Consider the charges made against us. “You have led the Church for so long,” they say, “with the times turning in your favor and the ruler’s power supporting so great a cause. What sign of change have we seen?
“How many people once treated us outrageously? What terrible thing did we not suffer? Insults? Threats? Exile? The seizure of property? Confiscations? Presbyters burned at sea? Churches profaned with the blood of the saints and turned from houses of worship into mass graves? The public slaughter of aged bishops—or, more properly, patriarchs? Every place barred to the faithful alone? What horror could anyone name that we did not endure?
“And now that we have the power to act in return, what have we given back to those who did these things? Should we not have taught our abusers a lesson?”
I will leave aside everything else and speak only of what happened to us, without even mentioning what happened to you. Were we not persecuted? Insulted? Driven from churches, houses, and—even worse—from the deserts themselves? Did we not endure a raging crowd, abusive prefects, and even emperors and their decrees treated with contempt?
And then what happened? We became stronger, and those who persecuted us fled. That is enough for me. The power to retaliate is itself sufficient punishment for those who wronged us.
But others do not see it this way. They are exceedingly exact and “just” when it comes to repayment, and so they demand everything the present circumstances allow. “Which prefect has been punished?” they ask. “Which crowd has been disciplined? Which instigators of the crowds? What fear have we inspired to protect ourselves in the future?”