BY THE SAME GREGORY: ON THE LOVE OF THE POOR, ORATION II
A Discourse on the Gospel passage: "Inasmuch as you did it to one of these," and what follows.
A Still I am detained in the contemplation of that terrifying coming of the great King, which the Gospel describes for us. Still my soul, as I attentively consider the fear which that mention inspires, shrinks and shudders. For I seem to behold the heavenly King Himself, as it is described there, sitting in a fearful manner upon the throne of majesty. And I perceive that magnificent throne—whatever that throne may be—which contains Him who is contained by no place. I see those countless myriads of angels surrounding the King. I behold the great and terrible King Himself, looking down from His immense glory upon human nature, and gathering to Himself every generation of men, as many as are found from the time when men began to be generated until the day of that fearful coming. And to each, according to the standard of their life and the merits of their previous conduct, He either awards rewards or imposes punishments: placing those who have lived rightly and holily on the right hand, as it is said, while those who have behaved basely and wickedly are placed on the left and condemned. And I hear Him addressing both, though in a different manner. For He speaks to some with those sweetest and most auspicious words: "Come, you blessed of my Father"; but to others with that horrible and terrifying threat: "Depart, you cursed, into eternal fire."
B Thus is my soul affected and terrified as I read and consider these things, that I seem to think them not being read, but being fulfilled, and not being spoken, but being enacted; and I seem to be not merely hearing, but to be actually present in the very events themselves. Therefore, I feel nothing more of present things, nor does my mind have leisure to turn to anything else among the matters proposed for my investigation C and contemplation—though, indeed, these are no small matters, nor worthy of little inquiry: to know how He who is always present comes. For "Lo," He says, "I am with you all the days." And if it is believed that He is with us, how is it promised that He will come, as if He were not already present? If
indeed in Him, as the Apostle says, we live and move and have our being, there is no way A that the One who encompasses all things could spatially exclude those who are contained within Him; so that one should expect Him either not to be present now to those who are encompassed by Him, or to be present at some later time. But what, too, is the throne of the Incorporeal? And the manifestation of the Invisible? And the form of the Shapeless? And the circumscription of the Uncircumscribed upon a throne? All these things, as being greater than our present time, I shall defer. But that we may not be thrust into the order of the outcasts, to this end, as much as I am able, I shall turn my discourse to our common profit. For I am exceedingly, brothers, exceedingly terrified by the threat; and I do not deny the affliction of my soul. I would that you also would not have a contemptuous attitude toward fears. For, "Blessed is the man who fears everything out of reverence," B and he who despises a matter shall be despised by it, as the word of Wisdom says somewhere. Therefore, before the time of evils arrives, let us take care not to experience these sorrows. But what is the deliverance from these fearful things? It is to choose this way of life which the Word has now pointed out to us, the one that is truly recent and living.
What is this way? "I was hungry, and I gave you to eat; I was thirsty, and you gave me to drink; I was a stranger, and you took me in; naked, and you clothed me; I was sick, and you visited me; I was in prison, and you came to me." Insofar as you did it C to one of these least, you did it to me. And because of this, He says, "Come, you blessed of my Father." What do we learn from these things? That blessing is the diligent keeping of the commandments; but curse is the slothfulness regarding the commandments. Let us love the blessing, and let us flee the curse. For it is in our power to choose or not to choose either one; for in whatever direction we incline with our will, in that we shall be. Therefore, let us make the Lord of the blessing our own, He who reckons the zeal spent upon the needy as though it were spent upon Himself; and especially now, when the commandment has much material in the present life. For many are in need of necessities, and many are in need D of the body itself, being consumed by a grievous disease. Therefore, in the zeal spent upon these, let us secure for ourselves the good promise; I speak clearly here of those who have been mangled by a grievous disease. For by as much as their infirmity is greater, by so much, evidently, is the blessing greater for those who carry out the arduous task of the commandment. What then must be done? Not to go against the ordinance of the Spirit. This is, not to alienate ourselves from those who share our nature, nor to imitate those condemned in the Gospel, I mean the priest and the Levite, who passed by without sympathy
