enemy's gods, they had shown this particular form of mercy by prohibiting slaughter or captivity in any temple?

Why, then, need our argument take note of the many nations who have waged wars with one another, and have nowhere spared the conquered in the temples of their gods? Let us look at the practice of the Romans themselves; let us, I say, recall and review the Romans, whose chief praise it has been to spare the vanquished and subdue the proud, and that they preferred rather to forgive than to revenge an injury; and among so many and great cities which they have stormed, taken, and overthrown for the extension of their dominion, let us be told what temples they were accustomed to exempt, so that whoever took refuge in them was free. Or have they really done this, and has the fact been suppressed by the historians of these events? Is it to be believed, that men who sought out with the greatest eagerness points they could praise, would omit those which, in their own estimation, are the most signal proofs of piety? Marcus Marcellus, a distinguished Roman, who took Syracuse, a most splendidly adorned city, is reported to have bewailed its coming ruin, and to have shed his own tears over it before he spilled its blood. He took steps also to preserve the chastity even of his enemy. For before he gave orders for the storming of the city, he issued an edict forbidding the violation of any free person. Yet the city was sacked according to the custom of war; nor do we anywhere read, that even by so chaste and gentle a commander orders were given that no one should be injured who had fled to this or that temple. And this certainly would by no means have been omitted, when neither his weeping nor his edict preservative of chastity could be passed in silence. Fabius, the conqueror of the city of Taranto, is praised for abstaining from making booty of the images. For when his secretary proposed the question to him, what he wished done with the statues of the gods, which had been taken in large numbers, he veiled his moderation under a joke. For he asked of what sort they were; and when they reported to him that there were not only many large images, but some of them armed, Oh, says he, let us leave with the Tarentines their angry gods. Seeing, then, that the writers of Roman history could not pass in silence, neither the weeping of the one general nor the laughing of the other, neither the chaste pity of the one nor the facetious moderation of the other, on what occasion would it be omitted, if, for the honor of any of their enemy's gods, they had shown this particular form of leniency, that in any temple slaughter or captivity was prohibited?

All the plundering that Rome suffered in the recent disaster—all the killing, looting, burning, and suffering—was the result of the normal customs of war. But what was new was that these savage barbarians showed themselves to be so gentle that the largest churches were selected and set apart to be filled with people who were granted mercy, and that in these churches no one was killed and no one was forcibly dragged out. Many people were led into these churches by their relenting enemies to be set free, and no one was led out of them into slavery by merciless foes. Anyone who does not see that this must be credited to the name of Christ and to Christian character is blind. Anyone who sees this and offers no praise is ungrateful. Anyone who prevents someone else from praising it is insane. No sensible person would ever attribute this mercy to the barbarians themselves. Their fierce and bloodthirsty minds were restrained, controlled, and remarkably transformed by Him who long ago said through His prophet, "I will visit their transgression with the rod, and their iniquities with stripes; nevertheless my loving-kindness will I not utterly take from them."

All the spoiling, then, which Rome was exposed to in the recent calamity — all the slaughter, plundering, burning, and misery — was the result of the custom of war. But what was novel, was that savage barbarians showed themselves in so gentle a guise, that the largest churches were chosen and set apart for the purpose of being filled with the people to whom quarter was given, and that in them none were slain, from them none forcibly dragged; that into them many were led by their relenting enemies to be set at liberty, and that from them none were led into slavery by merciless foes. Whoever does not see that this is to be attributed to the name of Christ, and to the Christian temper, is blind; whoever sees this, and gives no praise, is ungrateful; whoever hinders any one from praising it, is mad. Far be it from any prudent man to impute this clemency to the barbarians. Their fierce and bloody minds were awed, and bridled, and marvellously tempered by Him who so long before said by His prophet, I will visit their transgression with the rod, and their iniquities with stripes; nevertheless my loving-kindness will I not utterly take from them.

Someone might ask, why, then, was this divine compassion extended even to the ungodly and ungrateful? Because it was the mercy of the One who daily makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. For though some of these people, reflecting on this, repent of their wickedness and reform themselves, others, as the apostle says, despise the riches of His goodness and patience, and with their hardness and unrepentant heart, store up wrath for themselves against the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God, who will repay every person according to their deeds. Nevertheless, God's patience still invites the wicked to repentance, just as God's discipline trains the good in patience. Likewise, God's mercy embraces the good to cherish them, just as God's severity seizes the wicked to punish them. Divine providence has decided to prepare in the world to come good things for the righteous, which the unrighteous will not enjoy, and evil things for the wicked, by which the good will not be tormented. But as for the good things of this life and its troubles, God has willed that these should be common to both, so that we might not too eagerly desire the things which wicked people are seen to enjoy equally, nor shrink with inappropriate fear from the troubles which even good people often suffer.

Will some one say, Why, then, was this divine compassion extended even to the ungodly and ungrateful? Why, but because it was the mercy of Him who daily makes His sun to rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust. Matthew 5:45 For though some of these men, taking thought of this, repent of their wickedness and reform, some, as the apostle says, despising the riches of His goodness and long-suffering, after their hardness and impenitent heart, treasure up unto themselves wrath against the day of wrath and revelation of the righteous judgment of God, who will render to every man according to his deeds: Romans 2:4 nevertheless does the patience of God still invite the wicked to repentance, even as the scourge of God educates the good to patience. And so, too, does the mercy of God embrace the good that it may cherish them, as the severity of God arrests the wicked to punish them. To the divine providence it has seemed good to prepare in the world to come for the righteous good things, which the unrighteous shall not enjoy; and for the wicked evil things, by which the good shall not be tormented. But as for the good things of this life, and its ills, God has willed that these should be common to both; that we might not too eagerly covet the things which wicked men are seen equally to enjoy, nor shrink with an unseemly fear from the ills which even good men often suffer.

There is also a very great difference in the purpose served by both those events we call adverse and those we call prosperous. The good person is neither lifted up by the good things of this present time nor crushed by its evils. But the wicked person, because he is corrupted by this world's happiness, feels himself punished by its unhappiness. Yet often, even in the present distribution of temporal things, God clearly shows His own involvement. For if every sin were punished now with obvious punishment, nothing would seem to be reserved for the final judgment. On the other hand, if no sin received a clearly divine punishment now, it would be concluded that there is no divine providence at all. The same is true of the good things of this life: if God did not, through very visible generosity, give these to some of the people who ask for them, we would say that these good things were not under His control. And if He gave them to all who sought them, we would assume that such things were the only rewards of serving Him. Such a service would make us not godly, but greedy and covetous instead. Therefore, though good and bad people suffer alike, we must not suppose that there is no difference between the people themselves just because there is no difference in what they both suffer. For even when the sufferings are similar, there remains a difference in those who suffer. And though they are exposed to the same distress, virtue and vice are not the same thing. For just as the same fire causes gold to glow brightly and chaff to smoke, and under the same flail the straw is beaten small while the grain is cleansed, and just as the dregs are not mixed with the oil though squeezed out of the vat by the same pressure, so the same violence of affliction proves, purges, and clarifies the good, but condemns, ruins, and destroys the wicked. And so it is that in the same affliction the wicked curse God and blaspheme, while the good pray and praise. It makes such a significant difference, not what evils are suffered, but what kind of person suffers them. For when stirred up by the same movement, mud gives off a horrible stench, while ointment gives off a fragrant odor.

There is, too, a very great difference in the purpose served both by those events which we call adverse and those called prosperous. For the good man is neither uplifted with the good things of time, nor broken by its ills; but the wicked man, because he is corrupted by this world's happiness, feels himself punished by its unhappiness. Yet often, even in the present distribution of temporal things, does God plainly evince His own interference. For if every sin were now visited with manifest punishment, nothing would seem to be reserved for the final judgment; on the other hand, if no sin received now a plainly divine punishment, it would be concluded that there is no divine providence at all. And so of the good things of this life: if God did not by a very visible liberality confer these on some of those persons who ask for them, we should say that these good things were not at His disposal; and if He gave them to all who sought them, we should suppose that such were the only rewards of His service; and such a service would make us not godly, but greedy rather, and covetous. Wherefore, though good and bad men suffer alike, we must not suppose that there is no difference between the men themselves, because there is no difference in what they both suffer. For even in the likeness of the sufferings, there remains an unlikeness in the sufferers; and though exposed to the same anguish, virtue and vice are not the same thing. For as the same fire causes gold to glow brightly, and chaff to smoke; and under the same flail the straw is beaten small, while the grain is cleansed; and as the lees are not mixed with the oil, though squeezed out of the vat by the same pressure, so the same violence of affliction proves, purges, clarifies the good, but damns, ruins, exterminates the wicked. And thus it is that in the same affliction the wicked detest God and blaspheme, while the good pray and praise. So material a difference does it make, not what ills are suffered, but what kind of man suffers them. For, stirred up with the same movement, mud exhales a horrible stench, and ointment emits a fragrant odor.

What, then, have Christians suffered during that disastrous time that would not benefit anyone who properly and faithfully considered the following circumstances? First of all, they must humbly consider those very sins that have provoked God to fill the world with such terrible disasters. Although they may be far from the excesses of wicked, immoral, and ungodly people, they still do not judge themselves so completely removed from all faults that they are too good to suffer even these temporal troubles. Every person, no matter how admirably he lives, still gives in at some points to the lust of the flesh. Even if he does not fall into serious wickedness, abandoned vice, and abominable profanity, he still slips into some sins, either rarely or more frequently when the sins seem less serious. But setting this aside, where can we easily find a person who regards with proper and just estimation those people whose revolting pride, luxury, avarice, cursed wickedness, and impiety cause God now to strike the earth as His predictions threatened? Where is the person who lives with them in the way we ought to live with them? We often wickedly blind ourselves to opportunities for teaching and warning them, sometimes even for rebuking and scolding them, either because we shrink from the effort or are ashamed to offend them, or because we fear losing good friendships, in case this should obstruct our advancement or harm us in some worldly matter that our greedy nature desires to obtain or our weakness fears to lose. So even though the conduct of wicked people is distasteful to the good, and therefore they do not fall with them into that damnation awaiting such people in the next life, yet because they spare their damnable sins out of fear, even though their own sins may be slight and venial, they are justly scourged together with the wicked in this world, though in eternity they completely escape punishment. When God afflicts them together with the wicked, they justly find this life bitter, since through love of its sweetness they refused to be harsh toward these sinners.

What, then, have the Christians suffered in that calamitous period, which would not profit every one who duly and faithfully considered the following circumstances? First of all, they must humbly consider those very sins which have provoked God to fill the world with such terrible disasters; for although they be far from the excesses of wicked, immoral, and ungodly men, yet they do not judge themselves so clean removed from all faults as to be too good to suffer for these even temporal ills. For every man, however laudably he lives, yet yields in some points to the lust of the flesh. Though he do not fall into gross enormity of wickedness, and abandoned viciousness, and abominable profanity, yet he slips into some sins, either rarely or so much the more frequently as the sins seem of less account. But not to mention this, where can we readily find a man who holds in fit and just estimation those persons on account of whose revolting pride, luxury, and avarice, and cursed iniquities and impiety, God now smites the earth as His predictions threatened? Where is the man who lives with them in the style in which it becomes us to live with them? For often we wickedly blind ourselves to the occasions of teaching and admonishing them, sometimes even of reprimanding and chiding them, either because we shrink from the labor or are ashamed to offend them, or because we fear to lose good friendships, lest this should stand in the way of our advancement, or injure us in some worldly matter, which either our covetous disposition desires to obtain, or our weakness shrinks from losing. So that, although the conduct of wicked men is distasteful to the good, and therefore they do not fall with them into that damnation which in the next life awaits such persons, yet, because they spare their damnable sins through fear, therefore, even though their own sins be slight and venial, they are justly scourged with the wicked in this world, though in eternity they quite escape punishment. Justly, when God afflicts them in common with the wicked, do they find this life bitter, through love of whose sweetness they declined to be bitter to these sinners.

If someone holds back from rebuking and correcting those who are doing wrong because he is waiting for a better opportunity, or because he fears his rebuke might make them worse, or that other weak people might become discouraged from trying to lead a good and godly life and might be driven away from the faith, then this person's failure to act seems to come not from greed but from loving consideration. But what deserves blame is when people who have themselves turned away from the behavior of the wicked and live in a completely different way still overlook those faults in others that they should correct and help them abandon. They overlook these faults because they fear giving offense, worried that they might harm their interests in those things that good people may innocently and lawfully use—though they use them more eagerly than is appropriate for people who are strangers in this world and claim the hope of a heavenly country. For not only the weaker brothers and sisters who are married and have children (or want to have them), and own houses and property, whom the apostle addresses in the churches, warning and teaching them how they should live—the wives with their husbands and the husbands with their wives, the children with their parents and parents with their children, and servants with their masters and masters with their servants—not only do these weaker brothers and sisters eagerly seek and reluctantly lose many earthly and temporary things, for the sake of which they dare not offend people whose corrupt and wicked lives greatly displease them. But even those who live at a higher level, who are not caught up in the complications of married life but use simple food and clothing, often think about their own safety and reputation and hold back from correcting the wicked because they fear their tricks and violence. And although they do not fear them so much that they would be drawn into committing similar sins—no, not by any threats or violence whatsoever—yet they often choose not to correct the very actions that they refuse to participate in, when perhaps by correcting them they might prevent them from happening. They hold back from intervening because they fear that if their efforts fail to do good, their own safety or reputation might be damaged or destroyed. This is not because they see that preserving their lives and good names is necessary so they can continue to teach those who need their instruction, but rather because they weakly enjoy the flattery and respect of others and fear the judgment of the crowd and physical pain or death. In other words, their failure to intervene comes from selfishness, not from love.

If any one forbears to reprove and find fault with those who are doing wrong, because he seeks a more seasonable opportunity, or because he fears they may be made worse by his rebuke, or that other weak persons may be disheartened from endeavoring to lead a good and pious life, and may be driven from the faith; this man's omission seems to be occasioned not by covetousness, but by a charitable consideration. But what is blame-worthy is, that they who themselves revolt from the conduct of the wicked, and live in quite another fashion, yet spare those faults in other men which they ought to reprehend and wean them from; and spare them because they fear to give offense, lest they should injure their interests in those things which good men may innocently and legitimately use — though they use them more greedily than becomes persons who are strangers in this world, and profess the hope of a heavenly country. For not only the weaker brethren who enjoy married life, and have children (or desire to have them), and own houses and establishments, whom the apostle addresses in the churches, warning and instructing them how they should live, both the wives with their husbands, and the husbands with their wives, the children with their parents, and parents with their children, and servants with their masters, and masters with their servants — not only do these weaker brethren gladly obtain and grudgingly lose many earthly and temporal things on account of which they dare not offend men whose polluted and wicked life greatly displeases them; but those also who live at a higher level, who are not entangled in the meshes of married life, but use meagre food and raiment, do often take thought of their own safety and good name, and abstain from finding fault with the wicked, because they fear their wiles and violence. And although they do not fear them to such an extent as to be drawn to the commission of like iniquities, nay, not by any threats or violence soever; yet those very deeds which they refuse to share in the commission of they often decline to find fault with, when possibly they might by finding fault prevent their commission. They abstain from interference, because they fear that, if it fail of good effect, their own safety or reputation may be damaged or destroyed; not because they see that their preservation and good name are needful, that they may be able to influence those who need their instruction, but rather because they weakly relish the flattery and respect of men, and fear the judgments of the people, and the pain or death of the body; that is to say, their non-intervention is the result of selfishness, and not of love.

