Homilies on the Gospel of Matthew 59.1–59.5

“Woe to the world because of the stumbling blocks. For it is necessary that stumbling blocks come; but woe to that man through whom the stumbling block comes.” “And if it is necessary that stumbling blocks come,” perhaps one of the opponents might say, “why does he lament the world, when he ought to help and stretch out a hand? For that is the part of a physician and a protector; but this belongs to anyone.” What then should we say to so shameless a tongue? And what do you seek equal to this healing? For being God, he became man for your sake, and took the form of a slave, and underwent all the utmost things, and left undone nothing of what was his part. But since nothing more came of it for the ungrateful, for this reason he laments them, because after so great a healing they remained in their sickness. As if someone, when a sick man who had enjoyed much care would not obey the laws of medicine, should lament and say, “Woe to so-and-so for his sickness, which he increased by his own carelessness.” But there nothing comes of lamenting; whereas here even this is a form of healing, to foretell what will be and to lament it. For many, often, though advised, were not benefited at all, but when lamented, they recovered. That is why he set “woe” especially, rousing them and making them anxious and preparing them to be watchful. And along with this he shows also his goodwill toward those very men, and his gentleness, in that he laments even those who opposed him, not only being displeased with them, but correcting them both by the lament and by the prediction, so as to win them back. “And how is this possible?” someone says. “For if it is necessary that stumbling blocks come, how is it possible to escape them?” Because it is necessary that stumbling blocks come, but it is not altogether necessary to perish. Just as a physician might say (for nothing prevents us from using the same example again), “It is necessary that such a disease come on, but it is not necessary that the one who takes heed be altogether destroyed by the disease.” And he said this, as I said, rousing the disciples too along with the others. For so that they might not doze, as though sent out to peace and an untroubled life, he shows many wars standing over them, from outside and from inside. Which Paul too showed when he said, “fightings without, fears within,” and, “in dangers among false brothers”; and to the Milesians he said, “And from among yourselves men will arise speaking perverse things.” And he himself said, “A man’s enemies will be those of his own household.” And when he says “necessity,” he does not say this abolishing the self-determination of our authority, nor the freedom of choice, nor subjecting life to some necessity of circumstances, but he foretells what will certainly be; which Luke expressed in another word, saying thus: “It is impossible that stumbling blocks should not come.” And what are stumbling blocks? The hindrances of the right road. So too those on the stage call those who are clever at these things, who twist their bodies, by this name. His prediction, then, does not bring the stumbling blocks—away with that!—nor do they happen because he foretold them; but because they were certainly going to be, for this reason he foretold them; so that if those who bring them had not wished to do wickedness, they would not have come; and if they were not going to come, they would not have been foretold. But since those men did wickedly and were incurably sick, they came; and he foretells what is going to be. “And if those men had been corrected,” someone says, “and there had been no one bringing the stumbling blocks, would not this saying have been convicted of falsehood?” Not at all; for neither would it have been said. For if all were going to be corrected, he would not have said, “It is necessary that they come”; but since he foreknew that they would be incorrigible of themselves, for this reason he said that they would certainly come. “And why did he not destroy them?” someone says. Why should they have been destroyed? For the sake of those who are harmed? But those who are harmed do not perish from that source, but from their own carelessness. And the virtuous show this, who not only are not wronged at all by it, but even gain the greatest things; such was Job, such Joseph, such all the righteous and the apostles. And if many perish, it is through their own sleep. For if it were not so, but destruction came from the stumbling blocks, all ought to have perished. But if there are those who escape, let him who does not escape blame himself. For stumbling blocks, as I said, both rouse and make sharper, and whet not only the one who is on guard, but also the one who has fallen, if he rises quickly; for they make him safer and harder to capture. So if we are sober, we reap no small gain from this, being continually watchful. For if, when there are enemies and so many temptations pressing on us, we sleep, what would we be if we lived in security? And if you wish, consider the first man. For if, having lived a short time, perhaps not even a whole day, in paradise and enjoyed delight, he went so far in wickedness as even to imagine equality with God, and to think the deceiver a benefactor, and not to keep one commandment, what would he not have done if he had lived the rest of his life free from hardship?

