On the Duties of the Clergy 1.36–1.46

So the glory of fortitude lies not only in strength of body and arms, but rather in virtue of mind; and the law of virtue consists not in inflicting injury but in repelling it. For he who does not repel injury from a companion, if he can, is as much at fault as he who does it. Hence holy Moses began his trials of warlike fortitude from this point. For when he saw a Hebrew receiving injury from an Egyptian, he defended him, so that he struck down the Egyptian and hid him in the sand. Solomon too says: “Rescue him who is being led to death.” It is clear to all, then, from where Tully, or even Panaetius, or Aristotle himself took this. Yet even Job, older than these two, said: “I saved the poor from the hand of the powerful, and I helped the orphan who had no helper. Let the blessing of him who was about to perish come upon me.” Is not this man most brave, who bore so bravely the attacks of the devil and conquered him by the virtue of his mind? Nor should one doubt the fortitude of him to whom the Lord says: “Gird your loins like a man; take up loftiness and power; and humble every wrongdoer.” The Apostle too says: “You have the strongest consolation.” He is brave, then, who consoles himself in some grief. And truly that is rightly called fortitude when each man conquers himself, restrains his anger, is softened and bent by no allurements, is not disturbed by adversity nor lifted up by prosperity, and is not carried round, as by a wind, by the change of various things. And what is loftier and more magnificent than to exercise the mind, to afflict the flesh and bring it into servitude, so that it obeys command, complies with counsel, and in undertaking labours tirelessly carries out the purpose and will of the mind? This, then, is the first force of fortitude; for fortitude of mind is seen in two kinds: first, that it holds the external things of the body as of least account and thinks them superfluous, to be despised rather than sought; second, that it pursues with a splendid intention of mind, to the point of affection, the highest things, all those things in which virtue and that πρέπον (the seemly) are discerned. For what is so splendid as to form your mind so that you place neither riches nor pleasures nor honours among the greatest things, nor wear out all your zeal on them? When you are so disposed in mind, you must think that the honourable and seemly is to be preferred, and so direct your mind to it that whatever happens by which minds are usually broken—loss of patrimony, diminution of honour, the disparagement of unbelievers—you do not feel it, as being above it. Then, that the dangers to life itself, undertaken for justice, do not move you. This is true fortitude, which Christ’s athlete has, who is not crowned unless he has competed lawfully. Or does the precept of fortitude seem small to you: “Tribulation works patience, patience proof, and proof hope”? See how many contests, and one crown! That precept is given only by one who was strengthened in Christ Jesus, whose flesh had no rest: affliction on every side, fights without, fears within. And though he was placed in dangers, in very many labours, in prisons, in deaths, yet he was not broken in mind but fought on, so that he became more powerful through his weaknesses. Consider, then, how he teaches that those who come to the offices of the Church ought to have contempt for human things: “If, then, you have died with Christ from the elements of this world, why do you still, as though living, make decrees about this world? Do not touch, do not handle, do not taste—things which all perish in the very using.” And below: “If, then, you have risen with Christ, seek the things that are above, not those on earth.” And again: “Put to death, then, your members which are on earth.” And these things are still for all the faithful; but to you, son, he urges contempt of riches and the avoiding of profane and old wives’ tales, permitting nothing but what exercises you in piety; for bodily exercise is of no use for anything, but piety is useful for all things. Let piety, then, exercise you in justice, continence, and meekness, so that you flee youthful works and, strengthened and rooted in grace, undergo the good fight of faith; do not entangle yourself in secular business, since you serve as a soldier of God. For if he who serves the emperor as a soldier is forbidden by human laws from taking up lawsuits, from conducting legal business, and from selling merchandise, how much more ought he who serves in the warfare of faith to abstain from all practice of trade, content with the produce of his little field, if he has one; if he has not, with the produce of his stipend! For he is a good witness who says: “I was young, and I have grown old, and I have not seen the just forsaken, nor his seed seeking bread.” For that is tranquillity and temperance of mind which is neither seized by the zeal of acquiring nor tormented by the fear of want.

It is that too which is called freedom of the mind from anxieties, so that we are neither softer in griefs nor more elated in prosperity. And if those who urge some men to take up public affairs give these precepts, how much more ought we, who are called to the office of the Church, to do such things as please God, so that the power of Christ may shine forth in us and we may so be approved by our emperor that our members may be arms of justice: not carnal arms in which sin reigns, but arms strong for God by which sin is destroyed; let our flesh die, that in it all fault may die; and, as living from the dead, let us rise to new works and character! These are the services of fortitude, full of honourable and seemly duty. But since in all we do we seek not only what is honourable but also what is possible, lest we attempt something we cannot carry out—hence the Lord wants us in time of persecution to withdraw from city to city, or rather, to use his very word, to flee; lest someone, while desiring the glory of martyrdom, rashly offer himself to dangers which perhaps a weaker flesh or a slacker mind could not bear and endure.