This seems to me to be one main reason why the good are punished along with the wicked when God decides to use temporal punishments against the immoral behavior of a society. They are punished together, not because they have lived equally corrupt lives, but because the good, like the wicked (though not to the same degree), love this present life. They ought instead to hold it in low regard, so that the wicked, being warned and reformed by their example, might seek eternal life. And if the wicked will not join the good in seeking everlasting life, they should still be loved as enemies and treated with patience. For as long as they are alive, it remains uncertain whether they might change for the better. These self-centered people have more reason to fear than those to whom God said through the prophet, "He is taken away in his iniquity, but I will require his blood at the watchman's hand" (Ezekiel 33:6). For watchmen or overseers of the people are appointed in churches so they may rebuke sin without restraint. Nor is that person guiltless of the sin we are discussing who, though not a watchman, sees many things that deserve blame in the conduct of those he encounters through the relationships of this life, yet overlooks them because he fears giving offense and losing worldly blessings that may be legitimately desired but which he grasps too eagerly. Finally, there is another reason why the good suffer temporal calamities—the reason illustrated by Job's case: so that the human spirit may be tested, and so it may be revealed with what strength of faithful trust and with how unselfish a love it clings to God.

Accordingly this seems to me to be one principal reason why the good are chastised along with the wicked, when God is pleased to visit with temporal punishments the profligate manners of a community. They are punished together, not because they have spent an equally corrupt life, but because the good as well as the wicked, though not equally with them, love this present life; while they ought to hold it cheap, that the wicked, being admonished and reformed by their example, might lay hold of life eternal. And if they will not be the companions of the good in seeking life everlasting, they should be loved as enemies, and be dealt with patiently. For so long as they live, it remains uncertain whether they may not come to a better mind. These selfish persons have more cause to fear than those to whom it was said through the prophet, He is taken away in his iniquity, but his blood will I require at the watchman's hand. Ezekiel 33:6 For watchmen or overseers of the people are appointed in churches, that they may unsparingly rebuke sin. Nor is that man guiltless of the sin we speak of, who, though he be not a watchman, yet sees in the conduct of those with whom the relationships of this life bring him into contact, many things that should be blamed, and yet overlooks them, fearing to give offense, and lose such worldly blessings as may legitimately be desired, but which he too eagerly grasps. Then, lastly, there is another reason why the good are afflicted with temporal calamities — the reason which Job's case exemplifies: that the human spirit may be proved, and that it may be manifested with what fortitude of pious trust, and with how unmercenary a love, it cleaves to God.

These are the considerations one must keep in mind to answer the question of whether any evil happens to the faithful and godly that cannot be turned to profit. Or should we say that the question is unnecessary, and that the apostle is speaking empty words when he says, We know that all things work together for good to them that love God? Romans 8:28

These are the considerations which one must keep in view, that he may answer the question whether any evil happens to the faithful and godly which cannot be turned to profit. Or shall we say that the question is needless, and that the apostle is vaporing when he says, We know that all things work together for good to them that love God? Romans 8:28

They lost everything they had. Did they lose their faith? Their godliness? The possessions of the hidden man of the heart, which in the sight of God are of great price? Did they lose these? These are the true wealth of Christians, to whom the wealthy apostle said, "Godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. And having food and clothing, let us be content with these. But those who want to be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and harmful desires, which drown men in destruction and ruin. For the love of money is the root of all evil; which, while some coveted after, they have wandered from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows."

They lost all they had. Their faith? Their godliness? The possessions of the hidden man of the heart, which in the sight of God are of great price? 1 Peter 3:4 Did they lose these? For these are the wealth of Christians, to whom the wealthy apostle said, Godliness with contentment is great gain. For we brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. And having food and raiment, let us be therewith content. But they that will be rich fall into temptation and a snare, and into many foolish and hurtful lusts, which drown men in destruction and perdition. For the love of money is the root of all evil; which, while some coveted after, they have erred from the faith, and pierced themselves through with many sorrows. 1 Timothy 6:6-10

Those who lost all their worldly possessions when Rome was sacked, if they had owned their belongings as the apostle taught them—who was himself poor outwardly but rich inwardly—that is, if they used the world as though not using it—could say with Job, who was severely tested but not defeated: "Naked I came from my mother's womb, and naked I will return there: the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; as it pleased the Lord, so it has happened: blessed be the name of the Lord." Like a good servant, Job considered his Lord's will to be his greatest possession, and through obedience to it his soul was made rich. Nor did he grieve to lose while still alive those goods he would soon have to leave behind at his death. But as for those weaker souls who, though they cannot be said to value earthly possessions more than Christ, still cling to them with somewhat excessive attachment, they discovered through the pain of losing these things just how much they were sinning in loving them. For their grief is of their own making; in the words of the apostle quoted above, they have pierced themselves through with many sorrows. For it was fitting that those who had so long ignored these verbal warnings should receive the teaching of experience. For when the apostle says, "Those who want to be rich fall into temptation," and so on, what he criticizes about riches is not possessing them, but desiring them. For elsewhere he says, "Command those who are rich in this world not to be proud, nor to trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who richly gives us all things to enjoy; that they do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to give, willing to share; storing up for themselves a good foundation for the time to come, that they may take hold of eternal life." Those who were using their property in this way have been comforted for small losses by great gains, and have taken more pleasure in those possessions they securely stored away by freely giving them than grief in those they completely lost by anxiously and selfishly hoarding them. For nothing could be lost on earth except what they would have been ashamed to take with them from earth. Our Lord's command says, "Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy, and where thieves break in and steal; but store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys, and where thieves do not break in or steal: for where your treasure is, there your heart will be also." And those who listened to this command proved in the time of suffering how wise they were not to ignore this most trustworthy teacher and most faithful and mighty guardian of their treasure. For if many were glad that their treasure was stored in places the enemy happened not to find, how much better founded was the joy of those who, by their God's counsel, had fled with their treasure to a fortress no enemy can possibly reach! Thus our Paulinus, bishop of Nola, who voluntarily gave up vast wealth and became completely poor, though abundantly rich in holiness, when the barbarians sacked Nola and took him prisoner, used to pray silently, as he later told me, "O Lord, do not let me be troubled over gold and silver, for you know where all my treasure is." For all his treasure was where he had been taught to hide and store it by the one who had also foretold that these disasters would happen in the world. Consequently, those people who obeyed their Lord when he warned them where and how to store up treasure did not lose even their earthly possessions in the barbarian invasion; while those who are now regretting that they did not obey him have learned the right use of earthly goods, if not through the wisdom that would have prevented their loss, at least through the experience that follows it.

They, then, who lost their worldly all in the sack of Rome, if they owned their possessions as they had been taught by the apostle, who himself was poor without, but rich within — that is to say, if they used the world as not using it — could say in the words of Job, heavily tried, but not overcome: Naked came I out of my mother's womb, and naked shall I return there: the Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away; as it pleased the Lord, so has it come to pass: blessed be the name of the Lord. Job 1:21 Like a good servant, Job counted the will of his Lord his great possession, by obedience to which his soul was enriched; nor did it grieve him to lose, while yet living, those goods which he must shortly leave at his death. But as to those feebler spirits who, though they cannot be said to prefer earthly possessions to Christ, do yet cleave to them with a somewhat immoderate attachment, they have discovered by the pain of losing these things how much they were sinning in loving them. For their grief is of their own making; in the words of the apostle quoted above, they have pierced themselves through with many sorrows. For it was well that they who had so long despised these verbal admonitions should receive the teaching of experience. For when the apostle says, They that will be rich fall into temptation, and so on, what he blames in riches is not the possession of them, but the desire of them. For elsewhere he says, Charge them that are rich in this world, that they be not high-minded, nor trust in uncertain riches, but in the living God, who gives us richly all things to enjoy; that they do good, that they be rich in good works, ready to distribute, willing to communicate; laying up in store for themselves a good foundation against the time to come, that they may lay hold on eternal life. 1 Timothy 6:17-19 They who were making such a use of their property have been consoled for light losses by great gains, and have had more pleasure in those possessions which they have securely laid past, by freely giving them away, than grief in those which they entirely lost by an anxious and selfish hoarding of them. For nothing could perish on earth save what they would be ashamed to carry away from earth. Our Lord's injunction runs, Lay not up for yourselves treasures upon earth, where moth and rust does corrupt, and where thieves break through and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust does corrupt, and where thieves do not break through nor steal: for where your treasure is, there will your heart be also. Matthew 6:19-21 And they who have listened to this injunction have proved in the time of tribulation how well they were advised in not despising this most trustworthy teacher, and most faithful and mighty guardian of their treasure. For if many were glad that their treasure was stored in places which the enemy chanced not to light upon, how much better founded was the joy of those who, by the counsel of their God, had fled with their treasure to a citadel which no enemy can possibly reach! Thus our Paulinus, bishop of Nola, who voluntarily abandoned vast wealth and became quite poor, though abundantly rich in holiness, when the barbarians sacked Nola, and took him prisoner, used silently to pray, as he afterwards told me, O Lord, let me not be troubled for gold and silver, for where all my treasure is You know. For all his treasure was where he had been taught to hide and store it by Him who had also foretold that these calamities would happen in the world. Consequently those persons who obeyed their Lord when He warned them where and how to lay up treasure, did not lose even their earthly possessions in the invasion of the barbarians; while those who are now repenting that they did not obey Him have learned the right use of earthly goods, if not by the wisdom which would have prevented their loss, at least by the experience which follows it.

But some good Christian people were tortured so that they would be forced to hand over their possessions to the enemy. They could not hand over or lose the good thing that made them good people. However, if they preferred torture rather than giving up the wealth of unrighteousness, then I say they were not good people. Instead, they should have been reminded that if they suffered so severely for the sake of money, they should endure all torment, if necessary, for Christ's sake. They needed to learn to love him who enriches with eternal happiness all who suffer for him, rather than silver and gold, for which it was pitiful to suffer—whether they kept it by lying or lost it by telling the truth. Under these tortures no one lost Christ by confessing him, and no one preserved their wealth except by denying they had any. So perhaps the torture that taught them to set their hearts on a possession they could not lose was more useful than those possessions which, without any useful benefit at all, troubled and tormented their anxious owners. But then we are reminded that some people were tortured who had no wealth to surrender, but who were not believed when they said so. These people too, however, perhaps had some craving for wealth and were not willingly poor with holy resignation. It had to be made clear to such people that not just the actual possession of wealth, but also the desire for it, deserved such excruciating pain. And even if they were without any hidden stores of gold and silver because they were living in hope of a better life—I do not know if any such person was actually tortured on the assumption that he had wealth, but if so, then certainly in confessing, when questioned, a holy poverty, he confessed Christ. And though it could hardly be expected that the barbarians would believe him, yet no confessor of holy poverty could be tortured without receiving a heavenly reward.

But some good and Christian men have been put to the torture, that they might be forced to deliver up their goods to the enemy. They could indeed neither deliver nor lose that good which made themselves good. If, however, they preferred torture to the surrender of the mammon of iniquity, then I say they were not good men. Rather they should have been reminded that, if they suffered so severely for the sake of money, they should endure all torment, if need be, for Christ's sake; that they might be taught to love Him rather who enriches with eternal felicity all who suffer for Him, and not silver and gold, for which it was pitiable to suffer, whether they preserved it by telling a lie or lost it by telling the truth. For under these tortures no one lost Christ by confessing Him, no one preserved wealth save by denying its existence. So that possibly the torture which taught them that they should set their affections on a possession they could not lose, was more useful than those possessions which, without any useful fruit at all, disquieted and tormented their anxious owners. But then we are reminded that some were tortured who had no wealth to surrender, but who were not believed when they said so. These too, however, had perhaps some craving for wealth, and were not willingly poor with a holy resignation; and to such it had to be made plain, that not the actual possession alone, but also the desire of wealth, deserved such excruciating pains. And even if they were destitute of any hidden stores of gold and silver, because they were living in hopes of a better life — I know not indeed if any such person was tortured on the supposition that he had wealth; but if so, then certainly in confessing, when put to the question, a holy poverty, he confessed Christ. And though it was scarcely to be expected that the barbarians should believe him, yet no confessor of a holy poverty could be tortured without receiving a heavenly reward.

Again, they say that a prolonged famine brought many Christians down. But even this, faithful believers used for good through their devout endurance of it. Those who were killed by the famine were rescued from the troubles of this life, just as a merciful illness would have done. And those who only suffered from hunger were taught to eat more moderately and became accustomed to longer periods of fasting.

Again, they say that the long famine laid many a Christian low. But this, too, the faithful turned to good uses by a pious endurance of it. For those whom famine killed outright it rescued from the ills of this life, as a kindly disease would have done; and those who were only hunger-bitten were taught to live more sparingly, and inured to longer fasts.

But it is added that many Christians were slaughtered and put to death in a hideous variety of cruel ways. Well, if this is hard to bear, it is certainly the common fate of all who are born into this life. Of this much I am certain: no one has ever died who was not destined to die at some time. Now the end of life makes the longest life equal to the shortest. For when two things have both ceased to exist, one is not better and the other worse—one greater and the other less. And what does it matter what kind of death ends a life, since someone who has died once is not forced to go through the same ordeal a second time? And since in the daily hazards of life every person is, so to speak, threatened with countless deaths, as long as it remains uncertain which one will be his fate, I would ask whether it is not better to suffer one death and die, than to live in fear of all of them? I am not unaware of the weak-spirited fear that prompts us to choose to live long in fear of so many deaths rather than to die once and escape them all; but the weak and cowardly shrinking of the flesh is one thing, and the well-considered and reasonable conviction of the soul is quite another. That death is not to be judged an evil when it is the end of a good life; for death becomes evil only by the punishment that follows it. Therefore, those who are destined to die need not be anxious to ask what death they will die, but rather into what place death will bring them. And since Christians are well aware that the death of the godly poor man whose sores the dogs licked was far better than that of the wicked rich man who lay in purple and fine linen, what harm could these terrible deaths do to the dead who had lived well?

But, it is added, many Christians were slaughtered, and were put to death in a hideous variety of cruel ways. Well, if this be hard to bear, it is assuredly the common lot of all who are born into this life. Of this at least I am certain, that no one has ever died who was not destined to die some time. Now the end of life puts the longest life on a par with the shortest. For of two things which have alike ceased to be, the one is not better, the other worse — the one greater, the other less. And of what consequence is it what kind of death puts an end to life, since he who has died once is not forced to go through the same ordeal a second time? And as in the daily casualties of life every man is, as it were, threatened with numberless deaths, so long as it remains uncertain which of them is his fate, I would ask whether it is not better to suffer one and die, than to live in fear of all? I am not unaware of the poor-spirited fear which prompts us to choose rather to live long in fear of so many deaths, than to die once and so escape them all; but the weak and cowardly shrinking of the flesh is one thing, and the well-considered and reasonable persuasion of the soul quite another. That death is not to be judged an evil which is the end of a good life; for death becomes evil only by the retribution which follows it. They, then, who are destined to die, need not be careful to inquire what death they are to die, but into what place death will usher them. And since Christians are well aware that the death of the godly pauper whose sores the dogs licked was far better than of the wicked rich man who lay in purple and fine linen, what harm could these terrific deaths do to the dead who had lived well?

