On the Priesthood, Book 1

1. I had many sincere and loyal friends, men who understood the obligations of friendship and faithfully honored them; but among them one was more devoted to me than all the others. He tried to surpass them as much as they themselves surpassed ordinary acquaintances. He was constantly at my side: we studied the same subjects with the same teachers. We were equally eager and enthusiastic about our studies, and our shared circumstances gave us the same intense desire. We agreed not only while we were at school but also after we left, when we had to consider what way of life would be best for us to pursue.

2. Beyond these similarities, other things also kept our harmony intact and secure. Neither of us could boast that he came from a greater homeland than the other’s, nor was I weighed down with riches while he struggled with poverty, but our finances matched as closely as our tastes. Our families also had equal social standing, so everything reinforced our shared outlook.

3. When we were called to pursue the blessed life of monks and the true philosophy, the balance between us was no longer even. His side of the scale rose high, while I, still entangled in worldly desires, dragged mine down and kept it low, weighting it with the fantasies that young men often indulge in. From then on, our friendship remained as firm as before, but our time together was interrupted because it was impossible for people who did not share the same interests to spend much time together. As soon as I too began to emerge a little from the flood of worldliness, he received me with open arms; yet even then we could not regain our former equality. He had started before me and had shown such dedication that he again rose above my level and soared to great heights.

4. He was a good man, however, and valued my friendship highly. He withdrew from all the others (of the brethren) and spent all his time with me, which he had desired to do before, but, as I said, my frivolous behavior had prevented him. A man who spent his time in the law courts and was caught up in the excitement of the theater’s pleasures could not often spend time with someone who was tied to his books and never set foot in the marketplace. So when these obstacles were removed, and he had brought me into the same way of life as his own, he freely expressed the desire he had struggled with for so long. He could not bear to leave me even for a moment, and he kept urging each of us to leave his own home so that we could live together. In fact, he persuaded me, and we began making arrangements.

5. My mother’s constant laments prevented me from granting his request, or rather from receiving this favor from him. When she realized that I was considering this step, she took me into her own room, and, sitting near me on the bed where she had given birth to me, she shed torrents of tears, and added words even more pitiful than her weeping, lamenting as follows: My child, it was not Heaven’s will that I should enjoy your father’s goodness for long. For his death soon followed the pains I endured at your birth, leaving you an orphan and me a widow before my time to face all the horrors of widowhood, which only those who have experienced them can fully understand. No words can adequately describe the storm of troubles facing a young woman who has only recently left her father’s home, has no experience in business, and is suddenly tormented by overwhelming sorrow and forced to carry a burden of responsibilities too great for her age and sex. She has to correct her servants’ laziness and watch out for their dishonesty, resist her relatives’ schemes, and bravely face the threats of public tax collectors and the harsh levying of taxes. If the dead husband has left a child, even a girl causes her mother great anxiety, although she is spared much expense and fear; but a boy fills her with ten thousand fears and many anxieties every day, to say nothing of the great expense which she must bear if she wishes to bring him up well. None of these things, however, persuaded me to marry again or bring a second husband into your father’s house; I remained as I was, in the midst of the storm and uproar, and did not avoid the iron furnace of widowhood. My greatest help was grace from above; but during those terrible trials it also gave me great comfort to keep seeing your face and to preserve in you a living image of the man who had died, an image that closely resembled him. For this reason, even when you were an infant and had not yet learned to speak, a time when children are the greatest delight to their parents, you gave me great comfort. You cannot complain that, although I bore my widowhood bravely, I reduced your inheritance, although I know that many unfortunate orphans have lost part of theirs. Besides keeping all of it intact, I spared no expense that was needed to give you an honorable position, spending for this purpose some of my own wealth and my dowry. Do not think I say these things to reproach you; I ask only one favor in return for all these benefits: do not plunge me into a second widowhood; do not revive the grief that has now been laid to rest. Wait until I die; that may happen soon. Young people look forward to old age in the distant future; but we who have grown old have nothing but death to wait for. Then, when you have buried my body and mingled my bones with your father’s, embark for a long voyage, and set sail on any sea you choose; then no one will prevent you; but as long as my life lasts, be content to live with me. Please do not struggle uselessly against God, bringing these great misfortunes on me without cause, although I have done you no wrong. If you have any reason to complain that I drag you into worldly concerns, and force you to attend to business, do not let any respect for natural family ties, upbringing, or custom hold you back, but flee from me as an enemy. If, on the other hand, I do everything to provide leisure for your journey through this life, let this bond, at least, keep you with me, if nothing else does. Even if you could say that ten thousand people loved you, no one would give you as much freedom, since no one is as concerned about your well-being.