Nor again ought anyone through cowardice to yield and desert the faith from fear of danger. For this reason the mind must be prepared, the understanding exercised and steadied to constancy, so that the mind cannot be disturbed by any terrors, broken by any troubles, or made to yield by any tortures. These are indeed hard to bear; but since all tortures are overcome by the fear of greater tortures, if you strengthen your mind by counsel and think you must not depart from reason, and set before yourself the fear of divine judgment and the torments of perpetual punishment, you can take on endurance of mind. This, then, belongs to diligence, that one so prepare oneself; and that belongs to natural talent, if one can by vigour of mind foresee what is to come, place before one’s eyes, as it were, what may happen, and determine what one ought to do if it should so happen; and sometimes turn over two or three things at once in one’s mind, which one conjectures may happen singly or together, and arrange for each or for them combined the actions one understands will be useful. It belongs, then, to a brave man not to pretend not to see when something threatens, but to look ahead, to explore as from a watchtower of the mind, and to meet future things with provident thought, lest he say afterwards: “I fell into these things because I did not think they could happen.” Indeed, unless adversities are explored beforehand, they quickly seize us. As in war an unexpected enemy is hardly withstood, and if he finds men unprepared he easily overwhelms them, so unexplored evils break the mind more. In these two things, then, lies that excellence of mind: first, that your mind, exercised by good thoughts, may see with a pure heart what is true and honourable—“for blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God”—and judge that only what is honourable is good; then, that it be disturbed by no occupations and tossed by no desires. Nor does anyone do this easily. For what is so difficult as to look down, as from a citadel of wisdom, on riches and all the other things that seem great and lofty to most people? Then to confirm your judgment by steady reason, and to despise as of no profit what you have judged light? Then, if anything adverse happens, and it is thought grievous and bitter, to bear it so as to think nothing has happened contrary to nature, since you read: “Naked I was born, naked I shall go out. What the Lord gave, the Lord has taken away”—and he had lost both his children and his means. And keep in all things the character of the wise and just man, as he kept it who said: “As it pleased the Lord, so it was done; blessed be the name of the Lord.” And below: “You have spoken like one of the foolish women. If we have received good things from the hand of the Lord, shall we not bear evil things?”

Fortitude of mind, then, is not a small thing nor separated from the others, since it wages war together with the virtues; rather it alone defends the ornaments of all the virtues and guards their judgments, and it contends in implacable battle against all vices: unconquered against labours, brave against dangers, stiffer against pleasures, hard against allurements, to which it does not know how to lend an ear nor (as the saying is) to bid good day; it neglects money and flees avarice as a kind of stain that makes virtue effeminate. For nothing is so contrary to fortitude as to be conquered by gain. Often, when the enemy has been beaten and the adversaries’ line turned to flight, the fighter, while he is caught by the spoils of the slain, has fallen pitiably among the very men he laid low; and legions, cast down from their triumphs while they are busy with the spoils, have called back upon themselves the enemy who had fled. Let fortitude, then, repel and crush so monstrous a plague, and let it not be tempted by desires nor broken by fear; for virtue is consistent with itself, so as to pursue bravely all vices as the poisons of virtue: let it drive off anger as if with weapons, since anger takes away counsel, and shun it like a sickness. Let it also beware of the appetite for glory, which has often done harm when sought too immoderately, and always when seized. Which of these things was lacking to holy Job in virtue, or crept in upon him as a vice? How he bore the hardship of sickness, cold, and hunger! How he despised the danger to his life! Were his riches, from which so much flowed to the needy, heaped up by plunder? Did his wealth stir up avarice, or the pursuits and desires of pleasure? Did the injurious contention of the three kings, or the insults of the slaves, drive him to anger? Did glory exalt him like a light man, he who called down grievous things on himself if he had ever concealed even an involuntary fault, or had feared the multitude of the people so as not to declare it in the sight of all? For the virtues do not agree with the vices, but are consistent with themselves. Who, then, is as brave as holy Job? Who can be judged second to him, who scarcely finds an equal?