A for that miserable man whom the story reports was left half-dead by the robbers. For if those men are found guilty because they did not turn their attention to the wounds swelling upon his naked body, how shall we, who imitate those very culprits, not fall under the same condemnation? Surely, the spectacle presented by that man who had fallen among robbers was not so pitiable as that presented by those who are oppressed by a calamity of this kind. You see a man transformed by the severity of a disease into the shape of a quadruped, having covered his hands with wood in place of hooves and claws, and thus pressing a new kind of footprint into the human paths. Who, from that form, could recognize that a human being had imprinted such tracks upon his journey? Man, who in his form is upright, who looks toward heaven, to whom nature gave hands as an instrument for accomplishing tasks, is bent toward the earth, and becomes a quadruped, and is little short of appearing devoid of reason. With difficulty he draws breath, grows hoarse, and elicits a rumbling from his innermost vitals, being (may one speak boldly?) more calamitous than the very animals themselves that are devoid of reason. For they, as a rule, preserve the form they received from birth until the end; nor is any one of them changed from that form into another on account of some disease. But this one, as if his nature were changed, appears as something else, and not the animal he was accustomed to be; his hands perform the function of feet for him; his knees provide the use of soles; for his natural soles and ankles either vanish completely, or, like some extraneous skiffs rashly attached to ships, are dragged along by chance. B In these cases, do you see a human being and feel no shame for the kinship? Do you not pity one who is of the same nature? Instead, do you loathe the calamity and hate the supplicant, avoiding his approach just as you would shun the onset of some wild beast? And yet, you ought to have been restrained by this thought, if nothing else: that an angel, free from body and matter, did not disdain to touch you, a being mixed and compounded of flesh and blood, even though you are a man. But why do I speak of angels, when the Lord of angels himself, the King of heavenly blessedness, became man for your sake and clothed himself in this foul and filthy husk of flesh, along with the soul that was clothed within it, so that by his own touch he might heal your ailments? Yet you—who are the same by nature as the afflicted man—flee from a human being of the same kind. Do not, brother, I beseech you, let this wicked counsel please you. Consider who you are and concerning whom you are deliberating: it is a man, concerning other men, you yourself possessing nothing unique beyond the common nature. C Do not prejudge the future. For while you condemn the affection visible in another’s body, you are pronouncing an uncertain judgment upon the whole of human nature. Yet you are also a participant in that same nature, just like all the rest. Therefore, let there be deliberation as if upon a matter held in common.
A Why, then, does no compassion for the things that are visible enter into you? You see nomadic people, wandering about like cattle in their need for food, possessing only rags—this is their clothing; a staff in their hands—this is their weapon, this is their carriage—and even this is not held by their fingers, but tied to their palms with certain straps; a tattered wallet, and a piece of bread corrupted by mold and rot; their hearth, their home, their bed, their couch, their storeroom, their table, every single provision of their life, is this wallet. And then, do you not consider who it is that is in this state? It is a human being, made in the image of God, appointed to rule over the earth, having the service of irrational creatures subject to him; he has come to such a state of calamity and change that the sight is ambiguous, for he bears no clear sign B of being a man, nor does he bear the marks of any other animal individually. If you compare him to a human, the human character repudiates such an ugliness; if you turn your inspection toward the irrational animals, they too do not admit to a likeness of what is seen. Only these men look toward each other alone, and flock together with one another because of the similarity of their affliction; they are creatures who are loathsome to others, but not loathsome to one another out of necessity. For since they are driven out from everywhere, they become a people of their own, rushing together toward one another. Do you see these joyless dancers, this mournful and gloomy chorus? How they parade their own misfortunes! How they make a spectacle of their own deformed nature, like certain jugglers displaying their many sorts of infirmities to those who happen by! They are poets of mournful melodies, composers of those wretched songs; tragedians of this empty and miserable tragedy, not using the sufferings of others for their tragedies, but filling the stage with their own evils. What figures they are! What stories they tell! And what do we hear them saying? How they were cast off by those who gave them birth, for no crime of their own! How they are driven out of common assemblies, festivals, and public gatherings, just like some murderers or parricides condemned to perpetual exile—or rather, far more miserable than those, for murderers are permitted to live elsewhere among men! But these people alone of all others are driven out from everywhere, as if declared to be common enemies; they are deemed unworthy of a single roof, a common table, or the use of utensils. And this is not yet the worst; for not even the springs are common to them alongside other men, nor are the rivers trusted, as if they would pull down some of the pollution of their infirmity. If a dog laps the water with its blood-thirsty tongue, the water is not considered loathsome because of the beast; if the sick man approaches the water, forthwith the water is condemned because of the man. These things they recount, these things they lament; for this reason, the wretched creatures are forced to throw themselves before men, becoming supplicants to anyone who happens by. Often I have shed tears at this gloomy spectacle, often I have been indignant at nature itself; and now, at the