6. My mother said these words and more to me, and I repeated them to that noble young man. Far from being discouraged by these words, he pressed his request even more urgently. While this was going on, with him constantly pleading and me refusing to agree, we were both alarmed by a sudden report that we were about to be honored with appointment as bishops. As soon as I heard this rumor I was overcome with fear and confusion: fear that I would be seized against my will, and confusion, as I repeatedly asked how these men could ever have conceived such an idea about us; when I examined myself, I found nothing worthy of such an honor. That noble young man came to me privately and discussed these things with me as though I had not heard the rumor. He begged that in this situation, as before, we should agree on our plans and actions; he would gladly follow whatever course I took, whether I tried to escape or allowed myself to be seized. Seeing his eagerness, I considered that I would cause a loss to the whole body of the Church if, because of my own weakness, I were to deprive the flock of Christ of a young man who was so good and so well qualified to oversee many people. I therefore refrained from telling him the plan I had formed, although I had never hidden any of my plans from him before. I told him it would be best to postpone our decision about this matter until another time, since it was not immediately pressing. In this way I persuaded him to put it out of his mind and, at the same time, encouraged him to hope that, if this ever happened to us, I would agree with him. A short time later, when the man who was to ordain us arrived, I stayed in hiding, but Basil, who did not know this, was taken away under another pretext and made to accept the yoke, hoping, because of the promises I had made him, that I would certainly follow, or rather thinking that he was following me. Some of those present, seeing that he resented being seized, deceived him by saying how strange it was that someone generally thought to be more hot-tempered (meaning me), had quietly accepted the Fathers’ decision, whereas he, who was considered much wiser and gentler, had shown himself hotheaded and conceited by being unruly, uncooperative, and argumentative. After giving in to these objections and later learning that I had escaped being seized, he came to me deeply dejected, sat down near me and tried to speak, but his distress prevented him from expressing the violence he had suffered. As soon as he opened his mouth, grief cut his words short before he could utter them. Seeing him in tears and agitation, and knowing the cause, I laughed for joy, took his right hand, insisted on kissing him, and praised God that my plan had ended so successfully, as I had always prayed it would. When he saw that I was delighted and beaming with joy and understood that he had been deceived by me, he became even more upset and distressed.

