On the Duties of the Clergy 1.13–1.20

But let us return to our subject, lest we seem to have passed over the division we made, since we met the opinion of those who, seeing all sorts of wicked men rich, safe, honoured, and powerful, while many of the just are in want and weak, think either that God does not care about us at all, as the Epicureans say, or that he does not know men’s actions, as the wicked think, or, if he knows everything, that he is an unjust judge, since he lets the good be in want and the wicked abound. Nor was it a superfluous digression, as it were, that the feelings of the very men whom they judge blessed, though these think themselves wretched, should answer an opinion of this kind. For I thought they would believe themselves more readily than us. This done, I think it easy to refute the rest. And first the assertion of those who think that God has no care at all for the world, as Aristotle asserts that his providence comes down only as far as the moon. And what workman neglects the care of his work? Who abandons and forsakes what he himself thought fit to make? If it is an indignity to rule, is it not a greater indignity to have made? For while not to have made something is no injustice, not to care for what you have made is the height of unkindness. But if they either deny God their creator or reckon themselves to be counted among wild beasts and cattle, what shall we say of those who condemn themselves with such an insult? They themselves assert that God goes through all things and that all things subsist in his power, that his force and majesty penetrate through all the elements, earth, heaven, and seas; and do they think it an indignity to him if he penetrates the mind of man, than which he has given us nothing more excellent, and enters it with the knowledge of the divine majesty? But do not the philosophers themselves, who are thought sober, mock the master of these men as a drunkard and the patron of pleasure? As for Aristotle’s opinion, what shall I say? He thinks that God is content with his own bounds and lives within the prescribed limit of his kingdom, as the fables of the poets say, who relate that the world was divided among three, so that by lot one received heaven to rule, another the sea, another the underworld, and that they take care not to stir up war among themselves by usurping concern for others’ parts. In the same way, then, he asserts that God has no care for the earth, just as he has none for the sea or the underworld. And how do they shut out the poets whom they themselves follow?

There follows the answer to the question whether God, if he has not neglected the care of his work, lacks knowledge of it. Does he, then, who planted the ear not hear? Does he who formed the eye not see, not consider? This vain opinion did not escape the holy prophets. David introduces such men speaking, whom he declares puffed up with pride. For what is so proud as when men who are themselves under sin resent that other sinners live, saying: “How long, O Lord, how long shall sinners boast?” And below: “And they said: The Lord will not see, nor will the God of Jacob understand.” To them the prophet answers, saying: “Understand now, you senseless among the people, and you fools, be wise at last. He who planted the ear, does he not hear? And he who formed the eye, does he not consider? He who chastises the nations, will he not rebuke, he who teaches man knowledge? The Lord knows the thoughts of men, that they are vain.” He who detects whatever is vain, does he not know what is holy, and is he ignorant of what he himself made? Can a craftsman be ignorant of his own work? Man is only man, and he detects what lies hidden in his work; and does God not know his own work? Is there, then, a greater depth in the work than in its maker? And did he make something that would be above himself, whose worth its maker would not know, whose disposition its judge would not know? So much for them. For us, however, the testimony of him who says is enough: “I am he who searches hearts and reins.” And in the Gospel the Lord Jesus says: “Why do you think evil in your hearts?” For he knew that they were thinking evil. Indeed the Evangelist testifies, saying: “For Jesus knew their thoughts.” Their opinion will not be able to move us much if we consider their deeds. They do not want a judge above them whom nothing escapes; they do not want to grant knowledge of hidden things to him, because they fear that their own hidden things will be exposed. But the Lord, knowing their works, has given them over to darkness. “In the night,” it says, “the thief will be about, and the eye of the adulterer will watch for darkness, saying: No eye will see me; and he has put a covering on his face.” For everyone who flees the light loves darkness, seeking to hide, though he cannot hide from God, who knows, within the depth of the abyss and within the minds of men, not only what has been considered but also what is yet to be pondered. Indeed, he too who says in Ecclesiasticus: “Who sees me? Darkness covers me, and the walls; whom do I fear?”—though he thinks these things lying on his bed, is caught where he did not expect. “And it will be a disgrace,” it says, “because he did not understand the fear of God.” And what is so stupid as to think that anything escapes God, when the sun, which is a minister of light, penetrates even hidden places, and the force of its heat breaks into the foundations of a house or into secret rooms? Who denies that the inner parts of the earth, which winter ice had bound, are warmed by the mildness of spring? The hidden parts of trees know the force of heat and cold, so much so that the roots of trees are either burned by cold or grow green by the warmth of the sun. Indeed, when the mildness of the sky has smiled, the earth pours itself out in various fruits. If, then, the ray of the sun pours its light over all the earth and thrusts itself into closed places, and is not hindered from penetrating by iron bars or the bolts of heavy doors, how can the intelligible splendour of God not thrust itself into the thoughts of men and into the hearts which he himself created? Or does he not see the things he made, and has he made the things that were made better and more powerful than himself who made them, so that they can, when they wish, hide from the knowledge of their maker? Has he put such virtue and power into our minds that he himself cannot comprehend it when he wishes?