But perhaps warlike glory holds some so fixed that they think fortitude is only that of battle, and that I have turned aside to these things because that was lacking to our people. How brave was Joshua son of Nun, who in one battle laid low five captured kings with their peoples! Then, when battle was rising against the Gibeonites and he feared that night would hinder the victory, by greatness of mind and faith he cried out: “Let the sun stand still”; and it stood still until the victory was complete. Gideon with three hundred men brought back a triumph over a huge people and a fierce enemy. Jonathan as a youth did valiantly in a great battle. What shall I say of the Maccabees? But first I shall speak of the people of the fathers, who, though they were ready to fight for the temple of God and for their lawful rights, when they were attacked by the enemy’s guile on the sabbath day, preferred to offer their naked bodies to wounds rather than fight back, so as not to violate the sabbath. So they all offered themselves gladly to death. But the Maccabees, considering that by this example the whole nation could perish, avenged the slaughter of their innocent brothers even on the sabbath, when they themselves were challenged to war. Hence afterwards King Antiochus, provoked, kindled war through his generals Lysias, Nicanor, and Gorgias, and was so crushed with his Eastern and Assyrian forces that forty-eight thousand were laid low in the middle of the plain by three thousand. Consider the valour of the leader Judas Maccabaeus from one of his soldiers. For Eleazar, seeing an elephant towering above the others and clad in royal armour, thought that the king was on it; he ran swiftly into the middle of the legion, threw away his shield, and cut his way with both hands until he reached the beast, went in under it, and with his sword thrust upward killed it. So the beast in falling crushed Eleazar, and thus he died. How great, then, was his courage! First, that he did not fear death; then, that surrounded by the legions of the enemy he rushed into the packed foe, pierced the middle of the column, and, fiercer for despising death, threw away his shield and with both hands went under the bulk of the wounded beast and bore it; then went beneath it to strike a fuller blow; and, enclosed rather than crushed by its fall, he was buried in his own triumph. Nor was the man deceived in his judgment, though the royal trappings deceived him; for the enemy, transfixed by so great a spectacle of courage, did not dare to rush upon him, unarmed and engaged as he was, and after the fall of the beast they were so terrified that they all thought themselves unequal to the courage of one man. Indeed King Antiochus, son of Lysias, who had come with a hundred and twenty thousand armed men and thirty-two elephants, so that from the rising of the sun the splendour of arms flashed from each beast, like mountains, as if with burning torches, was terrified by the fortitude of one man and asked for peace. So Eleazar left peace as the heir of his courage. But let these things belong to triumphs.