7. When he had recovered a little from his agitation, he began: If you have rejected the role assigned to you, and no longer care about me (I really do not know why), you ought at least to consider your own reputation; but as it is, you have given everyone something to talk about, and the world is saying that you have refused this ministry because you love empty praise, and there is no one who will clear you of this charge. As for me, I cannot bear to go into the marketplace; there are so many who come up to me and rebuke me every day. Whenever they see me anywhere in the city, all my close friends take me aside, and put most of the blame on me. You knew his intention, they say. None of his business could be kept secret from you, so you should not have concealed it, but should have told us, and we would have found some way to seize him. But I am too ashamed and embarrassed to tell them that I did not know you had long been plotting this trick, for fear that they will say that our friendship was nothing but a pretense. Even if that is true, as it really is, and you yourself would not deny it after what you have done to me, it is still best to hide our misfortune from the outside world, and people who do not think particularly highly of us. I hesitate to tell them the truth, and what our situation really is, and from now on I am forced to keep silent, and look down on the ground, and turn away to avoid those whom I meet. If I escape condemnation on the first charge, I must face judgment for lying. They will never believe me when I say that you placed Basil among those who are not permitted to know your secret affairs. I will not make much of this, however, since it seems to have pleased you, but how will we endure the disgrace to come? Some accuse you of arrogance, others of seeking empty praise, while our more merciful accusers charge us both with these offenses, and add that we have insulted those who did us honor, although even greater humiliation would only have served them right for passing over so many distinguished men and promoting mere young men, who only yesterday were absorbed in worldly concerns, to an honor they had never dreamed of receiving, in order that they may briefly furrow their brows, wear dark clothes, and look solemn. Those who have diligently practiced self-discipline from early adulthood to extreme old age are now to be placed under the authority of young men who have not even heard the rules that should govern their exercise of this office. I am constantly attacked by people who say such things and worse, and do not know how to answer them. Please tell me, because I do not suppose that you fled and brought such hatred on yourself from such distinguished men without a reason or careful thought, but that you reached your decision through reason and careful consideration; that is why I also suppose that you have some argument ready for your defense. Tell me, then, whether there is any reasonable excuse I can give to those who accuse us. I am not demanding an explanation for the wrongs I have suffered at your hands, nor for the deception or treachery you have practiced, nor for the advantage you have gained from me in the past. I placed my very life in your hands, so to speak, yet you have treated me with as much cunning as though your task were to protect yourself from an enemy. Yet if you knew our decision was beneficial, you should not have avoided its benefit; if, on the other hand, it was harmful, you should have saved me also from the loss, as you always said that you valued me above everyone else. But you have done everything to make me fall into the trap; and you had no need of cunning and hypocrisy in dealing with someone who always showed complete sincerity and openness in speech and action toward you. Still, as I said, I do not now accuse you of any of these things, or reproach you for the lonely position in which you have placed me by breaking off the conversations that often gave us great pleasure and benefit; but I set all these things aside, and bear them quietly and gently, not because you acted gently when you wronged me, but because from the day I began to cherish your friendship I made it my rule that whatever sorrow you might cause me I would never force you to defend yourself. You yourself know that you have caused me a great loss if you at least remember what we ourselves were always saying, and the outside world also said about us, that it greatly benefited us to be of one mind and be guarded by each other’s friendship. Everyone said that our harmony would bring great benefit to many besides ourselves; for my part, however, I never understood how it could benefit others; but I did say that we would at least gain this benefit from it: that those who wanted to oppose us would find it hard to overcome us. I never stopped reminding you of these things. These are cruel times, I said, with many scheming men. Genuine love is gone, and the deadly plague of envy has crept into its place. We walk among traps and on the edge of battlements; those who are ready to rejoice in our misfortunes, if any happen to us, are many and surround us on many sides; but there is no one to sympathize with us, or at least the few who do are easy to count. We must be careful not to bring much ridicule on ourselves by separating, and harm worse than ridicule. A brother helped by his brother is like a strong city and a well-fortified kingdom. Do not destroy this genuine closeness or break down the fortress. I kept saying these things and more, not because I ever suspected anything like this. I believed that your relationship with me was completely healthy, and I was taking an extra precaution to keep someone healthy who was already well. Without knowing it, however, it seems I was administering medicine to a sick man; and even so I have not had the good fortune to achieve anything, and have gained nothing from all my precautions. You have completely cast aside all these considerations, without giving them a thought, and set me adrift like a ship without ballast on an unfamiliar ocean, paying no attention to the fierce waves I must face. If I ever have to endure slander, or mockery, or any other kind of insult or threat (and such things must frequently occur), to whom will I flee for refuge? With whom will I share my distress? Who will be willing to help me and drive back my assailants and put a stop to their assaults? Who will comfort me and prepare me to bear the vulgar mockery that may still await me? There is no one since you stand apart from this terrible struggle, and cannot even hear my cry. Do you see, then, what harm you have done? Now that you have dealt the blow, do you see what a deadly wound you have inflicted? Still, let all this pass; for it is impossible to undo the past, or to find a path through impassable difficulties. What shall I say to the outside world? How will I defend myself against their accusations?

