AD STELECHIUM, AND ON COMPUNCTION, BOOK TWO
A How is it possible, holy man of God, Stelechius, for a sermon on compunction to be produced by a soul so weak and cold? For I suppose that he who is to say anything good on this subject must, above all others, burn and be inflamed with this zeal, so that the words which he utters may fall upon the minds of his hearers with greater force than white-hot iron. As for us, however, such a fire is not present, but all our interior is ash and dust. Whence, tell me, shall we kindle that flame, when there is neither a spark present, nor fuel to provide, nor a spirit arriving to blow it into flame, because of that vast mist which the multitude of our sins has cast upon our soul? I indeed do not know, but it is for you to say, who command it, how your order may proceed into work and attain the fitting end. We surely shall provide the ministry of the tongue; but do you pray to Him who heals the contrite in heart, who gives endurance to the faint-hearted, who raises the poor from the ground, that He may enkindle in us that fire which is accustomed to consume all human infirmity, to cut away sleep, sloth, and carnal heaviness, and to raise the wings of the soul on high to heaven. From that vantage point, as if from some high summit, B he shows all the vanity of the present life and its feigned appearance. For he who has not been able to fly thither, nor to sit in that watchtower, is also unable to see the earth or earthly affairs, as is right to see them. For because the things that cast darkness upon the sight are many, and many those that disturb the hearing, and many those that trip up the tongue, it behooves one, withdrawn from every tumult and smoke, to depart to that solitude where there is great tranquility, pure serenity, and no tumult; but the eyes, intent upon the one love of God, turn aside to nothing else, and the ears, unconfused, are vacant to one thing only, namely to the hearing of divine oracles and the most sweet and spiritual symphony to be heard, which, once [it has] captured the soul, rules [it] with such power that, drawn by that melody, it takes neither food, nor drink, nor sleep with pleasure. And so, neither the tumult of secular affairs nor the crowd of bodily things can relax that tenor. For to such a C height of soul the noise of this lowest tempest does not reach; but just as those who have betaken themselves to the highest mountains see or hear nothing of the things that are done or said in the city, but hear only a dim and unpleasant clamor, no more pleasant than the buzzing of wasps, so those who have withdrawn themselves from secular affairs and have flown to the summit of spiritual philosophy perceive nothing of those things that are done among us. For the body and the senses of the body, so long as the soul dwells around the earth, bind it with numberless chains, gathering from all sides a most heavy tempest of fleeting pleasures. For hearing, sight, touch, smell, and tongue introduce into it a multitude of external evils. But when it is made sublime and turns its leisure to spiritual things, then it wards off malignant thoughts from entering; not by closing the senses, but by translating their operation to that height. For just as some formidable and severe mistress, who is preparing a precious ointment, and has need of expensive things and many hands for the preparation, rousing and summoning her maids, orders one to separate with a sieve the spices not yet admitted to the work, another to examine with scales and balance accurately, lest it lose the right measure, having admitted more or less into the confection than is fitting, another to boil what must be boiled, another to grind what must be ground, for one to mix some things with others, for one to stand with the alabaster jar, for another with another vessel, for another to handle something else; and thus applying their minds as well as their hands to the work, she allows nothing to be spoiled, always pressing upon them, not permitting [them] to wander outside, or to divert their gaze elsewhere: so too the soul, preparing this precious ointment, namely compunction, calls the senses to itself, cutting off their sloth. But if it should happen that, turned into itself, it reflects upon any of those things that pertain to probity and what is pleasing to God, it renders [the senses] void of their operation; lest, introducing anything superfluous out of due time, they disturb the internal tranquility. Wherefore, if voices reach the ears, or spectacles the eyes, nothing is admitted, since the operations of each of the members are turned toward the soul. Why do I mention voices and spectacles, when many who are placed in this state do not perceive not only those passing by, but not even those who are troubling them? For such is the virtue of the soul that it is easy for it, while indeed dwelling on earth, to perceive nothing of the things that are done on earth, as if it were sitting in heaven. D Such was the blessed Paul, who, while turning, was as far removed from present things as we are from the corpses of the dead. For when he says,
"I have been crucified to the world," he means this lack of feeling; or rather, not only this, but also another like it, so that what was said before is doubled. For he did not say only, "I have been crucified to the world," and then remain silent, but by what follows he also manifested another thing, saying, "and the world to me." Great, indeed, is the philosophy in thinking the world to be dead, but greater and far more excellent than this is for one to be disposed toward it as if he himself were dead. Such then is what Paul implied; for he says he is not so much removed from present things as the living are from the dead, but as the dead are from the dead. For he who lives, even if he does not desire the one who has passed away, still has a different feeling, whether he is still admiring the beauty of one who is lying there, or is pitying and weeping for him; but the dead man has no such relation or disposition toward the one who has departed. Wishing, therefore, to express this, after he had said, "I have been crucified to the world," he added, "and the world to me." Do you see how far he had departed from the world, how, while walking on earth, he had leaped over to the very summit of heaven? A
