Letter 3

1. With what zeal and love I strove that we might dwell together in the desert, the heart that shares our mutual love well knows. With what laments, with what grief, with what groaning I followed you when you were gone, these very pages are witnesses, which you see smudged here and there with my tears. But you, like a spoilt little child, fed your contempt of the one who begged you with flatteries, and I, taken off guard, did not know what to do then. Should I be silent? But I could not, with any restraint, conceal what I so ardently wanted. Should I plead more urgently? But you were unwilling to listen, because you did not love in return as I did. The one thing that was possible, scorned love has done. It could not keep you when you were present, so it seeks you when you are gone. Since, then, you yourself at your departure had asked that, once I had moved to the wilderness, I should send you an invitation written by my hand, and I had promised to do so — here is my invitation: now make haste. I do not want you to recall the obligations of the past — the desert loves the naked. I do not want the difficulty of your former journey to frighten you. You who believe in Christ, believe also his words: "Seek first the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added to you." You need take no wallet, no staff; he is rich in abundance who is poor with Christ.

2. But what am I doing? Am I again pleading without forethought? Away with prayers, let flatteries depart; love ought now to be angry. You who had scorned the one who begged you, will perhaps listen to the one who rebukes you. What are you doing in your father's house, you pampered soldier? Where is your rampart, where your ditch, where the winter spent under hides? Look, from heaven the trumpet sounds; look, the armed Commander goes forth to make war upon the world with the clouds; look, the two-edged sword that proceeds from the King's mouth mows down whatever it meets — and do you go for me from your bedroom to the battle-line, from the shade out into the sun? A body used to a tunic cannot bear a breastplate; a head that has been covered with linen refuses the helmet; the hard sword-hilt galls a hand softened by idleness. Hear the edict of your King: "He who is not with me is against me; and he who does not gather with me scatters." Remember the day of your enlistment, on which, buried together with Christ in baptism, you swore the words of the sacrament: that for his name you would spare neither mother nor father. Look, the adversary is trying to kill Christ within your breast; look, the enemy camp longs for the bounty you received when you were to go to war. Though your little nephew hangs from your neck, though your mother, with hair undone and clothes torn, shows you the breasts that nursed you, though your father lies across the threshold — trample over your father and go on, fly with dry eyes to the standard of the cross! In this matter it is a kind of devotion to be cruel.

3. Afterward a day will come when you return a victor to your homeland, when, a brave man crowned, you march into the heavenly Jerusalem. Then you will take up your citizenship with Paul; then you will claim for your parents too the right of the same city; then you will pray even for me, who urged you on that you might conquer. Nor indeed am I unaware of the fetter by which you now say you are held back. We have not a heart of iron nor hard breasts; we were not born of flint, nor did Hyrcanian tigers nurse us. We too have passed through these things. Now a widowed sister clings to you with caressing arms; now the home-born servants with whom you grew up say: "To whom do you leave us, to serve?" Now the woman who once carried you, now an old woman, and your foster-father, second in devotion only to your natural one, cry out: "Wait a little while and bury us when we die." Perhaps even your nurse, with the loose skin of her breasts and her brow ploughed with wrinkles, will repeat the old lullaby. Let the grammarians say too, if they wish: "Upon you the whole house leans and rests." The love of Christ and the fear of hell easily break these chains. But Scripture, you say, bids us obey our parents. Yes — but whoever loves them above Christ loses his own soul. The enemy holds the sword to slay me, and shall I think of my mother's tears? Shall I desert my service for the sake of a father to whom, for Christ's sake, I do not owe even burial — when, for his sake, I owe burial to all? Peter, timidly advising the Lord who was to suffer, became a stumbling-block. Paul, to the brethren who held him back from going to Jerusalem, answered: "What are you doing, weeping and troubling my heart? For I am ready not only to be bound, but to die at Jerusalem for the name of our Lord Jesus Christ." This battering-ram of family affection, with which faith is shaken, must be beaten back by the wall of the Gospel: "My mother and my brethren are these, whoever do the will of my Father who is in heaven." If they believe in Christ, let them wish me well as I go to fight for his name; if they do not believe, let the dead bury their dead.

