The Conclusion Of John'S Apologia
[VI.lO
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
BASIL: Do you mean that now, since you live by yourself, you have no need of toil, and no anxieties?
John: I have them even now. How could a human being, living this troublesome life, be free from anxieties and conflicts? But it is not at all the same thing to be plunged into the boundless ocean and to sail along a river. The difference between the two kinds of anxiety is as great as that. At present I should like to be helpful to others, if I could, and this is an object of much prayer to me. But if I cannot be of use to anyone else, I shall be satisfied if I am at least allowed to save my own soul and rescue it from the deep.
Basil: You seem to think that this is a great work. But do you suppose you will be saved at all, if you are never of any use to anyone else?
John: That was well and nobly spoken. I cannot myself believe it possible for anyone to be saved who never works for the salvation of his neighbour. It did not help that miserable man in the parable that he had not diminished his talent; it was his downfall that he had not increased it and restored it double. But still I think my punishment will be milder when I am called to account for not saving others than if it were for destroying the souls of others as well as my own, by becoming far worse in character after receiving so great an honour. At present I believe that my punishment will be just as much as the gravity of my sins requires; but after accepting this office I should receive, not twice or three times, but many times as much, for having made many
VI. 10]
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
others stwnble and for accepting greater honour and then offending God who bestowed it on me.
This was the reason why he accused the Israelites more severely and showed that they deserved greater punishment, because they sinned after receiving the honours which he had bestowed on them. He ~aid, ''You only have I known of all the families of the earth: therefore I will visit upon you your iniquities"; 1 and again, "I took of your sons for prophets and of your young men for consecration".2 And before the time of the prophets, when he wanted to show that sins received a much heavier penalty when they were committed by the priests than when they were committed by ordinary people, he commanded as great a sacrifice to be offered for the priests as for all the people.3 This explicitly proves that the priest's wounds require greater help, indeed as much as those of all the people together. They would not have required greater help if they had not been more serious, and their seriousness is not increased by their own nature but by the extra weight of dignity belonging to the priest who dares to commit them.
But why speak of the men engaged in the ministry? Even the daughters of priests, who are of no significance for the priestly office, incur a far more severe penalty than others for the same sins, because of their fathers' dignity. The offence is the same (it is prostitution in both cases) when committed by them and the daughters of ordinary people, but their punishment is far greater.4 You see how thoroughly
God proves to you that he demands much more punishment of the ruler than of the subjects. He who for the sake of the priest punishes the priest's daughter more severely than others, obviously will not demand of the priest, to whom she
I Amos 3.12.
2 Amos 2.11 (LXX).
3 Lev. 4.3, 14.
4 Lev. 21.9.
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
[VI.12 owes the increased penalty, just the same punishment as he demands of others, but one far more severe. That is only natural, for the damage does not devolve on him alone, but injures, too, the souls of his weaker brethren who look to him. This was what Ezekiel wanted to teach us, when he distinguished the judgement of the rams from that of the sheep.5
Do you think my fears are well-founded? On top of all I have said, if at present it costs me hard labour not to be completely mastered by my passions, at least I manage to put up with this labour and I do not run away from the conflict. Even now I am overtaken by vainglory, but I often recover. I see that I have been overcome, and sometimes I rebuke my soul for being enslaved. Vicious desires attack me even now, but the flame they light is less violent because my outward eyes cannot obtain fuel for the fire. But I am quite liberated from speaking evil of others or hearing evil spoken, since there is no one to talk with; to be sure, these walls cannot utter a sound! But it is not so easy to avoid anger, although there is nobody to provoke me. For often the memory of vicious men and what they have done comes upon me and makes my blood boil. But this does not last long, for I very soon restrain my temper and persuade it to calm down by saying that it is quite futile and utterly despicable to forget our own faults and meddle with those of our neighbours. But if I come among human society and am intercepted by innumerable distractions, I shall not be able to benefit from my own admonitions nor hit upon the thoughts that teach me sense. Men who are being driven over a precipice by a torrent or some other force, can foresee the destruction which finally awaits them, but cannot contrive any means to help themselves. So when I have tumbled into the s Ezek. 34. 17.
VI.12]
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
whirlpool of passions, I shall be able to see at a glance my punishment daily increasing; yet it will no longer be as easy for me as before to be master of myself, as I now am, and to rebuke all the raging fevers of my soul. For it is weak and puny, and falls an easy victim, not only to these passions, but to envy-the bitterest of all. It does not know how to bear insults and honours with moderation, but is inordinately exalted by the one and dejected by the other.
When savage beasts are vigorous and in good condition, they overcome all creatures that fight against them, especially those that are feeble and inexperienced in fighting; yet if you weaken them by starvation, you lull their spirits and quench most of their vigour, so that an animal of no great courage can undertake a tussle and can fight with them. So it is with the passions of the soul: if anyone weakens them, he makes them amenable to right reason; but if he fosters them carefully, he makes his struggle with them harder, and turns them into things so formidable that he lives the whole of his life in slavery and terror. And what is the food of these wild beasts? Of vainglory, it is honour and praise; of arrogance, excessive authority and power; of envy, the reputation of neighbours; of covetousness, the generosity of donors; of wantonness, luxury and the constant society of women; and other passions have other food. If I come into human society, all these passions will set upon me fiercely, tear my soul in pieces, terrify me and make my struggle with them harder. But if I stay here, they will be overcome, by the grace of God, and will be left with nothing but their snarl.