We have dealt with two questions, and, as we think, this discussion has fallen out not unfittingly for us. A third kind of question remains: why sinners abound in wealth and riches and feast continually without sorrow or mourning, while the just are in want and are afflicted by the loss of wives or of children. That parable of the Gospel ought to have satisfied them: the rich man was clothed in fine linen and purple and laid out lavish banquets every day, while the poor man, full of sores, gathered the scraps from his table. But after the death of both, the poor man was in Abraham’s bosom, at rest, the rich man in torments. Is it not evident that rewards or punishments for merits remain after death? And rightly, for in the contest there is toil, and after the contest victory for some, disgrace for others. Is the palm given or the crown awarded to anyone before the race is finished? Rightly Paul says: “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the course, I have kept the faith; for the rest, there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness, which the Lord, the just judge, will give me on that day, and not only to me but also to those who love his coming.” “On that day,” he says, he will give it, not here. But here, in labours, in dangers, in shipwrecks, he contended like a good athlete, because he knew that through many tribulations we must enter the kingdom of God. So no one can receive the prize unless he has competed lawfully; nor is a victory glorious unless the contests have been laborious.

Is he not unjust who gives the prize before the contest is finished? And so the Lord says in the Gospel: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” He did not say, “Blessed are the rich,” but “the poor.” Blessedness by God’s judgment begins where human judgment reckons hardship. “Blessed are those who hunger, for they shall be filled. Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall have consolation. Blessed are the merciful, for God will have mercy on them. Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God. Blessed are those who suffer persecution for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. Blessed are you when they curse you and persecute you and say every evil against you for righteousness’ sake. Rejoice and exult, for your reward is abundant in heaven.” He promised that the reward would be paid in the future, not the present; in heaven, not on earth. Why do you demand in one place what is owed in another? Why do you claim the crown too early, before you have won? Why do you long to wipe off the dust, to rest? Why are you eager to feast before the race is over? The people are still watching, the athletes are still in the arena, and you already seek leisure. But perhaps you say: “Why do the wicked rejoice? Why do they live in luxury? Why do they too not toil with me?” Because those who have not entered their names for the crown are not bound to the toil of the contest; those who have not gone down into the stadium do not pour oil on themselves or smear themselves with dust. Those whom glory awaits, hardship awaits. The perfumed are accustomed to watch, not to compete, not to endure sun, heat, dust, and rain. Let the athletes, then, say to them: “Come, toil with us.” But the spectators will answer: “We sit here meanwhile to judge you; but you, if you win, will claim the glory of the crown without us.” So those who have set their aims on delights, luxury, plunder, gain, and honours are spectators rather than fighters. They have the gain of toil, but not the fruit of virtue. They cherish their ease; by cunning and wickedness they heap up piles of riches; but they will pay the penalty of their wickedness, late though it be. Their rest is in hell, but yours in heaven; their house in the tomb, yours in paradise. Hence Job said beautifully that they keep watch in the tomb, because they cannot have the sleep of rest which he slept who rose again. Do not, then, as a little child, think, speak, reason, or claim things that belong to a later age. The crown belongs to the perfect. Wait until what is perfect comes, when you will be able to know, not through a likeness in a riddle but face to face, the very form of the uncovered truth. Then it will be revealed why that man was rich who was wicked and a robber of others’ goods, why another was powerful, why one abounded in children, another was propped up by honours. Perhaps it is so that it may be said to the robber: “You were rich; why did you rob others? Want did not compel you, poverty did not drive you. Did I not make you rich precisely so that you could have no excuse?” Let it also be said to the powerful man: “Why did you not help the widow, and the orphans too, when they suffered wrong? Were you weak? Could you not help? I made you powerful so that you would not inflict violence but repel it. Is it not written for you: Rescue the one who suffers wrong? Is it not written for you: Deliver the poor and needy from the hand of the sinner?” Let it also be said to the one who had abundance: “I heaped children and honours on you, I granted you health of body; why did you not follow my commands? My servant, what have I done to you, or how have I grieved you? Did I not give you children, confer honours, grant you health? Why did you deny me? Why did you think that what you did would not come to my knowledge? Why did you keep my gifts and despise my commandments?” Indeed one may gather this from Judas the traitor, who was both chosen an apostle among the twelve and had the purse of money entrusted to him to pay out to the poor, so that he might not seem to have betrayed the Lord as one unhonoured or as one in need. And so, that the Lord might be justified in his case, he conferred these things on him, so that he might be liable to the greater offence, not as one embittered by injury but as one who betrayed grace.

