Homilies on the Statues, Homily 13

1. I will begin today with the same introduction and opening I used yesterday and the day before. Once again I will say, “Blessed be God!” What a day we saw last Wednesday! And what a day we see now! How heavy the gloom was that day! How bright and peaceful it is now! That was the day when that terrifying tribunal was set up in the city, shaking everyone’s heart and making the day seem no better than night—not because the sun’s rays had gone out, but because despair and fear darkened your eyes. So, to make our joy even greater, I want to recount a few things that happened then, because I see that telling this story will help you and everyone who comes after us. Besides, people who have escaped a shipwreck find it sweet, once they reach port, to remember the waves, the storm, and the winds. And people who have been sick find it pleasant, once the illness is over, to talk with others about the fevers that nearly brought them to the grave. Once terrors have passed, there is pleasure in recounting them: the soul no longer fears them but draws greater cheer from them. Remembering past troubles always makes present prosperity stand out more clearly. 2. Most of the city’s people had taken refuge from the fear and danger of that occasion in hiding places, deserted areas, and ravines, with terror surrounding them on every side. The houses were empty of women, and the public square was empty of men. Barely two or three people could be seen walking together across it, and even they moved about like living corpses. At that time I went to the court of justice to see how these proceedings would end. There I saw what remained of the city gathered together, and what astonished me most was this: although a crowd stood around the doors, the silence was so deep that it seemed no one was there. Everyone looked at one another, but no one dared ask a neighbor anything or hear anything from him. Each regarded his neighbor with suspicion, since many had already been unexpectedly dragged out of the public square and were now confined inside. So we all alike looked up to heaven and stretched out our hands in silence, expecting help from above and begging God to stand beside those being brought to judgment, to soften the judges’ hearts, and to make their sentence merciful. When people on land see others suffering shipwreck, the waves keep them from approaching, reaching out a hand, and relieving their distress. Yet from the shore, with outstretched hands and tears, they beg God to help those who are drowning. In just the same way, everyone there silently called on God in their hearts, pleading for those before the tribunal as for men surrounded by waves, asking Him to stretch out His hand, to keep the vessel from being overwhelmed, and to keep the trial from ending in utter shipwreck for those being judged. That was the scene outside the doors. But when I entered the court, I saw other sights that were even more dreadful: soldiers armed with swords and clubs, strictly keeping order for the judges inside. All the relatives of those on trial—wives, mothers, daughters, and fathers—stood outside the court’s doors. To prevent anyone from raising an uproar or disturbance, overcome by the sight if someone happened to be led away to execution, the soldiers drove them all far back, filling their minds with fear beforehand. 3. One sight was more pitiful than all the rest. The mother and sister of a man on trial inside sat right at the entrance to the court, rolling on the pavement and making a spectacle of themselves before everyone standing there. They covered their faces and showed only as much concern for modesty as the urgency of their calamity allowed. No female servant, neighbor, female friend, or other relative accompanied them. Alone, poorly dressed, surrounded by a crowd of soldiers, and groveling on the ground right by the doors, they were in a more pitiful condition than those being judged inside. As they heard the executioners’ voices, the blows of the whip, the cries of those being whipped, and the judges’ terrifying threats, they themselves suffered sharper pains with every whipping than those receiving the blows. Since other people’s confessions might establish the accusations, whenever they heard someone crying out as he was whipped to make him name the guilty, they looked up to heaven and begged God to give the sufferer strength to endure. The women feared that others, unable to bear the sharp agony of the blows, would give way and endanger the women’s relatives. Again, it was like the situation of men struggling in a storm. When they see a violent wave rearing its head in the distance, gradually growing and about to overwhelm the vessel, they are nearly dead with terror before it even approaches the ship. So it was with these women. Whenever voices and cries reached them, they saw a thousand deaths before their eyes, terrified that those being pressed to testify would give way under torture and name one of their own relatives. And so there was torture both inside and outside. Inside, the executioners tormented the prisoners; outside, the overpowering force of natural family ties and loving sympathy tormented these women. There was mourning inside and outside! Inside, those found guilty mourned; outside, their relatives mourned. Indeed, they were not the only ones: their very judges mourned inwardly and suffered more severely than all the rest, compelled to take part in so bitter a tragedy. 