So I stick to this cell. I am isolated, unsociable, inhospitable. I put up with hearing a host of other complaints like these. I would gladly silence them, and feel pain and sorrow because I cannot. For it is not easy for me to become
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
[VI.I2 sociable and still remain secure as I am now. So, I beg you, pity but do not disparage the victim of such a perplexity.
Have I not yet persuaded you? Then the time has now come to let you into the one secret I have kept. Perhaps many people will find it hard to believe, but even so I shall not be ashamed to make it public. Although what I say is proof of an evil conscience and many sins, yet since God who is to be our judge knows everything perfectly, what advantage can I get from men's ignorance? And what is this secret? From the day on which you made me suspect what would happen my whole system has frequently been in danger of prostration-such was the terror and the bewilderment that gripped my spirit.
When I considered the glory of the Bride of Christ, her purity, her spiritual beauty, her wisdom, and her fair demeanour, and when I reckoned up my faults, I did not stop grieving for her and for myself, and in continual distress and perplexity I argued with myself like this:
"Who gave them this advice? Why did the Church of God make such a mistake? How did she so provoke her Master as to be handed over to me, the most worthless of men, and to endure such terrible disgrace?"
As I turned this over in my mind again and again and could not bear the very thought of so horrible a thing, I lay mute, like an epileptic, unable to see or hear. When this condition of utter helplessness left me (for at times it would abate), it was succeeded by tears and bewilderment. And after I had wept my fill, the terror returned again instead, agitating and deranging and convulsing my mind. That is the sort of distraction I have been living in recently, and you did not know, and thought I was spending my time in perfect calm. But now I will try to disclose to you the tempest of my soul. Perhaps when you hear it you will forgive me
VI.l2]
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
and forget my misdeeds. But how, oh how shall I disclose it?
If you wanted to see it truly, you could only do so by laying bare my heart. Since that cannot be done, I will try to show you by some faint image, as far as I can, the fog of bewilderment I am in; and you must try to infer my bewilderment from this image.
Suppose the daughter of the king who rules the whqle earth beneath the sun is betrothed to someone. Suppose this girl is so wonderfully beautiful as to surpass all humanity, and in this excels by far the whole of womankind; and she has so virtuous a character that she leaves far behind all men who have ever been or ever shall be; and the charm of her disposition goes beyond all ideals of philosophy, as the loveliness of her face eclipses all bodily beauty. Her suitor is enamoured of the girl for these reasons and, quite apart from them, is deeply in love with her, too, and by his passion puts into the shade the most ardent lovers that ever were.
Then while he is on fire with the spell she casts, he is told by someone that the wonderful girl he loves is about to be married to some vile outcast of mongrel birth, crippled in body and in every way utterly worthless. Have I brought before your mind some faint idea of my grief? Will it do if I end my simile at this point? It is enough, I think, to describe my bewilderment, and that was the only point of the comparison. But to show you the extent of my terror and dismay, let me go on now with another illustration.
Imagine an army composed of infantry, cavalry, and marines. Let the muster of its triremes blot out the sea, while the regiments of its infantry and cavalry smother the broad plains and the very heights of the mountains. Let the bronze of its armour flash back at the sun, and the glitter of the helmets and shields mirror the rays that stream down. Let the clash of spears and the neighing of horses reach the very
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
[VI.I2 sky, and let neither sea nor land be visible, but everywhere bronze and steel. Against all this let the enemy be arrayed, a wild and barbarous horde. And let the hour of conflict be at hand.
Suppose someone suddenly seizes a raw lad, brought up in the fields, knowing nothing except the use of the shepherd's pipe and crook. He invests him in brazen mail, leads him round the whole camp, and shows him companies and captains, archers, slingers, officers, generals, infantry, cavalry, spearmen, ships and their captains, the soldiers crowded on the ships, and the multitude of engines of war ready on board. He points out, too, the enemy's full array, their menacing faces, their strange type of weapons, and their vast numbers, and the ravines, sheer cliffs, and mountain tracks. He points out also on the enemy's side horses flying by magic, armed soldiers borne through the air, and witchcraft of every power and form. He describes all the disasters of war, too: the cloud of spears, the showers of arrows, the great mist and darkness, the pitch-black night caused by the multitude of missiles blotting out the sun's rays by their sheer density, the dust blinding the eyes no less than this darkness, the torrents of blood, the groans of those who fall, the battle-cries of those who stand, the heaps of slain, chariot wheels dripping with blood, horses and riders thrown headlong by the multitude of dead bodies, the ground nothing but a sludge of blood and arrows and javelins, horses' hoofs and human heads lying in heaps, a man's arm and a chariot wheel, a helmet and a transfixed chest, swords spattered with human brains, and the broken head of an arrow with an eye spitted upon it.