Furthermore, we are told that in such a massacre as happened then, the bodies could not even be buried. But godly confidence is not disturbed by such an ominous circumstance, for the faithful remember that they have been assured that not a hair of their head will perish, and that therefore, even if they are devoured by beasts, their blessed resurrection will not be prevented by this. The Truth would never have said, "Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul," if anything that an enemy could do to the body of the slain could be harmful to the future life. Or will someone perhaps take such an absurd position as to argue that those who kill the body are not to be feared before death, lest they kill the body, but after death, lest they deprive it of burial? If this is so, then what Christ says is false: "Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do," for it seems they can do great harm to the dead body. Far be it from us to suppose that the Truth can be false in this way. Those who kill the body are said to do something because the death blow is felt while the body still has sensation, but after that, they have no more that they can do, for in the slain body there is no sensation. And so there are indeed many bodies of Christians lying unburied, but no one has separated them from heaven, nor from that earth which is completely filled with the presence of Him who knows from where He will raise again what He created. It is said, indeed, in the Psalm: "The dead bodies of Your servants have they given to be food for the birds of the sky, the flesh of Your saints for the beasts of the earth. Their blood have they shed like water round about Jerusalem; and there was none to bury them." But this was said more to show the cruelty of those who did these things than the misery of those who suffered them. To human eyes this appears a harsh and sorrowful fate, yet precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. Therefore all these final services and ceremonies that concern the dead—the careful funeral arrangements, the preparation of the tomb, and the splendor of funeral rites—are more the comfort of the living than the benefit of the dead. If an expensive burial does any good to a wicked man, then a poor burial, or none at all, may harm the godly. His crowd of servants provided the purple-clothed rich man with a funeral magnificent in human eyes, but in the sight of God that was a more magnificent funeral which the ulcerous poor man received at the hands of the angels, who did not carry him out to a marble tomb but bore him up to Abraham's bosom.

Further still, we are reminded that in such a carnage as then occurred, the bodies could not even be buried. But godly confidence is not appalled by so ill-omened a circumstance; for the faithful bear in mind that assurance has been given that not a hair of their head shall perish, and that, therefore, though they even be devoured by beasts, their blessed resurrection will not hereby be hindered. The Truth would nowise have said, Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul, Matthew 10:28 if anything whatever that an enemy could do to the body of the slain could be detrimental to the future life. Or will some one perhaps take so absurd a position as to contend that those who kill the body are not to be feared before death, and lest they kill the body, but after death, lest they deprive it of burial? If this be so, then that is false which Christ says, Be not afraid of them that kill the body, and after that have no more that they can do; Luke 12:4 for it seems they can do great injury to the dead body. Far be it from us to suppose that the Truth can be thus false. They who kill the body are said to do something, because the deathblow is felt, the body still having sensation; but after that, they have no more that they can do, for in the slain body there is no sensation. And so there are indeed many bodies of Christians lying unburied; but no one has separated them from heaven, nor from that earth which is all filled with the presence of Him who knows whence He will raise again what He created. It is said, indeed, in the Psalm: The dead bodies of Your servants have they given to be food for the birds of the sky, the flesh of Your saints for the beasts of the earth. Their blood have they shed like water round about Jerusalem; and there was none to bury them. But this was said rather to exhibit the cruelty of those who did these things, than the misery of those who suffered them. To the eyes of men this appears a harsh and doleful lot, yet precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of His saints. Wherefore all these last offices and ceremonies that concern the dead, the careful funeral arrangements, and the equipment of the tomb, and the pomp of obsequies, are rather the solace of the living than the comfort of the dead. If a costly burial does any good to a wicked man, a squalid burial, or none at all, may harm the godly. His crowd of domestics furnished the purple-clad Dives with a funeral gorgeous in the eye of man; but in the sight of God that was a more sumptuous funeral which the ulcerous pauper received at the hands of the angels, who did not carry him out to a marble tomb, but bore him aloft to Abraham's bosom.

The people I have set out to defend the city of God against mock all this. Yet even their own philosophers have regarded careful burial as unimportant, and entire armies have fought and died for their earthly homeland without worrying about whether their bodies would be left lying on the battlefield or eaten by wild animals. Poetry has expressed this noble indifference to burial well: He who has no tomb has the sky for his vault. How much less should these people mock the unburied bodies of Christians, who have been promised that their very flesh will be restored and their bodies reconstructed, with all their parts gathered together not only from the earth but from the deepest hidden places of whatever other elements may have concealed the dead bodies of people.

The men against whom I have undertaken to defend the city of God laugh at all this. But even their own philosophers have despised a careful burial; and often whole armies have fought and fallen for their earthly country without caring to inquire whether they would be left exposed on the field of battle, or become the food of wild beasts. Of this noble disregard of sepulture poetry has well said: He who has no tomb has the sky for his vault. How much less ought they to insult over the unburied bodies of Christians, to whom it has been promised that the flesh itself shall be restored, and the body formed anew, all the members of it being gathered not only from the earth, but from the most secret recesses of any other of the elements in which the dead bodies of men have lain hid!

Nevertheless, the bodies of the dead should not be despised and left unburied because of this. This is especially true for the bodies of the righteous and faithful, which the Holy Spirit has used as His organs and instruments for all good works. If a father's clothing, his ring, or anything he wore is precious to his children in proportion to their love for him, how much more should we care for the bodies of those we love, which they wore far more closely and intimately than any clothing! The body is not an external ornament or accessory, but a part of human nature itself. That is why in ancient times, the righteous were given proper funeral rites, tombs were provided for them, and funeral ceremonies were held. Even while still alive, they gave instructions to their children about their burial and sometimes about moving their bodies to a preferred location. According to the angel's testimony, Tobit is praised and said to have pleased God by burying the dead. Our Lord Himself, though He was going to rise on the third day, praises and encourages us to praise the good work of the devout woman who poured expensive ointment on His body in preparation for His burial. The Gospel commends those who carefully took His body down from the cross, lovingly wrapped it in expensive burial cloths, and arranged for His burial. These examples certainly do not prove that corpses have any sensation, but they show that God's providence extends even to the bodies of the dead, and that such devout services please Him because they strengthen faith in the resurrection. We can also learn this helpful lesson from them: if God does not forget even a kind service that loving care pays to the unconscious dead, how much more does He reward the charity we show to the living. The holy patriarchs said other things about the burial and moving of their bodies that were meant to be understood prophetically, but we need not discuss those at length here, since what we have already said is sufficient. But if lacking things necessary for sustaining the living, such as food and clothing, though painful and difficult, does not destroy the courage and virtuous endurance of good people, nor remove piety from their souls, but rather makes it more fruitful, how much less can the absence of funeral rites and other customary attention paid to the dead make miserable those who are already resting in the hidden dwelling places of the blessed! Therefore, even though in the sack of Rome and other cities the bodies of Christians were deprived of these final services, this is not the fault of the living, who could not provide them, nor is it a hardship for the dead, who cannot feel the loss.

Nevertheless the bodies of the dead are not on this account to be despised and left unburied; least of all the bodies of the righteous and faithful, which have been used by the Holy Spirit as His organs and instruments for all good works. For if the dress of a father, or his ring, or anything he wore, be precious to his children, in proportion to the love they bore him, with how much more reason ought we to care for the bodies of those we love, which they wore far more closely and intimately than any clothing! For the body is not an extraneous ornament or aid, but a part of man's very nature. And therefore to the righteous of ancient times the last offices were piously rendered, and sepulchres provided for them, and obsequies celebrated; and they themselves, while yet alive, gave commandment to their sons about the burial, and, on occasion, even about the removal of their bodies to some favorite place. And Tobit, according to the angel's testimony, is commended, and is said to have pleased God by burying the dead. Tobit 12:12 Our Lord Himself, too, though He was to rise again the third day, applauds, and commends to our applause, the good work of the religious woman who poured precious ointment over His limbs, and did it against His burial. Matthew 26:10-13 And the Gospel speaks with commendation of those who were careful to take down His body from the cross, and wrap it lovingly in costly burial cloths, and see to its burial. John 19:38 These instances certainly do not prove that corpses have any feeling; but they show that God's providence extends even to the bodies of the dead, and that such pious offices are pleasing to Him, as cherishing faith in the resurrection. And we may also draw from them this wholesome lesson, that if God does not forget even any kind office which loving care pays to the unconscious dead, much more does He reward the charity we exercise towards the living. Other things, indeed, which the holy patriarchs said of the burial and removal of their bodies, they meant to be taken in a prophetic sense; but of these we need not here speak at large, what we have already said being sufficient. But if the want of those things which are necessary for the support of the living, as food and clothing, though painful and trying, does not break down the fortitude and virtuous endurance of good men, nor eradicate piety from their souls, but rather renders it more fruitful, how much less can the absence of the funeral, and of the other customary attentions paid to the dead, render those wretched who are already reposing in the hidden abodes of the blessed! Consequently, though in the sack of Rome and of other towns the dead bodies of the Christians were deprived of these last offices, this is neither the fault of the living, for they could not render them; nor an infliction to the dead, for they cannot feel the loss.

But, they say, many Christians were even led away captive. This indeed would be a most pitiable fate if they could be led away to any place where they could not find their God. But for this calamity also sacred Scripture provides great comfort. The three young men and Daniel were captives; so were other prophets, and God, the comforter, did not fail them. And in the same way He has not failed His own people in the power of a nation which, though barbarous, is still human—He who did not abandon the prophet in the belly of a monster. These things, indeed, are mocked rather than believed by those with whom we are debating, though they believe what they read in their own books, that Arion of Methymna, the famous lyrist, when he was thrown overboard, was received on a dolphin's back and carried to land. But our story about the prophet Jonah is far more incredible—more incredible because more marvelous, and more marvelous because a greater display of power.

But, say they, many Christians were even led away captive. This indeed were a most pitiable fate, if they could be led away to any place where they could not find their God. But for this calamity also sacred Scripture affords great consolation. The three youths Daniel 3 were captives; Daniel was a captive; so were other prophets: and God, the comforter, did not fail them. And in like manner He has not failed His own people in the power of a nation which, though barbarous, is yet human — He who did not abandon the prophet in the belly of a monster. Jonah 1 These things, indeed, are turned to ridicule rather than credited by those with whom we are debating; though they believe what they read in their own books, that Arion of Methymna, the famous lyrist, when he was thrown overboard, was received on a dolphin's back and carried to land. But that story of ours about the prophet Jonah is far more incredible — more incredible because more marvellous, and more marvellous because a greater exhibition of power.

Among their own famous men, they have a very noble example of voluntary endurance of captivity out of obedience to a religious obligation. Marcus Attilius Regulus, a Roman general, was a prisoner in the hands of the Carthaginians. However, they were more eager to exchange their prisoners with the Romans than to keep them, so they sent Regulus as a special envoy with their own ambassadors to negotiate this exchange. But they first bound him with an oath that if he failed to accomplish their goal, he would return to Carthage. He went and persuaded the senate to do the opposite, because he believed it was not in the best interest of the Roman republic to make an exchange of prisoners. After he had argued this way, the Romans did not force him to return to the enemy, but he voluntarily fulfilled what he had sworn. The Carthaginians, however, put him to death with refined, elaborate, and horrible tortures. They shut him up in a narrow box in which he was forced to stand, and in which finely sharpened nails were fixed all around him, so that he could not lean on any part of it without intense pain. They killed him by depriving him of sleep. People rightly praise the virtue that rose above such a frightful fate. However, the gods by whom he swore were those who are now supposedly avenging the prohibition of their worship by inflicting these present calamities on the human race. But if these gods, who were worshipped specifically so they might grant happiness in this life, either desired or permitted these punishments to be inflicted on one who kept his oath to them, what more cruel punishment could they in their anger have inflicted on someone who broke an oath? But why should I not draw a double conclusion from my reasoning? Regulus certainly had such reverence for the gods that for the sake of his oath he would neither remain in his own land nor go elsewhere, but without hesitation returned to his bitterest enemies. If he thought this course would benefit him in this present life, he was greatly mistaken, for it brought his life to a frightful end. By his own example, in fact, he demonstrated that the gods do not secure the temporal happiness of their worshippers, since he himself, devoted to their worship, was both conquered in battle and taken prisoner, and then, because he refused to act in violation of the oath he had sworn by them, was tortured and put to death by a new and previously unheard of and thoroughly horrible kind of punishment. And if the worshippers of the gods are rewarded by happiness in the life to come, then why do they slander the influence of Christianity? Why do they claim that this disaster has overtaken the city because it has stopped worshipping its gods, when, no matter how diligently it worships them, it can still be as unfortunate as Regulus was? Or will someone be so incredibly blind as to wildly attempt, in the face of obvious truth, to argue that while one individual might be unfortunate though a worshipper of the gods, a whole city could not be? That is to say, the power of their gods is better suited to preserve crowds than individuals—as if a crowd were not composed of individuals.

But among their own famous men they have a very noble example of the voluntary endurance of captivity in obedience to a religious scruple. Marcus Attilius Regulus, a Roman general, was a prisoner in the hands of the Carthaginians. But they, being more anxious to exchange their prisoners with the Romans than to keep them, sent Regulus as a special envoy with their own ambassadors to negotiate this exchange, but bound him first with an oath, that if he failed to accomplish their wish, he would return to Carthage. He went and persuaded the senate to the opposite course, because he believed it was not for the advantage of the Roman republic to make an exchange of prisoners. After he had thus exerted his influence, the Romans did not compel him to return to the enemy; but what he had sworn he voluntarily performed. But the Carthaginians put him to death with refined, elaborate, and horrible tortures. They shut him up in a narrow box, in which he was compelled to stand, and in which finely sharpened nails were fixed all round about him, so that he could not lean upon any part of it without intense pain; and so they killed him by depriving him of sleep. With justice, indeed, do they applaud the virtue which rose superior to so frightful a fate. However, the gods he swore by were those who are now supposed to avenge the prohibition of their worship, by inflicting these present calamities on the human race. But if these gods, who were worshipped specially in this behalf, that they might confer happiness in this life, either willed or permitted these punishments to be inflicted on one who kept his oath to them, what more cruel punishment could they in their anger have inflicted on a perjured person? But why may I not draw from my reasoning a double inference? Regulus certainly had such reverence for the gods, that for his oath's sake he would neither remain in his own land nor go elsewhere, but without hesitation returned to his bitterest enemies. If he thought that this course would be advantageous with respect to this present life, he was certainly much deceived, for it brought his life to a frightful termination. By his own example, in fact, he taught that the gods do not secure the temporal happiness of their worshippers; since he himself, who was devoted to their worship, as both conquered in battle and taken prisoner, and then, because he refused to act in violation of the oath he had sworn by them, was tortured and put to death by a new, and hitherto unheard of, and all too horrible kind of punishment. And on the supposition that the worshippers of the gods are rewarded by felicity in the life to come, why, then, do they calumniate the influence of Christianity? Why do they assert that this disaster has overtaken the city because it has ceased to worship its gods, since, worship them as assiduously as it may, it may yet be as unfortunate as Regulus was? Or will some one carry so wonderful a blindness to the extent of wildly attempting, in the face of the evident truth, to contend that though one man might be unfortunate, though a worshipper of the gods, yet a whole city could not be so? That is to say, the power of their gods is better adapted to preserve multitudes than individuals, — as if a multitude were not composed of individuals.