Do not mention to me the peaks of mountains, nor glens and ravines and pathless wildernesses; for these things alone are not enough to remove the turmoil of the soul; but there is need of that fire which Christ ignited in the soul of Paul, and which that blessed man nourished through B this spiritual reasoning, and lifted it to such a height that, beginning below from the earth, it reached the heaven itself, and the heaven above this, and the one after that again. For he himself was caught up to the third heaven; but his longing and his love for Christ surpassed not only three but all the heavens. For his body was small, and he had nothing more than us in this regard; but by his spiritual disposition he surpassed all men who exist on the earth by a great margin. And one would not be wrong, for this reason, in comparing that holy man to a certain image: just as if a flame, having occupied the back of the whole earth, and having been lifted up on high, were to pass from every side over the heavenly vault and, running through the air above this—whether it is air or whatever it may be—were to fill the middle of these two heavens with fire, and not even there stop its course, but leap suddenly to the third and ascend, and make everything one pyre, having as much width as the breadth of the whole earth, and as much height as from the third heaven to us. Or rather, I do not believe I have stated even the thousandth part of his love. And that these words are no exaggeration, one will know precisely by going through what we wrote to Demetrius regarding this subject. Thus one must love Christ, thus one must be removed from present things. Such souls had the holy prophets; for this reason they also received other eyes. For to remove themselves from present things was their own diligence; but that after this other eyes should be opened to them for the contemplation of future things was already the grace of God. Such was Elisha, who, since he had departed from all worldly things, and longed for the kingdom in heaven, and spurned all present things—kingdom and power and glory—and the honor given by all, saw what no other ever saw: a whole mountain hidden by a layout of horses of fire and chariots and such soldiers. C For he who admires present things would never be deemed worthy of the contemplation of future things; but he who looks down upon these, and considers them as nothing better than a shadow and a dream, will quickly attain those great and spiritual things. Since we too then show the wealth befitting men to our children, when we see them having become men, and looking down on all childish things; but as long as they admire those things, we deem them unworthy of these. For a soul that has not practiced despising petty and worldly things will not be able to admire the things in the heavens; just as, by admiring those, it will not be able not to mock these. This the blessed Paul also said; for even if what was said was spoken regarding doctrines, there would be a season for it to be said also regarding conduct and gifts, that "the natural man does not receive the things of the Spirit of God" (1 Cor. 2:14). D
3. Therefore, as I said, let us seek wildernesses, not only those of place but also those of the will, and before all other things let us lead the soul into that desolate region. For with such a state of mind, the blessed David, while living in a city, and managing a kingdom, and surrounded by ten thousand cares, was seized by longing for Christ more fervently than those who have taken to the wilderness. For those tears and groans and laments, those by day and by night—one would barely see one or a second of those now crucified displaying them, if indeed there is anyone at all. For let us not examine the lamentations only, but let us see precisely who he was who was making them. For it is not the same to be in such high office, and to be waited upon by everyone, and to have no one to rebuke one, and to humble and bend oneself and eat oneself away, as it is, while deprived of all these things, to do this very thing. For the king has many things that lead him to dissipation, and prevent him from constraining the soul. For he is dissolved by daily luxury and becomes effeminate, and is puffed up by power and lifted to arrogance; and the love of glory also inflames him, and that of bodies no less—born from power, and nourished by luxury. In addition to these, the snowflakes of cares striking him from every side trouble his soul no less than those passions; whence compunction will not be able to find even a small ingress, being barred by such walls; for it is precious to be able to plant this good in the soul, even when it has been delivered from all these things. But the private person stands outside all this turmoil, unless he is exceedingly perverted; therefore he will be able to come to the matter with less difficulty; but not the one who is in power and authority and such attendance. And just as it is difficult, or rather impossible, to mix fire with water, so, I think, it is to gather luxury and compunction into the same place; for these are opposites, and destructive of one another. For the one is the mother of tears and sobriety, the other of laughter and madness; and the one makes the soul light and winged, the other makes it heavier than any lead. And I have not yet said the greatest thing of all, that he lived in times that did not require anything great for the precision of living; whereas we have entered into the contest at a time when not only other things, but laughter itself requires great...
