On the Priesthood — Book VI

Our situation here is exactly as you have heard. But how will we endure our situation in the age to come, when we are forced to give an account for each person who has been entrusted to us? Our penalty is not limited to shame alone, but everlasting punishment awaits us as well. Regarding the passage, "Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit to them, for they watch in behalf of your souls as they that shall give account," though I have already mentioned it once, I will speak of it again now, because the fear of its warning constantly troubles my soul. For if for the person who causes even one person to stumble, and that the least important, it would be better that a large millstone be hung around his neck and that he be drowned in the depths of the sea, and if those who wound the consciences of the brethren sin against Christ Himself, what then will they suffer one day, what kind of penalty will they pay, who destroy not just one, or two, or three, but so many multitudes? For it is not possible to plead inexperience as an excuse, nor to take refuge in ignorance, nor to put forward the claim of necessity or force. Indeed, if it were possible, one of those under their charge could more easily use this refuge for his own sins than bishops can in the case of the sins of others. Do you ask why? Because the one who has been appointed to correct the ignorance of others and to warn them beforehand of the conflict with the devil that is coming upon them will not be able to put forward ignorance as his excuse or to say, "I never heard the trumpet sound, I did not foresee the conflict." For he is appointed for this very purpose, says Ezekiel, that he may sound the trumpet for others and warn them of the dangers at hand. And therefore his punishment is unavoidable, even if the one who perishes happens to be only one person. For if when the sword comes, the watchman does not sound the trumpet to the people nor give them a sign, and the sword comes and takes any person away, that person is indeed taken away because of his iniquity, but his blood I will require at the watchman's hands.

1. Our condition here, indeed, is such as you have heard. But our condition hereafter how shall we endure, when we are compelled to give our account for each of those who have been entrusted to us? For our penalty is not limited to shame, but everlasting chastisement awaits us as well. As for the passage, Obey them that have the rule over you, and submit to them, for they watch in behalf of your souls as they that shall give account; Hebrews 13:17 though I have mentioned it once already, yet I will break silence about it now, for the fear of its warning is continually agitating my soul. For if for him who causes one only, and that the least, to stumble, it is profitable that a great millstone should be hanged about his neck, and that he should be sunk in the depth of the sea; Matthew 18:6 and if they who wound the consciences of the brethren, sin against Christ Himself, 1 Corinthians 8:12 what then will they one day suffer, what kind of penalty will they pay, who destroy not one only, or two, or three, but so many multitudes? For it is not possible for inexperience to be urged as an excuse, nor to take refuge in ignorance, nor for the plea of necessity or force to be put forward. Yea, if it were possible, one of those under their charge could more easily make use of this refuge for his own sins than bishops in the case of the sins of others. Do you ask why? Because he who has been appointed to rectify the ignorance of others, and to warn them beforehand of the conflict with the devil which is coming upon them, will not be able to put forward ignorance as his excuse, or to say, I have never heard the trumpet sound, I did not foresee the conflict. For he is set for that very purpose, says Ezekiel, that he may sound the trumpet for others, and warn them of the dangers at hand. And therefore his chastisement is inevitable, though he that perishes happen to be but one. For if when the sword comes, the watchman does not sound the trumpet to the people, nor give them a sign, and the sword come and take any man away, he indeed is taken away on account of his iniquity, but his blood will I require at the watchman's hands. Ezekiel 33:6

Cease then to urge us toward a penalty so inevitable, for our discussion is not about an army or a kingdom, but about an office that requires the virtues of an angel. The soul of the priest ought to be purer than the very sunbeams, so that the Holy Spirit may not abandon him, so that he may be able to say, "Now I live; and yet no longer I, but Christ lives in me" (Galatians 2:20). For if those who dwell in the desert, far removed from the city, the marketplace, and its tumult, who enjoy all their time in a haven of rest and peacefulness, are not willing to rely on the security of that way of life, but add to it countless other safeguards, hedging themselves in on every side and studying to speak and act with great circumspection so that to the fullest extent of human power they may draw near to God with confidence and with unstained purity—what power and strength do you think the ordained priest needs in order to tear his soul away from every defilement and keep its spiritual beauty unsullied? For he needs far greater purity than they do, and whoever needs greater purity is also subject to more pressing temptations than they, which can defile him, unless by constant self-denial and much labor he renders his soul inaccessible to them. For beauty of face, elegance of movement, an affected gait and lisping voice, penciled eyebrows and enameled cheeks, elaborate braiding and dyeing of hair, costly dress, an array of golden ornaments, and the glory of precious stones, the scent of perfumes, and all those other matters to which womankind devotes itself, are enough to disorder the mind, unless it happens to be hardened against them through much austerity of self-restraint. Now to be disturbed indeed by such things is nothing wonderful. But on the other hand, that the devil should be able to strike down and shoot down the souls of men by the opposite of these—this is a matter that fills us with astonishment and perplexity.

2. Cease then to urge us on to a penalty so inevitable; for our discourse is not about an army, or a kingdom; but about an office which needs the virtues of an angel. For the soul of the Priest ought to be purer than the very sunbeams, in order that the Holy Spirit may not leave him desolate, in order that he may be able to say, Now I live; and yet no longer I, but Christ lives in me. Galatians 2:20 For if they who dwell in the desert, and are removed far from the city and the market-place, and the tumult therein, and who enjoy all their time a haven of rest, and of peacefulness, are not willing to rely on the security of that manner of life, but add to it numberless other safeguards, hedging themselves round on every side, and studying both to speak and to act with great circumspection, so that to the utmost extent of human power they may draw near to God with assurance, and with unstained purity, what power and strength, do you think, does the ordained Priest need so as to be able to tear his soul away from every defilement, and to keep its spiritual beauty unsullied? For he has need of far greater purity than they; and whoever has need of greater purity, he too is subject to more pressing temptations than they, which are able to defile him, unless by using constant self-denial and much labor, he renders his soul inaccessible to them. For beauty of face, elegance of movement, an affected gait and lisping voice, pencilled eyebrows and enamelled cheeks, elaborate braiding and dyeing of hair, costliness of dress, variety of golden ornaments, and the glory of precious stones, the scent of perfumes, and all those other matters to which womankind devote themselves, are enough to disorder the mind, unless it happen to be hardened against them, through much austerity of self restraint. Now to be disturbed indeed by such things is nothing wonderful. But on the other hand, that the devil should be able to hit and shoot down the souls of men by the opposite of these — this is a matter which fills us with astonishment and perplexity.

Some men who have escaped these traps have been caught by others that are completely different. For example, a neglected appearance, unkempt hair, shabby clothing, and a face without makeup, simple behavior and plain speech, an unstudied way of walking, an unaffected voice, a life of poverty, and a despised, friendless, and isolated condition—these things first move the observer to pity, and then to complete ruin. Many who have escaped the earlier snares involving gold ornaments, perfumes, fine clothing, and all the other things I mentioned have easily fallen into these very different ones and perished. So when war is stirred up in the soul of the observer both by poverty and by wealth, both by attention to personal appearance and by its neglect, both by studied and by unaffected manners—in short, by all the means I have listed—and its tricks surround him on every side, how will he be able to breathe freely while so many snares encircle him? And what refuge will he be able to find—I do not mean to avoid being forcibly seized by them, for that is not altogether difficult—but to keep his own soul undisturbed by polluting thoughts?

3. For ere now some men who have escaped these snares, have been caught by others widely differing from these. For even a neglected appearance, unkempt hair, squalid dress, and an unpainted face, simple behavior, and homely language, unstudied gait, and unaffected voice, a life of poverty, a despised, unpatronized and lonely condition, have first drawn on the beholder to pity, and next to utter ruin; and many who have escaped the former nets, in the way of gold ornaments and perfumes, and apparel, and all the rest, of which I have spoken as connected with them, have easily fallen into these so widely differing from them, and have perished. When then both by poverty and by riches, both by the adornment and the neglect of the personal appearance, both by studied and unaffected manners, in short by all those means which I have enumerated, war is kindled in the soul of the beholder, and its artifices surround him on every side, how will he be able to breathe freely while so many snares encompass him? And what hiding-place will he be able to find — I do not say so as to avoid being forcibly seized by them (for this is not altogether difficult)– but so as to keep his own soul undisturbed by polluting thoughts?