But if they say that Marcus Regulus, even while a prisoner and suffering these physical torments, might still enjoy the happiness of a virtuous soul, then let them recognize that true virtue by which a city can also be blessed. For the happiness of a community and of an individual flow from the same source, since a community is nothing else than a harmonious collection of individuals. So I'm not concerned at the moment to discuss what kind of virtue Regulus possessed. It's enough that by his very noble example they are forced to admit that the gods are to be worshipped not for the sake of physical comforts or external advantages, for he preferred to lose all such things rather than offend the gods by whom he had sworn. But what can we make of people who boast about having such a citizen, but fear having a city like him? If they don't fear this, then let them acknowledge that some such disaster as happened to Regulus may also happen to a community, even though they worship their gods as diligently as he did, and let them stop blaming Christianity for their misfortunes. But since our present concern is with those Christians who were taken prisoner, let those who use this disaster as an occasion to attack our most wholesome religion in a manner that is both foolish and shameless consider this and be silent. For if it was no disgrace to their gods that a most devoted worshipper of theirs should, for the sake of keeping his oath to them, be deprived of his native land without hope of finding another, and fall into the hands of his enemies, and be put to death by a prolonged and excruciating torture, it is much less appropriate to blame the Christian name for the captivity of those who believe in its power, since they, in confident expectation of a heavenly country, know that they are pilgrims even in their own homes.

But if they say that M. Regulus, even while a prisoner and enduring these bodily torments, might yet enjoy the blessedness of a virtuous soul, then let them recognize that true virtue by which a city also may be blessed. For the blessedness of a community and of an individual flow from the same source; for a community is nothing else than a harmonious collection of individuals. So that I am not concerned meantime to discuss what kind of virtue Regulus possessed; enough, that by his very noble example they are forced to own that the gods are to be worshipped not for the sake of bodily comforts or external advantages; for he preferred to lose all such things rather than offend the gods by whom he had sworn. But what can we make of men who glory in having such a citizen, but dread having a city like him? If they do not dread this, then let them acknowledge that some such calamity as befell Regulus may also befall a community, though they be worshipping their gods as diligently as he; and let them no longer throw the blame of their misfortunes on Christianity. But as our present concern is with those Christians who were taken prisoners, let those who take occasion from this calamity to revile our most wholesome religion in a fashion not less imprudent than impudent, consider this and hold their peace; for if it was no reproach to their gods that a most punctilious worshipper of theirs should, for the sake of keeping his oath to them, be deprived of his native land without hope of finding another, and fall into the hands of his enemies, and be put to death by a long-drawn and exquisite torture, much less ought the Christian name to be charged with the captivity of those who believe in its power, since they, in confident expectation of a heavenly country, know that they are pilgrims even in their own homes.

But they think they bring a decisive charge against Christianity when they make captivity even more horrifying by adding that not only wives and unmarried women, but even consecrated virgins, were raped. However, truly, regarding this matter, it is not Christian faith, nor piety, nor even the virtue of chastity that faces any real problem; the only challenge is to address the subject in a way that satisfies both modesty and reason. And in discussing it, we will be less concerned with answering our accusers than with comforting our friends. Let this, therefore, be established first as an unshakable principle: the virtue that makes life good has its seat in the soul, and from there governs the body's members, which become holy through the holiness of the will. And as long as the will remains firm and unshaken, nothing that another person does with the body or to the body is any fault of the person who suffers it, provided that person cannot escape it without sin. But since not only pain can be inflicted on another person's body, but also lust can be satisfied on it, whenever anything of this latter kind occurs, shame troubles even a completely pure spirit that has not lost its modesty—shame, in case that act, which could not be endured without some physical pleasure, might be believed to have been committed with some consent of the will as well.

But they fancy they bring a conclusive charge against Christianity, when they aggravate the horror of captivity by adding that not only wives and unmarried maidens, but even consecrated virgins, were violated. But truly, with respect to this, it is not Christian faith, nor piety, nor even the virtue of chastity, which is hemmed into any difficulty; the only difficulty is so to treat the subject as to satisfy at once modesty and reason. And in discussing it we shall not be so careful to reply to our accusers as to comfort our friends. Let this, therefore, in the first place, be laid down as an unassailable position, that the virtue which makes the life good has its throne in the soul, and thence rules the members of the body, which becomes holy in virtue of the holiness of the will; and that while the will remains firm and unshaken, nothing that another person does with the body, or upon the body, is any fault of the person who suffers it, so long as he cannot escape it without sin. But as not only pain may be inflicted, but lust gratified on the body of another, whenever anything of this latter kind takes place, shame invades even a thoroughly pure spirit from which modesty has not departed — shame, lest that act which could not be suffered without some sensual pleasure, should be believed to have been committed also with some assent of the will.

Therefore, even if some of these virgins killed themselves to avoid such disgrace, who with any human feeling would refuse to forgive them? And as for those who would not end their lives, so they wouldn't seem to escape another's crime by committing their own sin, whoever accuses them of great wickedness is himself guilty of foolishness. For if it is not lawful to take the law into our own hands and kill even a guilty person whose death no public sentence has authorized, then certainly whoever kills himself is a murderer, and he is all the more guilty of his own death since he was more innocent of the offense for which he condemned himself to die. We rightly condemn the act of Judas, and truth itself declares that by hanging himself he increased rather than atoned for the guilt of that most wicked betrayal, since by despairing of God's mercy in his sorrow that brought death, he left himself no room for healing repentance. How much more should someone who has done nothing deserving such punishment refrain from violently attacking himself! For Judas, when he killed himself, killed a wicked man; but he departed this life guilty not only of Christ's death, but of his own: for though he killed himself because of his crime, his killing himself was another crime. Why, then, should a man who has done no wrong do wrong to himself, and by killing himself kill an innocent person to escape another's guilty act, and commit a sin of his own against himself, so that another's sin may not be committed against him?

And consequently, even if some of these virgins killed themselves to avoid such disgrace, who that has any human feeling would refuse to forgive them? And as for those who would not put an end to their lives, lest they might seem to escape the crime of another by a sin of their own, he who lays this to their charge as a great wickedness is himself not guiltless of the fault of folly. For if it is not lawful to take the law into our own hands, and slay even a guilty person, whose death no public sentence has warranted, then certainly he who kills himself is a homicide, and so much the guiltier of his own death, as he was more innocent of that offense for which he doomed himself to die. Do we justly execrate the deed of Judas, and does truth itself pronounce that by hanging himself he rather aggravated than expiated the guilt of that most iniquitous betrayal, since, by despairing of God's mercy in his sorrow that wrought death, he left to himself no place for a healing penitence? How much more ought he to abstain from laying violent hands on himself who has done nothing worthy of such a punishment! For Judas, when he killed himself, killed a wicked man; but he passed from this life chargeable not only with the death of Christ, but with his own: for though he killed himself on account of his crime, his killing himself was another crime. Why, then, should a man who has done no ill do ill to himself, and by killing himself kill the innocent to escape another's guilty act, and perpetrate upon himself a sin of his own, that the sin of another may not be perpetrated on him?

But is there a fear that even someone else's lust might defile the person who is violated? It will not defile them if it belongs to someone else. If it does defile them, then it is not someone else's alone but is also shared by the one who is defiled. However, since purity is a virtue of the soul and has as its companion virtue fortitude, which would rather endure all evils than consent to evil, and since no one, no matter how noble and pure, always has control over their own body but can only control the consent and refusal of their will, what reasonable person could think that if their body is seized and forcibly used to satisfy another person's lust, they thereby lose their purity? For if purity could be destroyed in this way, then surely purity is not a virtue of the soul, nor can it be counted among those good things that make life good. Instead, it would be among the good things of the body, in the same category as strength, beauty, sound and uninjured health, and in short, all such good things that can be reduced without reducing at all the goodness and uprightness of our life. But if purity is nothing better than these things, why should the body be put at risk to preserve it? If, on the other hand, it belongs to the soul, then it is not lost even when the body is violated. Moreover, the virtue of holy continence, when it resists the impurity of fleshly lust, makes even the body holy. Therefore, when this continence remains unconquered, even the holiness of the body is preserved, because the will to use it in a holy way remains, and as far as the body itself is concerned, the power to do so also remains.

But is there a fear that even another's lust may pollute the violated? It will not pollute, if it be another's: if it pollute, it is not another's, but is shared also by the polluted. But since purity is a virtue of the soul, and has for its companion virtue, the fortitude which will rather endure all ills than consent to evil; and since no one, however magnanimous and pure, has always the disposal of his own body, but can control only the consent and refusal of his will, what sane man can suppose that, if his body be seized and forcibly made use of to satisfy the lust of another, he thereby loses his purity? For if purity can be thus destroyed, then assuredly purity is no virtue of the soul; nor can it be numbered among those good things by which the life is made good, but among the good things of the body, in the same category as strength, beauty, sound and unbroken health, and, in short, all such good things as may be diminished without at all diminishing the goodness and rectitude of our life. But if purity be nothing better than these, why should the body be perilled that it may be preserved? If, on the other hand, it belongs to the soul, then not even when the body is violated is it lost. Nay more, the virtue of holy continence, when it resists the uncleanness of carnal lust, sanctifies even the body, and therefore when this continence remains unsubdued, even the sanctity of the body is preserved, because the will to use it holily remains, and, so far as lies in the body itself, the power also.

The holiness of the body does not depend on all its parts remaining intact or untouched, because body parts are subject to various accidents that can harm and injure them, and doctors providing treatment often perform procedures that disturb those watching. Suppose a midwife—whether intentionally, accidentally, or through lack of skill—has destroyed a girl's virginity while trying to examine it. I don't think anyone is foolish enough to believe that by this destruction of the physical integrity of one body part, the virgin has lost any of her bodily holiness. Therefore, as long as the soul maintains this resolve that makes even the body holy, the violence done by someone else's lust cannot affect this bodily holiness, which is kept intact by one's own continuing self-control. On the other hand, suppose a virgin breaks the vow she has made to God and goes to meet her seducer intending to give in to him. Should we say that as she goes, she still possesses bodily holiness, when she has already lost and destroyed that holiness of soul which makes the body holy? That would be a serious misuse of language. Let us instead conclude this: while the holiness of the soul remains even when the body is violated, the holiness of the body is not lost; and similarly, the holiness of the body is lost when the holiness of the soul is violated, even though the body itself remains physically intact. Therefore, a woman who has been violated by another person's sin, without any consent on her part, has no reason to kill herself. Even less does she have reason to commit suicide to avoid such violation, because in that case she commits definite murder to prevent a crime that is still uncertain and not even her own.

For the sanctity of the body does not consist in the integrity of its members, nor in their exemption from all touch; for they are exposed to various accidents which do violence to and wound them, and the surgeons who administer relief often perform operations that sicken the spectator. A midwife, suppose, has (whether maliciously or accidentally, or through unskillfulness) destroyed the virginity of some girl, while endeavoring to ascertain it: I suppose no one is so foolish as to believe that, by this destruction of the integrity of one organ, the virgin has lost anything even of her bodily sanctity. And thus, so long as the soul keeps this firmness of purpose which sanctifies even the body, the violence done by another's lust makes no impression on this bodily sanctity, which is preserved intact by one's own persistent continence. Suppose a virgin violates the oath she has sworn to God, and goes to meet her seducer with the intention of yielding to him, shall we say that as she goes she is possessed even of bodily sanctity, when already she has lost and destroyed that sanctity of soul which sanctifies the body? Far be it from us to so misapply words. Let us rather draw this conclusion, that while the sanctity of the soul remains even when the body is violated, the sanctity of the body is not lost; and that, in like manner, the sanctity of the body is lost when the sanctity of the soul is violated, though the body itself remains intact. And therefore a woman who has been violated by the sin of another, and without any consent of her own, has no cause to put herself to death; much less has she cause to commit suicide in order to avoid such violation, for in that case she commits certain homicide to prevent a crime which is uncertain as yet, and not her own.

This, then, is our position, and it seems clear enough. We maintain that when a woman is raped while her soul gives no consent to the evil act, but remains completely chaste, the sin is not hers but belongs to the man who rapes her. But do those against whom we must defend not only the souls but also the sacred bodies of these raped Christian captives dare to challenge our position? But everyone knows how loudly they praise the purity of Lucretia, that noble married woman of ancient Rome. When the son of King Tarquin raped her, she told her husband Collatinus and her relative Brutus, men of high rank and great courage, about this young man's wicked act, and made them swear an oath to avenge it. Then, sick at heart and unable to bear the disgrace, she killed herself. What should we call her? An adulteress or chaste? There is no question what she was. A public speaker said of this sad event, both skillfully and truthfully: Here was something remarkable: there were two people, and only one committed adultery. This was said with great force and truth. For this speaker, observing in the physical union the dirty lust of one person and the chaste will of the other, and paying attention not to the contact of their bodies but to the vast difference between their souls, says: There were two people, but the adultery was committed by only one.

This, then, is our position, and it seems sufficiently lucid. We maintain that when a woman is violated while her soul admits no consent to the iniquity, but remains inviolably chaste, the sin is not hers, but his who violates her. But do they against whom we have to defend not only the souls, but the sacred bodies too of these outraged Christian captives, — do they, perhaps, dare to dispute our position? But all know how loudly they extol the purity of Lucretia, that noble matron of ancient Rome. When King Tarquin's son had violated her body, she made known the wickedness of this young profligate to her husband Collatinus, and to Brutus her kinsman, men of high rank and full of courage, and bound them by an oath to avenge it. Then, heart-sick, and unable to bear the shame, she put an end to her life. What shall we call her? An adulteress, or chaste? There is no question which she was. Not more happily than truly did a declaimer say of this sad occurrence: Here was a marvel: there were two, and only one committed adultery. Most forcibly and truly spoken. For this declaimer, seeing in the union of the two bodies the foul lust of the one, and the chaste will of the other, and giving heed not to the contact of the bodily members, but to the wide diversity of their souls, says: There were two, but the adultery was committed only by one.