A discipline, and grief and affliction are everywhere praised. Yet that blessed man, having broken through all these obstacles, embraced it so vigorously—as if he were one of the multitude, and had never even dreamed of a kingdom or royal magnificence—and displayed as much compunction in his purple, his diadem, and his royal throne as one who sits in sackcloth, in ashes, and in solitude. For to those upon whom this good has truly come, it imparts as much strength as fire does to thorns. Even if it finds a man stifled by numberless evils, bound by many cords of sin, or encountering the intense flame of concupiscence, or surrounded by the great tumult of secular affairs, it suddenly drives all these away, as if with a scourge, and chases them far from the soul. And just as thin dust could never withstand the force of a violent wind, so neither could the multitude of concupiscences withstand the incoming force of compunction; rather, it is destroyed, and dissipates faster than dust and smoke. For if the love of bodies makes the soul so captive that it draws it away from all things and subjects it to that solitary, friendly tyranny, what could not the love of Christ achieve, and the fear lest He withdraw from us? Both of which so agitated the prophet’s mind that at one time he would say: "As the hart panteth after the fountains of waters, so panteth my soul after thee, O God" (Ps. XLI, 1); and again, "My soul is as earth without water to thee" (Ps. CXLII, 6); and, "My soul hath stuck close to thee" (Ps. LXII, 9); and at another time, "O Lord, rebuke me not in thy fury, nor chastise me in thy wrath" (Ps. VI, 2).
D And let no one say to me that he wrote this psalm to mourn his own sin; for that is not true, nor do the words set down in the inscription allow us to suspect as much. For if the proposed subject could not be shown, it might be permissible to ascribe this psalm to that event; but if that which was spoken for sin is manifest to all, and this has a different hypothesis, then I beg you, let us not confuse divine things, nor declare our own reasonings to be more suited to the doctrines brought forth by the Spirit. What, then, is the inscription? *For the octave* (Ps. VI, 1). And what is the octave, if not that great and conspicuous day of the Lord, like a burning furnace, which makes the supernal Powers tremble ("The powers of the heavens shall be moved," it says, Math. XXIV, 29), and which displays fire running before the King at that time? He called it the octave, indicating a change of state, and also the renewal of the future life. For the present life is nothing else but one week, which begins at the first day and ends at the seventh; and it revolves around the same intervals again, and returns to the same origin, and descends to the end. Wherefore, no one would call the Lord’s day the eighth, but the first. For the circle of the week does not extend to the eighth number. But when all these things have ceased and been dissolved, then the course of the ogdoad is brought into the midst; for it does not recur again to the beginning, but clings to the following intervals. The prophet, therefore, by the force of compunction, always had the written memory of judgment in mind, and he assiduously revolved B in his soul that day, in such great honor, in such great wealth—which we, even when established in tribulations, scarcely call to memory—and frequently reflecting on His judgments, he wrote this psalm.
