THEOSISJohn Chrysostom
“Concerning the resurrection of the dead,” he says, “I am being judged by you this day.” He said nothing of the things he could rightly have said: that they had slandered him, detained him, and plotted against him.
The writer says all this about them, but Paul himself, even in danger, does not say it. He keeps silence and only defends himself, though he could have said much.
The fact that he came with such a large detachment made him known also in Caesarea. His justice is also proved by the fact that he is not wordy. This is pleasing to the judge as well.
It seems to me that, for the judge’s sake, he also shortens his defenses. “I cried out,” he says, “while standing among them.” By the word “cried out,” he shows their violence.
It is as though he says: They cannot say, “You did this under the pretext of almsgiving,” because I did this “not with a crowd, nor with tumult.” Besides, even in the investigation of the matter, nothing further was found.
Do you see his meekness in dangers? Do you see his gracious tongue? By his defense he tries only to protect himself, not to accuse them, unless necessity compels him.
So Christ also said, “I do not have a demon; but I honor My Father, and you dishonor Me” (Jn 8:49). Let us therefore imitate him also, since he too imitated Christ.
If he said nothing insulting to those who wished to destroy and kill him, what forgiveness shall we deserve? In enmities and quarrels we become like wild beasts, and we call our enemies evildoers and accursed.
Is it even pardonable that we have enemies? Do you not know that he who honors another honors himself? But we dishonor ourselves. You accuse another of having insulted you. But why do you bring accusation upon yourself?
Why do you inflict a wound upon yourself? Be dispassionate. Be invulnerable. Do not harm yourself by wishing to wound another.
Are our other disturbances of soul not enough, though they arise without any cause? Such are untimely desires, griefs, lamentations, and the like. Must we increase them with new ones?
But how is it possible, you say, to endure when I am insulted? Tell me, how is it impossible? Do words inflict wounds on us? Or do they make scars on the body?
What harm then comes to us from them? No. If we wish, we can endure. Let us set it as a law for ourselves not to be offended, and we shall bear it.
Let us say to ourselves: This does not come from enmity, but from weakness. And truly it comes from weakness. When there is no thought of enmity or malice, the one insulted desires to restrain himself, even if he suffers a thousand insults.
If we keep only this in mind, that it comes from weakness, then we shall endure everything. We shall forgive the offender and strive ourselves not to give way to the same thing.
After this I shall ask all of you present: if you wish, can you be so philosophical as to endure insults? I think you will say yes.
So the one who insults you inflicts insults unwillingly and not by his own desire, but under compulsion from passion. Restrain yourself, then. Do you not see the possessed?
Just as a possessed man undergoes this not so much from enmity as from weakness, so too grief in us comes not so much from the nature of insults as from ourselves.
Why indeed do we endure the same insults from the possessed? We also endure them when the one insulting is either our friend or our superior.
Is it not irrational to endure insults in these three cases, from friends, from the possessed, and from superiors, but not to endure them from equals and inferiors?
I have said many times that this is only a momentary impulse. Let us restrain ourselves a little, and everything will pass. The more someone insults, the weaker he is.
Do you know when one ought to be offended? When the one insulted by us keeps silent. Then he is strong, and we are weak. But if the opposite happens, then we must even rejoice.
Then you are worthy of a crown, worthy of proclamation. Without going out to the arena, without being exposed to the sun, heat, and dust, and without meeting and grappling with an opponent, you can receive a great crown.
You need only desire it, whether sitting or standing. And not merely a great crown, but one much greater than theirs. It is not the same thing to overthrow a resisting enemy and to blunt the arrows of anger.
You conquered without grappling with an opponent. You cast down the passion that was rising in you. You slew a fierce beast and bridled a raging impulse, like a valiant shepherd.
Yet an inner battle was set before you, a war within your own house. When enemies surround a city and besiege it from outside, they gain victory if they stir up civil strife within it.
So it is with the one who insults. If he does not stir up passion within us, he cannot overcome us. If we ourselves do not catch fire, he will have no power.
Let the spark of anger remain in us and be kindled only at the proper time. Let it not be against ourselves, nor so as to cause us many evils.
Do you not see how fire in houses is kept in a particular place? It is not scattered everywhere, not on hay, nor on clothes, nor wherever it happens, lest it be kindled by the blowing wind.
When a servant girl lights a lamp, or a cook kindles a fire, they are strictly told not to do this in the wind, not near wooden things, and not in darkness.
When night comes, we extinguish the fire. We fear that while we sleep, when no one is watching it, it may somehow blaze up and burn everyone.
Let us do the same with anger. Let it not accompany all our thoughts, but be kept in the depth of the soul. Then the wind from the opponent’s words will not stir it up.
Rather, let it receive its stirring from us, while we know how to stir it moderately and safely. When it is stirred from outside, it knows no measure and can burn everything.
It can often be stirred even during our sleep and burn everything. Let us kindle it within us only so that it may give light. For anger gives light if it is stirred when it ought to be.