But how is it that she who was not a partner in the crime bears the heavier punishment of the two? For the adulterer was only banished along with his father, while she suffered the ultimate penalty. If what happened to her against her will was not impurity, then it is not justice for her to be punished when she was chaste. I appeal to you, laws and judges of Rome. Even after the commission of great crimes, you do not allow a criminal to be executed without trial. If someone were to bring this case before your court and prove to you that a woman who was not only untried, but also chaste and innocent, had been killed, would you not punish the murderer with appropriately severe penalties? This crime was committed by Lucretia. That celebrated and praised Lucretia killed the innocent, chaste, violated Lucretia. Pass judgment. But if you cannot, because there is no one available for you to punish, why do you praise with such excessive admiration a woman who killed an innocent and chaste woman? Surely you will find it impossible to defend her before the judges of the underworld, if they are as your poets love to portray them, for she is among those

But how is it, that she who was no partner to the crime bears the heavier punishment of the two? For the adulterer was only banished along with his father; she suffered the extreme penalty. If that was not impurity by which she was unwillingly ravished, then this is not justice by which she, being chaste, is punished. To you I appeal, you laws and judges of Rome. Even after the perpetration of great enormities, you do not suffer the criminal to be slain untried. If, then, one were to bring to your bar this case, and were to prove to you that a woman not only untried, but chaste and innocent, had been killed, would you not visit the murderer with punishment proportionably severe? This crime was committed by Lucretia; that Lucretia so celebrated and lauded slew the innocent, chaste, outraged Lucretia. Pronounce sentence. But if you cannot, because there does not appear any one whom you can punish, why do you extol with such unmeasured laudation her who slew an innocent and chaste woman? Assuredly you will find it impossible to defend her before the judges of the realms below, if they be such as your poets are fond of representing them; for she is among those

Who, though innocent, condemned themselves to death, and because they hated life, in madness cast away their own lives. And if she wishes to return with the others, Fate blocks the path: around their prison the sluggish and unlovely waters flow, and bind them with a ninefold chain.

Who guiltless sent themselves to doom, And all for loathing of the day, In madness threw their lives away. And if she with the others wishes to return, Fate bars the way: around their keep The slow unlovely waters creep, And bind with ninefold chain.

Or perhaps she is not there, because she killed herself aware of guilt, not innocence? She alone knows her true reason; but what if she was seduced by the pleasure of the act, and gave some consent to Sextus despite his violent abuse of her, and then was so overcome with remorse that she thought only death could make up for her sin? Even if this were true, she still should not have killed herself, if she could have achieved genuine repentance with her false gods. However, if this was the situation, and if it were not true that there were two people involved with only one committing adultery; if the truth were that both were guilty of it, one through open violence and the other through secret consent, then she did not kill an innocent woman; and therefore her learned defenders may argue that she is not among that group of underworld dwellers who guiltless sent themselves to doom. But Lucretia's case presents such a dilemma that if you minimize the murder, you confirm the adultery; if you acquit her of adultery, you make the murder charge more serious; and there is no way out of this dilemma when one asks: If she was adulterous, why praise her? If chaste, why kill her?

Or perhaps she is not there, because she slew herself conscious of guilt, not of innocence? She herself alone knows her reason; but what if she was betrayed by the pleasure of the act, and gave some consent to Sextus, though so violently abusing her, and then was so affected with remorse, that she thought death alone could expiate her sin? Even though this were the case, she ought still to have held her hand from suicide, if she could with her false gods have accomplished a fruitful repentance. However, if such were the state of the case, and if it were false that there were two, but one only committed adultery; if the truth were that both were involved in it, one by open assault, the other by secret consent, then she did not kill an innocent woman; and therefore her erudite defenders may maintain that she is not among that class of the dwellers below who guiltless sent themselves to doom. But this case of Lucretia is in such a dilemma, that if you extenuate the homicide, you confirm the adultery: if you acquit her of adultery, you make the charge of homicide heavier; and there is no way out of the dilemma, when one asks, If she was adulterous, why praise her? If chaste, why slay her?

Nevertheless, for our purpose of refuting those who cannot understand what true holiness is, and who therefore mock our violated Christian women, it is enough to note that in the case of this noble Roman woman it was said in her praise: There were two people, but the adultery was the crime of only one. For Lucretia was confidently believed to be free from any contamination of consenting thought to the adultery. And accordingly, since she killed herself for being subjected to an outrage in which she had no guilty part, it is clear that this act of hers was prompted not by love of purity, but by the overwhelming burden of her shame. She was ashamed that so foul a crime had been committed against her, though without her consent; and this woman, with the Roman love of glory in her blood, was seized with a proud fear that, if she continued to live, people would think she willingly accepted the wrong that had been done to her. She could not display her conscience to others, but she judged that her self-inflicted punishment would testify to her state of mind; and she burned with shame at the thought that her patient endurance of the foul offense that another had committed against her should be interpreted as complicity with him. Not such was the decision of the Christian women who suffered as she did, and yet survive. They refused to punish themselves for the guilt of others, and so add crimes of their own to those crimes in which they had no part. For this they would have done had their shame driven them to kill themselves, as the lust of their enemies had driven them to adultery. Within their own souls, in the witness of their own conscience, they enjoy the glory of chastity. In the sight of God, too, they are considered pure, and this satisfies them; they ask no more: it is enough for them to have opportunity of doing good, and they refuse to escape the distress of human suspicion, lest they thereby deviate from the divine law.

Nevertheless, for our purpose of refuting those who are unable to comprehend what true sanctity is, and who therefore insult over our outraged Christian women, it is enough that in the instance of this noble Roman matron it was said in her praise, There were two, but the adultery was the crime of only one. For Lucretia was confidently believed to be superior to the contamination of any consenting thought to the adultery. And accordingly, since she killed herself for being subjected to an outrage in which she had no guilty part, it is obvious that this act of hers was prompted not by the love of purity, but by the overwhelming burden of her shame. She was ashamed that so foul a crime had been perpetrated upon her, though without her abetting; and this matron, with the Roman love of glory in her veins, was seized with a proud dread that, if she continued to live, it would be supposed she willingly did not resent the wrong that had been done her. She could not exhibit to men her conscience but she judged that her self-inflicted punishment would testify her state of mind; and she burned with shame at the thought that her patient endurance of the foul affront that another had done her, should be construed into complicity with him. Not such was the decision of the Christian women who suffered as she did, and yet survive. They declined to avenge upon themselves the guilt of others, and so add crimes of their own to those crimes in which they had no share. For this they would have done had their shame driven them to homicide, as the lust of their enemies had driven them to adultery. Within their own souls, in the witness of their own conscience, they enjoy the glory of chastity. In the sight of God, too, they are esteemed pure, and this contents them; they ask no more: it suffices them to have opportunity of doing good, and they decline to evade the distress of human suspicion, lest they thereby deviate from the divine law.

It is significant that nowhere in the holy canonical books can we find any divine command or permission to take our own life, whether to enter into immortality, to avoid something, or to free ourselves from anything. In fact, when properly understood, the law actually forbids suicide when it says, "You shall not kill." This is especially clear from the absence of the words "your neighbor," which are included when false witness is forbidden: "You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor." No one should think that he hasn't broken this commandment just because he has only borne false witness against himself. Our love for our neighbor is measured by our love for ourselves, as it is written, "You shall love your neighbor as yourself." If someone who lies about himself is just as guilty of bearing false witness as if he had lied to harm his neighbor—even though the commandment forbidding false witness only mentions the neighbor, and people who don't think carefully might assume that lying to hurt oneself is permitted—then how much more should we understand that a person may not kill himself, since the commandment "You shall not kill" has no qualifications added and makes no exception for anyone, least of all for the person to whom the command is given! Some people try to extend this command even to animals and livestock, as if it forbids us to take life from any creature. But if that's the case, why not extend it to plants and everything that is rooted in and nourished by the earth? For although these living things have no feeling, they are still said to live, and therefore they can die; and so if violence is done to them, they can be killed. The apostle, when speaking of the seeds of such things, says, "What you sow is not brought to life unless it dies," and in the Psalm it says, "He killed their vines with hail." Should we therefore consider it a violation of the commandment "You shall not kill" to pick a flower? Are we going to foolishly support the absurd error of the Manichæans? Setting aside these crazy ideas, if when we say "You shall not kill" we don't apply this to plants, since they have no feeling, nor to the non-rational animals that fly, swim, walk, or crawl, since they are separated from us by their lack of reason and are therefore by the Creator's just design placed under our authority to kill or keep alive for our own purposes—if this is so, then it follows that we understand that commandment simply to mean man. The commandment is "You shall not kill man"—therefore neither another person nor yourself, for someone who kills himself still kills nothing other than a man.

It is not without significance, that in no passage of the holy canonical books there can be found either divine precept or permission to take away our own life, whether for the sake of entering on the enjoyment of immortality, or of shunning, or ridding ourselves of anything whatever. Nay, the law, rightly interpreted, even prohibits suicide, where it says, You shall not kill. This is proved especially by the omission of the words your neighbor, which are inserted when false witness is forbidden: You shall not bear false witness against your neighbor. Nor yet should any one on this account suppose he has not broken this commandment if he has borne false witness only against himself. For the love of our neighbor is regulated by the love of ourselves, as it is written, You shall love your neighbor as yourself. If, then, he who makes false statements about himself is not less guilty of bearing false witness than if he had made them to the injury of his neighbor; although in the commandment prohibiting false witness only his neighbor is mentioned, and persons taking no pains to understand it might suppose that a man was allowed to be a false witness to his own hurt; how much greater reason have we to understand that a man may not kill himself, since in the commandment, You shall not kill, there is no limitation added nor any exception made in favor of any one, and least of all in favor of him on whom the command is laid! And so some attempt to extend this command even to beasts and cattle, as if it forbade us to take life from any creature. But if so, why not extend it also to the plants, and all that is rooted in and nourished by the earth? For though this class of creatures have no sensation, yet they also are said to live, and consequently they can die; and therefore, if violence be done them, can be killed. So, too, the apostle, when speaking of the seeds of such things as these, says, That which you sow is not quickened except it die; and in the Psalm it is said, He killed their vines with hail. Must we therefore reckon it a breaking of this commandment, You shall not kill, to pull a flower? Are we thus insanely to countenance the foolish error of the Manichæans? Putting aside, then, these ravings, if, when we say, You shall not kill, we do not understand this of the plants, since they have no sensation, nor of the irrational animals that fly, swim, walk, or creep, since they are dissociated from us by their want of reason, and are therefore by the just appointment of the Creator subjected to us to kill or keep alive for our own uses; if so, then it remains that we understand that commandment simply of man. The commandment is, You shall not kill man; therefore neither another nor yourself, for he who kills himself still kills nothing else than man.

However, there are some exceptions that divine authority makes to its own law against killing people. These exceptions fall into two categories: they are justified either by a general law or by a special commission given temporarily to a particular individual. In this second case, the person to whom authority is given, who is merely the sword in the hand of the one wielding it, is not personally responsible for the death he inflicts. Therefore, those who have waged war in obedience to God's command, or in accordance with His laws, have represented public justice or the wisdom of government in their role, and in this capacity have put wicked people to death. Such people have in no way violated the commandment, "You shall not kill." Abraham was not only considered innocent of cruelty, but was even praised for his piety, because he was ready to kill his son in obedience to God, not out of his own desire. And it is reasonably questioned whether we should consider that Jephthah killed his daughter in compliance with a command from God, since she met him when he had vowed to sacrifice to God whatever first met him as he returned victorious from battle. Samson, too, who brought the house down on himself and his enemies together, is justified only on the grounds that the Spirit who performed wonders through him had given him secret instructions to do this. So apart from these two types of cases, which are justified either by a just law that applies generally or by a special instruction from God Himself, the source of all justice, whoever kills a person, whether himself or another, is guilty of murder.

However, there are some exceptions made by the divine authority to its own law, that men may not be put to death. These exceptions are of two kinds, being justified either by a general law, or by a special commission granted for a time to some individual. And in this latter case, he to whom authority is delegated, and who is but the sword in the hand of him who uses it, is not himself responsible for the death he deals. And, accordingly, they who have waged war in obedience to the divine command, or in conformity with His laws, have represented in their persons the public justice or the wisdom of government, and in this capacity have put to death wicked men; such persons have by no means violated the commandment, You shall not kill. Abraham indeed was not merely deemed guiltless of cruelty, but was even applauded for his piety, because he was ready to slay his son in obedience to God, not to his own passion. And it is reasonably enough made a question, whether we are to esteem it to have been in compliance with a command of God that Jephthah killed his daughter, because she met him when he had vowed that he would sacrifice to God whatever first met him as he returned victorious from battle. Samson, too, who drew down the house on himself and his foes together, is justified only on this ground, that the Spirit who wrought wonders by him had given him secret instructions to do this. With the exception, then, of these two classes of cases, which are justified either by a just law that applies generally, or by a special intimation from God Himself, the fountain of all justice, whoever kills a man, either himself or another, is implicated in the guilt of murder.

People who have killed themselves may perhaps be admired for greatness of soul, but they cannot be praised for soundness of judgment. However, if you examine the matter more carefully, you will hardly call it greatness of soul when someone kills himself rather than endure some hardships of fortune or sins in which he is not involved. Isn't it actually proof of a weak mind to be unable to bear either the pains of physical slavery or the foolish opinions of common people? And shouldn't we call that mind greater which faces rather than runs from life's troubles, and which—compared to the light and purity of conscience—places little value on the judgment of other people, especially common people, whose judgment is often clouded by error? Therefore, if suicide is considered a magnanimous act, no one could rank higher in magnanimity than Cleombrotus, who, according to the story, after reading Plato's book about the immortality of the soul, threw himself from a wall and passed from this life to what he believed was a better one. He was not burdened by disaster or by any accusation, false or true, that he could not easily have survived; in short, there was no reason except supposed magnanimity driving him to seek death and break free from the sweet hold of this life. Yet Plato himself, whose book he had read, would have told him that this was a magnanimous action rather than a justifiable one. Plato would certainly have been the first to commit suicide himself, or at least to recommend it, if the same brilliant mind that recognized the soul was immortal had not also understood that seeking immortality through suicide should be forbidden rather than encouraged.

But they who have laid violent hands on themselves are perhaps to be admired for their greatness of soul, though they cannot be applauded for the soundness of their judgment. However, if you look at the matter more closely, you will scarcely call it greatness of soul, which prompts a man to kill himself rather than bear up against some hardships of fortune, or sins in which he is not implicated. Is it not rather proof of a feeble mind, to be unable to bear either the pains of bodily servitude or the foolish opinion of the vulgar? And is not that to be pronounced the greater mind, which rather faces than flees the ills of life, and which, in comparison of the light and purity of conscience, holds in small esteem the judgment of men, and specially of the vulgar, which is frequently involved in a mist of error? And, therefore, if suicide is to be esteemed a magnanimous act, none can take higher rank for magnanimity than that Cleombrotus, who (as the story goes), when he had read Plato's book in which he treats of the immortality of the soul, threw himself from a wall, and so passed from this life to that which he believed to be better. For he was not hard pressed by calamity, nor by any accusation, false or true, which he could not very well have lived down; there was, in short, no motive but only magnanimity urging him to seek death, and break away from the sweet detention of this life. And yet that this was a magnanimous rather than a justifiable action, Plato himself, whom he had read, would have told him; for he would certainly have been forward to commit, or at least to recommend suicide, had not the same bright intellect which saw that the soul was immortal, discerned also that to seek immortality by suicide was to be prohibited rather than encouraged.