What does he say? "O Lord, rebuke me not in thy fury, nor chastise me in thy wrath," calling the intensity of punishment fury and wrath; for he knew that the Godhead is entirely devoid of passions. Even so, he was conscious to himself that not punishment and torture were owed to him, but honor and crowns. Indeed, the faith through which he destroyed the tower of foreigners C and snatched the entire nation of the Jews from the very gates of death, and the benefit bestowed upon his enemy once, twice, and many times, and above all the divine sentence pronounced concerning him, sufficiently declared the whole virtue of the man, and even more so than his celebrated deeds themselves. For works, however great and admirable they may be, can be suspected of evil—even if the works of that just man were mostly free of all suspicion—but when God Himself is the witness, then there is no place for suspicion; for if he had not exhibited the most accurate proof of virtue, he would never have attained the heavenly proclamation. What, then, does God say about him? "I have found David the son of Jesse, a man according to my heart" (1 Reg. XIII, 14). Yet after such a judgment, after such great achievements, he brought forth the words of those who are condemned and have no confidence toward God, so as to fulfill that evangelical saying: "When you have done all things, say, We are unprofitable servants" (Luc. XVII, 10). What more did that publican say, who was laden with numberless evils, who did not even dare to look up to heaven, nor weave a long speech, nor stand near the Pharisee? For the latter upbraided him, saying: "I am not as the rest of men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or as this publican" (Luc. XVIII, 11). But he, as if he had heard nothing harsh, received the saying, and not only was he not indignant, but he even honored his insulter and arrogant accuser with such respect that he did not even deem himself worthy of the very earth upon which the other trod; and he produced no word, except to confess his sins; but striking his chest frequently, he thus begged God to be propitious to him. But that he should do these things is not surprising; for the multitude of his sins forced him, whether he wished it or not, to look to the ground. That a just man, however, conscious of no such things, should approach with the same self-reproach as the publican—that is indeed wonderful, and a sign of a truly contrite soul. For what is the difference between that, "Be propitious to me, a sinner" (Ibid. 13), and this, "O Lord, rebuke me not in thy fury, nor chastise me in thy wrath" (Ps. VI, 2)? Rather, this is far greater than that. For the publican did not even dare to look toward heaven; but the just man was doing something greater. The one said, "Be propitious to me"; this one did not even dare to say that. For he did not say, "Rebuke me not," but "Not in thy fury"; nor "Chastise me not," but "Not in thy wrath": not asking to avoid the punishments, but not such intense ones, so that on all sides D
A one may see his humility, both from his thinking himself deserving of punishment, and from his not daring to ask God for complete forgiveness; which is the mark of those deeply convinced of their guilt, and persuaded that they are the most sinful of all men. And what is greater than this is that he asks to receive even this—not to be severely punished—from the mercy and loving-kindness of God, as one exhausted, saying: "Have mercy on me, for I am weak" (Ps. 6.3). What is this? Does he who has been favored with such a testimony, and who does not forget the judgments of God ("For I did not forget Thy judgments," he says), who shines more brightly than the sun, utter such words? Yes; for this is the wondrous thing, that while achieving such great things, he never said or thought anything great of himself, but considered himself the least of all, and asked to be saved solely by the loving-kindness of God, as if he said: "I am indeed worthy of inescapable punishment, and of being punished with immortal torments; but because I can no longer bear it, I ask for a release from my present evils." Just as servants who have committed countless atrocious deeds, though they cannot say they have not sinned, because the pain from the scourging is unbearable, they ask to be relieved at least of the wounds. But I think he implies another weakness now. What is this, then? The one resulting from the despondency and lamentations that befall him. For the excess of grief, when it attacks us more violently, consumes all the strength of the soul. This, I think, the righteous man also suffered from condemning himself so severely, and never entertaining good hopes for himself, but always the opposite. This, at least, is clear from what follows: "Have mercy on me," he added, "for I am weak; heal me, Lord, for my bones have been troubled, and my soul has been troubled exceedingly," having previously said: "O Lord, rebuke me not in Thy fury" (Ps. 6.3). But if he who possessed such a pure conscience asks that there not be a precise examination of what has been done, what shall we do, who are caught in so many evils, and are so far removed from his boldness, and do not even show the smallest part of his confession? How, then, did the blessed one confess in this manner? He had been taught that no one shall be justified before God, and that even the righteous is barely saved. Therefore, at one time he pleads, saying, "Enter not into judgment with thy servant" (Ps. 142.2); and at another, "Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am weak."