Since, then, it has become clear enough that there will be punishment for wickedness and a reward for virtue, let us go on to speak of the duties that we must look to from youth, so that they may grow together with our age. It belongs, then, to good youths to have the fear of God, to defer to parents, to show honour to elders, to guard chastity, not to despise humility, to love gentleness and modesty, which are an ornament to the younger age. For as gravity is commended in the old and alertness in young men, so modesty is commended in youths as a kind of dowry of nature. Isaac feared the Lord, as befitted the offspring of Abraham, and deferred to his father so far that he did not refuse even death against his father’s will. Joseph too, though he had dreamed that the sun and moon and stars worshipped him, nevertheless deferred to his father with diligent obedience: chaste, so that he would not even hear any speech that was not pure; humble to the point of slavery, modest to the point of flight, patient to the point of prison, forgiving of injury to the point of repaying it with good. His modesty was so great that when he was seized by the woman he preferred to flee and leave his garment in her hands rather than lay aside his modesty. Moses also and Jeremiah, chosen by the Lord to preach God’s oracles to the people, declined out of modesty what they were able to do by grace.

Fine, then, is the virtue of modesty and sweet its grace, which is seen not only in deeds but also in our very words, so that you do not go beyond the measure in speaking and your speech does not sound anything unseemly. For the mirror of the mind generally shines out in words. Modesty weighs the very sound of the voice, so that no over-loud voice offends anyone’s ear. Indeed in singing itself the first discipline is modesty, and indeed in every use of speech, so that one begins gradually to chant psalms, or to sing, or finally to speak, and modest beginnings commend what follows. Silence too, in which the other virtues are at rest, is the greatest act of modesty. Indeed, if it is thought to come from childishness or pride, it is held a reproach; if from modesty, it is counted praise. Susanna was silent in danger and thought the loss of modesty more grievous than the loss of life, and she did not think her safety should be protected at the risk of her chastity. She spoke to God alone, to whom she could speak with chaste modesty; she shrank from looking at the faces of men; for there is modesty in the eyes too, so that a woman wishes neither to see men nor to be seen by them. Let no one think that this praise belongs to chastity alone. For modesty is the companion of purity, and in its company chastity itself is safer. Shame is a good companion for guiding chastity: if it puts itself forward against what first threatens danger, it does not allow purity to be violated. This is what, at the very first entrance of our knowledge of her, commends the Lord’s mother to readers and, like a trustworthy witness, declares her worthy to be chosen for such an office: that in her chamber, alone, greeted by the angel, she is silent and was disturbed at his entrance, that the Virgin’s gaze is troubled at the unfamiliar appearance of a male form. So, though she was humble, out of modesty she did not return the greeting of the one who greeted her, and gave no answer at all until she learned that she was to conceive the Lord; and then in order to learn the manner of its accomplishment, not to make conversation. In our prayer too modesty pleases greatly and wins much grace with our God. Was it not this that preferred the tax collector and commended him who did not dare even to lift his eyes to heaven? Therefore he is justified by the Lord’s judgment rather than that Pharisee whom presumption disfigured. So let us pray “in the incorruption of a quiet and modest spirit, which is rich before God,” as Peter says. Great, then, is modesty, which, even yielding its own rights, usurping nothing, claiming nothing, and in a way drawn in within its own strength, is rich before God, with whom no one is rich. Modesty is rich, because it is God’s portion. Paul too commanded prayer to be offered with modesty and sobriety. He wants this to come first and, as it were, to lead the way for the prayer to come, so that the prayer of sinners may not boast, but, as though covered with the colour of shame, may merit the more abundant grace the more modesty it shows in remembering its offence. Modesty must be kept also in movement, gesture, and gait. For the condition of the mind is seen in the bearing of the body. Hence the hidden man of our heart is judged to be either rather light, or boastful, or turbulent, or on the contrary more grave, steady, pure, and mature. So the movement of the body is a kind of voice of the soul. You remember, my sons, that a certain friend, though he seemed to commend himself by diligent services, was nevertheless not received by me into the clergy for this one reason, that his gestures were most unseemly; and that another, whom I had found in the clergy, I ordered never to walk in front of me, because he struck my eyes as with the lash of an insolent gait. And I said so when he was being restored to his ministry after an offence. This alone I excepted, and my judgment did not deceive me: both left the Church, so that the