Letters 2.216–2.241

To Dionysius. [On "For there is no authority except from God."] Since you wrote asking what "For there is no authority except from God" means, and said, "What, then? Has every ruler been appointed by God?", I would answer that you seem to me (do not be angry with me, for I will say nothing silly) either not to have read the apostolic words or not to have understood them. For Paul did not say, "There is no ruler except from God," but speaks about the thing itself, saying, "There is no authority except from God." That there are offices among human beings, that some rule and others are ruled, and that all things are not borne along at random and without restraint, with peoples driven this way and that like waves, he says is the work of God's wisdom. For since equality of honour often fans up war, he did not leave things as a democracy, but made a kingship. Then after it he made many authorities. Which, he asks? Those of ruler and ruled, husband and wife, father and child, old and young, master and slave, teacher and pupil. One may see the like among irrational animals too: the bees ranked under a king guarantee it, and the cranes, and the herds of wild sheep. And if you consider the sea, not even it will be found without this good order; for there too many kinds of fish are ranked and led under one, which is why they undertake long migrations. Everywhere anarchy is most grievous and the cause of confusion and disorder. So even in the body, which is one, not all members are of equal honour, but some rule and others are ruled. The thing itself, then, I mean authority, that is, rule and kingship, it is right to say has been shaped by God, so that the ordered world may not fall into disorder. But if some accursed man has lawlessly revelled his way into it, we surely do not say that he has been appointed by God, but that he has been permitted: either to vomit out all his own wickedness, as Pharaoh did, and so pay the ultimate penalty, or to chastise those who need harshness, as the Babylonian chastised the Jews.

To Isaiah. [On providence.] Justice (by what name could I worthily address you?) watches over the affairs of mortals, as the avenger of those who do wrong; the things of this world are not without a guardian. Knowing this, then, flee wrongdoing, so that you may also escape the punishment. [… which makes even the unlearned wise.]

To Hermogenes the bishop. Since you wrote that I do well to feast you in every way, channelling from my own tongue to your ears teaching worth telling, I reply that, if anything right is sent from us, you should consider it to come from the grace from above …

To Herminus the count. [To governors.] Now especially, when you have entered upon office, you would become celebrated and enviable if you did not take vengeance on those who wronged you, but now above all forgot every grievance, when the power of your office has given you most ability to punish them.

To Heraclides the bishop. He who surpasses his reputation when he is experienced, and proves better than report when he is seen, is rightly above praise too, showing words to fall short of his worth. But since, even if words are defeated, the intention must prevail, one must speak and write the praises that belong to lovers of virtue. Three good things come from this: that we are genuinely disposed toward virtue (for no base man can bear to praise the earnest); that we are pure of envy, not hiding the excellences of those above us; and that the wicked are either put to shame or brought to their senses, either of which profits them.

To Lampetius the bishop. Do not be indignant, conspicuous nursling of the hatred of wickedness, if Eusebius, full of impiety, as you wrote, waging a war without truce or herald against those who live with virtue, makes truce with those who embrace vice; nor that he either wars against those who have money unless he receives some, or, so as not to make war, takes as much as he could have plundered by warring. Rather, await the divine verdict.

To the same. Since divine providence takes more care to spare sinners than it sees them sparing themselves, it cries out with the royal and humane proclamation of long-suffering: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand." But if sinners set the exhortation at nothing and condemn the long-suffering as neglect, then perhaps even now, but certainly when the time of justice comes, it will no longer spare those who did not think themselves worth sparing, but will exact the severest penalties from those who despised its long-suffering. That is why this was said, which you wished to learn about: "I have kept silent; shall I also keep silent forever and endure? I will make them amazed and dry them up together." For it is just that those who were not helped by such long-suffering, but made it a provision for greater sins, should be caught in the punishments of justice.

To Alypius the bishop. If we rightly judge punishments to be greatest by the number of those who know of them (for those that escape notice are somehow lighter), what is the punishment likely to be when it is fixed in the presence of the heavenly hosts and of all humanity?

To Isidore the bishop. [On envy.] Envy, my namesake, is gentle toward nothing that is or seems good, but savage and grievous; and toward virtue, which properly possesses the nature of the good, it is altogether inconsolable. Not to be envied is perhaps free of pain, but it is not glorious. May it never befall me or my friends to act in a way unworthy of envy. One who is envied must bear the malice of envy with sober reasoning.