And I pass by honors, which cause countless evils. Those that come from women are ruinous to the strength of self-restraint, and often overthrow it when a man does not know how to guard constantly against such designs. Those that come from men, unless a man receives them with great nobility of mind, lead him into two opposite emotions: servile flattery and senseless pride. He is forced to cringe before those who patronize him, and he becomes puffed up toward his inferiors because of the honors others give him, and he is driven into the pit of arrogance. We have mentioned these matters, but no one could really learn how harmful they actually are without experiencing them. Not only these snares, but greater and more deceptive ones than these, must be faced by the person who lives in the world. But the person who is content with solitude is free from all this, and if at times a strange thought creates such an image, the image is weak and can be quickly overcome, because no fuel is added to the flame from outside through actual sight. For the recluse has only himself to fear for, or if he is forced to care for others, they are easily counted. And if they are many, they are still fewer than those in our churches, and they give him who is set over them much lighter anxiety, not only because of their small number, but because they are all free from worldly concerns and have neither wife nor children nor anything like that to care about. This makes them very respectful toward their rulers and allows them to share the same dwelling, so that the rulers can accurately see their faults at a glance and correct them, since the constant supervision of a teacher is no small help toward progress in virtue.

And I pass by honors, which are the cause of countless evils. For those which come from the hands of women are ruinous to the vigor of self-restraint, and often overthrow it when a man does not know how to watch constantly against such designs; while those which come from the hands of men, unless a man receive them with much nobleness of mind, he is seized with two contrary emotions, servile flattery and senseless pride. To those who patronize him, he is obliged to cringe; and towards his inferiors he is puffed up, on account of the honors which the others confer, and is driven into the gulf of arrogance. We have mentioned these matters indeed, but how harmful they actually are, no one could well learn without experience. For not only these snares, but greater and more delusive than these, he must needs encounter, who has his conversation in the world. But he who is content with solitude, has freedom from all this, and if at any time a strange thought creates a representation of this kind, the image is weak, and capable of being speedily subdued, because there is no fuel added to the flame from without, arising from actual sight. For the recluse has but himself to fear for; or should he be forced to have the care of others they are easily counted: and if they be many, yet they are less than those in our Churches, and they give him who is set over them much lighter anxiety about them, not only on account of their fewness, but because they are all free from worldly concerns, and have neither wife nor children, nor any such thing to care about; and this makes them very deferential to their rulers, and allows them to share the same abode with them, so that they are able to take in their failings accurately at a glance and correct them, seeing that the constant supervision of a teacher is no little help towards advance in virtue.

But most of those who are under the care of the Priest are weighed down by the concerns of this life, and this makes them slower in carrying out spiritual responsibilities. Therefore the teacher must sow seed every day, so to speak, so that through constant repetition at least, the teaching may be grasped by those who hear it. For excessive wealth, an abundance of power, laziness born from luxury, and many other things besides these choke out the seeds that have been planted. Often too, a thick overgrowth of thorns prevents the seed from even landing on the surface of the soil. On the other hand, overwhelming troubles, the pressure of poverty, constant insults, and other such things opposite to those mentioned earlier draw the mind away from concern for divine matters. And of their people's sins, not even the smallest portion can become visible to them, for how could it, when they do not even know most of them by sight?

4. But of those who are subject to the Priest, the greater number are hampered with the cares of this life, and this makes them the slower in the performance of spiritual duties. Whence it is necessary for the teacher to sow every day (so to speak), in order that by its frequency at least, the word of doctrine may be able to be grasped by those who hear. For excessive wealth, and an abundance of power, and sloth the offspring of luxury, and many other things beside these, choke the seeds which have been let fall. Often too the thick growth of thorns does not suffer the seed to drop even upon the surface of the soil. Again, excess of trouble, stress of poverty, constant insults, and other such things, the reverse of the foregoing, take the mind away from anxiety about things divine; and of their people's sins, not even the smallest part can become apparent; for how should it, in the case of those the majority of whom they do not know even by sight?

The priest's relationships with his people involve this much difficulty. But if anyone asks about his relationships with God, he will find the others to be as nothing, since these require a greater and more thorough seriousness. For the one who acts as an ambassador on behalf of the whole city—but why do I say the city? On behalf of the whole world indeed—prays that God would be merciful toward the sins of all, not only of the living, but also of the departed. What kind of man ought he to be? For my part, I think that the boldness of speech of Moses and Elijah is insufficient for such supplication. For as though he were entrusted with the whole world and were himself the father of all people, he draws near to God, begging that wars may be extinguished everywhere, that disturbances may be calmed, asking for peace and prosperity, and a swift deliverance from all the troubles that afflict each person, publicly and privately. And he ought to excel in every respect all those on whose behalf he prays, as much as rulers should excel their subjects.

The Priest's relations with his people involve thus much difficulty. But if any inquire about his relations with God, he will find the others to be as nothing, since these require a greater and more thorough earnestness. For he who acts as an ambassador on behalf of the whole city — but why do I say the city? On behalf of the whole world indeed — prays that God would be merciful to the sins of all, not only of the living, but also of the departed. What manner of man ought he to be? For my part I think that the boldness of speech of Moses and Elias, is insufficient for such supplication. For as though he were entrusted with the whole world and were himself the father of all men, he draws near to God, beseeching that wars may be extinguished everywhere, that tumults may be quelled; asking for peace and plenty, and a swift deliverance from all the ills that beset each one, publicly and privately; and he ought as much to excel in every respect all those on whose behalf he prays, as rulers should excel their subjects.

And whenever he invokes the Holy Spirit and offers the most awesome sacrifice and constantly handles the common Lord of all, tell me what rank should we give him? What great purity and what genuine piety must we require of him? Consider what kind of hands ought to be ministering in these things, and what kind of tongue speaking such words. Should not the soul that receives so great a Spirit be purer and holier than anything in the world? At such a time angels stand beside the priest, and the whole sanctuary and the space around the altar is filled with the heavenly powers, in honor of Him who lies there. This can indeed be proven from the very rites that are being celebrated. I myself have heard someone relate that a certain elderly, venerable man, accustomed to seeing revelations, used to tell him that when he was granted a vision of this kind at such a time, he suddenly saw, as far as he was able, a multitude of angels clothed in shining garments, surrounding the altar and bowing down, as one might see soldiers in the presence of their king—and I for one believe it. Another person told me, not learning it from someone else but being himself deemed worthy to be both hearer and eyewitness of it, that in the case of those who are about to depart from this life, if they happen to be partakers of the mysteries with a pure conscience, when they are about to breathe their last, angels keep watch over them for the sake of what they have received and bear them away. And do you not yet tremble to introduce into so sacred a mystery a soul like this, and to advance to the dignity of the priesthood one clothed in filthy garments, whom Christ has shut out from the rest of the company of guests? The soul of the priest should shine like a light beaming over the whole world. But mine has such great darkness hanging over it because of my evil conscience that it is always cast down and never able to look up with confidence to its Lord. Priests are the salt of the earth. But who would easily put up with my lack of understanding and my inexperience in all things except you, who have always loved me beyond measure? For the priest ought not only to be pure, as befits one who has been honored with so high a ministry, but also very discerning and skilled in many matters, and to be as well versed in the affairs of this life as those who are engaged in the world, and yet to be free from them all more than the hermits who occupy the mountains. Since he must mix with men who have wives and bring up children, who possess servants and are surrounded with wealth and fill public positions and are people of influence, he too must be versatile—I say versatile, not fake, nor fawning and hypocritical, but full of much freedom and confidence, and knowing how to adapt himself profitably where circumstances require it, and to be both kind and severe. For it is not possible to treat all those under one's charge according to one plan, since it is not good for physicians to apply one course of treatment to all their sick, nor for a pilot to know only one way of contending with the winds. Indeed, continual storms beset this ship of ours, and these storms do not only assail from outside but arise from within, and there is need of much adaptability and circumspection. All these different matters have one end in view: the glory of God and the building up of the Church.