But when we say these things, they object again with other things, asking, “And why did God make him such?” God did not make him such—away with that!—since then he would not have punished him either. For if we do not blame our servants for things of which we are the cause, much less the God of all. “But where did this come from?” someone says. From himself and his own carelessness. What does “from himself” mean? Ask yourself. For if the wicked are not wicked of themselves, do not punish your servant, nor rebuke your wife when she sins, nor beat your son, nor blame your friend, nor hate the enemy who abuses you; for all these deserve to be pitied, not punished, if they do not do wrong of themselves. “But I cannot be so wise,” someone says. And yet when you see that the cause is not theirs but another necessity, you can be wise. When, at any rate, a servant held by sickness does not do what was commanded, you not only do not blame him, but even pardon him. So you yourself are witness that one thing is his and another is not his. So here too, if you knew that he was wicked through being made so, you would not only not have blamed him, but would even have pardoned him. For surely you do not pardon because of sickness, and would not have pardoned because of God’s making him, if he had been made such from the beginning. And from another side too it is easy to stop the mouths of such people; for the abundance of truth is great. For why did you ever blame a servant because he is not handsome in face, because he is not tall in body, because he has no wings? Because these things belong to nature. So he is freed from the charges that belong to nature, and no one will contradict this. When, then, you blame, you show that the sin is not of nature but of choice. For if, in the things for which we do not blame, we testify that the whole belongs to nature, it is plain that in the things for which we rebuke, we show that the fault belongs to choice. Do not, then, bring perverse reasonings into the midst, nor sophisms and tangles cheaper than spiders’ webs; but answer me this again: did God make all men? It is plain to everyone. How then are not all equal in respect of virtue and of wickedness? Whence the good and kind and gentle? Whence the worthless and wicked? For if these things do not need will but belong to nature, how are some this and others that? For if all are wicked by nature, no one could be good; and if good by nature, no one wicked. For if the nature of all men is one, all ought to be one in this respect, whether they were to be this or that. And if we should say that by nature some are good and others wicked, which would make no sense, as we have shown, these things ought to be unchangeable; for the things of nature are unchangeable. Consider: all are mortal and subject to suffering, and no one is impassible, however much he contends. But now we see many becoming worthless from good, and good from worthless, some by carelessness, others by zeal; which above all shows that these things are not of nature. For natural things neither change nor need zeal to be acquired. For as we need no labor to see and hear, so neither would we need sweat in virtue, if it were allotted to nature itself. And why would he make the worthless, when he could make all good? “Whence, then, are evils?” someone says. Ask yourself; for my part is to show that they are not of nature nor from God. “Then they arise of themselves?” someone says. Not at all. “But are they unbegotten?” Hush, man, and leap away from this madness, honoring God and evils with one honor, and that the highest honor. For if they are unbegotten, they will also be strong, and will not be able to be torn up or to pass into non-existence. For that the unbegotten is indestructible is plain to everyone.

And whence are there so many good men, when wickedness has so much power? How are the begotten stronger than the unbegotten? “But God will destroy them,” someone says. When? And how will he destroy things equal in honor and in strength and, as one might say, of the same age? O the wickedness of the devil! How great an evil has he invented! With what blasphemy has he persuaded them to surround God! Under what pretext of piety has he devised another blasphemous doctrine! For wishing to show that evil is not from him, they brought in another wicked doctrine, saying that evils are unbegotten. “Whence, then, are evils?” someone says. From willing and not willing. “And whence is willing and not willing itself?” From ourselves. But you are doing the same thing in asking as if, when I asked you, “Whence is seeing and not seeing?” and you said, “From shutting the eyes and not shutting them,” you should ask again, “And whence is shutting and not shutting?” and then, having heard, “From ourselves and from willing,” you should seek again another cause. For evil is nothing else than disobeying God. “Whence, then,” someone says, “did man find this?” Was it hard to find this? Tell me. For neither do I say that this is difficult; but whence did he wish to disobey? From carelessness. For being master of both, he inclined rather to this. But if you are still at a loss, and grow dizzy hearing these things, I will ask you nothing difficult or intricate, but a simple and clear question. Have you ever been wicked, and have you also at some time been good? What I mean is this. Have you at some time mastered a passion, and been caught again by a passion? Have you fallen into drunkenness, and mastered drunkenness? Have you at some time been angry, and not been angry? Have you overlooked a poor man, and not overlooked him? Have you at some time committed sexual immorality, and become chaste again? Whence, then, are all these things? Tell me, whence? For if you do not say it, I will say it. That at one time you were zealous, exerting yourself, but afterward you slackened and grew careless. For with those who are desperate and wholly in wickedness, and are insensible and mad, and do not wish even to hear what corrects them, I will not even speak about wisdom; but with those who are sometimes in this and sometimes in that, I will gladly speak. Have you at some time seized what did not belong to you, and afterward, broken by pity, shared even your own with one in need? Whence, then, this change? Is it not plain that it is from your will and choice? It is plain; and there is no one who would not say this. That is why I beg you to be zealous and to hold fast to virtue, and you will have no need of these questions. For evils are only names, if we wish. Do not, then, ask whence evils are, nor be at a loss; but having found that they come from carelessness alone, flee evils. And if someone says that these things are not from us, when you see him angry with a servant, and provoked with his wife, and blaming his child, and condemning those who wrong him, say to him: How then did you say that evils are not from us? For if they are not from us, why do you blame? Say again: Do you revile and insult of yourself? For if not of yourself, let no one be angry with you; but if of yourself, then evils are from you and from your carelessness. And what? Do you think