This discourse is for those who are clever with words. And to begin from Scripture: “Behold, I am against you, you insolent one.” For there are indeed some people whose ears and tongues—and now, as I see, even their hands—itch for our words. They delight in profane empty talk, in the contradictions of what is falsely called knowledge, and in word-battles that lead to nothing useful. This is how Paul—the preacher and confirmer of the “word cut short,” the disciple and teacher of fishermen—describes everything excessive and meddlesome in speech. As for the people I am speaking about, if only, just as their tongues are quick and skilled at attacking arguments of a nobler and sounder kind, they would devote even a little attention to deeds. Then perhaps they would be less like sophists and absurd acrobats of words—if I may speak somewhat ridiculously about a ridiculous matter.
But they have abandoned every path of reverence and look only to this one thing: how they may bind or loose whatever argument is put before them. They are like performers in the theaters who display wrestling tricks—not the moves that lead to victory according to the rules of the contest, but those that deceive the eyes of the inexperienced and win their applause. So every marketplace must buzz with their arguments; every banquet must be worn out by their chatter and unpleasantness; every feast must lose its joy and be filled with gloom, while every time of mourning must be “comforted” by the still greater misfortune of their questions. Even the women’s quarters, where simplicity is at home, must be disturbed, and the flower of modesty stripped away by their quickness in argument.
Since things have come to this, and the evil has become unrestrained and unbearable, and our great mystery is in danger of being reduced to a petty craft, let these spies at least put up with us for a little while. Our fatherly compassion is stirred, and, as the divine Jeremiah says, our hearts are torn. Let them receive this discussion without harshness and, if they can, restrain their tongues for a moment and lend us their ears. You will certainly lose nothing. Either we shall have spoken into ears that truly hear, and the discourse will bear some fruit—your own benefit, since the sower sows the word into every mind, while the good and fertile mind bears fruit—or you will go away despising this too, having gathered still more material for contradiction and abuse against us, so that you may feast yourselves all the more.
And do not be surprised if I say something strange, contrary to the law you have made for yourselves—you who boldly and grandly promise to know and teach everything, so that I need not say, more painfully, ignorantly and recklessly.
Not everyone, my friends, may philosophize about God. Not everyone. The matter is not so cheap, nor does it belong to those who crawl along the ground. I will add this as well: it is not for every time, nor for everyone, nor about everything. There is a proper time, proper persons, and a proper measure.
It is not for everyone, because it belongs to those who have been tested and have advanced in contemplation, and who before this have purified—or at least are purifying—both soul and body. For it may not even be safe for the impure to touch what is pure, just as it is not safe for weak eyes to look at a ray of sunlight.
When, then? When we are free from the mud and turmoil outside us, and when our ruling faculty is not confused by evil and wandering impressions, as though beautiful writing were mixed with ugly letters, or the fragrance of perfume with mud. We must truly “be still and know God”; and when we have found the proper occasion, then we may judge rightly concerning theology.
And for whom? For those who take the matter seriously, and do not treat it as just another pleasant topic of chatter after horse races, theaters, songs, food, and sexual pleasure—people for whom clever debate and verbal sparring about these matters are themselves another form of entertainment.
And what should we philosophize about, and how far? About what is within our reach, and only as far as the condition and capacity of the hearer can bear. Otherwise, just as excessively loud sounds injure the ear, or excessive food injures the body—or, if you prefer, as burdens beyond one’s strength crush those who carry them, or violent rains damage the earth—so hearers may be overwhelmed and weighed down by arguments that are too strong for them, and so lose even the strength they had before.
I am not saying that we should not remember God at all times. Let those who are always ready to rush at us not seize on that again. We ought to remember God more often than we breathe; and, if it is possible to say so, we ought to do nothing else. I myself praise the command to meditate day and night, to speak of God evening, morning, and noon, and to bless the Lord at every time. Or, to use Moses’ words, whether lying down, rising, traveling, or doing anything else, we should be formed toward purity through remembrance of God.