Let us use this lamp against those who wrong others, and against the devil. Let this spark not be placed everywhere and scattered everywhere. Rather, let it be kept among us beneath ashes.
Let us hold it in humble thoughts. It is not always needed by us, but only when something must be corrected and softened, when stubbornness must be overcome, or when someone’s soul must be brought to understanding.
How many evils come from irritation and anger! And what is especially grievous is that, when we are in enmity, we do not wish to begin reconciliation ourselves, but wait for others.
Each is ashamed to come to the other and be reconciled. See, he is not ashamed to part and divide. On the contrary, he himself begins this evil.
Yet he is ashamed to come and join what has been divided. It is as if someone did not hesitate to cut off a member, but was ashamed to join it back together.
What will you say to this, man? Did you yourself not inflict a great offense and become the cause of the enmity? Justice requires that you yourself come first and be reconciled, since you were the cause of the enmity.
But what if the other offended, and he was the cause of the enmity? Even in this case you should begin the reconciliation, so that you may be admired more.
Then you will have the first place in both respects. Just as you were not the cause of the enmity, so neither will you be the cause of its continuation. Perhaps he too, recognizing his fault, will be ashamed and come to his senses.
But he is arrogant? All the more, do not delay in going to him. He suffers from two illnesses: pride and anger. You yourself have stated the reason why you must go to him first.
You are healthy, and you can see. He is in darkness. Such, precisely, are anger and pride. You are free from them and healthy. Come to him, then, as a physician to the sick.
Does any physician say, “Such a man is sick; therefore I will not go to him”? On the contrary, physicians go to the sick when they see that the sick cannot come to them.
They are less concerned for those who can come by themselves, as for those who are not dangerously ill. They care for those who are lying down.
Is pride and anger not worse than every sickness? Is one not like a burning fever, and the other like a swollen tumor? Imagine what it is to suffer fever and swelling.
Go, then, and quench his fire. You can do this with God’s help. Stop his swelling as with a poultice. But what, you say, if for this very reason he becomes still more proud?
That is no concern of yours. You will do your own work, and he must answer for himself. Only let our conscience not reproach us that this happened because of some omission of our duty.
“If your enemy is hungry, feed him; if he thirsts, give him drink; for by doing this you will heap burning coals upon his head” (Rom 12:20).
Yet even here Scripture commands us to go, be reconciled, and do good to the enemy, not in order to heap burning coals upon him. Rather, knowing this, he may be corrected.
He should tremble and fear these benefactions more than enmity, and these signs of love more than injuries. For one who is at enmity is not so endangered by an enemy doing him harm as by a benefactor doing him good.
The resentful man harms both himself and the other, at least a little. But the one who does good heaps coals of fire upon his head.
For this reason, you say, one should not do good to him, so as not to heap coals upon him? But do you wish to heap them upon your own head? This is what comes from remembrance of wrongs.
But what if I increase the enmity still more? No. You will not be to blame for this, but he will, if he is like a beast.
If, even when you benefit him, honor him, and show a desire for reconciliation, he stubbornly continues in enmity, then he heaps fire upon himself. He burns his own head. You are not at all guilty.
Do not present yourself as more loving toward mankind than God. Otherwise you will suffer many evils. Or rather, even if you wished to do this, you could not achieve it at all.
How so? “As the heavens are higher than the earth,” the Lord says, “so are My thoughts higher than your thoughts” (Isa 55:9). And again: “If you, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask Him” (Mt 7:11).
No, this is an excuse and a pretext. Let us not reinterpret the commandments of God. And how, you ask, do we reinterpret them?
He said, “By doing this you will heap burning coals upon his head.” But you say, “I fear for the enemy who has cruelly insulted me.” Is this not what you say?
But why did you acquire an enemy for yourself? Why do you fear for the offender, but not fear for yourself? If only you cared for yourself!
Do not do good to the enemy for this purpose. Or rather, do it even for this purpose. But you do not do it. I will say to you not only that you will heap burning coals upon him, but something greater also.
Only do it. Paul says all this only to move you to end the enmity, even by hope of the enemy’s punishment.
We are so harsh that we would not wish to be reconciled with an enemy except in hope of bringing some punishment upon him. Therefore he gives us this bait, as though to some beast.
But the Lord did not say this to the apostles. What did He say? “That you may be sons of your Father in heaven” (Mt 5:45).
On the other hand, it is impossible for the one doing good and the one receiving good to remain enemies. Therefore the apostle gave such a commandment.
Why do you speak philosophy in words, but fail to keep what is due in deeds? Very well, let us suppose that you do not feed the enemy so as not to heap burning coals upon him.
Therefore you spare him? You love him? You do good for this purpose? God knows whether this is truly your purpose, as you say. Perhaps you are deceiving us and playing with words.
You care for the enemy? You fear lest he be subjected to punishment? Therefore you have extinguished your anger. Whoever has such love that he despises his own benefit for another’s good has no enmity.