there are some good men? For if no one is good, whence have you this name? Whence the praises? But if there are good men, it is plain that they will rebuke the wicked. But if no one is wicked willingly, nor of himself, the good will be found rebuking the wicked unjustly, and they too will be wicked again in this way. For what could be worse than subjecting the guiltless to charges? But if they remain good in our eyes even while rebuking, and this above all is a proof of their goodness, it is plain even to the very foolish from this too that no one was ever wicked by necessity. And if after all this you still ask, “Whence are evils?”, I would say: from carelessness, from idleness, from keeping company with the wicked, from despising virtue; from this come both evils and some people’s asking whence evils come. For of those who do right, no one asks these things, none of those who choose to live gently and soberly; but those who dare wicked things, and wish to devise some senseless consolation through these words, weave spiders’ webs. But let us tear these up not by words only but also by deeds. For these things are not of necessity. For if it were of necessity, he would not have said, “Woe to the man through whom the stumbling block comes.” For he laments only those who are wicked by choice. And if he says “through whom,” do not wonder. For he says this not as though another brought it in through him, but as though he arranged the whole. For Scripture knows how to say “through whom” for “by whom,” as when it says, “I have gotten a man through God,” setting down not the second cause but the first. And again, “Is not the interpretation of them through God?” and, “God is faithful, through whom you were called into the fellowship of his Son.”

And that you may learn that it is not of necessity, hear also what follows. For after lamenting, he says, “If your hand or your foot causes you to stumble, cut them off and throw them from you. For it is better for you to enter into life lame or maimed than having two hands and feet to be thrown into the fire. And if your right eye causes you to stumble, pluck it out. It is better for you to enter into life with one eye than having two eyes to be thrown into the furnace of fire”—not saying this about limbs, away with that! but about friends, about relatives, whom we hold in the rank of necessary limbs. This he said above too, and he says it now. For nothing is so harmful as wicked company. For what necessity cannot do, friendship often can, both for harm and for benefit. That is why he commands with great vehemence to cut off those who harm us, hinting at these who bring the stumbling blocks. Do you see how he warded off the harm that would come from the stumbling blocks? By foretelling that they will certainly come, so as to find no one in carelessness, but expecting them to be sober; by showing that they are great evils (for he would not simply have said, “Woe to the world because of the stumbling blocks,” but to show the great ruin from them); by lamenting again more strongly the one who brings them in. For to say, “but woe to that man,” was a sign of great punishment. And not this only, but by adding the example he increased the fear. Then he is not content with these, but also shows the way by which one might escape the stumbling blocks. And what is it? “The wicked,” he says, “even if they are very dear friends to you, cut off from your friendship.” And he gives an unanswerable reason. For if they remain friends, you will not gain them, and you will destroy yourself besides; but if you cut them off, you will at least reap your own salvation. So if anyone’s friendship harms you, cut him off from you. For if we often cut away many of our own limbs, when they are incurable and harm the rest, much more must we do this with friends. But if evils were by nature, all this exhortation and counsel would be superfluous, superfluous the guarding by what has been said. But if it is not superfluous, as indeed it is not, it is plain that wickedness is of the will. “See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels always see the face of my Father who is in heaven.” He calls little ones not those who are truly little, but those thought so by the many: the poor, the despised, the unknown (for how could he be little who is worth the whole world? how could he be little who is a friend of God?), but those considered such in the opinion of the many. And he speaks not only of many, but even of one, by this again walling off the harm of the many stumbling blocks. For as fleeing the wicked, so honoring the good has the greatest gain; and there would be a double safety for the one who takes heed: one from cutting off the friendships of those who cause stumbling, another from holding these saints in care and honor. Then he makes them worthy of respect from another side too, saying that “their angels always see the face of my Father in heaven.” From this it is plain that the saints have angels, and indeed all men. For the apostle too says of the woman that she “ought to have authority on her head because of the angels”; and Moses: “He set the bounds of the nations according to the number of the angels of God.” But here he speaks not only of angels, but of angels who are pre-eminent. And when he says, “the face of my Father,” he means nothing else than their greater confidence and great honor. “For the Son of Man came to save what was lost.” Again he sets down another reason, greater than the former, and joins a parable, by which he brings in the Father also as wishing these things. “For what do you think?” he says. “If a man has a hundred sheep, and one of them goes astray, does he not leave the ninety-nine and go to the mountains and seek the one that is straying? And if he happens to find it, he rejoices over it more than over the ninety-nine that did not go astray. So it is not the will before your Father that one of these little ones should perish.” Do you see by how many means he leads us to the care of our humbler brothers? Do not, then, say, “So-and-so is a coppersmith, a shoemaker, a farmer, a fool,” and despise him. For so that you may not suffer this, see by how many means he persuades you to be moderate and drives you to the care of these. He set a child before them, and says, “Become like the children,” and, “Whoever receives such a child receives me,” and, “Whoever causes one to stumble” will suffer the utmost. And he was not content with the example of the millstone, but added also the “woe,” and commanded such people to be cut off, even if they are to us in the rank of hands or eyes. And from the angels again, entrusted with these humble brothers, he makes them worthy of respect; and from his own will and passion (for when he says, “The Son of Man came to save what was lost,” he points to the cross too, as Paul also says, speaking of a brother, “for whom Christ died”); and from the Father, that it does not please him either that one should perish; and from common custom, that the shepherd, leaving the saved, seeks the lost one, and when he finds the one that strayed, he greatly rejoices at the finding and saving of it.