faithlessness of their minds was shown to be such as their gait had betrayed. For the one deserted the faith at the time of the Arian attack; the other, through love of money, denied that he was ours, so as not to undergo the judgment of the priests. In their gait there shone an image of levity, the look of buffoons running about. There are also some who, walking slowly, imitate the gestures of actors, like litters in processions and the movements of nodding statues, so that whenever they move a step they seem to keep a kind of rhythm. Nor do I think it becoming to walk hurriedly, unless the cause of some danger or a just necessity requires it. For we often see people in a hurry panting and twisting their faces; and if they have no cause for necessary haste, it is a blemish that gives just offence. But I do not speak of those in whom rare haste arises from a cause, but of those in whom it is constant and continual and has turned into nature. I do not approve in the one the likenesses of statues, nor in the other the tumbling of men thrown off. There is also an acceptable gait, in which there is the look of authority, the weight of gravity, the trace of tranquillity; provided, however, that there is no striving or affectation, but the movement is pure and simple; for nothing painted pleases. Let nature shape the movement. If there is indeed any fault in nature, let effort correct it; so that art may be lacking, but correction not lacking. And if even these things are looked into so closely, how much more must we take care that nothing shameful come out of the mouth! For this seriously defiles a man. For it is not food that defiles, but unjust disparagement and obscenity of words. These things are shameful even to the common people. But in our office let no word fall that is unseemly or strikes at modesty. And not only should we ourselves say nothing unseemly, but we should not even lend an ear to such words: as Joseph, so as not to hear what was unfitting to his modesty, fled and left his garment; for he who likes to hear provokes another to speak. Even to understand what is shameful is a matter of the greatest shame. And to see anything of that kind, if it happens by chance, how dreadful that is! What displeases in others, then, can it please in oneself? Does not nature herself teach us? She has fashioned all the parts of our body perfectly, so as both to provide for necessity and to adorn grace. Yet the parts that were seemly to look on, in which the crown of beauty is placed as in a citadel, and the sweetness of the figure and the beauty of the face shine out, and the use for working is readier, she left exposed and open. But those in which the service of natural necessity lay, so that they might not present an ugly sight, she partly removed and hid within the body itself, and partly taught and persuaded us to cover. Is not nature herself, then, the teacher of modesty? Following her example, human modesty (which I think is named from modus, the measure of knowing what is fitting) has covered and veiled what it found hidden in this structure of our body; like the door that righteous Noah was told to make in the side of the ark, in which there is a figure either of the Church or of our body: the door through which the remains of food are passed out. So the maker of nature was so careful of our modesty, so guarded that seemliness and decency in our body, that he placed certain ducts and the outlets of our passages behind our back and turned them away from our sight, so that the purging of the belly should not offend the eye. Of this the Apostle says beautifully: “The members of the body that seem to be weaker are more necessary; and those members of the body that we think less honourable, we surround with more abundant honour; and our unpresentable parts have more abundant presentability.” For by imitating nature, diligence has increased grace. This we have interpreted elsewhere in a higher sense, so that we not only hide from the eyes, but also think it unseemly to call by their own names the signs and uses of the members we have received to be hidden. Indeed, if these parts are uncovered by chance, modesty is confounded; if on purpose, it is reckoned shamelessness. Hence Noah’s son Ham incurred offence, because he laughed when he saw his father naked; but those who covered their father received the grace of a blessing. Hence there was an old custom both in the city of Rome and in most cities that grown sons did not bathe with their parents, nor sons-in-law with their fathers-in-law, lest the authority of paternal reverence be lessened; though most cover themselves even in the bath as much as they can, so that even there, where the whole body is naked, that part may not be uncovered. The priests too, by ancient custom, as we read in Exodus, received breeches, as it was said to Moses by the Lord: “And you shall make them linen breeches to cover the shame of their nakedness. They shall reach from the loins to the thighs, and Aaron and his sons shall have them when they enter the tabernacle of witness, and when they approach to offer sacrifice at the altar of the sanctuary, and they shall not bring sin upon themselves, lest they die.” Some of ours are said still to observe this; most think it was said, in a spiritual interpretation, for the guarding of modesty and the keeping of chastity.