And whenever he invokes the Holy Spirit, and offers the most dread sacrifice, and constantly handles the common Lord of all, tell me what rank shall we give him? What great purity and what real piety must we demand of him? For consider what manner of hands they ought to be which minister in these things, and of what kind his tongue which utters such words, and ought not the soul which receives so great a spirit to be purer and holier than anything in the world? At such a time angels stand by the Priest; and the whole sanctuary, and the space round about the altar, is filled with the powers of heaven, in honor of Him who lies thereon. For this, indeed, is capable of being proved from the very rites which are being then celebrated. I myself, moreover, have heard some one once relate, that a certain aged, venerable man, accustomed to see revelations, used to tell him, that he being thought worthy of a vision of this kind, at such a time, saw, on a sudden, so far as was possible for him, a multitude of angels, clothed in shining robes, and encircling the altar, and bending down, as one might see soldiers in the presence of their King, and for my part I believe it. Moreover another told me, without learning it from some one else, but as being himself thought worthy to be both an ear and eye witness of it, that, in the case of those who are about to depart hence, if they happen to be partakers of the mysteries, with a pure conscience, when they are about to breathe their last, angels keep guard over them for the sake of what they have received, and bear them hence. And do you not yet tremble to introduce a soul into so sacred a mystery of this kind, and to advance to the dignity of the Priesthood, one robed in filthy raiment, whom Christ has shut out from the rest of the band of guests? Matthew 22:13 The soul of the Priest should shine like a light beaming over the whole world. But mine has so great darkness overhanging it, because of my evil conscience, as to be always cast down and never able to look up with confidence to its Lord. Priests are the salt of the earth. Matthew 5:13 But who would easily put up with my lack of understanding, and my inexperience in all things, but thou, who hast been wont to love me beyond measure. For the Priest ought not only to be thus pure as one who has been dignified with so high a ministry, but very discreet, and skilled in many matters, and to be as well versed in the affairs of this life as they who are engaged in the world, and yet to be free from them all more than the recluses who occupy the mountains. For since he must mix with men who have wives, and who bring up children, who possess servants, and are surrounded with wealth, and fill public positions, and are persons of influence, he too should be a many-sided man — I say many-sided, not unreal, nor yet fawning and hypocritical, but full of much freedom and assurance, and knowing how to adapt himself profitably, where the circumstances of the case require it, and to be both kind and severe, for it is not possible to treat all those under one's charge on one plan, since neither is it well for physicians to apply one course of treatment to all their sick, nor for a pilot to know but one way of contending with the winds. For, indeed, continual storms beset this ship of ours, and these storms do not assail from without only, but take their rise from within, and there is need of much condescension, and circumspection, and all these different matters have one end in view, the glory of God, and the edifying of the Church.

Great is the struggle that those who withdraw from the world undergo, and their labor is considerable. But if anyone compares their efforts with those involved in the proper exercise of the priesthood, he will find the difference as great as that between a king and an ordinary citizen. For in their case, though the labor is indeed great, the struggle belongs to both body and soul together—or rather the greater part of it is accomplished through the body's condition. And if the body is not strong, the desire remains undeveloped and unable to be put into action. For the practices of intense fasting, sleeping on the ground, staying awake through the night, abstaining from bathing, hard physical labor, and all other means they use to discipline the body must be abandoned when the body being disciplined is not strong. But in the case of the priesthood, purity of soul is what matters, and no bodily strength is needed to demonstrate its excellence. For what does physical strength contribute toward our being not self-willed, or proud, or stubborn, but sober-minded and prudent and well-ordered, and everything else that St. Paul included in his description of the perfect priest? But no one could say this about the virtues of the recluse.

5. Great is the conflict which recluses undergo, and much their toil. But if any one compare their exertions with those which the right exercise of the Priesthood involves, he will find the difference as great as the distance between a king and a commoner. For there, if the labor is great indeed, yet the conflict is common to body and soul, or rather the greater part of it is accomplished by the condition of the body, and if this be not strong, the inclination remains undeveloped, and is unable to come out into action. For the habit of intense fasting, and sleeping on the ground, and keeping vigil, and refraining from the bath, and great toil, and all other means which they use for the affliction of the body are given up, when the body to be thus disciplined is not strong. But in this case purity of soul is the business in hand, and no bodily vigor is required to show its excellence. For what does strength of body contribute towards our being not self-willed, or proud, or headstrong, but sober and prudent, and orderly, and all else, wherein St. Paul filled up the picture of the perfect Priest? But no one could say this of the virtues of the recluse.

But just as stage magicians need a large apparatus with wheels, ropes, and daggers, while a philosopher has his entire art stored in his mind and requires no external equipment, the same applies here. The recluse needs good physical health and a suitable location for his way of life—a place not too far removed from human contact, with the quietness of the wilderness, and also a favorable climate. For nothing is more unbearable to a body weakened by fasting than an unstable climate. I need not mention the trouble they must take in preparing their clothing and daily food, since they insist on doing everything with their own hands. But the priest requires none of these things for his needs. He is unconcerned about them and freely uses whatever is harmless, while keeping all his skill stored in the treasury of his mind. If anyone admires the solitary life and withdrawal from society, I would say that such a life shows patience but does not provide sufficient proof of complete strength of soul. For a person who sits at the helm in harbor has not yet given any clear proof of his skill. But if someone can guide his ship safely through the open sea, no one would deny that he is an excellent steersman.

6. But as in the case of wonder-workers, a large apparatus is required, both wheels and ropes and daggers; while the philosopher has the whole of his art stored up in his mind, not requiring any external appliances: So accordingly in the case before us. The recluse requires both a good condition of body, and a place suitable for his course of life, in order that such may not be settled too far from intercourse with their fellow men, and may have the tranquillity which belongs to desert places, and yet further, may not fail to enjoy the most favorable climate. For nothing is so unbearable to a body worn with fastings as a climate which is not equable. And what trouble they are compelled to take in the preparation of their clothing and daily food, as they are themselves ambitious of doing all with their own hands, I need not speak of now. But the Priest will require none of these things to supply his wants, but is unconcerned about them, and participates in all things which are harmless, while he has all his skill stored up in the treasure-house of his mind. But if any one admire a solitary life, and retirement from the society of the multitude, I should say myself that such a life was a token of patience, but not a sufficient proof of entire fortitude of soul. For the man who sits at the helm in harbor, does not yet give any certain proof of his art. But if one is able to guide his ship safely in the midst of the sea, no one would deny him to be an excellent steersman.

It would not be at all surprising to us that the recluse, living by himself as he does, remains undisturbed and does not commit many great sins. After all, he does not encounter things that irritate and agitate his mind. But if someone who has devoted himself to entire communities and has been forced to bear the sins of many has remained steadfast and firm, guiding his soul through the storm as though he were in calm waters, he is the one who deserves to be justly praised and admired by everyone, for he has shown sufficient proof of personal courage. Therefore, do not wonder that I, who avoid the marketplace and crowded places, do not have many people accusing me. For I should not be surprised if I did not sin while asleep, nor fell when I did not wrestle, nor got hit when I did not fight. Who, tell me, who will be able to speak against me and reveal my wickedness? Can this roof or cell? No, they cannot speak. Would my mother, who knows my affairs best of all? Well, certainly I am not in contact with her, and we have never come to a quarrel. Even if this had happened, no mother is so heartless and lacking in affection for her child as to revile and publicly accuse the one she carried, gave birth to, and raised, unless there were some reason compelling her or someone urging her to do so. Nevertheless, if anyone wants to carefully examine my mind, he will discover much corruption there. And you are aware of this, you who are especially accustomed to praising me before everyone. That I do not say these things out of mere modesty, remember how often I told you when we discussed this subject between us: If someone were to give me the choice of whether I would rather excel in the oversight of the Church or in the life of the recluse, I would choose the former a thousand times over. For I have always congratulated those who have been able to discharge this office well, and no one will deny that I would not have avoided what I considered blessed if I were able to take part in it properly. But what am I to do? Nothing is so harmful to the oversight of the Church as this inactivity and negligence of mine, which others think is a kind of self-discipline, but which I consider to be a veil covering most of my personal weaknesses and preventing them from being seen. For someone who is accustomed to such great freedom from responsibilities and to spending his time in much leisure, even if he has a noble nature, becomes confused by his inexperience, gets disturbed, and his inactivity deprives him of no small part of his natural ability. But when, in addition, he has a slow intellect and is also ignorant of these severe trials, which I believe is my case, he will carry out the ministry he has received no better than a statue. Therefore, of those who have come to such great trials from that school, few shine, and most betray themselves, fall, and undergo much hardship and suffering—and no wonder. For the trials and the training are not concerned with the same things. The person who is competing is no different from those who are untrained. Anyone entering this contest should despise glory, be superior to anger, and be full of great discretion. But there is no opportunity for exercising these qualities in the case of someone who lives a secluded life. For he does not have many people to provoke him so that he may practice controlling the force of his anger, nor admirers and applauders so that he may be trained to despise the praises of the crowds. And the discretion required in the Church cannot be developed in their case. Therefore, whenever they come to trials they have never experienced practically, they become bewildered, their heads spin, they fall into helplessness, and besides adding nothing to their virtue, they often lose what they brought with them.