To the same. [On love for God.] I say that those who lack nothing of what must be done for virtue (for many, defining virtue as the greatest good, as indeed it is, do not care much for it), if they do not trust in their own power but refer their achievements to the divine help, will both overcome the passions and certainly reach the goal of virtue. For even if what is stronger than human strength gives the mastery over opponents, so that nothing stands in the way of the athlete's zeal, yet for one whom God helps, who clearly refers the victory to him, nothing is stronger, even if something stands in the way of victory.

To the same. I wish to say briefly what I cannot say plainly without being abused (you know whom I mean); I mean those who are now speaking. If he were bad who … from those who plot … he would have been badly off …

To the same. Everyone who has a share in goodness will be glad when virtue is honoured. For as, if a lawgiver fixed the greatest punishments for crimes, he would not himself be thought to be preparing to break the law, so when someone rejoices to hear of the supernatural rewards of virtue, he will seem ready for every virtue, full of all good things and of no evil. For it is not unlikely that virtue should be admired and loved by the earnest.

To Harpocras the scholasticus. [On divination.] That divination among the Greeks was nonsense and talked about in vain I have shown in my discourse To the Greeks. But since you put forward Homer as a most wise witness, I will put the same man forward against you; for testimony even from enemies carries weight. When he makes Helenus, who was a seer, urge his brother Alexander to fly from the battle and, once in the city, to pray to Athena with the women; then the women pray and the goddess refuses; then again the seer urges him to challenge the best of the Greeks to battle, and he obeys and challenges, but is defeated and wounded and asks for the fight to be broken off: is it not clear even to mere children that he is slapping divination on the cheek, as it were, or laughing at its folly and boastfulness, as bold in foretelling and in holding out good hopes, but refuted and failing in the outcome? This is plain to everyone. And if he often speaks of seers, sacrifice-inspectors and dream-interpreters, it is no wonder. For poetry, sometimes longing for the fabulous, has falsehood as its material; made bold by uncritical pleasure, it runs riot and grows wild, displaying the mythical and the theatrical. So little does it care for the truth that, introducing the sons of Aloeus as labouring in vain rather than achieving great things, it says: "They were eager to set Ossa on Olympus, and on Ossa leafy Pelion, that heaven might be scaled." Then, believing that they would have prevailed had they reached manhood, it pronounces an uneducated and unphilosophical opinion, saying: "And they would have accomplished it, had they reached the measure of youth." For I say that not three mountains, but not even the whole earth, if it were moulded and raised up like a column, would touch the vault of heaven; especially according to those who say that the earth is the centre of heaven. For a centre could never touch the circumference.

To Theodosius the scholasticus. [On truth.] He who falls away from the truth at the beginning will certainly be rolled away from his goal and come to a shameful end.

To Zosimus and Maron. Some say that not even Metrodorus the Epicurean confirmed by his deeds the doctrines of Epicurus, whom all the wise have rejected, as your wretched threesome does. If, then, they speak the truth, stop your lust; if not, hold fast to chastity.

To Theodosius the bishop. I hesitate to speak, lest I seem to flatter (for of all the petty passions I consider flattery the most shameful); but, compelled by the truth, I will say that no one, I think, or rather I am persuaded, could reach your excellences in words, not even if he had ten tongues and ten mouths and souls equal in number to his tongues. [Letter 2.232] To Dionysius the presbyter. One who is conscious of no good in himself, wise friend, and speaks modestly is fair-minded, or rather self-aware, not humble. But one who is humble after many achievements is properly the one who knows how to be moderate.