But since fortitude is proved not only in prosperity but also in adversity, let us now look at the death of Judas Maccabaeus. After defeating Nicanor, the general of King Demetrius, and growing more secure, he engaged in war against twenty thousand of the king’s army with nine hundred men; and when they wanted to withdraw so as not to be overwhelmed by numbers, he urged a glorious death rather than a shameful flight: “Let us not leave,” he said, “a charge against our glory.” So when battle was joined and they fought from the first dawn of day to evening, he attacked the right wing, where he had noticed the strongest band of the enemy, and easily routed it. But while he pursued the fugitives, he exposed himself to a wound from behind; and so he found a place of death more glorious than triumphs. Why should I add his brother Jonathan, who, fighting with a small band against the royal armies, deserted by his own men and left with only two, renewed the battle, turned back the enemy, and called back his fleeing men to share in the triumph? You have warlike fortitude, in which there is no small form of the honourable and seemly, in that it prefers death to slavery and disgrace. But what shall I say of the sufferings of the martyrs? Not to wander too far: the Maccabean boys won no smaller triumphs over the proud King Antiochus than their own fathers. For those conquered armed, these without arms. The band of seven boys stood unconquered, girt about with royal legions: tortures failed, torturers yielded, the martyrs did not fail. One, stripped of the skin of his head, had changed his appearance but increased his courage. Another, commanded to put out his tongue to be cut off, answered: “The Lord does not hear only those who speak, he who heard Moses when he was silent. He hears the silent thoughts of his own more than the voices of all. Do you fear the scourge of the tongue, and not fear the scourge of blood? Blood too has its voice, by which it cries to God, as it cried in Abel.” What shall I say of the mother, who gladly watched the deaths of her sons as so many trophies, and was delighted by the voices of the dying as by the songs of psalm-singers, seeing in her sons the most beautiful harp of her womb, and a harmony of devotion sweeter than any measure of the lyre? What shall I say of the two-year-olds, who received the palm of victory before they received the sense of nature? What of holy Agnes, who, placed in danger of the two greatest things, chastity and life, protected her chastity and exchanged life for immortality? Let us not pass over holy Lawrence either, who, when he saw his bishop Xystus being led to martyrdom, began to weep, not for his passion but for his own being left behind. So he began to address him in these words: “Where are you going without your son, father? Where are you hastening, holy priest, without your deacon? You never used to offer sacrifice without a minister. What then has displeased you in me, father? Have you found me degenerate? Test, then, whether you have chosen a fit minister. Do you refuse a share in your blood to him to whom you entrusted the consecration of the Lord’s blood and fellowship in completing the sacraments? Take care lest your judgment be endangered while your fortitude is praised. The rejection of the disciple is a loss to the master. What of the fact that illustrious and outstanding men conquer in the contests of their disciples rather than in their own? Indeed Abraham offered his son, Peter sent Stephen before him. You too, father, show your virtue in your son; offer him whom you have taught, so that, secure in your judgment, you may come to the crown in noble company.” Then Xystus said: “I am not leaving or deserting you, son; but greater contests are owed to you. We, as old men, take on the course of an easier fight; a more glorious triumph over the tyrant awaits you as a young man. Soon you will come; stop weeping; after three days you will follow me. This interval befits a priest and a Levite. It was not for you to conquer under your master, as though you sought a helper. Why do you seek to share my passion? I leave you its whole inheritance. Why do you seek my presence? Let weak disciples go before their master; let strong ones follow, so that they may conquer without a master, since they no longer need a master. So Elijah too left Elisha. To you, then, I commit the succession of our virtue.” Such was the contest, worthy indeed for a priest and a minister to contend over: which should suffer first for the name of Christ. In tragic plays, they say, great applause was roused in the theatre when Pylades said he was Orestes, and Orestes, as he was, asserted that he was Orestes: the one so as to be killed for Orestes, Orestes so as not to let Pylades be killed for him. But they were not allowed to live, because each was guilty of parricide: one as the doer, the other as helper. Here no one urged holy Lawrence to this but the love of devotion; yet he too, after three days, when, having mocked the tyrant, he was placed on the gridiron and was being burned, said: “It is roasted; turn it and eat.” So by the virtue of his mind he conquered the nature of fire.

I think one must also take care lest some, led by too great a desire for glory, behave too insolently toward the authorities, and so stir up the minds of the pagans, already turned against us, to the pursuit of persecution, and inflame them to anger. Even if they themselves can persevere and overcome the tortures, how many do they cause to perish? We must also take care not to open our ear to flatterers; for to be softened by flattery seems not only to be no part of fortitude but even to belong to cowardice.

Since we have spoken of three virtues, it remains to speak of the fourth, which is called temperance and modesty, in which above all tranquillity of mind, the pursuit of gentleness, the grace of moderation, care for the honourable, and regard for the seemly are seen and sought. A certain order of life, then, must be kept by us, so that the first foundations are laid from modesty, which is the companion and friend of placidity of mind; it shuns wantonness, is foreign to all luxury, loves sobriety, fosters virtue, and seeks that seemliness. Let the choice of company follow, so that we attach ourselves to all the most approved elders. For as the company of equals is sweeter, so that of elders is safer, which by a kind of teaching and guidance of life colours the character of youths and dyes it, as it were, with the purple of integrity. For if those who do not know the country are eager to begin a journey with men skilled in the roads, how much more ought youths to undertake the new journey of life with old men, so that they may be less able to go astray and turn aside from the true path of virtue! For nothing is finer than to have the same men as teachers and witnesses of one’s life. In every act one must also ask what befits persons, times, and ages, and what suits the talents of each. For often what becomes one does not become another. One thing is fit for a young man, another for an old; one thing in dangers, another in prosperity. David danced before the ark of the Lord; Samuel did not dance; nor was the former blamed for it, but the latter was rather praised. David changed his countenance before the king whose name was Achish; but if he had done this when free from fear of being recognized, he could not have escaped the reproach of levity. Saul too, surrounded by a band of prophets, himself prophesied too; and of him alone, as unworthy, it was recorded: “Is Saul also among the prophets?”