So I do not forbid continual remembrance; I forbid continual theologizing. Nor do I forbid theology as though it were irreverent, but theology at the wrong time; nor teaching, but teaching without measure. A surfeit even of honey produces vomiting, though honey is good. And, as Solomon and I both think, there is a proper time for every matter. Even what is good is not good when it is not done well—just as a flower is entirely out of season in winter, masculine dress on a woman or feminine dress on a man, geometry at a funeral, or tears at a drinking party. Shall we despise proper timing only here, where above all it ought to be honored?
Certainly not, my friends and brothers—for I still call you brothers, even though you do not behave as brothers. Let us not think this way. Let us not be like hot, unmanageable horses that throw off reason, their rider, and spit out reverence, the good bridle that restrains them, then race far beyond the turning post. Instead, let us philosophize within our proper bounds. Let us not be carried away into Egypt or dragged down to the Assyrians; let us not sing the Lord’s song in a foreign land.
By “foreign land” I mean every kind of audience—our own or strangers, hostile or friendly, understanding or malicious. The malicious listener watches our affairs with great care and would gladly turn the spark of our evils into a flame. Secretly he kindles it, fans it with his own breath, and raises it toward heaven, making it higher than the Babylonian flame that burned everything around it. Since our opponents have no strength in their own teachings, they hunt for strength in our weaknesses. Like flies on wounds, they fasten themselves on our misfortunes—or should I say our sins?
But let us no longer fail to understand ourselves, nor dishonor the proper order in these matters. Even if we cannot end the hostility, let us at least agree on this with one another: mysteries should be spoken mystically, and holy things in a holy manner. Let us not cast things that ought not to be proclaimed into profane ears. Let us not show ourselves less reverent than those who worship demons and serve shameful myths and practices, for they would sooner share their blood with the uninitiated than certain sacred words.
We should recognize that, just as there is a proper dignity in clothing, food, laughter, and walking, so there is also a proper dignity in speech and silence. For among the other names and powers of God, we also honor the Word. Let even our love of argument remain under law.
Why should a bitter and hostile listener hear us speak of God’s generation and creation, of a God “from things that did not exist,” or of cutting, division, and dissolution? Why do we seat our accusers as judges? Why do we put swords into the hands of our enemies?
How do you think someone will receive such teaching, and with what sort of mind, if he praises adultery and the sexual abuse of boys, worships the passions, cannot think of anything beyond the body, and only yesterday or the day before made gods for himself—gods recognized by the most shameful deeds? Will he not understand our words materially, shamefully, ignorantly, and according to his accustomed way of thinking? Will he not make your theology an advocate for his own gods and passions?
If we ourselves abuse such expressions, we will hardly persuade such people to understand our teaching properly. And if they are already inventors of evil on their own, when would they ever refuse what is handed to them?
This is what our war against one another produces. This is what comes from those who fight for the Word more than pleases the Word. They suffer the same madness as people who set fire to their own houses, tear apart their own children, or drive away their own parents because they imagine them to be strangers.
Now that we have removed from the discussion those who do not belong to it, and have sent the great legion into the herd of swine to plunge into the depths, let us turn next to ourselves and shape the theologian toward beauty, as one would carve a statue.
First let us ask: Why this enormous ambition about speaking, this aching obsession with words? What is this new disease, this insatiable appetite? Why have we bound our hands but armed our tongues?
Do we no longer praise hospitality? Brotherly love? Love between husband and wife? Virginity? Care for the poor? Do we no longer admire psalmody, all-night vigils, or tears? Do we no longer discipline the body by fasting, go out from ourselves toward God in prayer, or subject the worse part to the better—the dust, I mean, to the spirit—as those who judge our composite nature rightly should do? Do we no longer make life a preparation for death? Do we no longer become masters of the passions, remembering the nobility that comes from above? Do we no longer tame swelling and raging anger, pride that brings us low, unreasonable grief, undisciplined pleasure, shameless laughter, wandering eyes, insatiable ears, excessive speech, disordered thought, and everything the Evil One takes from within us and uses against us, bringing death in through the windows, as Scripture says—that is, through the senses?