7. It would be, therefore, in no wise excessively surprising to us, that the recluse, living as he does by himself, is undisturbed and does not commit many and great sins. For he does not meet with things which irritate and excite his mind. But if any one who has devoted himself to whole multitudes, and has been compelled to bear the sins of many, has remained steadfast and firm, guiding his soul in the midst of the storm as if he were in a calm, he is the man to be justly applauded and admired of all, for he has shown sufficient proof of personal manliness. Do not thou, therefore, for your part wonder if I, who avoid the market-place and the haunts of the multitude, have not many to accuse me. For I ought not to wonder, if I sinned not when asleep, nor fell when I did not wrestle, nor was hit if I did not fight. For who, tell me, who will be able to speak against me, and reveal my depravity? Can this roof or cell? Nay, they would not be able to give tongue? Would my mother, who best of all knows my affairs? Well, certainly with her I am neither in communication, nor have we ever come to a quarrel, and if this had happened, no mother is so heartless and wanting in affection for her child as to revile and accuse before all him whom she travailed with, and brought forth, and reared, if there were no reason to constrain her, nor any person to urge her to such an act. Nevertheless, if any one desires to make a careful inspection of my mind, he will discover much which is corrupt there. Nor are you unaware of this who art specially wont to extol me with praises before all. Now that I do not say these things out of mere modesty, recollect how often I said to you, when this subject was being discussed between us, If any one were to give me my choice whether I would rather gain distinction in the oversight of the Church, or in the life of the recluse, I would vote a thousand times over for accepting the former. For I have never failed to congratulate those who have been able to discharge this office well, and no one will gainsay that what I counted blessed I would not have shunned were I able to take part in it fitly. But what am I to do? There is nothing so prejudicial to the oversight of the Church as this inactivity and negligence of mine, which others think to be a sort of self-discipline, but which I hold to be a veil as it were of my personal infirmity, covering the greater number of my defects and not suffering them to appear. For he who is accustomed to enjoy such great freedom from business, and to pass his time in much repose, even if he be of a noble nature, is confused by his inexperience, and is disturbed, and his inactivity deprives him of no small part of his natural ability. But when, besides, he is of slow intellect, and ignorant also of these severe trials, which I take it is my case, he will carry on this ministry which he has received no better than a statue. Wherefore of those who have come to such great trial, out of that school, few shine; and the greater part betray themselves, and fall, and undergo much hardship and sufferings; and no wonder. For the trials and the discipline are not concerned with the same things. The man who is contending in no wise differs from those who are untrained. He who thus enters this list should despise glory, be superior to anger, full of great discretion. But for the exercise of these qualities there is no scope in his case who affects a secluded life. For he does not have many to provoke him in order that he may practise chastising, the force of his anger: nor admirers and applauders in order that he may be trained to despise the praises of the multitudes. And of the discretion which is required in the Church, there is no taking account in their case. Whenever, therefore, they come to the trials of which they have never had practical experience, they get bewildered, their heads are turned, they fall into a state of helplessness, and besides adding nothing to their excellence, may have often lost that which they brought with them.

8. Basil: What then? Should we place in charge of the Church's administration those who are involved in society and concerned with worldly affairs, who are skilled in arguing and insults, full of endless tricks, and experienced in luxurious living?

8. Basil: What then? Shall we set over the administration of the Church those who move in society, and who are careful about the concerns of this world, who are adepts at wrangling and vituperation, are full of countless artifices, and versed in luxurious ways?

Chrysostom: Stop, my dear friend! You should never think of such men when discussing the priesthood, but only of those who can mix and associate with everyone while keeping their purity undefiled, their unworldliness, holiness, constancy, and sobriety unshaken, and who possess all the other virtues that belong to recluses to an even greater degree than they do. A person who has many defects but is able to hide them through seclusion and make them ineffective because he doesn't associate with anyone will gain nothing when he enters society except becoming a laughingstock, and he will face even greater dangers—which I myself nearly experienced, had not God's providence quickly turned such fire away from my head. For it is impossible for someone in such a position to escape notice when he is so conspicuously placed; instead, everything is detected, and just as fire tests the quality of metals, so the trial of the clerical office searches the souls of mortal men. If anyone is passionate or mean or ambitious for fame, if he is boastful or has any other such flaw, it unveils everything and quickly lays bare his defects. Not only does it expose them, but it also increases their painfulness and strength. For wounds of the body, when they are irritated, become harder to heal, and the emotions of the mind, when chafed and irritated, naturally become more exasperated, and those who possess them are driven to commit greater sins. These emotions excite anyone who does not restrain them to love of glory, boastfulness, and desire for worldly goods, and they drag him down to luxury, lax living, and laziness, and little by little to evils worse than these that result from them. For there are many circumstances in society that have the power to upset the balance of the mind and hinder its straightforward course. First of all is his social interaction with women. For it is not possible for the bishop, who is concerned with the whole flock, to care for the male portion of it while passing over the female, which needs more particular forethought because of its propensity to sins. But the man appointed to the administration of a bishopric must care for the moral health of these women, if not more, at least no less than the others. For it is necessary to visit them when they are sick, to comfort them when they are sorrowful, to reprove them when they are idle, and to help them when they are distressed. In such cases the evil one would find many opportunities to approach, if a man did not fortify himself with a very strict guard. For the eye not only of the unchaste woman, but of the modest woman, pierces and disturbs the mind. Flatteries weaken it, and favors enslave it, and fervent love—which one may say is the spring of all good—becomes the cause of countless evils to those who do not make right use of it. Constant cares have before now blunted the edge of the understanding and have made what was buoyant heavier than lead, while anger has burst in like smoke and taken possession of all the inner man.

Chrysostom: Hush, dear friend that you are! You should never entertain in your thoughts such men as these, when the Priesthood is under discussion, but only such as are able after mixing and associating with all, to keep their purity undefiled, and their unworldliness, their holiness, constancy and sobriety unshaken, and to possess all other virtues which belong to recluses, in a greater degree than they. He who has many defects, but is able to hide them, by means of his seclusion, and to make them ineffectual, because he does not associate with any one, when he comes into society will gain nothing, but the position of a laughing-stock, and will run greater risks still, which I was very nearly experiencing myself, had not the providence of God quickly warded off such fire from my head. For it is not possible for one in such a position to escape notice when he is so conspicuously placed, but everything then is detected, and as the fire tests the material of metals, so too the trial of the clerical office searches the souls of mortal men; and if any one be passionate or mean, or ambitious of fame, if he be boastful, or anything else of the kind, it unveils all; and speedily lays bare his defects, and not only lays them bare, but increases their painfulness and strength. For the wounds of the body, if they are galled, become harder to heal, and the emotions of the mind when chafed and irritated, are naturally more exasperated, and those who possess them are driven to commit greater sins. For they excite him who does not restrain them, to love of glory, and to boastfulness, and to desire for this world's goods, and draw him downwards, both to luxury and laxity of life, and to laziness, and, little by little, to evils worse than these which result from them. For many are the circumstances in society which have the power to upset the balance of the mind, and to hinder its straightforward course; and first of all is his social intercourse with women. For it is not possible for the Bishop, and one who is concerned with the whole flock, to have a care for the male portion of it, but to pass over the female, which needs more particular forethought, because of its propensity to sins. But the man who is appointed to the administration of a Bishopric must have a care for the moral health of these, if not in a greater, at least in no less a degree than the others. For it is necessary to visit them when they are sick, to comfort them when they are sorrowful, and to reprove them when they are idle, and to help them when they are distressed; and in such cases the evil one would find many opportunities of approach, if a man did not fortify himself with a very strict guard. For the eye, not only of the unchaste, but of the modest woman pierces and disturbs the mind. Flatteries enervate it, and favors enslave it, and fervent love — the spring one may say of all good — becomes the cause of countless evils to those who do not make a right use of it. Constant cares too have ere now blunted the edge of the understanding, and have made that which was buoyant heavier than lead, while anger has burst in like smoke, and taken possession of all the inner man.