4. But this, you say, applies to martyrdom. You are wrong, brother, you are wrong, if you think a Christian ever suffers no persecution; and you are most of all under attack now, when you do not know that you are under attack. "Our adversary, like a roaring lion, goes about seeking someone to devour" — and you think there is peace? "He sits in ambush with the rich in secret places, to slay the innocent; his eyes are fixed upon the poor man; he lies in wait in secret like a lion in his den; he lies in wait to seize the poor" — and you, hidden under the shade of a leafy tree, snatch soft slumbers, the prey of what is to come? On this side luxury hounds me, on that avarice tries to break in, on that my belly wants to be my god in Christ's place; lust drives me to put to flight the Holy Spirit who dwells in me, to defile his temple; the enemy hounds me, I say — he who has a thousand names and a thousand arts of harming — and shall I, wretched, count myself the victor while I am being taken captive?

5. I do not want you, brother dearest, after weighing the burden of sins, to think that the offences I have spoken of are lesser than idolatry; rather, learn the verdict of the apostle, who says: "Know this, and understand, that no fornicator, or unclean person, or covetous man, which is idolatry, has any inheritance in the kingdom of God and of Christ." And although whatever belongs to the devil savours generally of opposition to God, and what is the devil's is idolatry — to which all idols are made over — yet in another place too he specifies it by particular name, saying: "Mortify your members which are upon the earth: fornication, uncleanness, evil concupiscence, and covetousness, which is the service of idols, on account of which the wrath of God comes." The service of an idol does not consist only in this, that a man cast incense pinched between two fingers onto the altar's brazier, or pour out wine drawn in a cup. Let avarice deny that it is idolatry — if it can call it righteousness that the Lord was sold for thirty pieces of silver. Let lust deny that it is sacrilege — but only that lust which has defiled the members of Christ and a living sacrifice pleasing to God with the victims of public debauchery in a foul commingling. Let it not admit that such men are idolaters, but only like those who, in the Acts of the Apostles, kept back part of the price out of their own patrimony and perished by immediate vengeance. Take note, brother: it is not lawful for you to keep anything of your own goods. "Everyone," says the Lord, "who does not renounce all that he possesses cannot be my disciple."

6. Why are you a Christian with a timid spirit? Look at the net abandoned, along with the father; look at the publican rising from the toll-booth, at once an apostle. "The Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head" — and you measure out broad porticoes and the vast spaces of roofs? You await an inheritance of this world, you who are a co-heir of Christ? Interpret the word 'monk,' which is your name: what are you doing in a crowd, you who are alone? And this I urge as forewarning, not like a skilled sailor whose vessel and cargo are still whole giving notice to men ignorant of the waves, but, like one but lately cast up on the shore from a shipwreck, I warn those about to sail with a fearful voice. In that surge the Charybdis of luxury swallows up salvation; there, with a maiden's face, lust, smiling like Scylla, allures men to work the shipwreck of their chastity; here is the barbarous shore, here the devil the pirate with his companions carries chains for those he means to take. Do not believe, do not be without care. Though the spread-out sea smile like a still pool, though the surface of the lying element scarcely ruffle its back under the breeze, this great plain has its mountains; the danger is shut up within, within is the enemy. Make ready the ropes, hoist the sails. Let the cross of the yard-arm be fixed upon your brow: this calm is a storm.