A memory, I am troubled. I have seen a pitiable affliction, I have seen a spectacle full of tears. Men lie along the roads; or rather, they are no longer men, but the miserable remnants of those who were once men, needing certain signs and tokens so that they may be believed to be human. For they no longer possess the characteristics of nature by which they might be recognized as men; they alone of all beings hate themselves, they alone celebrate their birthday through a curse, for they rightly hate that day which was the beginning of such a life for them. They are men who even blush to call themselves by the common name, lest by the sharing of the name they bring disgrace upon the common nature; always living with groans, they have an unceasing subject for their lamentations. For as long as they see themselves, they always have grounds for mourning, being at a loss as to what they should lament more: the parts of the body that are no longer there, or those that remain; those which the disease has already consumed, or those that are left for the disease to consume; the fact that they see such things upon themselves, or that they are not even able to see, their sight having been dimmed by the malady; that they have such things to tell about themselves, or that they are not even able to tell of their afflictions, having been deprived of their voice by the suffering; that they use such food, or that they cannot even take that easily, the disease hindering the power of eating through the decay of the parts around the mouth; that they suffer those things which are peculiar to the dead while still having sensation, or that they have been deprived of their very senses? For where among them is sight? Where is the sense of smell? Where is touch? Where are the rest of the senses, which the putrefaction, as the disease gradually eats away, consumes? For this reason they wander through all places like irrational animals, moving in search of more abundant pasture—their calamity serves as provision for the business of food, and in place of supplication they hold out their disease to everyone. B Being in need of those who lead them by the hand because of their infirmity, they support one another because of their destitution. For since each is weak by himself, they become a support to one another, using each other's limbs in place of those they lack. For they do not appear one by one; rather, misery has a certain wisdom in its planning of life, that they should wish to be seen with one another. For though each is pitiable when by himself, so as to make men more sympathetic, by adding their suffering to one another they become a common contribution of evil, each gathering pity for himself from some other misfortune. One holds out mutilated hands, another displays a swollen belly, another a mangled face, and another a leg that is rotting away; and whatever part of the body one happens to have exposed, he displays the affliction in it. What then? Does it suffice for this much to justify us so that we do not sin against the law of nature, to merely bewail the suffering of nature and treat the disease with words,
A or is there need for us also of some deed that demonstrates sympathy and humanity toward such people? For what shadows are to the true realities, that is what words are when separated from deeds. For the Lord says that salvation does not consist in speaking, but in doing the deeds of salvation. Therefore, we must take hold of the commandment on their behalf. For let no one say this, that it is sufficient to provide food to those who have been settled far away, as it were, at some border of our life. For such a thought does not contain proof of any mercy or sympathy, but it is a sort of specious pretext for entirely banishing people from our life.
Then, are we not ashamed of our own way of life, if we make pigs and dogs our housemates? The hunter often does not even keep the puppy from his own bed, and the farmer knows how to welcome the calf with a kiss. And this is not yet the most extreme thing, but the traveler even washes with his own hands the feet of his donkey, and puts his hand to it, and cleans away the dung, and takes care of its bed, yet those who are of the same race and same nature, shall we consider more dishonorable even than those irrational animals? Do not do these things, do not, brothers; let not this judgment against human beings be ratified.
It is necessary to remember who we are, and about whom we are deliberating: that we are human beings deliberating about human beings, having nothing private, separated from the common nature, unto themselves. There is one entrance to life for all; there is one mode of life for all, eating and drinking; the activity of living is similar; the construction of the bodies is one; and the destruction of life brings everything composite to dissolution. Nothing of those things that are composed has a permanent constitution; like a bubble, the body is wrapped around our breath B for a little while, then we are extinguished, leaving behind no trace of this temporary gust in life, in pillars and stones and inscriptions as memorials, and not even these lasting forever.