It has pleased me to linger rather long over the parts of modesty, because I was speaking to you, who either recognize its goods from your own experience or do not know its losses. Though it is fitting for all ages, persons, times, and places, it most becomes the years of youth and young manhood. But at every age one must take care that what you do is becoming and fitting, and that the order of your life is consistent with itself. Hence Tully too thinks that order must be kept in that seemliness, and says that it consists in beauty, order, and adornment suited to action; which, he says, can hardly be explained in words, and so it is enough that they be understood. Why he included beauty I do not well understand, though he also praises bodily strength. We certainly do not place virtue in beauty of body; yet we do not exclude grace, because modesty is wont to suffuse the very face with a blush and make it more graceful. For as a craftsman usually works better in more suitable material, so modesty stands out more in the very comeliness of the body too; provided, however, that the comeliness of the body itself is not affected, but natural, simple, neglected rather than sought, not helped by costly and brilliant white garments but by ordinary ones; so that nothing is lacking to decency or necessity, and nothing is added for elegance. The voice itself should not be languid, not broken, sounding nothing womanish, such as many are accustomed to feign under the appearance of gravity, but keeping a certain form and rule and a manly vigour. For this is to keep the beauty of living: to render what befits each sex and person. This is the best order of conduct, this the adornment suited to every action. But as I do not approve a soft and broken sound of voice or gesture of body, neither do I approve a boorish and rustic one. Let us imitate nature: her likeness is the pattern of discipline, the form of virtue.

Modesty has its own rocks, not ones it brings in itself, but ones it often runs into, if we fall into the company of intemperate men who, under the appearance of pleasantness, pour poison into the good. If such men are constantly present, especially at a banquet, in play and jest, they weaken that manly gravity. Let us beware, then, lest while we wish to relax the mind we dissolve all harmony, the concord, as it were, of good works; for habit quickly bends nature. Hence I think that what you prudently do befits churchmen, and especially the duties of ministers: to decline the banquets of outsiders, either so that you yourselves may be hospitable to travellers, or so that by this caution there may be no room for reproach. For the banquets of outsiders bring distractions, and also betray a desire for feasting. Stories about the world and its pleasures also often creep in: you cannot close your ears, and to forbid them is thought pride. Cups also creep in against your will. It is better to excuse yourself once to your own house than often to another’s; and even if you yourself rise sober, your presence ought not to be condemned for another’s insolence. There is no need for the younger clergy to go to the houses of widows and virgins except to visit them, and then with the elders, that is, either with the bishop or, if the cause is more serious, with the presbyters. Why must we give worldly people occasion to disparage? Why must those frequent visits also gain weight? What if one of those women should happen to fall? Why should you bear the odium of another’s fall? How many even strong men has enticement deceived! How many have given no room to sin and yet have given it to suspicion! Why do you not spend in reading the times when you are free from church duties? Why do you not visit Christ again, speak with Christ, hear Christ? We speak with him when we pray; we hear him when we read the divine oracles. What have we to do with other people’s houses? There is one house that holds all. Let those who want us come rather to us. What have we to do with stories? We have received a ministry to be rendered to the altars of Christ, not a service to be paid to men. It becomes us to be humble, meek, gentle, grave, patient, and to keep measure in all things, so that neither our silent face nor our speech may announce any vice in our character.