4. As I sat watching all this, I saw married women and virgins, accustomed to living in seclusion, now exposed to everyone’s gaze. Those accustomed to lying on soft couches now had the pavement for their bed. Those who had always had female servants and eunuchs attending them, and enjoyed every kind of outward distinction, were now deprived of them all. They groveled at everyone’s feet, begging each person to help those being examined by any means in his power, so that everyone might contribute some mercy. I cried out in Solomon’s words, “Vanity of vanities, all is vanity.” For I saw both this saying and another fulfilled in actual events: “All the glory of man is like the flower of grass. The grass withers, and the flower falls away.” Then wealth, noble birth, fame, the support of friends, family connections, and all worldly things proved worthless. The sin and violation of the law that had taken place had driven all these sources of help away. When a mother bird returns after her nestlings have been carried off and finds her nest empty, she cannot rescue her captive brood. She can only show her grief by hovering around the bird catcher’s hands. These women did the same when their children were snatched from their homes and shut inside, as though caught in a net or trap. They could not enter and free the prisoners, but they showed their anguish by rolling on the ground right beside the doors, by mourning and groaning, and by trying to get as close as possible to those who had captured them. As I watched these things, I thought of That Dread Tribunal and said to myself, “If now, when men are the judges, neither mother, sister, father, nor anyone else, though innocent of the deeds committed, can rescue the criminals, who will stand beside us when we are judged at the dread Tribunal of Christ? Who will dare to speak up? Who will be able to rescue those led away to those unbearable punishments?” Although those brought to trial then were the city’s leading men, the very highest of the nobility, they would have been glad to lose all their possessions, and even their freedom itself if necessary, if only they could continue to enjoy this present life. 5. But to continue. The day was drawing to a close, late evening was approaching, and the court’s final sentence was expected. Everyone was in still greater agony and begged God to grant some delay and a temporary reprieve, and to move the judges to refer the facts they had investigated to the Emperor for a decision, since perhaps some advantage might come from this referral. The people also offered prayers together to the Merciful God, begging Him to save what remained of the city and not let it be completely torn down to its foundations. No one joined in this cry without tears. Yet none of these things moved the judges inside, though they heard them. They were concerned with only one thing: conducting a rigorous investigation of the deeds that had been committed. 6. At last, after loading the offenders with chains and binding them in iron, they sent them to prison through the middle of the public square. Men who had kept breeding horses, who had presided over the games, who could list a thousand different distinguished offices they had held, had their property confiscated, and seals could be seen on all their doors. Their wives, too, were driven out of their parents’ homes, and each literally had to play the part of Job’s wife. They went “wandering from house to house and from place to place, looking for somewhere to stay.” And this was not easy to find, since everyone trembled with fear at the thought of taking in or helping in any way the relatives of those under accusation. Yet despite all that had happened, the sufferers bore everything patiently, since they had not been deprived of this present life. Neither the loss of wealth, nor disgrace, nor such public exposure, nor anything else of that kind troubled them. The greatness of the calamity, and the fact that they had expected even worse when these things happened, had prepared their souls to show wise endurance. Now they learned how simple virtue is for us, how easily and quickly we can practice it, and that only our neglect makes it seem difficult. Before this, they could not calmly bear losing even a little money. Now, under the pressure of a greater fear, although they had lost everything they owned, they felt as though they had found a treasure because they had not lost their lives. So if awareness of the hell to come took hold of us, and we thought about those intolerable punishments, we would not grieve even if, for the sake of God’s law, we gave up our possessions, our bodies, and our lives as well. We would know that we would gain something greater: deliverance from the terrors to come. 7. Perhaps the tragedy of everything I have told you has deeply softened your hearts. Do not resent this. I have done it deliberately, because I am about to venture into some subtler thoughts and need your minds to be more receptive. I wanted the terror of this account to shake all sluggishness out of your minds and draw them away from every worldly concern, so that you could more readily carry the force of what I am about to say into the depths of your souls. Our recent discourse has already shown you clearly enough that a natural law of good and evil is planted within us. But to make the proof still clearer, we will again devote ourselves earnestly to the same subject today. Everyone’s behavior shows that from the beginning, when God formed man, He