Why should anyone speak of the harm that comes from grief, the insults, the abuse, the criticism from superiors, from inferiors, from the wise, and from fools? For those who lack right judgment are particularly fond of criticizing and will rarely accept any excuse. But the truly excellent Bishop ought neither to take these lightly nor ignore them, but should clear himself before all people of the charges they bring against him, with great patience and gentleness, pardoning their unreasonable fault-finding rather than becoming indignant and angry about it. For if St. Paul feared that he might arouse suspicion of theft among his disciples, and therefore brought in others to manage the money, so that "no one," he says, "should blame us in this abundance which is administered by us," how much more ought we to do everything necessary to remove evil suspicions, even if they happen to be false, completely unreasonable, and very far from our thoughts? For we are not as utterly free from sin as St. Paul was from theft. Yet despite being so far removed from this evil practice, he did not disregard the suspicion of the world, even though it was absurd and even insane. For it was madness to have any such suspicion about that blessed and admirable man. But nonetheless he removed the causes of this suspicion from a distance, unreasonable though it was, and such that no one in his right mind would entertain it. He neither scorned the foolishness of the crowds nor said, "Who would ever think to suspect such things of us, after the signs I have worked, the patience that has marked my life, and when you all respected and admired us?" Quite the opposite: he foresaw and anticipated this base suspicion and pulled it up by the roots, or rather did not allow it to grow at all. Why? Because, he says, "we provide things honest not only before the Lord, but before all men." We must use equally great, indeed far greater, zeal to uproot and prevent unfavorable rumors, to see them from far off before they arrive, and to remove their causes beforehand, not waiting until they are established and become common topics in everyone's mouth. For then it is not easy to destroy them later, but very difficult, perhaps impossible, and not without harm, because this happens only after many have been injured. But how long shall I continue pursuing the unattainable? For to list all the difficulties in this area is nothing more than measuring the ocean. Even when someone clears himself from every passion—which is impossible—in order to correct the failings of others, he is forced to undergo countless trials. And when his own weaknesses are added, there you have an abyss of toil and care, and all that he must suffer who wishes to overcome the evils in himself and in those around him.

9. Why should any one speak of the injuries that result from grief, the insults, the abuse, the censure from superiors, from inferiors, from the wise, and from fools; for the class who are wanting in right judgment are particularly fond of censuring, and will never readily allow any excuse. But the truly excellent Bishop ought neither to think lightly of these, but to clear himself with all men of the charges which they bring against him, with great forbearance and meekness, pardoning their unreasonable fault-finding, rather than being indignant and angry about it. For if St. Paul feared lest he should incur a suspicion of theft, among his disciples, and therefore procured others for the management of the money, that no one he says, should blame us in this abundance which is administered by us, 2 Corinthians 8:20 how ought we not to do all so as to remove evil suspicions, even if they happen to be false, and most unreasonable, and very foreign to our thought? For we are not so utterly removed from any sin as St. Paul from theft; notwithstanding, though so far from this evil practice, he did not, therefore, slight the suspicion of the world, although it was very absurd, and even insane. For it was madness to have any such suspicion about that blessed and admirable character. But none the less does he remove far off the causes of this suspicion, unreasonable though it was, and such as no one who was in his senses would entertain, and he neither disdained the folly of the multitudes, nor did he say, To whose mind did it ever occur to suspect such things of us, after the signs which I have wrought, and the forbearance which has marked my life, and when you all revered and admired us? Quite the contrary: he foresaw and expected this base suspicion, and pulled it up by the roots, or rather did not suffer it to grow at all. Why? Because, says he, we provide things honest not only before the Lord, but before all men. So great, yea and far greater zeal must we use, to uproot and prevent floating reports which are not good, but to see beforehand from afar whence they come, and to remove beforehand the causes from which they are produced, not to wait till they are established and are the common topics in every one's mouth. For then it is not easy in the future to destroy them, but very difficult, perhaps impossible, and not without mischief, because this is done after many have been injured. But how far shall I continue pursuing the unattainable? For to enumerate all the difficulties in this direction, is nothing more nor less than measuring the ocean. Even when any one should clear himself from every passion (which is a thing impossible) in order to correct the failings of others, he is forced to undergo countless trials, and when his own infirmities are added, behold, an abyss of toil and care, and all that he must suffer, who wishes to subdue the evils in himself and in those around him.

10. Basil: And now, are you free from hard work? Do you have no worries while you live by yourself?

10. Basil: And now, art thou free from toils? Have you no cares while you live by yourself?

Chrysostom: I do have cares even now. How could someone who is human and living this difficult life of ours be free from worries and struggles? But there's a huge difference between plunging into a boundless ocean and crossing a river—that's how different these cares are from those earlier ones. Now, if I were able to be useful to others, I would want that myself, and I would pray for it. But if it's not possible to help someone else, yet if I can at least save and rescue myself from the waves, I'll be satisfied with that.

Chrysostom: I have indeed even now. For how is it possible for one who is a man, and who is living this toilsome life of ours, to be free from cares and conflict? But it is not quite the same thing for man to plunge into a boundless ocean and to cross a river, so great is the difference between these cares and those. For now, indeed, if I were able to become serviceable to others, I should wish it myself, and this would be a matter of prayer with me. But if it is not possible to help another, yet if it be practicable to save and rescue myself from the waves, I shall be contented.

Basil: So do you think this is some great accomplishment? Do you imagine that you will be saved when you are not useful to anyone else?

Basil: Do you then think this to be a great thing? And do you fancy that you will be saved when you are not profitable to any other?

Chrysostom: You have spoken well and nobly, for I cannot believe that someone who has not worked for the salvation of others can be saved. The wretched man in the Gospel was not helped by the fact that he had not diminished his talent; he perished because he did not increase it and bring it back doubled to his master. Matthew 25:24 Nevertheless, I think my punishment will be lighter when I am called to account for not saving others than it would be if I destroyed both myself and others by becoming far worse after receiving such great honor. For now I trust that my punishment will match the extent of my sins, but after receiving this office, I fear it would be not just double or triple, but many times greater, because I would have caused very many to stumble, and after receiving additional honor would have offended the God who honored me.

Chrysostom: You have spoken well and nobly, for I am not myself able to believe that it is possible for one who has not labored for the salvation of his fellow to be saved, nor did it at all profit the wretched man in the Gospel that he had not diminished his talent; but he perished through not increasing it and bringing it doubled to his master. Matthew 25:24 Nevertheless, I think that my punishment will be milder when I am called to account, because I have not saved others, than it would be if I should destroy myself and others too by becoming far worse after so great an honor. For now I trust that my chastisement will be proportioned to the amount of my sins, but after receiving this office, I fear it would be not double, or threefold, but manifold, because I should have caused very many to stumble, and after additional honor should have offended the God who honored me.

For this very reason, God accuses the Israelites more harshly and shows that they deserved greater punishment because they sinned after receiving so many honors from Him. In one place He says: "But you only have I known of all the families of the earth, therefore will I punish you for your iniquities," and again, "and I raised up of your sons for prophets, and of your young men for Nazarites." Before the time of the prophets, wanting to show that sins receive far more severe punishment when committed by a priest than by a layperson, He commands that just as great a sacrifice be offered for a priest as for the whole people. This amounts to proof that the wounds of the priesthood need more help—as much as those of all the people together. They would not need more help unless they were worse, and they are not worse in their nature but are made worse by the dignity of the priest who dares to commit them. And why should I speak only of the men who carry out this ministry? Even the daughters of priests, who have no part in the priestly office, undergo far more severe punishment for the same sins as others because of their father's dignity. The offense is the same in their case and in the daughters of laypeople—namely, fornication in both—yet the penalty is far more severe for the former. Do you see with what abundant proof God shows you that He demands much greater punishment for the ruler than for the ruled? For surely He who punishes the daughter of a certain man more severely than others for that man's sake will not exact the same penalty from the man who is the cause of her additional punishment as from others, but a much heavier one—and very reasonably. For the harm does not merely involve himself, but it destroys the souls of the weaker brethren and of those who look up to him. Ezekiel, writing to show this, distinguishes from one another the judgment of the rams and of the sheep.