[Letter 2.233] To Martinian. [On love of money.] Bodily love, since it is sharp but quickly quenched, painters depict with torches and wings, because at one time it kindles the passions with its smoke, at another it flies away through satiety. But love of money no one has dared either to mould or to paint: perhaps because it is not love but an incurable madness; perhaps because it can be neither moulded nor painted. For it has not only fifty heads, like the fabled hydra, through which it sends food to its insatiable belly; nor is it like the insatiable monster; nor is it armed, like Briareus, with only a hundred hands. Nor does it have wings, for it does not know satiety and does not understand surfeit. How, then, could anyone either mould or paint such a monster, compared with which even Scylla would have been believed, incredible though she is? But since speech is more vivid than any colour and more pliable than any wax, it will try, as far as it can, to sketch it, unable to reach exactness, but pillorying its beast-shaped madness, joyless to those it has captured. It seems to me to resemble not a boy (for it is not love, but plain madness) but a woman (and let this too be a proof of its folly and wickedness): a beast-shaped woman breathing fire, who has on her head instead of hair countless vipers, always hissing and belching deadly venom; countless hands bristling with claws, with which she tears some, shoots down others and snatches money from others; and countless mouths. For she not only threatens and slanders, but also flatters, speaks like a slave, perjures herself and devises countless pretexts for shameful gains. And she has eyes that do not see according to nature, and respect no one, neither friend, nor brother, nor kinsman, nor benefactor, but look harsh, sharp, cruel, inhuman and fiery. For she does not see the nature of things, nor understand that often, after setting countless things in motion, she has sent the money into the hands of enemies. And so she has rubbed countless sins onto the one she has captured; and she has ears so stopped that she hears neither supplications, nor groans, nor laments, nor reproaches. She is so far from having wings, which signify satiety, that no sensible person would even give her feet. For she does not know how to walk or to move away from the one she has captured; stretching out her hands against all, heavier than any iron or lead, she sits there, receiving everything and plundering everyone, never filled, but having the mass of what she takes as fuel for her burning, and making the end of what has been taken the beginning of what will be taken. Who, then, would let himself be captured by such a madness, most bitter and insatiable, which rubs on countless sins and reproaches, disgrace and licentiousness? Who would choose to live so wretchedly here, scourged night and day, knowing neither rest nor sleep, and to receive the beginning of punishments there? Why do I say the beginning? Here already she punishes and torments those she has captured more bitterly than any tyrant, leaping on them, seizing their vital parts and not letting them breathe even a little; she inflicts a penalty more bitter than that of those who pay that most grievous punishment in the mines. They may sleep and rest after their work; but she blocks up even the harbour of sleep for her captives and gives those cruel and inhuman commands even by night. Some she leads to robbery, others to murder; she does not respect even what is sacred, which even barbarians and demons count worthy of honour, but arms the defiled hands of her captives even against the bodies of the dead, devising a new and lawless form of robbery. Considering, then, all her wickedness, that she is beast-shaped, joyless and fire-breathing, insatiable, blind and deaf, misanthropic, loathsome and hateful to God, without truce, implacable and savage (for she yields neither to flattery nor to service, but grows wilder the more she is served), let us above all do everything not to be captured. For it is easier not to be captured than to escape once captured. And if we have been captured, let us brace ourselves and call on the divine alliance (for without it one cannot be freed from such captivity; for many, it is likely, it is a captivity without recall); let us stop wishing to gain, and distribute what has been gathered to the needy, either all at once or little by little. For this is the only recall from such captivity.

To Archibius the presbyter. [Here, in accusatory vein, against those who pursue the priesthood badly.] Of the many things worthy of wonder, as you said, there is one that I wonder at most of all, and I say that it is sufficient proof that everything has been corrupted. So, leaving the others aside, I will now speak above all of this and refute it. Say, then, to those to whom the peoples matter most, or rather to whom they ought to matter but do not matter at all: "You yourselves, confessing by what you do that you do not know what priesthood is, why do you trouble others? If you have inherited a family tyranny, rule over those you rule, so that you may be seen to be crueller and more tyrannical even than those notorious tyrants; for many of them treated those they tyrannized more gently than you. But if you have been entrusted with a father's care, why do you eclipse the tyrants in cruelty? Why do you enslave those who were redeemed by the divine blood? Why do you make money from the misfortunes of others? Why do you laugh at the chaste? Why do you plot against the lovers of virtue? Why do you gather flatterers about you? Why do you banish those who speak freely? For if you stop doing what you are doing, it is likely that the virtues of the peoples, now deadened because of you, will come to rebirth and new life."

To Herminus the count. [That the priest needs, together with an upright life, power in speaking.] As a noble tree, when it is laden with fruit and luxuriant with leaves, both gladdens the farmer, delights those who see it and refreshes those who pass by, so too the one seated on the teacher's throne, when he is adorned with virtue and flashes with eloquence, both gladdens God and benefits people. But if he lacks either, he does not greatly benefit his pupils. A good life is needed because of those who love to find fault; eloquence is needed too, for the refutation of heresies. For even if life without speech can benefit the many, yet when they see the teacher defeated in syllogisms and debates, they are often harmed in what is vital, stolen away by bastard doctrines; for they would blame not the teacher's inexperience but the unsoundness of the doctrine. And if his speech, flowing, overcomes the opponents by force, the trophy is dimmed by the badness of his life; for they will not think him a trustworthy teacher who does not do what he ought. One must, then, flash both in word and in life. "For whoever does and teaches," he says, "he shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven." And if doing alone were teaching, as some think, the second would not have been added.