Let him describe, too, all the perils of the fleet: some ships ablaze in mid-sea, others foundering with the soldiers on board, the roar of the waves, the cries of the sailors, the
VI.I2]
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
shouts of the soldiers, the sea-foam mixed with blood and dashing over all the ships alike, corpses on the deck, others sinking, others floating, others washed ashore, and others in the water washed about by the waves and clogging the passage of the ships. And when he has pointed out in detail all the tragedies of war, let him go on to describe the horrors of captivity and slavery which is worse than any kind of death.
And when he has said all, let him give the lad the order to mount horse at once and take command of all that host. Do you think that raw youth will be adequate for that command? Do you not think he will faint at the first glance?
I Do not imagine I am exaggerating or think that because we are shut up in this body like a prison and can see nothing of the invisible world, what I say is overstated. You would have seen a much vaster and much more terrifying conflict than this, if you had been able to see with these material eyes the devil's crepuscular battle-line and its furious onset.
It has no bronze or steel, no horses or chariots or chariotwheels, no flames or missiles. It has none of this visible equipment, but other engines of war far more terrifying than these. Enemies of this sort have no need of breastplate or shield, sword or spear. No, but the very sight of that accursed host is enough to make a man's heart fail him, unless it is mighty stout and has the benefit of God's special providence, even more than its own courage.
If it were possible to strip off this body, or even to keep it on and see clearly and undismayed with the naked eye the devil's whole battle-line and the warfare he wages against us, you would see no torrents of blood, no dead bodies, but so many spiritual corpses and such horrible wounds that you would think all that picture of warfare which I have just described to you was mere child's play, and sport rather than war, so many there are every day who perish. The two
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
[VI.l3 kinds of wounds do not produce the same necrosis; the difference between the two corresponds with the difference between soul and body. When the soul receives a blow and falls, it does not lie insensible, like the body, but is immediately tormented by the ravaging of an evil conscience, and after its release from this world it is given over to eternal punishment at the hour of judgement. And if anyone feels no pain at the devil's blows, his danger is increased by this lack of sensation. For the man who does not smart at the first blow will soon receive a second, and after that a third.
Whenever the Evil One finds a soul supine and indifferent to his previous attacks, he never stops striking until that man breathes his last.
If you care to investigate his method of attack, you will find it is far more severe and varied than it seems. No one else knows as many variations of trickery and guile as that Evil One. This is how he has gained his great power. No one can feel such implacable hatred for his worst enemies as the Evil One feels for the human race. And if you investigate the eagerness with which he fights, here tob it would be simply ridiculous to compare human beings with him. If you picked out the most ferocious and savage beasts and compared them with the devil's frenzy, you would find them gentle and tame by comparison, such a fury does he breathe out when he attacks our souls. Then again, the duration of a battle is short and even in that short period there are many respites; the approach of night, weariness of slaughter, time taken for food, and many other things naturally bring the soldier to a standstill, and so he is able to strip off his armour, enjoy a brief respite, refresh himself with food and drink, and revive his former strength in various other ways. But when facing the Evil One you must never lay down your arms; you must never take any sleep if you want to remain
VI.I3]
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
for ever unhurt. You must do one of two things: either take off your armour and so fall and perish, or stand always armed and watchful. For he always stands with his forces marshalled, waiting for our moments of inadvertence, and he takes more trouble to damn our souls than we take to save them. The fact that he is unseen by us and that his attacks are very sudden (which is the chief cause of untold evils to those who are not continually on guard) proves that this kind of warfare is far more difficult than the other.
Did you, then, want me to lead Christ's soldiers? Truly that would have been to act as the devil's general; for when the man who ought to marshal and dispose the rest is himself the most inexperienced and the weakest of all, he betrays by his inexperience the men put under his charge and so acts the devil's general, not Christ's.
I But why are you sighing and weeping? For my present position does not deserve commiseration, but gladness and joy.
Basil: But not mine! My position deserves infinite regrets.
Even now I can hardly grasp just how deep in misfortune you have brought me. I came to you with the object of discovering what excuse I should make on your behalf to those who were accusing you. But instead you are sending me away loaded with one care on top of another. I am not concerned now with the excuse I shall make to them for you, but with the excuse I shall make to God for myself and my own sins. I beg and implore your help, if you care for me at all, "if there is any comfort in Christ, if any consolation of love, if any tender mercies and compassions". 6 For you know that it was you yourself more than anyone who brought me into this danger. Give me a helping hand. Say or do something to restore me, and do not let yourself leave
1\ Phil. ~.I.
THE CONCLUSION OF JOHN'S APOLOGIA
[vl.13 me alone for a moment, but now more than ever before share your life with me.
I smiled and said: "What can I offer? How can I help you to carry so heavy a burden? And yet, since such is your desire, take courage, my dear friend, for whenever it proves possible for you to have a respite from the cares of your office, I will come to your side and encourage you, and nothing shall be left undone that lies within my power."
At this he wept even more, and rose to go. Then I clasped him and kissed his head, and led him out, urging him to bear his fortune bravely. "For I trust in Christ," I said,
''who called you and set you over his own sheep, that you will gain such assurance from this ministry that when I stand in peril on that great Day, you will receive me into your everlasting habitation."