11. For this very cause God accuses the Israelites more vehemently, and shows that they were worthy of greater chastisement, because they sinned after so many honors had come to them from Him, saying in one place: But you only have I known of all the families of the earth, therefore will I punish you for your iniquities, Amos 3:2 and again, and I raised up of your sons for prophets, and of your young men for Nazarites; Amos 2:11 and before the times of the prophets, wishing to show that sins receive sorer punishment by far when they occur in the case of the Priest than in the case of the laity, He enjoins as great a sacrifice to be offered for the Priest as for the whole people, and this amounts to a proof on his part, that the wounds of the Priesthood need more assistance — that is, as great as those of all the people together, and they would not have needed a greater, except they were worse; and they are not worse in their nature, but are aggravated through the dignity of the Priest, who dares to commit them. And why do I speak of the men who follow this ministration. For the daughters of the Priests, Leviticus 21:9 who have no part in the Priestly office, yet on account of their father's dignity undergo a far bitterer punishment for the same sins as others, and the offense is the same in their case and in the daughters of the laity; namely, fornication in both; yet the penalty is far severer for the former. Do you see with what abundant proof God shows you that he demands much greater punishment for the ruler than for the ruled? For no doubt he who punishes to a greater degree than others the daughter of a certain man for that man's sake, will not exact the same penalty from the man who is the cause of her additional chastisement as from others, but a much heavier one; and very reasonably; for the mischief does not merely involve himself, but it destroys the souls of the weaker brethren and of them who look up to him, and Ezekiel, writing to show this, distinguishes from one another the judgment of the rams and of the sheep. Ezekiel 34:17

Does our fear seem reasonable to you? Beyond what has already been said, although much hard work is required on my part to keep from being completely overwhelmed by the passions of my soul, I still endure the work and do not avoid the struggle. Even now I am captured by vainglory, but I often recover myself and see immediately that I have been caught, and there are times when I rebuke my soul for being enslaved. Sinful desires still come over me, but they kindle only a weak flame, since my physical eyes cannot find any fuel to feed the fire. I am completely removed from speaking evil of anyone or from hearing anyone spoken of badly, since I have no one to talk with—surely these walls would never speak. Yet it is not quite as possible to avoid anger, even though there is no one to provoke it. Often when the memory of terrible people comes over me, and of the deeds they have done, it makes my heart swell with anger. But not permanently, for I quickly subdue its kindling and persuade it to be quiet, saying that it is very foolish and extremely contemptible to ignore one's own fault and to busy oneself with the faults of one's neighbors. But if I were to go among the crowds and be involved in countless disturbances, I would not be able to benefit from this warning or to experience reflections that correct me in this way. Just as those who are driven over cliffs by a torrent or in some other way can foresee the destruction they are heading toward but cannot think of any means of help, so I, when I have fallen into the great tumult of my passions, will be able to see my punishment increasing daily. But to be master of myself as I am now, and to rebuke such diseases raging on every side, would not be equally easy for me as it was before. For my soul is weak and small and easily mastered, not only by these passions but by envy, which is more bitter than all of them. It does not know how to bear insults or honors with moderation. These greatly inflate it, while those depress it. Therefore, just as savage wild beasts, when they are well-fed and at full strength, overcome those who fight with them, especially if those fighters are weak and unskilled, but if someone weakens them by starvation, he will put their rage to sleep and extinguish most of their strength, so that even someone not particularly brave might take up the conflict and battle with them—so it is also with the passions of the soul. The one who makes them weak places them under the control of right reason, but the one who carefully nourishes them makes his battle with them harder and makes them so formidable that he spends all his time in bondage and fear.

12. Do we then seem to you to entertain a reasonable fear? For in addition to what has been said, although much toil is needful on my part, so that I should not be completely overwhelmed by the passions of my soul, yet I endure the toil, and I do not shun the conflict. For even now I am taken captive by vainglory, but I often recover myself, and I see at a glance that I have been taken, and there are times when I rebuke my soul, which has been enslaved; outrageous desires even now come over me, but they kindle only a languid flame, since my bodily eyes cannot fasten upon any fuel to feed the fire. From speaking ill of any, or from hearing any one evil spoken of, I am utterly removed, since I have no one to talk with; for surely these walls would never give tongue; yet it is not altogether in like manner possible to avoid anger, although there be none to provoke it. For often when the recollection of outrageous men has come over me, and of the deeds done by them, it makes my heart swell. But not permanently, for I quickly subdue its kindling, and persuade it to be quiet, saying that it is very inexpedient and extremely despicable to leave one's own fault alone, and to busy one's self about the faults of one's neighbors. But were I to come among the multitude, and to be involved in countless excitements, I should not be able to have the benefit of this warning, nor to experience reflections which take me thus to task. But just as they who are driven over precipices by a torrent, or in some other way, are able to foresee the destruction to which they are finally going, and are unable to think of any means of help, so I, when I have fallen into the great tumult of my passions, shall be able to see at a glance my chastisement daily increasing. But to be master of myself as I am now, and to rebuke diseases of this sort raging on every side, would not be equally easy for me as it was before. For my soul is weak and puny, and easily mastered, not only by these passions, but by envy, which is bitterer than all of them. Neither does it know how to bear insults or honors temperately. But these do exceedingly elate it, while those depress it. As, then, savage wild beasts, when they are in good condition, and in full vigor, overcome those that fight with them, particularly, too, if they be feeble and unskillful; but if any one were to weaken them by starvation, he will put their rage to sleep, and will extinguish most of their strength; so that one, not over valiant, might take up the conflict and battle with them: so also with the passions of the soul. He who makes them weak, places them in subjection to right reason; but he who nourishes them carefully, makes his battle with them harder, and renders them so formidable that he passes all his time in bondage and fear.

What then is the food of these wild beasts? For vainglory, it is honors and applause; for pride, it is an abundance of authority and power; for envy, it is the reputation of one's neighbors; for greed, it is the generosity of those who give freely; for lack of self-control, it is luxury and the constant company of women; and other passions have their own proper nourishment. All these things will fiercely attack me if I go out into the world and will tear my soul to pieces. They will be more dangerous and will make my battle against them much harder. But while I remain here, they will be subdued—though only with great effort. Yet at the same time, by the grace of God, they will be subdued, and there will be nothing worse than their barking. For these reasons I stay in this cell and remain inaccessible, self-contained, and unsociable, and I put up with hearing countless complaints about this, although I would gladly remove them and have been troubled and grieved because I cannot. For it is not easy for me to become sociable and at the same time to remain in my present security. Therefore I ask you, too, to pity rather than to blame one who is caught in such great difficulty.

What then is the food of these wild beasts? Of vainglory, indeed, it is honors and applause; of pride, abundance of authority and power; of envy, the reputation of one's neighbors; of avarice, the munificence of the generous; of incontinence, luxury and the constant society of women; and other passions have their proper nutriment? And all these things will sorely attack me if I come forth into the world, and will tear my soul to pieces, will be the more formidable and will make my battle with them the harder. Whereas, while I am established here they will be subdued; and then, indeed, only with great exertion; yet at the same time, by the Grace of God, they will be subdued, and there will not be anything worse then than their bark. For these reasons I keep to this cell, and am inaccessible, self-contained, and unsociable, and I put up with hearing countless complaints of this kind, although I would gladly efface them, and have been vexed and grieved because I cannot; for it is not easy for me to become sociable, and at the same time to remain in my present security. Therefore I beseech you, too, to pity rather than to censure one beset with such great difficulty.

But we cannot yet persuade you. So the time has now come for me to tell you the one thing I have left unsaid. Perhaps it may seem unbelievable to many, but even so I will not be ashamed to bring it out into the open, for though what I say proves an evil conscience and many sins, still, since God who is about to judge us knows everything accurately, what benefit will we gain from human ignorance? What then is this thing that remains unspoken? From the day you raised the possibility of my becoming bishop, my entire being has often been in danger of complete collapse, such was the fear, such the despondency that seized my soul. For when I considered the glory of the Bride of Christ—the holiness, the spiritual beauty and wisdom and loveliness—and then counted up my own faults, I could not stop mourning both for her and for myself, and amid constant distress and confusion I kept saying: Who made such a suggestion as this? Why has the Church of God made so great a mistake? Why has she so provoked her Master as to be handed over to me, the most unworthy of all men, and to suffer such great disgrace? Thinking about these things often by myself, and being unable to bear the thought of so monstrous a thing, I was like people struck by lightning—speechless and unable either to see or hear. And when this condition of great helplessness left me (for there were times when it passed), tears and despondency took its place, and after the flood of tears, fear would enter again in their place, disturbing, confusing, and agitating my mind. I spent the time that has passed in such a storm, but you were ignorant of it and thought I was spending my time in perfect tranquility. But now I will try to unveil to you the storm of my soul, for perhaps you will from now on pardon me and abandon your accusations. How then shall I unveil this to you? For if you would see this clearly, it would only be possible by laying bare my own heart. But since this is impossible, I will try to show you as well as I can, through a certain faint illustration, the gloom of my despondency, and from this image please infer my condition.