Therefore, considering these things within yourself, "Do not become haughty," as the Apostle says, "but fear," lest you be legislating cruelty for yourself. Do you flee from the one who has grown ill? Tell me, I pray, what reason do you have for doing so? Is it because the fluid in him has been corrupted, and some putrid humor has been mixed into the blood, with black bile poured into the fluid? For these are the causes that physicians are accustomed to cite when they discourse about diseases. What crime, then, is it of the man, if his nature, being a fluid and unstable substance, has slipped into this kind of illness? But do you not see that it often happens even in the bodies of those who are healthy, that one who is sound in other respects is seized by an inflammation, or a carbuncle, or some such disease, when the moisture in a part—the material having been heated beyond what is necessary—is ignited, and because of this suffers inflammation and redness and some purulent decay? What then? Do we make war upon the part of the flesh that has grown ill? On the contrary, we turn all the healthy part of the body to the treatment of the one that is sick. Therefore, the ailment is not to be loathed. For if it were, then in our own case, when a part is in pain, the healthy part would be alienated from the
A part of the body that is ailing, rather than our turning all the healthy parts to the cure of that which is suffering. The disease, then, is not detestable; otherwise, within ourselves, the healthy parts would recoil from that part which is in need of healing because it is afflicted with disease. What, then, separates us from them? What, indeed, is it? It is surely that we do not fear the threat of Him who says, "Depart from me into the eternal fire; for inasmuch as you did not do it to one of these, you did not do it to me." For if they truly thought these things were so, they would not have held such an opinion regarding the sick as to push them from themselves, and to consider their own zeal for the distressed as a contagion to our own life. If, therefore, we believe Him who promised to be faithful, we must lay hold of those commandments without which it is impossible to be worthy of the things hoped for. A stranger, and naked, and in need of food, infirm, and shut up in prison—this person is everything to you that has been foretold in the Gospel. He wanders shiftless and naked; naked, indeed, and in need of the necessities of life because of the poverty that follows the affliction. For he who has nothing from home, nor is able to become a hired laborer, is of necessity completely destitute of the things requisite for life, and he is a prisoner shackled by disease. B Therefore, you have the whole fullness of the commandments fulfilled in these people, and the Lord of all Himself becomes indebted to you for the kindnesses you perform for him. Why, then, do you strive against your own life? For not wishing to have the Lord of all as one’s own indwelling guest is nothing else than for one to become a powerful enemy to oneself. For just as He is invited in through the commandment, so He is separated through harshness. "Take," He says, "my yoke upon you"—by "yoke" He means the carrying out of the commandments. Let us obey the One who commands, and let us become the beast of burden of Christ, binding ourselves with the bonds of charity. Let us not recoil from such a yoke, let us not shake it off; it is sweet, it is light. It does not chafe the neck of the bearer, but soothes it. "Let us sow in blessings," says the Apostle, "that we may also reap in blessings." A manifold ear of corn shall sprout from such a sowing. The harvest of the Lord’s commandments is ample; the roots of the blessing are sublime. C Do you wish to know to what height the growth of these roots extends? They reach the very summits of heaven. For whatever you contribute to these, you will find stored up in the heavenly treasuries. Do not distrust the things that have been said, and do not think the friendship of such people is to be despised. Their hands may be maimed, but they are not too weak to bring help. Their feet have become useless, but they are not hindered from running to God. The light of their eyes has flowed away, but with their soul they see those good things which the gaze of the eyes cannot behold. Wherefore, do not look down upon the deformity of the body. Wait a little, and you shall behold what exceeds the faith of every miracle. For the things that befall the shifting nature of matter do not remain forever; but when the soul is released from the bond of this D frail and earthly prison, then it shines with its own beauty. And as a proof, even after this life, the rich man did not loath the hand of the beggar.
but rather asked that the finger which had once been corrupted might be A a minister of a drop of water to him, desiring to lick with his own tongue the finger of the beggar that was wet. He would not have desired this, had he beheld in the character of the soul that foulness which comes from the body. How many things is it likely that the rich man repeated in vain upon the change of his life! How many times did he deem the beggar blessed for the adversity in this life! How many times did he complain of his own lot, as though it had been allotted to him for the destruction of his soul! And if it had been permitted him to return to life, among whom would he have chosen to be again? Among those who live in prosperity in this life, or among those who endure hardship? But it is not obscure that he would have preferred the lot of those who pass their days in difficulty. For he asks that some one from the dead might become a messenger to his brothers, so that they, too, might not be harmed by the pride of wealth B or, having slipped through the slipperiness of pleasure, be carried down into the same chasm of Hades. Why, therefore, are we not made sober by such narratives? Why do we not engage in the noble commerce which the divine Apostle counsels? Your abundance, he says, for their lack, so that the surplus of their comfort may suffice for your salvation in the life to come. If, therefore, we wish to receive something good, let us provide it beforehand; if to be relieved after this, let us now give rest; if to be received by them into the eternal tabernacles, let us now receive them into our own; if to have the wounds of our sins healed, let us do the same for the bodies of those who are afflicted. For blessed are the merciful, for they shall find mercy.