What then? Are not those who are in the city Christians? Your case is not the same as the others'. Listen to the Lord saying: "If you would be perfect, go, sell all you have and give to the poor, and come, follow me." But you have promised to be perfect. For when, having left the army, you made yourself a eunuch for the sake of the kingdom of heaven, what else did you pursue but the perfect life? And the perfect servant of Christ has nothing besides Christ; if he has anything besides Christ, he is not perfect. And if he is not perfect, then, since he promised God that he would be perfect, he lied beforehand. But "the mouth that lies kills the soul." Therefore, to conclude: if you are perfect, why do you desire your father's goods? If you are not perfect, you have deceived the Lord. The Gospel thunders with divine voices: "You cannot serve two masters" — and does anyone dare make Christ a liar by serving both Mammon and the Lord? He cries out again and again: "If anyone wishes to come after me, let him deny himself, take up his cross, and follow me." And shall I, laden with gold, think that I am following Christ? "He who says that he abides in Christ ought himself also to walk as he walked."

7. But if you have nothing — as I know you will answer — why, being so well prepared for war, do you not serve as a soldier? Unless perhaps you think to do so in your own country, when the Lord did no signs in his own. And why this? Take the reason on his authority: "No prophet has honour in his own country." "I do not seek honour," you will say; "my own conscience is enough for me." Neither did the Lord seek it — he who fled away lest he be made king by the crowds. But where there is no honour, there is contempt; where contempt, there frequent injury; and where injury, there indignation; where indignation, there is no rest; where there is no rest, the mind is often drawn away from its purpose; and where, through this unrest, something is taken away from one's pursuit, it is made less by what is taken away; and where there is something less, it cannot be called perfect. From this reckoning the sum comes out: that a monk cannot be perfect in his own country. But not to wish to be perfect is to be at fault.

8. But, dislodged from this footing, you will appeal to the clergy: Should I dare to say anything about these men, who certainly do remain in their own cities? Far be it from me to speak anything sinister of those who, succeeding to the apostolic rank, make the body of Christ with their sacred mouth, through whom we too are Christians, who, holding the keys of the kingdom of heaven, in a manner judge before the day of judgement, who keep the Lord's bride in sober chastity. But, as I laid down before, the case of the monk is one thing, the case of the clergy another. The clergy feed the sheep; I am fed. They live from the altar; for me, as for a fruitless tree, the axe is laid to the roots if I do not bring a gift to the altar. Nor can I plead poverty, when in the Gospel I see the old woman casting in the two coins that were all she had left. It is not lawful for me to sit before the presbyter; he, if I sin, is permitted to hand me over to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, that the spirit may be saved.

And indeed in the old law whoever did not obey the priests was either set outside the camp and stoned by the people, or, with his neck laid under the sword, atoned for his contempt with his blood. But now the disobedient man is cut down by the spiritual sword, or, cast out of the church, is torn to pieces by the raging mouth of the demons. And if the loving flatteries of the brethren urge you too toward that same order, I shall rejoice at your rise, I shall fear for your fall. "He who desires the office of a bishop desires a good work." We know this; but join what follows: "But such a one must be blameless, the husband of one wife, sober, chaste, prudent, of good conduct, hospitable, apt to teach, no wine-bibber, no striker, but modest." And after the rest concerning him has been set forth, he applied no less care to the third rank, saying: "Deacons likewise must be chaste, not double-tongued, not given to much wine, not greedy of filthy gain, holding the mystery of the faith in a pure conscience. And let these too first be proved, and so let them minister, having no crime." Woe to that man who, not having a wedding garment, enters in to the supper! Nothing remains but that he hear at once: "Friend, how did you come in here?" — and, when he is struck dumb, that it be said to the servants: "Take him by his feet and hands and cast him into the outer darkness; there shall be weeping and gnashing of teeth." Woe to him who, binding in a napkin the talent he received, while the others make their gains, has kept only what he received! At once he will be struck by the cry of the indignant master: "Wicked servant, why did you not give my money to the bank, that I, coming, might have exacted it with interest?" — that is: you should have set down at the altar what you could not carry. For while you, a sluggish trader, hold the single coin, you have taken the place of another who could have doubled the money. Wherefore, just as he who ministers well acquires a good standing for himself, so he who comes unworthily to the Lord's cup will be guilty of the Lord's body and blood.