Some people say that many have killed themselves to keep an enemy from doing it. But we're not asking whether this has happened, just whether it should happen. Sound judgment is more important than examples. To be sure, examples do support what reason tells us—but not all examples, only those marked by godliness and truly worth imitating. We cannot point to patriarchs, prophets, or apostles who killed themselves. In fact, when our Lord Jesus Christ told his followers to flee from city to city if they were persecuted, he could easily have used that moment to tell them to kill themselves and escape their persecutors that way. But he didn't do this, and he didn't suggest this way of leaving life, even though he was speaking to his own friends for whom he had promised to prepare eternal homes. It's clear, then, that examples drawn from nations that forget God provide no justification for those who worship the one true God to imitate them.

Again, it is said many have killed themselves to prevent an enemy doing so. But we are not inquiring whether it has been done, but whether it ought to have been done. Sound judgment is to be preferred even to examples, and indeed examples harmonize with the voice of reason; but not all examples, but those only which are distinguished by their piety, and are proportionately worthy of imitation. For suicide we cannot cite the example of patriarchs, prophets, or apostles; though our Lord Jesus Christ, when He admonished them to flee from city to city if they were persecuted, might very well have taken that occasion to advise them to lay violent hands on themselves, and so escape their persecutors. But seeing He did not do this, nor proposed this mode of departing this life, though He were addressing His own friends for whom He had promised to prepare everlasting mansions, it is obvious that such ex amples as are produced from the nations that forget God, give no warrant of imitation to the worshippers of the one true God.

Besides Lucretia, whom we have already discussed enough, those who defend suicide have trouble finding any other clear example to follow, except perhaps Cato, who killed himself at Utica. People appeal to his example not because he was the only person who did this, but because he was so respected as a learned and excellent man that people could plausibly argue that what he did was and still is a good thing to do. But what can I say about his action except that his own friends, who were themselves enlightened men, wisely tried to talk him out of it, and therefore judged his act to be that of a weak spirit rather than a strong one, motivated not by honorable feelings trying to avoid shame, but by weakness shrinking from difficulties? In fact, Cato condemns himself by the advice he gave to his dearly loved son. For if it was disgraceful to live under Caesar's rule, why did the father urge his son to accept this disgrace by encouraging him to trust completely in Caesar's generosity? Why did he not persuade him to die along with himself? If Torquatus was praised for putting his son to death when the son had fought the enemy contrary to orders, even though he won, why did the defeated Cato spare his defeated son while not sparing himself? Was it more disgraceful to win a battle contrary to orders than to submit to a victor contrary to accepted ideas of honor? Cato, then, cannot have considered it shameful to live under Caesar's rule; for if he had, the father's sword would have freed his son from this disgrace. The truth is that his son, whom he both hoped and wanted Caesar to spare, was not loved by him more than Caesar was envied for the glory of pardoning him (as Caesar himself is reported to have said); or if envy is too strong a word, let us say he was ashamed that this glory should belong to Caesar.

Besides Lucretia, of whom enough has already been said, our advocates of suicide have some difficulty in finding any other prescriptive example, unless it be that of Cato, who killed himself at Utica. His example is appealed to, not because he was the only man who did so, but because he was so esteemed as a learned and excellent man, that it could plausibly be maintained that what he did was and is a good thing to do. But of this action of his, what can I say but that his own friends, enlightened men as he, prudently dissuaded him, and therefore judged his act to be that of a feeble rather than a strong spirit, and dictated not by honorable feeling forestalling shame, but by weakness shrinking from hardships? Indeed, Cato condemns himself by the advice he gave to his dearly loved son. For if it was a disgrace to live under Cæsar's rule, why did the father urge the son to this disgrace, by encouraging him to trust absolutely to Cæsar's generosity? Why did he not persuade him to die along with himself? If Torquatus was applauded for putting his son to death, when contrary to orders he had engaged, and engaged successfully, with the enemy, why did conquered Cato spare his conquered son, though he did not spare himself? Was it more disgraceful to be a victor contrary to orders, than to submit to a victor contrary to the received ideas of honor? Cato, then, cannot have deemed it to be shameful to live under Cæsar's rule; for had he done so, the father's sword would have delivered his son from this disgrace. The truth is, that his son, whom he both hoped and desired would be spared by Cæsar, was not more loved by him than Cæsar was envied the glory of pardoning him (as indeed Cæsar himself is reported to have said); or if envy is too strong a word, let us say he was ashamed that this glory should be his.

Our opponents are offended that we prefer the saintly Job to Cato—Job who endured terrible physical suffering rather than escape all torment through suicide—or other saints recorded in our authoritative and trustworthy books as having endured captivity and oppression by their enemies rather than kill themselves. But their own books allow us to prefer Marcus Regulus to Marcus Cato. Cato had never conquered Caesar, and when Caesar defeated him, he refused to submit and killed himself to avoid this submission. Regulus, by contrast, had previously conquered the Carthaginians and, as commander of Rome's army, had won a victory for the Roman republic that no citizen could mourn and that even the enemy was forced to admire. Yet later, when the Carthaginians defeated him in turn, he preferred to be their captive rather than escape them through suicide. Patient under Carthaginian domination and constant in his love for the Romans, he neither deprived the Carthaginians of his conquered body nor the Romans of his unconquered spirit. It was not love of life that kept him from killing himself. This was clearly shown by his unhesitating return to those same enemies—because of his promise and oath—whom he had provoked more severely by his words in the senate than even by his weapons in battle. Having such contempt for life, and preferring to end it through whatever torments his angry enemies might devise rather than by his own hand, he could not have declared more clearly how great a crime he judged suicide to be. Among all their famous and distinguished citizens, the Romans have no better man to boast of than this one, who was neither corrupted by prosperity—for he remained very poor after such great victories—nor broken by adversity, for he returned fearlessly to the most miserable death. But if the bravest and most famous heroes, who had only an earthly country to defend and who, though they worshiped false gods, still gave them true worship and carefully kept their oaths to them—if these men, who by the custom and law of war put conquered enemies to the sword, still refused to end their own lives even when conquered by their enemies, and if, though they had no fear of death at all, they would rather suffer slavery than commit suicide—how much more must Christians, the worshipers of the true God and seekers of a heavenly citizenship, refuse this act if God's providence has temporarily delivered them into the hands of their enemies to test or correct them! And certainly, Christians subjected to this humiliating condition will not be abandoned by the Most High, who humbled Himself for their sake. Nor should they forget that they are bound by no laws of war or military orders to put even a conquered enemy to the sword. And if a person may not put to death an enemy who has sinned or may yet sin against him, who is so foolish as to claim that he may kill himself because an enemy has sinned or is going to sin against him?

Our opponents are offended at our preferring to Cato the saintly Job, who endured dreadful evils in his body rather than deliver himself from all torment by self-inflicted death; or other saints, of whom it is recorded in our authoritative and trustworthy books that they bore captivity and the oppression of their enemies rather than commit suicide. But their own books authorize us to prefer to Marcus Cato, Marcus Regulus. For Cato had never conquered Cæsar; and when conquered by him, disdained to submit himself to him, and that he might escape this submission put himself to death. Regulus, on the contrary, had formerly conquered the Carthaginians, and in command of the army of Rome had won for the Roman republic a victory which no citizen could bewail, and which the enemy himself was constrained to admire; yet afterwards, when he in his turn was defeated by them, he preferred to be their captive rather than to put himself beyond their reach by suicide. Patient under the domination of the Carthaginians, and constant in his love of the Romans, he neither deprived the one of his conquered body, nor the other of his unconquered spirit. Neither was it love of life that prevented him from killing himself. This was plainly enough indicated by his unhesitatingly returning, on account of his promise and oath, to the same enemies whom he had more grievously provoked by his words in the senate than even by his arms in battle. Having such a contempt of life, and preferring to end it by whatever torments excited enemies might contrive, rather than terminate it by his own hand, he could not more distinctly have declared how great a crime he judged suicide to be. Among all their famous and remarkable citizens, the Romans have no better man to boast of than this, who was neither corrupted by prosperity, for he remained a very poor man after winning such victories; nor broken by adversity, for he returned intrepidly to the most miserable end. But if the bravest and most renowned heroes, who had but an earthly country to defend, and who, though they had but false gods, yet rendered them a true worship, and carefully kept their oath to them; if these men, who by the custom and right of war put conquered enemies to the sword, yet shrank from putting an end to their own lives even when conquered by their enemies; if, though they had no fear at all of death, they would yet rather suffer slavery than commit suicide, how much rather must Christians, the worshippers of the true God, the aspirants to a heavenly citizenship, shrink from this act, if in God's providence they have been for a season delivered into the hands of their enemies to prove or to correct them! And certainly, Christians subjected to this humiliating condition will not be deserted by the Most High, who for their sakes humbled Himself. Neither should they forget that they are bound by no laws of war, nor military orders, to put even a conquered enemy to the sword; and if a man may not put to death the enemy who has sinned, or may yet sin against him, who is so infatuated as to maintain that he may kill himself because an enemy has sinned, or is going to sin, against him?

But, we are told, there is reason to fear that when the body is subjected to an enemy's lust, the seductive pleasure of the senses may entice the soul to consent to sin, and steps must be taken to prevent such a disastrous result. And is not suicide the proper way to prevent not only the enemy's sin, but also the sin of the Christian who is so tempted? Now, in the first place, the soul that is led by God and His wisdom, rather than by bodily desire, will certainly never consent to the desire aroused in its own flesh by another's lust. And, in any case, if it is true, as the truth plainly declares, that suicide is a detestable and damnable wickedness, who is such a fool as to say, Let us sin now, so that we may prevent a possible future sin; let us now commit murder, in case we might perhaps later commit adultery? If we are so controlled by iniquity that innocence is out of the question, and we can at best only make a choice of sins, is not a future and uncertain adultery preferable to a present and certain murder? Is it not better to commit a wickedness that repentance may heal, than a crime that leaves no place for healing contrition? I say this for the sake of those men or women who fear they may be enticed into consenting to their violator's lust, and think they should violently kill themselves, and so prevent, not another's sin, but their own. But far be it from the mind of a Christian who trusts in God and rests in the hope of His aid; far be it, I say, from such a mind to yield a shameful consent to pleasures of the flesh, however they are presented. And if that lustful disobedience, which still dwells in our mortal members, follows its own law regardless of our will, surely its movements in the body of one who rebels against them are as blameless as its movements in the body of one who sleeps.

But, we are told, there is ground to fear that, when the body is subjected to the enemy's lust, the insidious pleasure of sense may entice the soul to consent to the sin, and steps must be taken to prevent so disastrous a result. And is not suicide the proper mode of preventing not only the enemy's sin, but the sin of the Christian so allured? Now, in the first place, the soul which is led by God and His wisdom, rather than by bodily concupiscence, will certainly never consent to the desire aroused in its own flesh by another's lust. And, at all events, if it be true, as the truth plainly declares, that suicide is a detestable and damnable wickedness, who is such a fool as to say, Let us sin now, that we may obviate a possible future sin; let us now commit murder, lest we perhaps afterwards should commit adultery? If we are so controlled by iniquity that innocence is out of the question, and we can at best but make a choice of sins, is not a future and uncertain adultery preferable to a present and certain murder? Is it not better to commit a wickedness which penitence may heal, than a crime which leaves no place for healing contrition? I say this for the sake of those men or women who fear they may be enticed into consenting to their violator's lust, and think they should lay violent hands on themselves, and so prevent, not another's sin, but their own. But far be it from the mind of a Christian confiding in God, and resting in the hope of His aid; far be it, I say, from such a mind to yield a shameful consent to pleasures of the flesh, howsoever presented. And if that lustful disobedience, which still dwells in our mortal members, follows its own law irrespective of our will, surely its motions in the body of one who rebels against them are as blameless as its motions in the body of one who sleeps.

Some people say that during times of persecution, certain holy women threw themselves into rivers to drown rather than face sexual violation by those threatening them, and they are now honored as martyrs in the Catholic Church. I do not presume to speak rashly about such cases. I cannot say whether the church may have received some divine authority, confirmed by reliable evidence, to honor their memory in this way. Perhaps it is so. Perhaps these women were not misled by human judgment but were moved by divine wisdom to take their own lives. We know this was true in Samson's case. When God commands something and clearly shows that He has commanded it, who would call obedience a crime? Who would condemn such devout submission? But not every person is justified in sacrificing his son to God just because Abraham was praised for doing so. A soldier who kills someone while obeying lawful authority is not charged with murder by his state's laws. In fact, if he fails to kill when ordered, he is then accused of betraying the state and disobeying the law. But if he acts on his own authority and impulse, he has committed the crime of shedding human blood. So he is punished for doing without orders the very thing he would be punished for failing to do when ordered. If a general's commands make such a difference, shouldn't God's commands matter even more? Therefore, someone who knows it is wrong to kill himself may still do so if ordered by the One whose commands we must not ignore. He must simply be absolutely certain that the divine command has been given. As for us, we only know what people's consciences reveal to us, and we can only judge based on that. No one knows the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him. But we affirm, maintain, and declare in every way that no one should inflict voluntary death upon himself, because this means escaping temporary troubles by plunging into eternal ones. No one should do so because of another person's sins, because this would mean avoiding guilt that could not stain him by taking on great guilt of his own. No one should do so because of his own past sins, because he needs this life all the more so that these sins may be healed through repentance. No one should end this life to obtain the better life we expect after death, because those who die by their own hand have no better life after death.

But, they say, in the time of persecution some holy women escaped those who menaced them with outrage, by casting themselves into rivers which they knew would drown them; and having died in this manner, they are venerated in the Catholic Church as martyrs. Of such persons I do not presume to speak rashly. I cannot tell whether there may not have been vouchsafed to the church some divine authority, proved by trustworthy evidences, for so honoring their memory: it may be that it is so. It may be they were not deceived by human judgment, but prompted by divine wisdom, to their act of self-destruction. We know that this was the case with Samson. And when God enjoins any act, and intimates by plain evidence that He has enjoined it, who will call obedience criminal? Who will accuse so religious a submission? But then every man is not justified in sacrificing his son to God, because Abraham was commendable in so doing. The soldier who has slain a man in obedience to the authority under which he is lawfully commissioned, is not accused of murder by any law of his state; nay, if he has not slain him, it is then he is accused of treason to the state, and of despising the law. But if he has been acting on his own authority, and at his own impulse, he has in this case incurred the crime of shedding human blood. And thus he is punished for doing without orders the very thing he is punished for neglecting to do when he has been ordered. If the commands of a general make so great a difference, shall the commands of God make none? He, then, who knows it is unlawful to kill himself, may nevertheless do so if he is ordered by Him whose commands we may not neglect. Only let him be very sure that the divine command has been signified. As for us, we can become privy to the secrets of conscience only in so far as these are disclosed to us, and so far only do we judge: No one knows the things of a man, save the spirit of man which is in him. 1 Corinthians 2:11 But this we affirm, this we maintain, this we every way pronounce to be right, that no man ought to inflict on himself voluntary death, for this is to escape the ills of time by plunging into those of eternity; that no man ought to do so on account of another man's sins, for this were to escape a guilt which could not pollute him, by incurring great guilt of his own; that no man ought to do so on account of his own past sins, for he has all the more need of this life that these sins may be healed by repentance; that no man should put an end to this life to obtain that better life we look for after death, for those who die by their own hand have no better life after death.