5. B For this is worth considering everywhere: how nowhere does he mention his own accomplishments, but casts his salvation upon the loving-kindness of God. For this is the mark of a broken soul, this of a humbled spirit; this makes those who achieve great things tremble and fear, more than sinners do. For that he did so tremble and fear, hear him saying: "If thou shouldst mark iniquities, O Lord, O Lord, who shall stand?" (Ps. 129.3). For he knew, he knew clearly, that we are liable to God for many debts, and that even the smallest sins are worthy of great punishment. He knew, seeing from afar what Christ was about to ordain upon coming: that not murders only, but also insults and revilings and evil thoughts and laughter and untimely speech and jesting and even smaller things would be held to be grievous. And this is clear from what follows: "Have mercy," for he believed in the judgment. Therefore Paul also, although he was conscious of no wrong, said: "I am conscious of nothing in myself, but I am not hereby justified" (1 Cor. 4.4). Why ever? Because even if no evil had been done by him—just as none had been done—yet he did not think he had fulfilled the measure of the honor owed to God. For even if we were to die a thousand times, even if we were to display every virtue, we have not repaid the value of the honors bestowed upon us by God. C See, for instance: needing nothing from us, but being self-sufficient, He brought us into being when we were not, He breathed into us a soul such as no other living thing on earth possesses, He planted a paradise, He stretched out the heaven, He laid the foundations of the earth, He lit up bright luminaries, and He adorned the earth with lakes and springs and rivers and flowers and plants, and having adorned the heaven with the varied choir of the stars, He made the night no less useful to us than the day, on account of the rest and strength gained from sleep. For this nourishes our bodies no less than food; and this is clear from elsewhere: for one may often see people daring many days of famine, but not even a few of sleep. And the flame that is kindled in the day, both from the sun’s rays and from our daily labors, it cools and dissolves, and thus restores us, lively once again for tasks. In the winter season, by the length of its course, it provides us even more rest and warmth, compelling us to stay indoors. And the darkness, too, is not assigned to this time simply or in vain, but for greater rest. For just as affectionate mothers, when they wish to quiet their restless children, place them in their arms and cover their faces with a little garment and lull them to sleep, so also God, having spread darkness over the world like a veil, makes men cease from their labors. If this were not so, we would all have been torn apart by excessive curiosity or avarice and by toils; but now, even against our will, He releases us from our sweat. And He releases not only our bodies, but this law of the body does so no less for our soul. For what could one say of the calm in this time, the silence, and how everything is full of quiet and free of tumults, and one cannot hear any shouting as by day, with some lamenting poverty, others crying out at being wronged, others mourning the sickness of their bodies and their maimings, and some the death of their relatives, others the loss of money, others some other human tragedy—and many such there are? From all these things, D as if from billows, the night snatches the human race and gives it rest in its own harbor. And through the night we have so many good things, and through the day those which we all know. What, then, could one say of the ease for social intercourse that is given to us? For so that the length of a journey might not prove an obstacle to associating with one another, God has released the sea everywhere on the earth as a shortcut, so that, inhabiting the world as one house, we might walk frequently to one another, and each one, easily sharing what he has with his neighbor, might receive what is from him, and holding a small portion of the earth, everyone, as if at a lavish banquet, since what is set before some is [...]
A permitted to be given to those far away, and it is permitted to take from what they have with an outstretched hand alone. But if anyone should attempt to pursue all these things with words, he will fall into an immense length, nor will he be able to touch even a small part: for how, being human, could he dare to measure the infinite wisdom of God? Consider meanwhile the variety of plants, the fruit-bearing and the barren, those in the deserts, those in cultivated fields, in the mountains, in the plains: consider the diversity in seeds, in herbs, in flowers, in land animals, in amphibians, in creatures that swim: weigh all visible things made for our sake, the heaven, the earth, the sea, and all that is in them. For just as if someone built a splendid palace, shining with much gold, with much brilliance of gems: so God, having fashioned the world, introduced man so that he might hold dominion over all these things. And what is B by far more wondrous in this house, He did not construct the roof from stones, but founded it from another, more precious material; nor did He ignite the flame of a golden lampstand, but placing the lamps above, ordered them to course through the roof of the house, so that it might not only be useful, but also bring us great pleasure, and