But we cannot yet persuade you. Accordingly the time is now come that I should utter to you the only thing which I have left unspoken. Perhaps it may seem to many to be incredible, but even so I shall not be ashamed to bring it before the world, for though what is said is proof of an evil conscience and of many sins, yet, since God, who is about to judge us, knows all accurately, what gain will result to us from the ignorance of men? What then is this, which is yet unspoken? From that day on which you imparted to me the suspicion of the bishopric, my whole system has often been in danger of being completely unhinged, such was the fear, such the despondency which seized my soul; for on considering the glory of the Bride of Christ, the holiness, the spiritual beauty and wisdom, and comeliness, and then reckoning up my own faults, I used not to cease bewailing both her and myself, and amidst continual distress and perplexity, I kept saying — who then made such a suggestion as this? Why has the Church of God made so great a mistake? Why has she so provoked her Master, as to be delivered over to me, the unworthiest of all men, and to undergo such great disgrace? Considering these things often by myself, and being unable to bear the thought of so monstrous a thing, I used to be like thunderstruck people, speechless, and unable either to see or hear. And when this condition of great helplessness left me, for there were times when it passed off, tears and despondency succeeded to it, and after the flood of tears, then fear again, entered in their stead, disturbing, confusing and agitating my mind. In such a tempest I used to pass the time that is gone; but you were ignorant of it, and thought that I was spending my time in a perfect tranquillity, but I will now try and unveil to you the storm of my soul, for it may be you will henceforth pardon me, abandoning your accusations. How then shall I unveil this to you? For if you would see this clearly, it is not otherwise possible than by laying bare my own heart; but as this is impossible, I will try and show you as well as I can, by a certain faint illustration, the gloom of my despondency, and from this image please to infer my condition.

Let us imagine that the daughter of the King of all the earth under the sun is engaged to a certain man, and that this young woman has matchless beauty that surpasses human nature, and in this respect she far exceeds the entire race of women. Imagine also that she has virtues of soul so great as to far surpass the whole generation of people who have lived or ever will live, and that the grace of her character transcends all standards of art, and that the loveliness of her appearance is overshadowed by the beauty of her face. Imagine that her betrothed is not only in love with the young woman for these reasons, but also has affection for her apart from these things, and by his passion he puts to shame the most passionate lovers who ever existed. Then let us suppose that while he is burning with love, he hears from somewhere that some lowly, contemptible man—of low birth and crippled in body, in fact a thoroughly wicked person—was about to marry this wonderful, beloved young woman. Have we then shown you some small portion of our grief? And is it enough to stop my illustration at this point? As far as my despair is concerned, I think it is enough, for this was the only purpose for which I introduced the comparison. But in order to show you the extent of my fear and my terror, let me continue to another description.

Let us suppose that the daughter of the King of all the earth under the sun is the betrothed of a certain man, and that this damsel has matchless beauty, transcending that of human nature, and that in this respect she outstrips by a long distance the whole race of women; also that she has virtues of the soul, so great as to distance by a long way the whole generation of men that have been, or that shall be; and that the grace of her manners transcends all standards of art, and that the loveliness of her person is eclipsed by the beauty of her countenance; and that her betrothed, not only for the sake of these things, is enamored of the maiden, but apart from these things has an affection for her, and by his ardor throws into the shade the most passionate of lovers that ever were. Then let us suppose, while he is burning with love, he hears from some quarter that some mean, abject man, low born, and crippled in body, in fact a thoroughly bad fellow, was about to wed this wondrous, well-beloved maiden. Have we then presented to you some small portion of our grief? And is it enough to stay my illustration at this point? So far as my despondency is concerned, I think it is enough; for this was the only purpose for which I introduced the comparison, but that I may show you the measure of my fear, and my terror, let me proceed to another description.

Let there be an army made up of foot soldiers, cavalry, and naval forces, and let many warships cover the sea while formations of infantry and cavalry cover most of the plains and the mountain ridges, and let the metal of their armor reflect the sunlight, and the gleam of the helmets and shields be reflected by the rays that shine from them. Let the clash of spears and the neighing of horses rise up to the very heavens, and let neither sea nor land be visible, but only bronze and iron in every direction. Let the enemy be arranged in battle formation opposite them, fierce and savage men, and let the time for battle be close at hand. Then let someone suddenly grab some young boy, one of those raised in the countryside who knows nothing but how to use a shepherd's pipe and staff. Let him be dressed in bronze armor, and let him be led around the whole camp and shown the squadrons and their officers, the archers, slingers, captains, generals, the infantry and cavalry, the spearmen, the warships and their commanders, the dense mass of soldiers in the ships, and the quantity of siege engines lying ready on board. Let him also be shown the entire arrangement of the enemy, their frightening appearance, and the varied supplies and unusual amount of their weapons. Show him also the ravines and cliffs of the mountains, deep and dangerous. Let him further be shown on the enemies' side horses flying by some magic and infantry carried through the air, and sorcery of every kind and form. And let him consider the disasters of war: the cloud of spears, the hailstorm of arrows, that great mist and darkness, that most gloomy night which the mass of weapons creates, blocking out the sun's rays with their cloud, the dust no less than the darkness hindering sight. The streams of blood, the groans of the falling, the shouts of the survivors, the piles of dead bodies, wheels soaked in blood, horses with their riders thrown headlong because of the number of corpses, the ground a scene of complete chaos, blood and bows and arrows, hooves of horses and heads of men lying together, a human arm and a chariot wheel and a helmet, a chest pierced through, brains sticking to swords, the point of a spear broken off with an eye impaled upon it. Then let him consider the sufferings of the naval force: the warships burning in the middle of the waves and sinking with their armed crews, the roar of the sea, the confusion of the sailors, the shout of the soldiers, the foam of the waves mixed with blood and splashing over into all the ships, the corpses on the decks, some sinking, some floating, some thrown upon the beach, overwhelmed by the waves and blocking the passage of the ships. And when he has been thoroughly taught about the whole tragedy of warfare, let the horrors of captivity and slavery be added to it, worse than any kind of death. And having told him all this, command him to mount his horse immediately and take command of that entire army.

Let there be an armament composed of infantry, cavalry, and marines, and let a number of triremes cover the sea, and phalanxes of foot and horse cover most of the plains, and the ridges of the mountains, and let the metal of their armor reflect the sunshine, and the glitter of the helmets and shields be reflected by the beams which are emitted from them; let the clashing of spears and the neighing of horses be borne up to the very heavens, and let neither sea nor land appear, but only brass and iron in every direction. Let the enemy be drawn up in battle array opposite to these, fierce and savage men, and let the time of the engagement be now at hand. Then let some one suddenly seize some young lad, one of those brought up in the country, knowing nothing but the use of the shepherd's pipe and crook; let him be clad in brazen armor, and let him be led round the whole camp and be shown the squadrons and their officers, the archers, slingers, captains, generals, the foot and horse, the spearmen, the triremes and their commanders, the dense mass of soldiers in the ships, and the multitude of engines of war lying ready on board. Let him be shown, moreover, the whole array of the enemy, their repulsive aspect, and the varied stores and unusual quantity of their arms; the ravines also and precipices of the mountains, deep and difficult. Let him be shown further on the enemies' side, horses flying by some enchantment and infantry borne through the air, and sorcery of every power and form; and let him consider the calamities of war, the cloud of spears, the hailstorm of arrows, that great mist and obscurity that gloomiest night which the multitude of weapons occasions, eclipsing the sunbeams with their cloud, the dust no less than the darkness baffling the eyesight. The torrents of blood, the groanings of the falling, the shouts of the surviving, the heaps of slain, wheels bathed in blood, horses with their riders thrown headlong down, owing to the number of corpses, the ground a scene of general confusion, blood, and bows, and arrows, hoofs of horses and heads of men lying together, a human arm and a chariot wheel and a helmet, a breast pierced through, brains sticking to swords, the point of a dart broken off with an eye transfixed upon it. Then let him reckon up the sufferings of the naval force, the triremes burning in the midst of the waves, and sinking with their armed crews, the roaring of the sea, the tumult of the sailors, the shout of the soldiers, the foam of the waves mixed with blood, and dashing over into all the ships; the corpses on the decks, some sinking, some floating, some cast upon the beach, overwhelmed by the waves, and obstructing the passage of the ships. And when he has been carefully instructed in all the tragedy of warfare, let the horrors of captivity and of slavery be added to it, worse than any kind of death; and having told him all this, bid him mount his horse straightway, and take command of all that armament.

Do you really think this young man would be capable of anything more than just describing it, and wouldn't he lose heart at the very first sight of it?

Do you really think that this lad would be equal to more than the mere description, and would not, at the very first glance, lose heart?