8. Chrysostom: Take heart, I replied, for I am ready not only to defend myself on these matters, but I will also try as best I can to give an account of the things for which you have not held me accountable. Indeed, if you wish, I will make them the starting point of my defense. It would be remarkably foolish of me if, thinking only of praise from the public, and doing my best to silence their accusations, I were unable to convince my dearest friend that I am not wronging him, and were to treat him with indifference greater than the dedication he has shown on my behalf, treating me with such patience that he even refrains from accusing me of the wrongs which he says he has suffered from me, and setting aside his own interests out of concern for mine. What wrong have I done you, now that I have decided to set out from this point on the sea of self-defense? Is it that I misled you and concealed my purpose? Yet I did it both for your benefit, although you were deceived, and for the benefit of those to whom I handed you over through this deception. If deception is absolutely evil, and it is never right to use it, I am prepared to pay any penalty you choose; or rather, since you would never bear to punish me, I shall subject myself to the same sentence judges pronounce on wrongdoers when their accusers have convicted them. If it is not always harmful, but becomes good or bad according to the intention of those who practice it, you must stop complaining about the deception, and prove that it was planned against you for an evil purpose; and as long as this proof is lacking it would only be fair for those who want to act wisely, not only to refrain from rebukes and accusations, but even to give a friendly reception to the deceiver. A well-timed deception, undertaken with an honest intention, has such advantages that many people have often had to undergo punishment for refusing to use deception. If you study the history of generals who have enjoyed the highest reputation from the earliest times, you will find that most of their triumphs were achieved by strategy and deception, and that these generals are praised more highly than those who win in open combat. The latter conduct their campaigns with greater expense in money and men’s lives, so that they gain nothing by the victory, but suffer just as much distress as those who have been defeated, both in the sacrifice of troops and the exhaustion of funds. Besides this, they are not even permitted to enjoy all the glory of their victory; a large part of it is earned by those who have fallen, because they were victorious in spirit and defeated only in body; If it had been possible for them not to fall when wounded, and death had not come and dealt the final blow to their efforts, their bravery would have known no bounds. But one who has been able to win through strategy and deception exposes the enemy to ridicule as well as disaster. Again, in the other case both sides equally win the honors awarded for courage, whereas in this case they do not share equally in the honors awarded for wisdom, the prize falls entirely to the victors. Another equally important point is that they leave their country with undiminished joy in its victory; an abundance of resources and large numbers of men are not like mental powers: the former, if continually used in war, necessarily become exhausted, and fail their owners, but wisdom naturally increases the more it is exercised. The need for deception can arise in peace as well as in war, not only in public affairs, but also in private life, in the dealings of husband with wife and wife with husband, son with father, friend with friend, and also children with a parent. Saul’s daughter would not have been able to rescue her husband from Saul’s power except by deceiving her father. And her brother, wishing to save the man she had rescued when he was again in danger, used the same weapon as his sister, the wife. Basil: None of these cases applies to me; for I am not an enemy, nor one of those who are trying to harm you, but just the opposite. I entrusted all my interests to your judgment, and always followed it whenever you told me to. Chrysostom: My admirable and excellent friend, this is precisely why I took the precaution of saying that it was good to use this kind of deception, not only in war, and in dealing with enemies, but also in peace, and in dealing with our dearest friends. As proof that it benefits not only the deceivers but also those who are deceived, if you go to any of the physicians and ask them how they free their patients from illness, they will tell you that they do not rely on their professional skill alone, but sometimes restore the sick to health by using deception and combining the help they get from it with their medical skill. When the patient’s lack of cooperation and the stubbornness of the illness defeat the physicians’ plans, they must then put on the mask of deceit so that, as in the theater, they may be able to hide what really takes place. If you like, I will tell you one example out of the many tricks I have heard practitioners of medicine devise. A man was once suddenly attacked by a very severe fever; the burning heat increased, and the patient rejected the remedies which could have reduced it and craved a drink of undiluted wine, passionately begging everyone who approached to give him some and satisfy this deadly craving. I say deadly because if anyone had granted this request, he would not only have worsened the fever but also have driven the unfortunate man into a frenzy. At that point, medical skill was defeated, its resources exhausted, and all its efforts wasted. A trick then stepped in and showed its power in the way I will now describe. The physician took a clay cup straight from the furnace, soaked it in wine, withdrew it empty, and filled it with water. He ordered curtains to darken the room where the sick man lay so that the light would not reveal the trick. Then he gave him the cup to drink, pretending that it was filled with undiluted wine. And the man, before he had taken it in his hands, being deceived by the smell, did not wait to examine what was given him, but convinced by the smell, and deceived by the darkness, eagerly gulped down the drink, and once satisfied with it, immediately shook off the feeling of suffocation and escaped the immediate danger. Do you see the advantage of deceit? And if anyone were to count all the tricks of physicians the list would go on without end. Not only those who heal the body but also those who treat diseases of the soul constantly use this remedy. In this way the blessed Paul attracted those multitudes of Jews: for this purpose he circumcised Timothy, although he warned the Galatians in his letter that Christ would not profit those who were circumcised. For this reason he submitted to the law, although he regarded righteousness from the law as nothing but loss after receiving faith in Christ. Deception has great value, provided it is not used with harmful intent. In fact, this kind of action should not be called deception, but rather a kind of good management, cleverness, and skill, capable of finding solutions when resources fail, and making up for the mind’s limitations. I would not call Phinehas a murderer, although he killed two human beings with one stroke: nor would I call Elijah a murderer after the slaughter of the 100 soldiers, and the captain, and the torrents of blood which he caused to be shed by the destruction of those who sacrificed to demons. If we were to concede this, and to examine the deeds alone apart from the intentions of those who did them, someone could, if he wished, judge Abraham guilty of child-murder and accuse his grandson and descendant of wickedness and deception. One obtained the birthright, and the other transferred the wealth of the Egyptians to the Israelite people. This is not the case; reject that outrageous thought! We not only clear them of blame but also admire them because of these things, since even God commended them for the same. The man who would rightly deserve to be called a deceiver is the one who used the practice unjustly, not the one who used it for a beneficial purpose. It is often necessary to deceive and bring about the greatest benefits through this device, while someone who has taken a straightforward course has seriously harmed the person he did not deceive.