He adorned the floor like a lavish table: and He provided these things for one who had not yet displayed any good. Nevertheless, after such great gifts, when man had shown himself ungrateful toward his benefactor, He did not for that reason deprive him of honor, but only cast him out of paradise, and thus He punished him, so that He might restrain the ungrateful mind from proceeding further, and hinder it from declining toward worse things. C All these things, and more than these, the Apostle, considering within himself, as one moved by the divine Spirit, both what was from the beginning, and what happens daily, and what to individuals, and what to all together, and what openly, and what in secret, which are many more than those that are manifest; and furthermore what refers to the economy of the only-begotten Son of God, and the future good things as well, and finally looking around at all things, and gathering and reflecting on the ineffable love of God from every side, as if having fallen into an immense sea, he thus learned for what reasons and how great a debt he was liable, a tiny portion of which he was unable to show. On account of this he spoke such things, and indeed scrutinized lesser sins with great diligence, but consigned right acts to oblivion. But we are not like this, we who neither keep an account of our transgressions, D although they are many and great, nor mention them: but if we have done even the least bit of good, we cast it about on all sides, nor do we stop the end of boasting and exulting, until we destroy that little thing through arrogance. Considering these things, David also said: "What is man, that Thou art mindful of him?" (Ps. VIII, 5). And not only this, but accusing his ungrateful mind, he said: "Man, being in honor, did not understand; he is compared to senseless cattle, and is become like to them" (Ps. XLVIII, 13). A ...those things gathered together, to consider them his own, and thus to be as anxious as if he were a debtor for everything. Which also Paul did (for it would be useful to mention him again), when he says that the Lord died for him: "And that I now live in the flesh," he says, "I live in the faith of the Son of God, who loved me, and delivered himself for me" (Gal. II, 20). He said these things not to contract the gift of Christ, but so that, regarding the whole, he might constitute himself liable, and persuade individuals that they should be thus affected. For if Christ had come for one man only, the gift would not have been lessened on that account, but would be proved to be greater. How? Because He would appear to have had such great concern for one, as he who, seeking one sheep, was on that account troubled and weeping. If, then, those who have received money on loan are not equal to paying, but are drowned in a great depth of debt, and neither eat nor sleep, tormented by anxiety: what might the righteous man not suffer, who sees that he is a debtor not for money, but for crimes? But we are not so; for if we pay a little, we are affected as if we had paid all; nay, which is far worse, we do not perform even that little with the alacrity that befits the free, but we first seek if it has a reward, if it has much, B if it is credited to us, and we bring forth the words of the unfree and mercenaries. What are you saying, O faint-hearted and miserable man? The thing pleasing to God is proposed to be done by you, and are you anxious about a reward? If, after the deed was finished, you were to be cast into hell, should it have been refused? Should one not then also have been ready to apply one's hand to good works with great alacrity? You do a thing acceptable to God, and you seek another reward? Truly you are ignorant of how great a good it is to please God: for if you knew that, you would think no other reward equal to this. Do you not know that your reward is increased when you do not work out of hope for a reward, but for what is decent? Are you ignorant that among men those are held in most honor by all who, before a reward, look to their own pleasure, and are more anxious about that same pleasure than about the reward? Are men so generously affected toward their fellow servants; but you, C adorned by the Lord with so many benefits and expecting so many good things from Him, when something pertaining to your salvation is to be done, before you even touch the work, do you curiously inquire about a reward? Therefore we are always cold, miserable, and not prepared to do anything generous: therefore we are never able to dwell in compunction, nor to gather our soul even a little. For we do not diligently consider our sins, we do not scrutinize the benefits of God, we do not look to men who bring forth illustrious works. For this reason we forget good works, because we do not bear prosperous events with moderation, nor, as I have frequently said, when we call ourselves sinners, do we speak with truth. This is clear from the fact that when we hear the same thing from others, we are heated, we are carried away, we say it is an insult. Thus with us all things are full of hypocrisy, nor do we imitate the publican, who, willingly receiving the insult of another reproaching him with a multitude of sins, gained profit through his deeds: for he went down justified rather than the Pharisee. But we do not even know what confession is (Luke XVIII, 14), even if we are filled with infinite evils: when it was fitting not only...