To the same. [On the story of Joseph and the Egyptian woman.] The Egyptian woman cleverly and skilfully spread the nets of desire and set the snare to hunt the young man: she bewitched him through his eyes (for she adorned herself theatrically), charmed him through his hearing (for she made every attempt in words), stirred him through his sense of smell (for she breathed of the most costly perfumes), tickled him through touch (for she took hold of him), and provoked him through taste (for it is likely that before spreading the nets she also offered him delicacies, not as gratifying a lover but as pitying a stranger); she enchanted him with promises too, for she promised that he would be her master. Yet she failed in her hunt. And Joseph plucked the fruit of chastity, not without toil, as some think; for his contest was not only against her but also against the prime of his youth, swelling and leaping and longing for intercourse with women. She, for her part, seemed to have the leaves of victory. I said "seemed", since to unprejudiced ears this too was a proof of the woman's incontinence. For a woman who fears to suffer violence is not eager to strip the garment from the one who uses violence; to be freed from the violence is what she welcomes and prays for most. But she, drunk with desire, thought the tokens of her own licentiousness to be proofs of chastity. And so, I think, the master accepted the accusation, perhaps because of his wife's reputation (for he knew that a woman's nature is easily taken by passion, especially when provoked by beauty, which often enslaves even strength), and, without giving Joseph a hearing (for which some blame him), cast him into prison. He did not commit a barbarian's blunder, as some think; for he would otherwise have killed him, or at least handed him over to the laws, since the accusation called for death. Rather, perhaps, he reasoned from likelihood that, loving him and mad for him, having failed in her hunt, she had brought the accusation; and that if he gave the young man a hearing, he would not only clear himself of the charge but turn the accusation round onto the woman who brought it. Or rather, which is truer to say, the umpire of chastity calmed the man's anger, raising up a pillar of dignity for life, keeping a nourisher for his starving brothers and appointing a ruler for Egypt.

To the same. Do not be too astonished, admirable friend, if the fact that some such men are among those entrusted with the teacher's throne, terrible as it is, does not seem terrible, while for someone to utter a word for the sake of frankness seems most terrible and beyond pardon. For since traces of virtue are found in few, while vice dances its wild dance among most, they fear that someone may appear to rebuke what is done; so they hasten to banish all good things, and above all frankness, so that from then on they may sin without fear.

To the same. To be in a most grievous disease and think oneself healthy is plain and incurable madness. How will such a man look for a physician, when he does not even know that he is sick? One must therefore first give him a clear perception of his affliction, and then call its physician.