Don't think I've exaggerated in my description, or imagine that because we are confined in this body, as in some prison, and unable to see anything of the invisible world, I've overstated things. If you could see with your own eyes the devil's terrifying battle formation and his frenzied attack, you would witness a far greater and more dreadful conflict than this. There's no brass or iron there, no horses, chariots, or wheels, no fire or javelins—these are visible things. But there are other far more fearful weapons than these. You don't need breastplate, shield, sword, or spear against these enemies, yet the mere sight of this cursed army is enough to paralyze the soul, unless it happens to be very noble and enjoys to a high degree, as protection for its own courage, God's providential care. And if it were possible, by leaving this body behind or while still keeping it, to see clearly and fearlessly with the naked eye his entire battle formation and his warfare against us, you would see no streams of blood or dead bodies, but so many fallen souls and such disastrous wounds that all that warfare I just described to you would seem like mere child's play and amusement rather than war. So many are struck down every day, and the wounds in these two cases don't bring about the same kind of death—the difference between them is as great as the difference between the soul and the body. When the soul receives a wound and falls, it doesn't lie there like a lifeless body. Instead, it is tormented from then on, gnawed by an evil conscience, and after its departure from here, at the time of judgment, it is handed over to eternal punishment. And if anyone feels no grief over the wounds inflicted by the devil, his danger becomes greater because of his insensitivity. Whoever is not pained by the first wound will readily receive a second, and then a third. The unclean spirit will never stop attacking until the last breath, whenever he finds a soul lazy and indifferent to its first wounds. And if you were to examine his method of attack, you would find it much more severe and varied. No one has ever known as many forms of cunning and deceit as that unclean spirit possesses. This, in fact, is how he has acquired most of his power, nor can anyone have as relentless a hatred toward their worst enemies as the evil one has toward the human race. And if anyone were to examine the intensity with which he fights, here again it would be laughable to compare men with him. But if someone were to select the fiercest and most savage of beasts and compare their fury with his, they would find those beasts meek and gentle by comparison—such rage does he breathe out when he attacks our souls. The period of warfare in the former case is brief, and in this brief time there are breaks. The coming of night and the exhaustion from slaughter, mealtimes too, and many other things give the soldier a break, so he can take off his armor and rest a little, refresh himself with food and drink, and in many other ways recover his former strength. But in the case of the evil one, it's never possible to lay aside one's armor, never possible even to sleep, for one who wants to remain unharmed at all times. One of two things must happen: either to fall and perish unarmed, or to stand equipped and always watchful. For he always stands ready with his own battle formation, watching for our carelessness and working more eagerly for our destruction than we work for our salvation.

13. Do not think that I have exaggerated the matter by my account, nor suppose that because we are shut up in this body, as in some prison house, and are unable to see anything of the invisible world, that what has been said is overstated. For you would see a far greater and more formidable conflict than this, could you ever behold, with these eyes of yours, the devil's most gloomy battle array, and his frantic onset. For there is no brass or iron there. No horses, or chariots or wheels, no fire and darts. These are visible things. But there are other much more fearful engines than these. One does not need against these enemies breastplate or shield, sword and spear, yet the sight only of this accursed array is enough to paralyze the soul, unless it happen to be very noble, and to enjoy in a high degree as a protection to its own courage the providential care of God. And if it were possible by putting off this body, or still keeping it, to see clearly and fearlessly with the naked eye the whole of his battle array, and his warfare against us, you would see no torrents of blood, nor dead bodies, but so many fallen souls, and such disastrous wounds that the whole of that description of warfare which I just now detailed to you you would think to be mere child's sport and pastime rather than war: so many are there smitten every day, and the wounds in the two cases do not bring about the same death, but as great as is the difference between the soul from the body, so great is the difference between that death and this. For when the soul receives a wound, and falls, it does not lie as a lifeless body, but it is thenceforth tormented, being gnawed by an evil conscience; and after its removal hence, at the time of judgment, it is delivered over to eternal punishment; and if any one be without grief in regard to the wounds given by the devil, his danger becomes the greater for his insensibility. For whoever is not pained by the first wound, will readily receive a second, and after that a third. For the unclean spirit will not cease assaulting to the last breath, whenever he finds a soul supine and indifferent to his first wounds; and if you would inquire into the method of attack, you would find this much more severe and varied. For no one ever knew so many forms of craft and deceit as that unclean spirit. By this indeed, he has acquired the greater part of his power, nor can any one have so implacable a hatred against his worst enemies as the evil one against the human race. And if any one inquire into the vehemence with which he fights, here again it would be ludicrous to bring men into comparison with him. But if any one choose out the fiercest and most savage of beasts, and is minded to set their fury against his, he will find that they were meek and quiet in comparison, such rage does he breathe forth when he attacks our souls; and the period of the war fare indeed in the former case is brief, and in this brief space there are respites; for the approach of the night and the fatigue of slaughter, meal-times also, and many other things, afford a respite to the soldier, so that he can doff his armor and breathe a little, and refresh himself with food and drink, and in many other ways recover his former strength. But in the case of the evil one it is not possible ever to lay aside one's armor, it is not possible even to take sleep, for one who would remain always unscathed. For one of two things must be: either to fall and perish unarmed, or to stand equipped and ever watchful. For he ever stands with his own battle array, watching for our indolence, and laboring more zealously for our destruction, than we for our salvation.

The fact that the devil is invisible to us and attacks suddenly—which causes endless problems for those who don't stay alert—proves that this kind of warfare is harder than physical combat. Would you really want us, then, to command Christ's soldiers in such a situation? No, that would actually be commanding them to serve the devil, because whenever someone who should be leading and organizing others is actually the most inexperienced and weak of all people, by abandoning those entrusted to his care through his inexperience, he ends up commanding them for the devil's benefit rather than Christ's.

And that he is not seen by us, and suddenly assails us, which things are a source of countless evils to those who are not always on the watch, proves this kind of war to be harder than the other. Could you wish us, then, in such a case to command the soldiers of Christ? Yea, this were to command them for the devil's service, for whenever he who ought to marshal and order others is the most inexperienced and feeble of all men, by betraying through this inexperience those who have been entrusted to his charge, he commands them in the devil's interests rather than in Christ's.

But why do you sigh? Why do you weep? My peace now does not call for wailing, but for joy and gladness.

But why do you sigh? Why weep? For my ease does not now call for wailing, but for joy and gladness.

But not my case—this indeed calls for countless lamentations. For I can hardly yet understand to what degree of evil you have brought me. I came to you wanting to learn what excuse I should make on your behalf to those who find fault with you, but you send me back after replacing the case I had with another. For I am no longer concerned about what excuses I shall give them on your behalf, but what excuse I shall make to God for myself and my own faults. But I beg you and implore you, if my welfare matters at all to you, if there is any consolation in Christ, any comfort of love, any compassion and mercies, for you know that you above all have brought me into this danger—stretch forth your hand, both saying and doing what is able to restore me. Do not have the heart to leave me for even the briefest moment, but now more than before let me spend my life with you.

Basil: But not my case, yea this calls for countless lamentations. For I am hardly able yet to understand to what degree of evil you have brought me. For I came to you wanting to learn what excuse I should make on your behalf to those who find fault with you; but you send me back after putting another case in the place of that I had. For I am no longer concerned about the excuses I shall give them on your behalf, but what excuse I shall make to God for myself and my own faults. But I beseech you, and implore you, if my welfare is at all regarded by you, if there be any consolation in Christ, if any comfort of love, if any bowels, and mercies, Philippians 2:1 for you know that yourself above all hast brought me into this danger, stretch forth your hand, both saying and doing what is able to restore me, do not have the heart to leave me for the briefest moment, but now rather than before let me pass my life with you.

Chrysostom: But I smiled and said, "How will I be able to help you or benefit you when you're weighed down by such a great burden of office?" But since this pleases you, take courage, dear soul. Whenever you can find free time in the midst of your own responsibilities, I will come and comfort you, and I won't hold back anything that's within my power to do.

Chrysostom: But I smiled, and said, how shall I be able to help, how to profit you under so great a burden of office? But since this is pleasant to you, take courage, dear soul, for at any time at which it is possible for you to have leisure amid your own cares, I will come and will comfort you, and nothing shall be wanting of what is in my power.

At this point, he wept even more and stood up. I embraced him, kissed his head, and led him out, urging him to bear his situation courageously. I said to him, "I believe that through Christ, who has called you and placed you over his own sheep, you will gain such confidence from this ministry that you will even receive me, if I am in danger on the last day, into your eternal dwelling place."

On this, he weeping yet more, rose up. But I, having embraced him and kissed his head, led him forth, exhorting him to bear his lot bravely. For I believe, said I, that through Christ who has called you, and set you over his own sheep, you will obtain such assurance from this ministry as to receive me also, if I am in danger at the last day, into your everlasting tabernacle.