to be persuaded that we have committed infinite sins, but to have all our offenses, both small and great, inscribed in our hearts as if in a book, and to mourn over them as if they had just been committed. For thus we would have bridled the pride of the soul, by continually reminding it of its own evils. So great a good is it to remember one's own sins, that it causes one to bring even the offenses that have been wiped away continuously to mind, as the blessed Paul did. For since he had washed away all his former sins through baptism, and afterwards lived purely—in such a way as to be conscious of nothing against himself, and had no sins over which to groan—he remembered those that had been erased before baptism, saying: *Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the first* (1 Tim. I, 15); and again: *He judged me faithful, putting me into the ministry, who was before a blasphemer and a persecutor and injurious*—for *I persecuted the Church of God beyond measure, and wasted it* (Gal. I, 13); and again: *I am not worthy to be called an apostle* (1 Cor. XV, 9). For even if those sins let us go unpunished, they are nonetheless sufficient to turn the soul and persuade it to love God vehemently. For when Simon was asked by the Lord which of the two debtors would love the moneylender more, and answered, *I suppose that he to whom he forgave more* (Luke VII, 43), he heard, *You have judged rightly.*
C VII. For when we reflect upon the multitude of past sins, then we shall know the superabundance of God's grace; then we shall look downward; then we shall be humbled. For as much as we are liable for greater offenses, by so much the more shall we be shamed. Paul, indeed, remembered even those; but we are unwilling to remember even those after baptism, which carry with them danger and make us liable to an examination on their account; but even if we happen to fall into the thought of such a thing, we immediately jump away, not wishing to grieve the soul for even a short time with that memory. Therefore, infinite evils are born for us from this unprofitable grace. For thus, being so without feeling and so soft, we are neither able to confess what is past (for how could we, when we do not even habituate ourselves to endure the memory of them?) and we are readily carried off towards future transgressions. For it is desirable, while that memory is always flourishing within us, and fear is shaking our mind, to be able to remove its slackness and dissipation; but if you should take away even this bridle, who will restrain it from henceforth being carried down precipices and falling into the chasms of destruction? For these reasons that righteous man described the coming punishment; for these reasons he lamented; for these reasons he groaned, doing these things in abundance. For you who are great, it is sufficient for compunction to remember the benefits of God; not to remember one's own successes; to examine with great accuracy if even a small offense has chanced to be committed by you; to look at great men who were highly pleasing to God; and after all these things, to consider the uncertainty of the future and the propensity toward falling into sin, which Paul also feared; wherefore he said: *I fear lest by any means, when I have preached to others, I myself should become a castaway* (1 Cor. IX, 27); and: *He that thinks he stands, let him take heed lest he fall* (1 Cor. X, 12). D So also David turned all these things over in his mind: for, considering the benefits of God, he said: *What is man, that you are mindful of him? Or the son of man, that you visit him? You have made him a little lower than the angels, you have crowned him with glory and honor* (Ps. VIII, 5, 6). And of his own successes he had so forgotten them, that after that infinite philosophy he said: *Who am I, O Lord my God, and what is my house, that you have loved me up to this point? And these things have appeared small before you, O Lord my God, and you have spoken concerning the house of your servant into the distance. And this is the law of man, O Lord my God, to you* (2 Reg. VII, 18-20). And what will David add further to speaking to you? And by continually considering the virtue of his ancestors, he thought that he was nothing when measured against them. For after saying, *In you have our fathers hoped* (Ps. XXI, 6), speaking of himself he added: *But I am a worm and no man.* And the uncertainty of the future he had so before his eyes as to say: *Lighten my eyes, lest I sleep in death* (Ps. XII, 4). And he considered himself liable for so many sins as to say: *Be propitious to my sin, for it is great* (Ps. XXIV, 11). For us, then, who are great, even these things are sufficient; but for us, even with these remedies, there is a strong and sufficient necessity to take down our pride and all arrogance. What is this? The multitude of sins, and the evil conscience; which, when it forgets us, does not even let us, though we have them, be lifted to the heights. Therefore I beg and entreat, by that very confidence which you have acquired towards God through your successes, that you reach out a hand to us as we continuously pray, so that we may be able to mourn the burden of such great evils according to their deserts, and having mourned, may take hold of some friendly road, and one carrying us towards heaven, so that we may not depart into Hades, where no one is able to confess, and suffer the things of the reprobate, with no one henceforth to rescue us (Ps. XLIX, 22). For as long as we are here, we shall be able to reap great fruits from you, and you to benefit us with the greatest things; but when we depart over there, where neither friend, nor brother, nor father will be able to assist, nor stand by us as we are punished, it will be necessary eventually, in poverty and deep darkness and great scarcity of those who might offer consolation, to pay the immortal penalty, becoming an inexhaustible food for the all-consuming flame.