There remains one reason for suicide that I mentioned earlier, which is thought to be valid—namely, to prevent falling into sin either through the attractions of pleasure or the force of pain. If this reason were good, then we should urge people to kill themselves immediately after they have been baptized and have received forgiveness of all sin. That would be the time to escape all future sin, when all past sin is wiped out. And if this escape can lawfully be achieved by suicide, why not then especially? Why does any baptized person refrain from taking his own life? Why does anyone who has been freed from the dangers of this life expose himself to them again, when he has the power to easily rid himself of them all, and when it is written, "He who loves danger shall fall into it" (Sirach 3:27)? Why does he love, or at least face, so many serious dangers by remaining in this life from which he may lawfully depart? But anyone is truly blind and perverted in his moral understanding, and far removed from the truth, if he thinks that although a person should kill himself for fear of being led into sin by one man's oppression—his master—he should still continue to live and thus expose himself to the constant temptations of this world, including all those evils that one master's oppression involves, and countless other miseries in which this life inevitably entangles us. What reason, then, is there for us to spend time on those encouragements by which we seek to motivate the baptized to virginal chastity, or widowed continence, or marital faithfulness, when we have a much simpler and more direct method of deliverance from sin—by persuading those who are newly baptized to end their lives and so pass to their Lord pure and in good condition? If anyone thinks such persuasion should be attempted, I say he is not foolish, but insane. With what justification, then, can he say to any person, "Kill yourself, lest you add a serious sin to your small sins while you live under an immoral master whose behavior is barbaric"? How can he say this if he cannot say without wickedness, "Kill yourself now that you are washed clean of all your sins, lest you fall back into similar or even worse sins while you live in a world that has such power to entice with its impure pleasures, to torment with its horrible cruelties, and to overcome with its errors and terrors"? It is wicked to say this; therefore it is wicked to kill oneself. For if there could be any just cause for suicide, this would be it. And since not even this is just, there is no just cause at all.

There remains one reason for suicide which I mentioned before, and which is thought a sound one — namely, to prevent one's falling into sin either through the blandishments of pleasure or the violence of pain. If this reason were a good one, then we should be impelled to exhort men at once to destroy themselves, as soon as they have been washed in the laver of regeneration, and have received the forgiveness of all sin. Then is the time to escape all future sin, when all past sin is blotted out. And if this escape be lawfully secured by suicide, why not then specially? Why does any baptized person hold his hand from taking his own life? Why does any person who is freed from the hazards of this life again expose himself to them, when he has power so easily to rid himself of them all, and when it is written, He who loves danger shall fall into it? Sirach 3:27 Why does he love, or at least face, so many serious dangers, by remaining in this life from which he may legitimately depart? But is any one so blinded and twisted in his moral nature, and so far astray from the truth, as to think that, though a man ought to make away with himself for fear of being led into sin by the oppression of one man, his master, he ought yet to live, and so expose himself to the hourly temptations of this world, both to all those evils which the oppression of one master involves, and to numberless other miseries in which this life inevitably implicates us? What reason, then, is there for our consuming time in those exhortations by which we seek to animate the baptized, either to virginal chastity, or vidual continence, or matrimonial fidelity, when we have so much more simple and compendious a method of deliverance from sin, by persuading those who are fresh from baptism to put an end to their lives, and so pass to their Lord pure and well-conditioned? If any one thinks that such persuasion should be attempted, I say not he is foolish, but mad. With what face, then, can he say to any man, Kill yourself, lest to your small sins you add a heinous sin, while you live under an unchaste master, whose conduct is that of a barbarian? How can he say this, if he cannot without wickedness say, Kill yourself, now that you are washed from all your sins, lest you fall again into similar or even aggravated sins, while you live in a world which has such power to allure by its unclean pleasures, to torment by its horrible cruelties, to overcome by its errors and terrors? It is wicked to say this; it is therefore wicked to kill oneself. For if there could be any just cause of suicide, this were so. And since not even this is so, there is none.

Do not let your life become a burden to you, faithful servants of Christ, even though your chastity was violated by your enemies. You have great and genuine comfort if you keep a good conscience and know that you did not consent to the sins of those who were allowed to commit sinful violence against you. And if you ask why this was allowed, truly it is a profound mystery of the Creator and Ruler of the world, and His judgments cannot be searched out, and His ways are beyond discovery. Nevertheless, honestly examine your own souls to see whether you have been excessively proud of your integrity, self-control, and chastity, and whether you have desired so much the human praise given for these virtues that you have envied others who possessed them. I do not know your hearts, so I make no accusation. I do not even hear how your hearts answer when you question them. Yet if they answer that it is as I have suggested it might be, do not be surprised that you lost what could win people's praise while keeping what cannot be displayed to others. If you did not consent to sin, it was because God added His help to His grace so it would not be lost, and because shame before others replaced human glory so it would not be loved. But in both ways even the weak-hearted among you have comfort: approved by one experience and disciplined by the other, justified by one and corrected by the other. As for those whose hearts, when examined, respond that they were never proud of their virginity, widowhood, or marital chastity, but instead humbly associated with the lowly and rejoiced with trembling in these gifts of God, and never envied anyone similar excellence in holiness and purity, but rose above human applause (which tends to be greater when the virtue praised is rarer) and instead wanted their own numbers to increase rather than to be conspicuous because of how few they were—even such faithful women, I say, must not complain that the barbarians were permitted to violate them so terribly, nor must they think that God ignored their character when He permitted actions that no one commits without consequence. For some extremely shameful and wicked desires are now allowed free rein by God's hidden judgment and are reserved for public and final judgment. Furthermore, it is possible that those Christian women who are not aware of any excessive pride in their virtuous chastity, through which they innocently suffered their captors' violence, still had some hidden weakness that might have led them to proud and scornful behavior if they had not undergone the humiliation that happened to them when the city was captured. Therefore, just as some men were taken by death so that no wickedness could change their character, so these women were violated so that prosperity would not corrupt their modesty. Neither those women who were already proud because they were still virgins, nor those who might have become proud if they had not experienced the enemy's violence, lost their chastity—instead they gained humility. The former were saved from pride they already had, the latter from pride that would soon have developed in them.

Let not your life, then, be a burden to you, you faithful servants of Christ, though your chastity was made the sport of your enemies. You have a grand and true consolation, if you maintain a good conscience, and know that you did not consent to the sins of those who were permitted to commit sinful outrage upon you. And if you should ask why this permission was granted, indeed it is a deep providence of the Creator and Governor of the world; and unsearchable are His judgments, and His ways past finding out. Romans 11:33 Nevertheless, faithfully interrogate your own souls, whether you have not been unduly puffed up by your integrity, and continence, and chastity; and whether you have not been so desirous of the human praise that is accorded to these virtues, that you have envied some who possessed them. I, for my part, do not know your hearts, and therefore I make no accusation; I do not even hear what your hearts answer when you question them. And yet, if they answer that it is as I have supposed it might be, do not marvel that you have lost that by which you can win men's praise, and retain that which cannot be exhibited to men. If you did not consent to sin, it was because God added His aid to His grace that it might not be lost, and because shame before men succeeded to human glory that it might not be loved. But in both respects even the faint-hearted among you have a consolation, approved by the one experience, chastened by the other; justified by the one, corrected by the other. As to those whose hearts, when interrogated, reply that they have never been proud of the virtue of virginity, widowhood, or matrimonial chastity, but, condescending to those of low estate, rejoiced with trembling in these gifts of God, and that they have never envied any one the like excellences of sanctity and purity, but rose superior to human applause, which is wont to be abundant in proportion to the rarity of the virtue applauded, and rather desired that their own number be increased, than that by the smallness of their numbers each of them should be conspicuous — even such faithful women, I say, must not complain that permission was given to the barbarians so grossly to outrage them; nor must they allow themselves to believe that God overlooked their character when He permitted acts which no one with impunity commits. For some most flagrant and wicked desires are allowed free play at present by the secret judgment of God, and are reserved to the public and final judgment. Moreover, it is possible that those Christian women, who are unconscious of any undue pride on account of their virtuous chastity, whereby they sinlessly suffered the violence of their captors, had yet some lurking infirmity which might have betrayed them into a proud and contemptuous bearing, had they not been subjected to the humiliation that befell them in the taking of the city. As, therefore, some men were removed by death, that no wickedness might change their disposition, so these women were outraged lest prosperity should corrupt their modesty. Neither those women then, who were already puffed up by the circumstance that they were still virgins, nor those who might have been so puffed up had they not been exposed to the violence of the enemy, lost their chastity, but rather gained humility; the former were saved from pride already cherished, the latter from pride that would shortly have grown upon them.

We must also note that some of those who suffered may have believed that continence is a physical good that remains intact as long as the body is unviolated, and they did not understand that the purity of both body and soul depends on the firmness of the will strengthened by God's grace, and cannot be forcibly taken from someone who does not consent. They have probably now been freed from this error. For when they reflect on how conscientiously they served God, and when they return to the firm conviction that He can in no way abandon those who serve Him in this way and call upon His help, and when they consider how pleasing chastity is to Him, which they cannot doubt, they are led to the conclusion that He could never have allowed these disasters to happen to His saints if these disasters could destroy the holiness that He Himself had given them and in which He delights to see them.

We must further notice that some of those sufferers may have conceived that continence is a bodily good, and abides so long as the body is inviolate, and did not understand that the purity both of the body and the soul rests on the steadfastness of the will strengthened by God's grace, and cannot be forcibly taken from an unwilling person. From this error they are probably now delivered. For when they reflect how conscientiously they served God, and when they settle again to the firm persuasion that He can in nowise desert those who so serve Him, and so invoke His aid and when they consider, what they cannot doubt, how pleasing to Him is chastity, they are shut up to the conclusion that He could never have permitted these disasters to befall His saints, if by them that saintliness could be destroyed which He Himself had bestowed upon them, and delights to see in them.

The entire family of God, who is most high and most true, therefore has its own consolation—a consolation that cannot deceive and that contains a more secure hope than the unstable and collapsing affairs of this world can provide. They will not reject the discipline of this temporary life, in which they are being trained for eternal life, nor will they complain about experiencing it, because they use the good things of earth as travelers who are not held back by them, and its evils either test them or make them better. As for those who mock them in their sufferings and say when bad things happen to them, "Where is your God?"—we can ask them where their gods are when they suffer the very same disasters that they worship their gods to avoid, or claim their gods should be worshipped to prevent. For the family of Christ has its answer ready: our God is present everywhere, fully present in every place, not limited to any location. He can be present without being noticed and be absent without moving. When He exposes us to hardships, it is either to test our maturity or to correct our flaws. And in exchange for our patient endurance of suffering in this life, He has reserved for us an eternal reward. But who are you, that we should bother speaking with you even about your own gods, let alone about our God, who is to be feared above all gods? For all the gods of the nations are idols, but the Lord made the heavens.

The whole family of God, most high and most true, has therefore a consolation of its own — a consolation which cannot deceive, and which has in it a surer hope than the tottering and falling affairs of earth can afford. They will not refuse the discipline of this temporal life, in which they are schooled for life eternal; nor will they lament their experience of it, for the good things of earth they use as pilgrims who are not detained by them, and its ills either prove or improve them. As for those who insult over them in their trials, and when ills befall them say, Where is your God? we may ask them where their gods are when they suffer the very calamities for the sake of avoiding which they worship their gods, or maintain they ought to be worshipped; for the family of Christ is furnished with its reply: our God is everywhere present, wholly everywhere; not confined to any place. He can be present unperceived, and be absent without moving; when He exposes us to adversities, it is either to prove our perfections or correct our imperfections; and in return for our patient endurance of the sufferings of time, He reserves for us an everlasting reward. But who are you, that we should deign to speak with you even about your own gods, much less about our God, who is to be feared above all gods? For all the gods of the nations are idols; but the Lord made the heavens.

If the famous Scipio Nasica were alive today—the man who was once your pontiff and was unanimously chosen by the senate when, in the panic created by the Punic war, they sought the best citizen to receive the Phrygian goddess—he would restrain this shamelessness of yours, though you would probably hardly dare to look him in the face. Why do you blame Christianity for your troubles, unless it's because you want to enjoy your luxurious indulgence without restraint and to live an abandoned and corrupt life without any interference from distress or disaster? Your desire for peace, prosperity, and abundance certainly isn't motivated by any intention to use these blessings honestly—that is, with moderation, sobriety, self-control, and piety. Instead, your purpose is to run wild in an endless variety of drunken pleasures, and thereby to produce from your prosperity a moral plague that will prove a thousand times more destructive than the most savage enemies. This was the kind of disaster that Scipio, your chief pontiff and best man in the judgment of the entire senate, feared when he refused to agree to the destruction of Carthage, Rome's rival, and opposed Cato, who urged its destruction. He feared security, that enemy of weak minds, and he understood that a healthy fear would serve as a proper guardian for the citizens. He was not mistaken; events proved how wisely he had spoken. For when Carthage was destroyed and the Roman republic was freed from its great source of anxiety, a flood of disastrous evils immediately resulted from the prosperous state of affairs. First, harmony was weakened and destroyed by violent and bloody uprisings; then followed, through a chain of destructive causes, civil wars, which brought with them such massacres, such bloodshed, such lawless and cruel proscriptions and plundering, that those Romans who, in the days of their virtue, had expected harm only from their enemies, now that their virtue was lost, suffered greater cruelties at the hands of their fellow citizens. The lust for power, which along with other vices existed among the Romans in more unrestrained intensity than among any other people, after it had taken hold of the more powerful few, brought the rest under its control, worn out and exhausted.

If the famous Scipio Nasica were now alive, who was once your pontiff, and was unanimously chosen by the senate, when, in the panic created by the Punic war, they sought for the best citizen to entertain the Phrygian goddess, he would curb this shamelessness of yours, though you would perhaps scarcely dare to look upon the countenance of such a man. For why in your calamities do you complain of Christianity, unless because you desire to enjoy your luxurious license unrestrained, and to lead an abandoned and profligate life without the interruption of any uneasiness or disaster? For certainly your desire for peace, and prosperity, and plenty is not prompted by any purpose of using these blessings honestly, that is to say, with moderation, sobriety, temperance, and piety; for your purpose rather is to run riot in an endless variety of sottish pleasures, and thus to generate from your prosperity a moral pestilence which will prove a thousandfold more disastrous than the fiercest enemies. It was such a calamity as this that Scipio, your chief pontiff, your best man in the judgment of the whole senate, feared when he refused to agree to the destruction of Carthage, Rome's rival and opposed Cato, who advised its destruction. He feared security, that enemy of weak minds, and he perceived that a wholesome fear would be a fit guardian for the citizens. And he was not mistaken; the event proved how wisely he had spoken. For when Carthage was destroyed, and the Roman republic delivered from its great cause of anxiety, a crowd of disastrous evils immediately resulted from the prosperous condition of things. First concord was weakened, and destroyed by fierce and bloody seditions; then followed, by a concatenation of baleful causes, civil wars, which brought in their train such massacres, such bloodshed, such lawless and cruel proscription and plunder, that those Romans who, in the days of their virtue, had expected injury only at the hands of their enemies, now that their virtue was lost, suffered greater cruelties at the hands of their fellow citizens. The lust of rule, which with other vices existed among the Romans in more unmitigated intensity than among any other people, after it had taken possession of the more powerful few, subdued under its yoke the rest, worn and wearied.