No. We do precisely the opposite. We have granted freedom to the passions of others, like kings granting exemptions after a victory, provided only that those passions take our side and attack God more boldly. And in return for something that is not good, we pay an evil reward: license of speech in exchange for impiety.
And yet, you talkative dialectician, let me ask you one small question. “You answer Me,” God says to Job when He speaks through whirlwind and cloud.
Are there many dwelling places with God, as you have heard, or only one? You will surely say there are many, not one. Are all of them to be filled, or only some, while others remain empty and were prepared for nothing? All of them, of course, because nothing God has made is without purpose.
And what do you understand these dwelling places to be? The rest and glory stored up there for the blessed, or something else? Nothing else.
Since we agree on this, let us examine something further. Is there something that obtains these dwelling places for us, as I maintain, or nothing? Certainly there is. What is it? Different ways of life and different choices, each leading in a different direction according to the measure of faith. These are what we call “ways.”
Must we then travel all these ways, or only some? If the same person can travel all of them, then all; if not, as many as possible; if not that, then some; and if even that is impossible, then, as it seems to me, it is still a great thing to excel in even one.
You understand this correctly. So when you hear that there is one way, and that it is narrow, what do you think the saying means? It is one because of its excellence, even though it divides into many paths; and it is narrow because it is difficult and is traveled by few in comparison with the multitude of our opponents and those who walk the road of wickedness.
If this is so, my good friend, why do you condemn our teaching as though it were poor and then rush headlong down only one road—the one you call argument and speculation, but I call chatter and trickery? Let Paul rebuke you with the bitter questions he asks after listing the gifts of grace: “Are all apostles? Are all prophets?” and so on.
But let it be so. You are lofty—higher than the lofty, even above the clouds, if you wish. You are a spectator of invisible things, a hearer of things that cannot be spoken. You have gone up after Elijah; after Moses you have been judged worthy of the vision of God; after Paul you have been caught up into heaven.
Why, then, do you make the rest of your companions into saints in a single day, ordain them theologians, breathe learning into them, as it were, and create so many councils of ignorant oracles? Why do you entangle weaker people in your spiderweb as though it were something great and wise? Why do you stir up wasps’ nests against the faith? Why do you suddenly bring a flood of dialectical arguments against us, like the Giants of ancient myth? Why have you gathered everything frivolous and unmanly among people into a single stream, and then, after softening them still further through flattery, set up a new workshop for yourself, cleverly harvesting profit from their lack of understanding?
Do you deny that this is what you are doing? Are all other matters beneath your notice? Must your tongue rule at any cost? Can you not restrain the labor pains of your speech? You can find many other honorable subjects for discussion. Turn this disease of yours toward them, where it may do some good.
Attack the silence of Pythagoras, the Orphic beans, and the novel boast, “The Master said.” Attack Plato’s Ideas, the migrations and cycles of our souls, the doctrine of recollection, and those unlovely loves of the soul for beautiful bodies. Attack the atheism of Epicurus, his atoms, and his unphilosophical pleasure. Attack Aristotle’s cramped doctrine of providence, his artificial system, his teaching about the mortality of the soul, and the merely human character of his doctrine. Attack the haughtiness of the Stoics, or the greed and vulgarity of the Cynics. Attack the “void” and the “full”—what nonsense!—and all the stories about gods, sacrifices, idols, and demons, whether beneficent or malicious, together with every trick of divination, the calling up of gods or souls, and the supposed power of the stars.
If these subjects seem too small to you, because they have already been refuted many times, and you insist on keeping to your own course and satisfying your ambition there, then I will give you broad roads even here. Philosophize about the world or worlds, about matter, about the soul, about rational natures, whether good or evil; about resurrection, judgment, reward, or the sufferings of Christ. In these matters, hitting the mark is useful, and missing it is not dangerous.
As for God, we shall converse about Him only to a small degree in this life; but a little later, perhaps, more perfectly—in Christ Jesus Himself, our Lord, to whom be glory forever. Amen.