But perhaps someone might say that the commandment is good for the future, but that for the present time one must exercise caution C lest one be contaminated by the contagion of the same disease, and because he wishes to avoid suffering anything that he does not desire, he thinks that the approach to such people should be avoided. These are mere words, and excuses, and fabrications, and certain specious coverings for sloth regarding the commandments of God. But the truth is not so. For there is no fear involved in the fulfillment of the commandment. Let no one try to cure evil with evil. How many can one see who, from their youth even to extreme old age, have devoted their labor to such ministrations, and yet for this reason the natural state of their bodies has not in any way become diminished by such zeal? Nor indeed can it happen by any probable reason. But since sometimes certain kinds of diseases rage, such as pestilences and other such things that depend on external causes—which, for instance, are generated from corrupted air or water—and these are suspected by many as if they were transmitted D from those who have been previously stricken to those who draw near, not that the disease itself, as I suppose, produces the infirmity in the healthy person by contagion, but that the similarity of the sickness, being brought on by a common epidemic, gives the disease the appearance of passing from those previously stricken to others. Here, however,
A because the force of the affection is drawn inward and settles there, and the blood is in a certain manner corrupted by the mixing of putrefying humors, the affection stays solely within the sick person and is confined to him. And that this is the state of affairs, this should be the indication: Do those who labor under disease acquire anything of a better condition from the habituation and familiarity of those who are reported to be in good health, even if they are treated by them most diligently? Nothing at all. Thus, therefore, it is fair that the contrary should happen, so that nothing of the trouble from the sick should pass to those who are in good health. Wherefore, since the utility of the mandate is so great that by it the kingdom of heaven is obtained, and yet in exercising it there is no danger that the body should receive any detriment, what is the impediment that prevents us from cultivating the mandate of charity itself?
Against the Unchaste
BBut you say it is a difficult thing to force oneself to embrace such things, which the nature of the many naturally and by a certain instinct of the soul abhors? It is well said; I agree with the argument that it is difficult. But what other thing achieved by virtue will you show to be free of difficulty? The law has set forth many sweats and labors for the hope of heavenly things, and has pointed out to men the road leading to life that is difficult to travel, having everywhere straitened it with the most laborious and most difficult requirements. For narrow and confined, He says, is the way that leads to life. What, then? Shall we, for this reason, despise that hope of the highest good, because it is not permitted for the lazy and indolent to aspire to it? Let us ask the young whether it is more laborious to live soberly, chaste, and continently, or to loosen the reins to desire and to enjoy pleasures sought everywhere in a dissolute and free manner; and which of these ways of life appears sweeter and more to be desired. It is doubtful to no one what they would answer. Shall we, therefore, embrace that which is pleasant and easy for that reason, but fail in virtue because it is difficult and laborious due to sloth? Yet those things are not approved by Him who laid down the laws of life. Hence, that spacious way leading downward to destruction is forbidden to us. Enter, He says, through the narrow and strait gate. Let us, therefore, consider this also as one of those institutions which are rightly carried out through labor: that we should bring into custom the mandate that has been cast out and discarded from life, and that we should alleviate and correct, by the assiduity of exercise, the natural offense and disgust of the soul by which we abhor it. For great is the power of habit, and it is accustomed to sprinkle a certain pleasure even upon things that are more difficult. Wherefore, let no one anymore object that the mandate is difficult and laborious; but rather let all acknowledge it to be useful and fruitful for those who rightly perform it. And since the magnitude of the gain is apparent, let all labor be alacritously undertaken. For since D this present life is beneficial to those in health, it is so by the compassion for those who are in misfortune; for a contribution of mercy is a good thing for those who have sense, stored up ahead of time against the adversities of others. For since the whole of human life is governed by one nature, and no one has any steady pledge of continuous good fortune for himself, it is fitting that we should always keep the gospel memory…
of the commandment which counsels us to do unto others as we would have them do unto us. As long, then, as you have a fair voyage, stretch out a hand to him who has suffered shipwreck. The sea is held in common, the swell is common, A the agitation of the waves is common; sunken reefs and shoals and crags, and all else that belongs to the shipwrecks of life, bring an equal measure of fear to all who sail it. As long as you are free from suffering, as long as you sail across the sea of life without danger, do not pass by the one who has fallen with a heart devoid of pity. Who is your guarantor for a continuous fair voyage? You have not yet put in at the harbor of rest; you have not yet stood clear of the waves; your life has not yet set foot upon firm ground. You are still carried along the deep of life. The sort of person you show yourself to be to the one in misfortune, is the sort of person you will prepare your fellow-voyagers to be toward you. But let us all attain to the harbor of rest, making our way through the navigation of life B under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. May we be granted the practice of the commandments, and the rudder of love; and by these, being brought to a straight course, may we reach the land of promise, in which is that great city whose architect and builder is our God, to whom be glory and power for ages of ages. Amen.
OF THE SAME GREGORY ON THE TEXT: "BUT THE ONE WHO COMMITS FORNICATON, SINS AGAINST HIS OWN BODY."
A The trumpet of the apostolic command is terrible; testifying to much else for the army of piety, but most especially driving those who have fallen from B the chasms of disgrace...