made him capable of distinguishing between the two. That is why, when we sin, we are all ashamed in the presence of those beneath us. Often a master on his way to a prostitute’s house catches sight of one of his more respectable servants and turns back from this shameful path, blushing. Again, when others reproach us by calling us names associated with particular vices, we call it an insult; and if we feel wronged, we drag those responsible into court. So we can understand what vice is and what virtue is. To make this clear, and to show that He was not introducing a strange law or one beyond our nature, but the law He had long before placed in our conscience, Christ, after pronouncing those many Beatitudes, says, “Whatever you want people to do to you, do the same to them.” “There is no need,” He says, “for many words, lengthy laws, or a variety of instructions. Let your own will be the law. Do you want to receive kindness? Be kind to someone else. Do you want to receive mercy? Show mercy to your neighbor. Do you want to be applauded? Applaud someone else. Do you want to be loved? Show love. Do you want to hold first place? First yield that place to someone else. Become the judge and lawgiver of your own life.” And again: “Do not do to another what you hate.” Through this latter command, he would lead us away from wickedness; through the former, toward practicing virtue. “Do not do to another,” he says, “what you hate.” Do you hate being insulted? Do not insult anyone else. Do you hate being envied? Do not envy anyone else. Do you hate being deceived? Do not deceive anyone else. In a word, if we hold firmly to these two commands in everything, we will need no other instruction. For He has planted the knowledge of virtue in our nature, but He has entrusted its practice and the correction of our conduct to our moral choice. 8. Perhaps what I have said is unclear, so I will try again to make it plainer. We need no discussion or instruction to know that practicing self-control is good, because we have this knowledge in our own nature. We do not need to wear ourselves out going around asking whether self-control is good and beneficial. We all agree on this, and no one doubts this virtue. Likewise, we consider adultery evil, and here too we need no effort or study to recognize the wickedness of this sin. We are all self-taught in such judgments: we applaud virtue even though we do not follow it, and, on the other hand, hate vice even though we practice it. God has done something very good here: He has made our conscience and our power of choice recognize their kinship with virtue and their hostility to wickedness even before we act. 9. As I said, then, the knowledge of each of these things lives within everyone’s conscience, and we need no teacher to instruct us in them. But directing our conduct is left to our choice, determination, and effort. Why? Because if He had made everything natural to us, we would have left this life without a crown or reward. Like animals, which receive no reward or praise for the advantages they naturally possess, we too would enjoy none of these things. Natural advantages bring praise and honor to the Giver, not to those who possess them. For this reason He did not leave everything to nature. Nor, on the other hand, did He allow our will to shoulder the whole burden of both knowing what is right and directing our conduct, so that it would not despair at the effort virtue requires. Instead, conscience tells the will what ought to be done, and the will supplies its own effort to accomplish it. We all understand without difficulty that self-control is good, because this knowledge comes by nature. But we cannot practice the rule of self-control without difficulty, without restraining lust and making a great effort. This does not come to us by nature as the knowledge does; it also requires a willing mind and determination. He has lightened our burden in another way as well, by making even some good dispositions natural to us. We are all naturally inclined to share the indignation of people treated with contempt (which is why we become enemies of those who behave arrogantly, even though we ourselves have suffered none of the wrong), and to share the pleasure of those who receive help and protection. We are overcome by other people’s calamities, as well as by tenderness toward one another. For although calamities may seem to make people somewhat timid, we still have a shared affection for one another. A certain wise man expresses this meaningfully: “Every animal loves its own kind, and man his neighbor.” 10. But God has provided many other instructors for us besides conscience: fathers for children, masters for servants, husbands for wives, teachers for pupils, lawgivers and judges for those they govern, and friends for friends. Often we gain no less from enemies than from friends, because when enemies reproach us for our offenses, they stir us up to correct them, even against our will. He has placed so many teachers over us to make it easy for us to discover what benefits us and to direct our conduct. So many things urge us toward this that they keep us from turning away from what is good for us. Even if we disregard our parents, fear of the authorities will at least make us more obedient than we otherwise would be. And even if we dismiss the authorities when we sin, we can never escape the rebuke of conscience. If we dishonor and reject conscience, concern for other people’s opinion will still make us better. And even if we have no shame about that, fear of the laws will press us and restrain us, however unwillingly. 