Let each one, then, know his own talent and apply himself to what he has chosen as suited to him. So let him first consider what he should follow. Let him know his good qualities but also recognize his faults, and show himself an impartial judge of himself, so that he may attend to the good and avoid the faults. One is more fit for distinct reading, another more pleasing in the psalm, another more careful in exorcizing those who suffer from an evil spirit, another is thought more suitable for the sacristy. Let the priest consider all these things and assign to each the duty that suits him. For what each one’s talent leads him to, or what duty becomes him, is fulfilled with greater grace. But while this is difficult in all of life, it is most difficult in our calling. For each likes to follow the life of his parents. Indeed most are drawn to military service whose parents served, others to various other occupations. But in the ecclesiastical office you will find nothing rarer than one who follows his father’s calling; either because its heavy conduct deters, or because abstinence is harder at a slippery age, or because the life seems too obscure to eager youth; and so they turn to pursuits they think will win more applause. For most prefer present things to future. They serve present things; we serve as soldiers for the future. Hence the more excellent the cause, the more attentive must be the care.

Let us, then, keep modesty, and that moderation which raises the adornment of the whole of life. For it is no small thing to keep measure in each thing and to assign order, in which that which is called the seemly truly shines forth; and it is so joined with the honourable that it cannot be separated. For what is seemly is honourable, and what is honourable is seemly; so that there is rather a distinction in speech than a difference in virtue. That they differ can be understood, but cannot be explained. And to try to draw out some distinction: the honourable is like good health and a kind of soundness of body, while the seemly is like comeliness and beauty. As, then, beauty seems to excel above soundness and health, and yet cannot exist without them nor be separated from them in any way—since unless there is good health there cannot be beauty and comeliness—so the honourable contains that seemliness in itself, so that the seemly seems to proceed from it and cannot exist without it. The honourable, then, is like the soundness of our whole work and action, and the seemly is like its appearance, which, mingled with the honourable, is distinguished only in thought. For though it seems to excel in something, yet it is in the root of the honourable, though as its chief flower, so that without it it withers, and in it it flowers. For what is the honourable but that which flees shame as death? And what is dishonourable but what brings dryness and death? So when the substance of virtue is green, that seemliness springs forth like a flower, because the root is sound; but from a faulty root of our purpose nothing sprouts. You have this somewhat more expressly in our writings. For David says: “The Lord has reigned, he has put on comeliness.” And the Apostle says: “As in the day, walk becomingly.” What the Greeks say, εὐσχημόνως, properly means “in good bearing, in good appearance.” So God, when he made the first man, formed him with a good condition and a good arrangement of members and gave him the best appearance. He had not given remission of sins; but afterwards he who had come in the form of a servant and in the likeness of man renewed him by the Spirit, poured grace into him, and took on the comeliness of human redemption. And so the Prophet said: “The Lord has reigned, he has put on comeliness.” Then elsewhere he says: “Praise befits you, O God, in Zion”; that is to say: it is honourable that we fear you, love you, pray to you, honour you; for it is written: “Let all your things be done becomingly.” But we can also fear, love, entreat, and honour a man; a hymn is said specially to God. This, as more excellent than the rest, is to be believed seemly, which we offer to God. It is fitting, too, for a woman to pray in becoming dress; but it especially becomes her to pray veiled, and to pray promising chastity with good conduct.

The seemly, then, which stands out, has a twofold division. For there is a seemliness that is, as it were, general, which is spread through the whole of the honourable and is seen, as it were, in the whole body; and there is also a special one, which shines out in some part. The general is such as if one had an even form and the whole of the honourable harmonizing in all one’s action, when all one’s life agrees with itself and is discordant in nothing; the special, when one has some act standing out among one’s virtues. At the same time notice that it is seemly to live according to nature, to pass one’s life according to nature, and that what is contrary to nature is shameful. For the Apostle says, as though asking: “Is it seemly for a woman to pray to God unveiled? Does not nature itself teach you that if a man has long hair, it is a disgrace to him?” since it is contrary to nature. And again he says: “But if a woman has long hair, it is a glory to her.” For it is according to nature, since the hair is given for a veil; for this is a natural veil. Nature itself, then, dispenses to us our character and appearance, which we ought to keep. Would that we could also guard its innocence, and not change by our wickedness what we have received! You have this general seemliness, because God made the beauty of this world. You have it also in its parts, because when God made light and distinguished day from night, when he founded heaven, when he separated land and seas, when he set the sun and moon and stars to shine upon the earth, he approved each one. So this seemliness, which shone in each part of the world, shone forth in the whole, as Wisdom proves, saying: “I was the one in whom he delighted, when he rejoiced at the completion of the world.” Likewise, then, in the structure of the human body the part of each member is pleasing; but the fit arrangement of the members together delights more, because they seem so to suit and agree with one another.