To Isidore the deacon. "Be angry and do not sin" seems to me to be manifold and many-sided. It can be both declarative and advisory, as: "You are angry; and why are you angry? Then do not be angry, so that you may not sin." It can also mean this: since anger is a sharp passion and apt to steal the soul (for it often runs ahead of reason and is born almost involuntarily), soothe it by reasoning and reflection, not rushing to revenge but ending in gentleness. It can also indicate this: be angry at the passion that troubles you, and above all at pleasure, and you will not sin. For if it finds you unnerved and slack, it will easily throw you; but if it finds you sober and angry at it, it will at once depart. And since the divine oracle forbade not anger simply, but anger without cause (for it is sometimes useful to be angry, when it is for the glory of God, or for those who are wronged, or for the correction of one's neighbours: so the most gentle Moses was angry at those who made the calf and ordered them killed wholesale; Phinehas at those who committed sexual immorality, and he ran them through with a spear; Elijah at the Jews, and he subdued them with famine; Paul at Elymas, and Peter at Ananias and Sapphira; and a father is angry at a careless son and a teacher at a careless pupil; and no one would call this anger, but philosophy and care), it can also be a command. For when we avenge ourselves we retaliate even beyond measure, but when the matter concerns the divine glory or those who are wronged, then we feign reverence and quiet, are voiceless and motionless, and differ in nothing from stones. That is why, he says: "Be angry justly, either when the matter concerns the glory of God, or the correction of your neighbour, or when you must defend those who are wronged; but do not sin, either by being privy to sinners and helping to hide them, or by misusing the remedy to avenge yourselves." For anger was placed in us not so that we too might sin, but so that we might restrain those who stumble; not to become a passion and a disease, but a medicine for passions. But we turn the remedy into poison, misusing it for what does not befit it. [Letter 2.240] Virtue, as I think (for I do not pronounce, but leave the verdict to those who read), has seemed and still seems difficult, not by its own nature but because of the insuperable carelessness of those who are unwilling to pursue it. For to one who examines it precisely, it is much easier than vice. If anyone disbelieves this, let him not make a din, but await the proof, keeping himself free of all prejudice and contentiousness. That it is divine, most fitting, most suited to nature, and the adornment and ornament of those who practise it, I will pass over as agreed by all; I will come to what is disputed. Which is easier, tell me: to track down countless treasures, or to be content with what one has? To count shameful gains and illiberal interest night and day, or to embrace self-sufficiency? To love wronging everyone, or to help the needy? To have intercourse with one's lawful wife (I do not yet set out the highest philosophy, but that which is attainable by many), or to break into the marriages of others? To be sick with the incurable love of money, or to be outside such madness? To stitch together deceits, or to deal without guile? To trouble the law courts, or to live in quiet? To seize what does not belong to one, or even to distribute one's own? To wallow in business and lawsuits, or to be free of business and fears? To be anxious about many endless cares, or to have one care, how not to fall away from virtue? To be a busybody, or to live free from affairs? To know no satiety, or not even to love the things that insult satiety? To be at sea and fall into shipwrecks, or to sit in harbour and look on the shipwrecks of others? I wished to show the ease of virtue and the difficulty of vice; but the argument, as it went on, has done something greater, showing also that gladness follows virtue and disgust follows vice. And I ought to have stopped there. But since luxury and pleasure, prattling, seem to mislead the many as being pleasant and easy, it is necessary to strip for the contest against these too. I say, then (to pass over for now the punishment hanging over luxury and licentiousness, which the holy Gospel set out pitiably and very movingly through the rich man and the one clothed in filthy garments), that if luxury does not beget countless diseases, troublesome, hard to cure and incurable, let it be called luxury. But if it is the cause of gout, headaches, vomiting, apoplexy, paralysis and other such afflictions, by which it is itself dimmed, or rather abolished, I hesitate to call luxury what is the mother and nurse of so many evils. That one cannot even get the food down, but it vanishes in the very throat, and that one does not perceive the pleasure of luxury, robbed of it by its continuity, I will pass over, not as weak arguments, but as unable to touch the duller sort. So much about luxury. About pleasure, these things and more will be said. If (to pass over the expense and the shame) it does not beget truceless wars against rivals, and blows, from which deaths and dangers are often born, let it be called pleasure. But if it is the root of shame, of wars without herald, of dangers, deaths, accusations and countless other evils, I do not know whether one should call pleasure what is the cause of so many pains and is obliterated by its own branches. That it does not even appear, either before intercourse, or in it, or after it, I will pass over, not as a weak point, but as not touching the carelessness of the licentious. For if one wishes to examine it precisely, it appears neither before intercourse, nor in it, nor after it: before it, it is plain frenzy; in it, clear madness and unrestrained agitation; after it, a release from madness rather than an enjoyment of pleasure. For he who has fulfilled his desire has also quenched the pleasure; and he who is in it is not in gladness but in agitation, frenzy and turmoil. If, then, this is so (and it is so, as I persuade myself), and virtue has been shown beyond doubt to be easier, more pleasant and more suited to nature, let us cling to it firmly and cheerfully, for it makes its lovers admired both here and there.

To Heraclides the bishop. [On greatness of mind.] Among Christians alone, those truly worthy of the name (let no one judge the religion by the folly of the many), things that are furthest apart from one another are joined together. Greatness of mind, pure of all self-will and keeping its sharpness within a leisurely character, is mixed with reasonableness. Bringing with it nothing of arrogance, but blended with reasonableness, it also, paradoxical as it is to say, avoids lowliness: it is modest in not exalting itself over its neighbours, and it shows magnanimity in not stooping before fears and dangers, but being above flattery and servility. For it defines neither the servile flatterer as modest nor the self-willed boaster as great-minded; but, hunting the goods of both and avoiding their drawbacks, it flees the vices that live next door to the virtues and puts on virtue itself in its purity.