11. So fathers and teachers take the young in hand and bring them into order, while lawgivers and authorities do the same for adults. Servants, being more inclined to laziness, have their masters, in addition to everything already mentioned, to compel them to practice self-control; and wives have their husbands. Many walls surround our race on every side to keep it from slipping too easily into wickedness. Besides all these, illnesses and calamities also teach us. Poverty restrains us, losses bring us to our senses, danger humbles us, and there are many other things of this kind. Do you fear no father, teacher, ruler, lawgiver, or judge? Does no friend make you ashamed, and no enemy sting you? Does no master discipline you? Does no husband instruct you? Does no conscience correct you? Still, when bodily illness comes, it often puts everything right, and a loss has made a reckless man gentle. Beyond this, severe misfortunes that happen to others as well as to ourselves often benefit us greatly. Even when we have suffered nothing ourselves, seeing others undergo punishment has brought us to our senses no less than it has them. 12. Anyone can see that the same thing happens with good deeds. Just as the punishment of the wicked makes others better, whenever good people do something right, many are stirred to show similar zeal. This has also happened with avoiding oaths. Many people, seeing that others had given up the evil habit of swearing oaths, followed their example of diligence and overcame the sin. This makes us all the more eager to return to this admonition. Let no one tell me that “many” have succeeded. That is not what we seek; we want “all” to do so, and until I see this, I cannot stop to catch my breath. That Shepherd had a hundred sheep, yet when one wandered off, he gave no thought to the safety of the ninety-nine until he found the lost one and restored it to the flock. Don’t you see that this also happens with the body? If we strike something and bend back just one nail, the whole body shares the injured part’s pain. Do not say that only a few have failed. Consider instead that these few, if they remain unreformed, will corrupt many others. Although only one person among the Corinthians had had sexual intercourse outside marriage, Paul groaned as though the whole city were lost. And with good reason: he knew that unless that member was disciplined, the disease would spread and eventually attack all the rest. Just recently I saw those distinguished men in the court of justice, bound and led through the public square. Some were astonished at this extraordinary humiliation, while others said there was nothing to be astonished at, because where treason is involved, rank must count for nothing. Isn’t it much more true, then, that rank must be of no help where there is impiety? 13. With these things in mind, then, let us stir ourselves to action. If you do not make your own efforts in this task, everything we do is pointless. Why? Because teaching is different from other crafts. When a silversmith has made a vessel of any kind and put it aside, he will find it the next day just as he left it. The bronze worker, the stonecutter, and every other craftsman will each take up his work again, whatever it is, in exactly the condition he left it. With us it is entirely the opposite. We are not shaping lifeless vessels, but rational souls. So we do not find you as we left you. After we have taken you in hand and, with much labor, shaped and reformed you and increased your zeal as you leave this place, pressing business surrounds you on every side, turns you astray again, and makes our task harder. So I beg and plead with you to put your own hand to the work. When you leave here, show the same earnest concern for your own salvation that I have shown here for your improvement. 14. Oh, if only I could do good works in your place, and you could receive the rewards for them! Then I would not trouble you so much. But how can I do this? It is impossible, for He will repay each person according to his own works. A mother who sees her son in a fever, suffering from choking and inflammation, often weeps over him and says, “Oh, my son, if only I could bear your fever and draw its fire into myself!” In the same way I now say: Oh, if only I could labor in your place and do good works for you all! But no, this cannot be done. Each person must give an account of his own actions, and no one can suffer punishment in another’s place. This is why I grieve and mourn: on That Day, when you are called to judgment, I will not be able to help you, since, to tell the truth, I do not have such freedom to speak confidently with God. But even if I had great confidence, I am not holier than Moses or more righteous than Samuel. Of them it is said that, although they had attained such great virtue, they could do nothing to help the Jews, because that people had given themselves over to extreme negligence. Since, then, we will be punished or saved on the basis of our own works, I beg you, let us strive to fulfill this command along with all the others. Then, when we finally leave this life with a favorable hope, we may obtain the good things promised, through the grace and loving kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, through Whom and with Whom, to the Father, with the Holy Spirit, be glory now and always, forever and ever. Amen.