At what point would the desire for power come to rest once it has taken hold in a proud spirit, until through a series of steps it has reached even the throne? To achieve such steps, nothing works except unprincipled ambition. But unprincipled ambition has nothing to operate on except in a nation corrupted by greed and extravagance. Furthermore, a people becomes greedy and extravagant through prosperity, and this was what that very wise man Nasica was trying to prevent when he opposed the destruction of Rome's greatest, strongest, and wealthiest enemy city. He thought that in this way fear would act as a restraint on desire, and that desire being restrained would not run wild in extravagance, and that extravagance being prevented, greed would come to an end. With these vices banished, virtue would flourish and greatly benefit the state, and freedom, the proper companion of virtue, would remain unrestrained. For similar reasons, and motivated by the same thoughtful patriotism, that same chief pontiff of yours—I still refer to the one who was judged Rome's best man without a single dissenting voice—opposed the senate's proposal to build a ring of seats around the theater. In a very powerful speech he warned them against allowing the extravagant customs of Greece to weaken Roman strength of character, and he persuaded them not to yield to the weakening and emasculating influence of foreign immorality. His words were so authoritative and forceful that the senate was moved to prohibit the use even of those benches which until then had customarily been brought to the theater for the temporary use of the citizens. How eagerly would such a man have banished from Rome the theatrical performances themselves, had he dared to oppose the authority of those whom he supposed to be gods! For he did not know that they were malicious devils, or if he did, he supposed they should rather be appeased than rejected. For there had not yet been revealed to the Gentiles the heavenly doctrine which should purify their hearts by faith, and transform their natural disposition by humble godliness, and turn them from the service of proud devils to seek the things that are in heaven, or even above the heavens.

For at what stage would that passion rest when once it has lodged in a proud spirit, until by a succession of advances it has reached even the throne. And to obtain such advances nothing avails but unscrupulous ambition. But unscrupulous ambition has nothing to work upon, save in a nation corrupted by avarice and luxury. Moreover, a people becomes avaricious and luxurious by prosperity; and it was this which that very prudent man Nasica was endeavouring to avoid when he opposed the destruction of the greatest, strongest, wealthiest city of Rome's enemy. He thought that thus fear would act as a curb on lust, and that lust being curbed would not run riot in luxury, and that luxury being prevented avarice would be at an end; and that these vices being banished, virtue would flourish and increase the great profit of the state; and liberty, the fit companion of virtue, would abide unfettered. For similar reasons, and animated by the same considerate patriotism, that same chief pontiff of yours — I still refer to him who was adjudged Rome's best man without one dissentient voice — threw cold water on the proposal of the senate to build a circle of seats round the theatre, and in a very weighty speech warned them against allowing the luxurious manners of Greece to sap the Roman manliness, and persuaded them not to yield to the enervating and emasculating influence of foreign licentiousness. So authoritative and forcible were his words, that the senate was moved to prohibit the use even of those benches which hitherto had been customarily brought to the theatre for the temporary use of the citizens. How eagerly would such a man as this have banished from Rome the scenic exhibitions themselves, had he dared to oppose the authority of those whom he supposed to be gods! For he did not know that they were malicious devils; or if he did, he supposed they should rather be propitiated than despised. For there had not yet been revealed to the Gentiles the heavenly doctrine which should purify their hearts by faith, and transform their natural disposition by humble godliness, and turn them from the service of proud devils to seek the things that are in heaven, or even above the heavens.

Know then, you who are unaware of this, and let those of you who pretend ignorance be reminded, while you complain against Him who has freed you from such rulers: the theatrical games, displays of shameless foolishness and indecency, were not established at Rome by human desire for vice, but by command of your gods. You could have much more justifiably given divine honors to Scipio than to gods like these. The gods were not as moral as their pontiff. But pay attention now, if your mind, drunk from deeply drinking error, can absorb any sober truth. The gods commanded that games be held in their honor to stop a physical plague; their pontiff forbade the construction of the theater to prevent a moral plague. So if you still have enough mental clarity to value the soul over the body, choose whom you will worship. Furthermore, though the plague ended, this was not because the lustful madness of stage plays had taken hold of a warlike people previously accustomed only to circus games. Rather, these cunning and evil spirits, knowing in advance that the plague would soon end naturally, took the opportunity to infect not the bodies but the morals of their worshippers with a far more serious disease. And these gods take great pleasure in this plague, because it darkened people's minds with such thick darkness and disgraced them with such vile deformity that even very recently—will future generations be able to believe it?—some of those who escaped from the sack of Rome and found refuge in Carthage were so infected with this disease that day after day they seemed to compete with one another over who could most frantically chase after the actors in the theaters.

Know then, you who are ignorant of this, and you who feign ignorance be reminded, while you murmur against Him who has freed you from such rulers, that the scenic games, exhibitions of shameless folly and license, were established at Rome, not by men's vicious cravings, but by the appointment of your gods. Much more pardonably might you have rendered divine honors to Scipio than to such gods as these. The gods were not so moral as their pontiff. But give me now your attention, if your mind, inebriated by its deep potations of error, can take in any sober truth. The gods enjoined that games be exhibited in their honor to stay a physical pestilence; their pontiff prohibited the theatre from being constructed, to prevent a moral pestilence. If, then, there remains in you sufficient mental enlightenment to prefer the soul to the body, choose whom you will worship. Besides, though the pestilence was stayed, this was not because the voluptuous madness of stage-plays had taken possession of a warlike people hitherto accustomed only to the games of the circus; but these astute and wicked spirits, foreseeing that in due course the pestilence would shortly cease, took occasion to infect, not the bodies, but the morals of their worshippers, with a far more serious disease. And in this pestilence these gods find great enjoyment, because it benighted the minds of men with so gross a darkness and dishonored them with so foul a deformity, that even quite recently (will posterity be able to credit it?) some of those who fled from the sack of Rome and found refuge in Carthage, were so infected with this disease, that day after day they seemed to contend with one another who should most madly run after the actors in the theatres.

Oh foolish people, what is this blindness, or rather madness, that possesses you? How is it that while, as we hear, even the eastern nations are mourning your ruin, and while powerful states in the most distant parts of the earth are grieving your fall as a public disaster, you yourselves are crowding into the theaters, pouring into them and filling them, and in short, acting more insanely now than ever before? This was the destructive plague, this the destruction of virtue and honor that Scipio sought to protect you from when he prohibited the building of theaters. This was his reason for wanting you to still have an enemy to fear, since he saw how easily prosperity would corrupt and destroy you. He did not consider that republic flourishing whose walls stand but whose morals are in ruins. But the temptations of evil-minded demons had more influence with you than the warnings of wise men. Therefore the wrongs you commit, you will not allow to be blamed on you, but the wrongs you suffer, you blame on Christianity. Corrupted by good fortune and not corrected by adversity, what you desire in the restoration of a peaceful and secure state is not the tranquility of the commonwealth, but the freedom to indulge your own corrupt luxury. Scipio wanted you to be hard pressed by an enemy so that you would not give yourselves over to luxurious habits, but you are so given over that not even when crushed by the enemy is your luxury restrained. You have missed the benefit of your disaster; you have been made most miserable and have remained most corrupt.

Oh infatuated men, what is this blindness, or rather madness, which possesses you? How is it that while, as we hear, even the eastern nations are bewailing your ruin, and while powerful states in the most remote parts of the earth are mourning your fall as a public calamity, you yourselves should be crowding to the theatres, should be pouring into them and filling them; and, in short, be playing a madder part now than ever before? This was the foul plague-spot, this the wreck of virtue and honor that Scipio sought to preserve you from when he prohibited the construction of theatres; this was his reason for desiring that you might still have an enemy to fear, seeing as he did how easily prosperity would corrupt and destroy you. He did not consider that republic flourishing whose walls stand, but whose morals are in ruins. But the seductions of evil-minded devils had more influence with you than the precautions of prudent men. Hence the injuries you do, you will not permit to be imputed to you: but the injuries you suffer, you impute to Christianity. Depraved by good fortune, and not chastened by adversity, what you desire in the restoration of a peaceful and secure state, is not the tranquillity of the commonwealth, but the impunity of your own vicious luxury. Scipio wished you to be hard pressed by an enemy, that you might not abandon yourselves to luxurious manners; but so abandoned are you, that not even when crushed by the enemy is your luxury repressed. You have missed the profit of your calamity; you have been made most wretched, and have remained most profligate.

You are still alive because of God, who spares you so that you may be warned to repent and change your lives. It is He who has allowed you, ungrateful as you are, to escape the enemy's sword, either by calling yourselves His servants or by finding refuge in the sacred places of the martyrs.

And that you are yet alive is due to God, who spares you that you may be admonished to repent and reform your lives. It is He who has permitted you, ungrateful as you are, to escape the sword of the enemy, by calling yourselves His servants, or by finding asylum in the sacred places of the martyrs.

It is said that Romulus and Remus, in order to increase the population of the city they founded, opened a sanctuary where anyone could find refuge and forgiveness for any crime—a remarkable foreshadowing of what recently happened in honor of Christ. Those who destroyed Rome followed the example of those who founded it. But it was not much to the credit of the founders that they did this to increase the number of their citizens, while the destroyers did it to keep the number of their enemies from being reduced.

It is said that Romulus and Remus, in order to increase the population of the city they founded, opened a sanctuary in which every man might find asylum and absolution of all crime — a remarkable foreshadowing of what has recently occurred in honor of Christ. The destroyers of Rome followed the example of its founders. But it was not greatly to their credit that the latter, for the sake of increasing the number of their citizens, did that which the former have done, lest the number of their enemies should be diminished.

Let these and similar answers (if any fuller and more fitting answers can be found) be given to their enemies by the redeemed family of the Lord Christ and by the pilgrim city of King Christ. But let this city remember that among her enemies are hidden those who are destined to become fellow citizens, so that she may not think it pointless to endure what they inflict as enemies until they become confessors of the faith. Likewise, as long as she lives as a stranger in the world, the city of God has in her fellowship, and bound to her by the sacraments, some who will not dwell eternally among the saints. Some of these are not yet recognized; others openly declare themselves and do not hesitate to join our enemies in complaining against God, whose sacramental mark they bear. These are people you may see today filling the churches with us, and tomorrow filling the theaters with the godless. But we have even less reason to give up hope for the recovery of such people, since among our most open enemies there are now some, unknown to themselves, who are destined to become our friends. In truth, these two cities are tangled together in this world and mixed together until the last judgment separates them. I now proceed to speak, as God helps me, of the origin, progress, and end of these two cities; and what I write, I write for the glory of the city of God, so that, being compared with the other, it may shine with a brighter light.

Let these and similar answers (if any fuller and fitter answers can be found) be given to their enemies by the redeemed family of the Lord Christ, and by the pilgrim city of King Christ. But let this city bear in mind, that among her enemies lie hidden those who are destined to be fellow citizens, that she may not think it a fruitless labor to bear what they inflict as enemies until they become confessors of the faith. So, too, as long as she is a stranger in the world, the city of God has in her communion, and bound to her by the sacraments, some who shall not eternally dwell in the lot of the saints. Of these, some are not now recognized; others declare themselves, and do not hesitate to make common cause with our enemies in murmuring against God, whose sacramental badge they wear. These men you may today see thronging the churches with us, tomorrow crowding the theatres with the godless. But we have the less reason to despair of the reclamation even of such persons, if among our most declared enemies there are now some, unknown to themselves, who are destined to become our friends. In truth, these two cities are entangled together in this world, and intermixed until the last judgment effects their separation. I now proceed to speak, as God shall help me, of the rise, progress, and end of these two cities; and what I write, I write for the glory of the city of God, that, being placed in comparison with the other, it may shine with a brighter lustre.

I still have more to say in refutation of those who blame the disasters of the Roman republic on our religion, because it prohibits offering sacrifices to the gods. To accomplish this, I must recount all, or as many as seem sufficient, of the disasters that befell that city and its subject provinces before these sacrifices were prohibited. They would certainly have blamed all these disasters on us if our religion had already shone its light on them at that time and had prohibited their sacrifices. I must then go on to show what social well-being the true God, in whose hand all kingdoms lie, chose to grant them so that their empire might increase. I must show why He did so, and how their false gods, far from helping them at all, greatly harmed them through deception and trickery. Finally, I must address those who, when convinced and refuted on this point by undeniable proofs, try to argue that they worship the gods not in hope of present advantages in this life, but for those to be enjoyed after death. This, if I am not mistaken, will be the most difficult part of my task and will require the most elevated argument. We must then contend with the philosophers—not just ordinary philosophers, but the most renowned ones, who agree with us on many points, such as the immortality of the soul, that the true God created the world, and that by His providence He rules all He has created. But since they differ from us on other points, we must not shrink from the task of exposing their errors, so that, having refuted the objections of the wicked with whatever ability God may grant, we may affirm the city of God, true piety, and the worship of God, to which alone the promise of true and everlasting happiness is attached. Here, then, let us conclude, so that we may take up these subjects in a new book.

But I have still some things to say in confutation of those who refer the disasters of the Roman republic to our religion, because it prohibits the offering of sacrifices to the gods. For this end I must recount all, or as many as may seem sufficient, of the disasters which befell that city and its subject provinces, before these sacrifices were prohibited; for all these disasters they would doubtless have attributed to us, if at that time our religion had shed its light upon them, and had prohibited their sacrifices. I must then go on to show what social well-being the true God, in whose hand are all kingdoms, vouchsafed to grant to them that their empire might increase. I must show why He did so, and how their false gods, instead of at all aiding them, greatly injured them by guile and deceit. And, lastly, I must meet those who, when on this point convinced and confuted by irrefragable proofs, endeavor to maintain that they worship the gods, not hoping for the present advantages of this life, but for those which are to be enjoyed after death. And this, if I am not mistaken, will be the most difficult part of my task, and will be worthy of the loftiest argument; for we must then enter the lists with the philosophers, not the mere common herd of philosophers, but the most renowned, who in many points agree with ourselves, as regarding the immortality of the soul, and that the true God created the world, and by His providence rules all He has created. But as they differ from us on other points, we must not shrink from the task of exposing their errors, that, having refuted the gainsaying of the wicked with such ability as God may vouchsafe, we may assert the city of God, and true piety, and the worship of God, to which alone the promise of true and everlasting felicity is attached. Here, then, let us conclude, that we may enter on these subjects in a fresh book.