If, then, God so rejoices over the little one that is found, how do you despise those whom God earnestly cares for, when you ought to give up even your very life for one of these little ones? “But he is weak and humble.” For this very reason, then, one must do everything above all so as to save him. For he himself too, leaving the ninety-nine sheep, went after that one, and the salvation of so many could not overshadow the loss of the one. And Luke says that he even carried it on his shoulders, and that there was greater joy over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous. And both by leaving the saved for it and by rejoicing more over it, he showed his great zeal for it. Let us not, then, neglect such souls. For all these things were said for this purpose. For by threatening that one who has not become a child will not set foot in the heavens at all, and by mentioning the millstone, he brought down the pride of the boastful; for nothing is so hostile to love as arrogance; by saying, “It is necessary that stumbling blocks come,” he made them watchful; by adding, “woe to him through whom the stumbling block comes,” he prepared each to take care that it should not come through himself. And by commanding to cut off those who cause stumbling, he made salvation easy; and by commanding not to despise them, and commanding not simply but vehemently (“For see,” he says, “that you do not despise one of these little ones”), and by saying that “their angels see the face of my Father,” and, “for this I came,” and, “my Father wishes this,” he made those who ought to care for them more zealous. Do you see what a wall he drew around them, and how much zeal he shows for the despised and the perishing, both threatening incurable evils to those who trip them up, and promising great good things to those who care for and look after them, and bringing the example again from himself and from the Father? Let us too imitate him, refusing nothing of what seems humble and toilsome for our brothers’ sake; but even if we must serve, even if he for whom this is done is little, even if humble, even if the thing is laborious, even if we must cross mountains and precipices, let all be bearable for the salvation of our brother. For a soul is so precious to God that he did not spare even his own Son. That is why I beg you, as soon as dawn appears, going out from the house, let us have this one aim and this zeal before all, to stretch out a hand to those lying below, and especially to those of our own household; for our own virtue is not enough for salvation; … to snatch one who is in danger—I do not mean only this danger of the senses (for this is not even a danger), but the danger of the soul, which is brought upon men by the devil. For the merchant, to increase his substance, crosses the sea; and the craftsman, to add to what he has, does everything. Let us too, then, not be content with our own salvation alone, since we ruin even this. For in war and battle the soldier who looks only to this, how he may save himself by flight, destroys the others too along with himself; just as the brave one, who takes up arms for the others too, saves himself along with the others. Since, then, our affairs too are a war, the bitterest of all wars, and a battle line and a fight, let us be drawn up in the battle line as our King commanded, prepared for slaughter and blood and deaths, looking to the salvation of all, anointing those who stand, and raising those who lie fallen. For many of our brothers lie in this battle line with wounds, streaming with blood, and there is no one to tend them, none of the people, no priest, no one else, no comrade, no friend, no brother; but each of us looks to his own things. That is why we also cripple our own. For the greatest confidence and esteem is not to look to one’s own things. For this reason we are weak and easily overcome both by men and by the devil, because we seek the opposite of this, and do not protect one another with our shields, nor are we fenced about with love according to God; but we seek other grounds of friendship for ourselves, some from kinship, others from acquaintance, others from partnership, others from being neighbors; and we are friends from every ground rather than from piety, when friendships ought to be joined from this alone. But now the opposite happens: sometimes we become friends with Jews and Greeks rather than with the children of the church.