9. Not all bishops are bishops. You look to Peter, but consider Judas too. You look up to Stephen, but look also at Nicolas, whom the Lord hates in his Apocalypse — who devised things so foul and unspeakable that the heresy of the Ophites was born from that root. Let each man prove himself, and so approach. Ecclesiastical dignity does not make a Christian. Cornelius the centurion, while still a heathen, is flooded with the gift of the Holy Spirit; the boy Daniel judges the elders; Amos, stripping mulberries from the brambles, is suddenly a prophet; David the shepherd is chosen for king; Jesus loves most the least of his disciples. Take a lower place, brother, so that, when a lesser man comes, you may be bidden to go up higher. On whom does the Lord rest, except on the humble and the quiet and him who trembles at his words? To whom more is entrusted, of him more is required. "The mighty shall suffer torments mightily." Nor should anyone congratulate himself only on the chastity of a clean body, since for every idle word that men have spoken they are to render an account on the day of judgement — since even an insult against a brother is a charge of murder. It is not easy to stand in Paul's place, to hold the rank of those who already reign with Christ, lest perhaps an angel come who tears the veil of your temple, who moves your candlestick from its place. Before building a tower, reckon up the cost of the work to come. Salt that has lost its savour is good for nothing but to be thrown out and trampled by swine. If a monk falls, the priest will pray for him; for the fall of a priest, who will pray?

10. But since my discourse has sailed clear of the rocky places, and the fragile skiff has gone forward into the deep among the hollowed reefs and the foaming waves, the sails must be spread to the winds, and, the crags of the questions safely crossed, after the manner of joyful sailors the epilogue's chant must be sung. O desert blooming with the flowers of Christ! O solitude in which are born those stones from which, in the Apocalypse, the city of the great King is built! O wilderness rejoicing in the company of God! What are you doing in the world, brother, you who are greater than the world? How long do the shadows of roofs press upon you? How long does the smoky prison of these cities shut you in? Believe me, I see I know not what — something more of light. It is good to cast off the burden of the flesh and fly up to the pure brightness of the upper air. Do you fear poverty? But Christ calls the poor blessed. Are you frightened by toil? But no athlete is crowned without sweat. Do you think about food? But faith feels no hunger. Are you afraid to trust your limbs, wasted with fasting, to the bare ground? But the Lord lies down with you. Does the unkempt growth of a filthy head appal you? But your head is Christ. Does the endless vastness of the desert terrify you? But in your mind you may stroll through paradise. As often as you climb up there in thought, so often you will not be in the desert. Is the skin drawn rough for want of baths? But he who has once been washed in Christ need not wash again. And, to put it briefly, hear the apostle answering to all this: "The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the coming glory which shall be revealed in us." You are pampered, dearest, if you wish both to rejoice here with the world and afterward to reign with Christ.

11. It will come, that day will come, on which this corruptible and mortal shall put on incorruption and immortality. Blessed is the servant whom the Lord shall find watching. Then at the voice of the trumpet the earth with its peoples will quake; you will rejoice. When the Lord comes to judge, the world will bellow its grief; tribe will beat its breast against tribe; the once most powerful kings will tremble with naked flank; Jupiter, then truly afire, will be brought forward with his offspring; foolish Plato too will be led in with his disciples; Aristotle's arguments will not avail him. Then you, a countryman and poor, will exult, will laugh and say: "Behold my crucified God; behold the Judge who, wrapped in rags, wailed in the manger. This is that son of the workman and the hireling woman; this is he who, carried in his mother's bosom, God fled before man into Egypt; this is he clothed in scarlet, this crowned with thorns, this the magician possessed of a demon and the Samaritan. Look at the hands, Jew, which you nailed; look at the side, Roman, which you pierced. See the body, whether it is the same that you said the disciples carried off secretly in the night." That it may fall to you, brother, to say these things, to be present at these things, what is the toil that is now hard?