To what, then, shall I compare our present condition? I think it resembles a naval battle arising from old quarrels, fought by men who have long hated one another, are experienced in warfare at sea, and are eager for combat.
Picture the scene. Rival fleets rush against one another in terrifying array. With uncontrollable fury they close and fight. Now imagine at the same time that a violent storm drives the ships back and forth, while thick darkness descends from the clouds and obscures everything, so that amid the confusion the signals cannot be distinguished and friend can no longer be told from foe.
Let the sea itself rise in great waves and be churned from its depths; let torrents of rain pour from the clouds and dreadful waves tower overhead. Let winds from every direction converge upon the same place, where the two fleets are being hurled against each other.
Among the fighters some turn traitor; others desert in the very midst of battle. Some must at the same moment struggle to drive their storm-battered ships forward and fight off those attacking them. Rivalry for command and each person’s desire to rule divides the crews into factions that kill one another.
Add to all this the confused, meaningless roar spreading over the whole sea: the howling winds, the crashing ships, the boiling surf, and the shouts of the combatants expressing every passion in every kind of cry, until no command from admiral or pilot can be heard.
The disorder and confusion are beyond measure. When people despair of their lives, the extremity of disaster gives them license for every kind of wickedness. Imagine also that they are all afflicted by the incurable disease of mad ambition, so that even while their ship is already sinking into the deep they never cease struggling to gain mastery over one another.
Now turn, I beg you, from the image to the miserable reality.
At one time did it not seem that the Arian schism, after separating itself into a faction opposed to the Church of God, stood alone in hostility? But when our enemies changed from long-standing bitter opposition to open warfare, the conflict—as everyone knows—was divided into more factions than I can recount. People everywhere were driven into settled hatred, both by the spirit of their party and by private suspicion.
Yet what storm at sea was ever as fierce and savage as this tempest of the churches? Every boundary-marker set by the Fathers has been moved; every foundation and every secure defense of doctrine has been shaken. Everything resting on an unstable base is tossed about and cast down.
We attack one another and are overthrown by one another. If the enemy does not strike first, the companion beside us wounds us. If an opponent is struck down, his own fellow soldier tramples him. We have at least this much unity: we hate our common enemies. But as soon as those enemies pass by, we discover enemies in one another.
Who could number all the shipwrecks? Some have sunk under the assault of enemies, some through the unexpected treachery of allies, and some through the incompetence of their own leaders. We see whole churches, as it were, shattered with their crews upon the hidden reefs of deceitful heresy. Others have been seized at the helm by enemies of the Spirit of salvation, who have made shipwreck of the faith.
Then the disturbances caused by the rulers of this world have overwhelmed the people with a violence greater than any hurricane or whirlwind. The lights of the world, whom God appointed to illuminate the souls of the people, have been driven from their homes, and a deep and disheartening darkness has settled over the churches.
The danger of universal ruin is already close at hand, yet rivalry among us is so boundless that it has numbed every sense of danger. Private hatred matters more than the common war. People who value the immediate satisfaction of ambition more highly than the rewards laid up for the future prefer the glory of defeating their opponents to securing the common good. And so everyone, each in whatever way he can, raises a murderous hand against another.
Harsh is the cry of disputants colliding with one another. The whole Church is nearly filled with inarticulate shouting and unintelligible noise arising from ceaseless agitation, as the right rule of true doctrine is dragged now toward excess and now toward deficiency. On one side are those who confound the hypostases and are carried toward Judaism; on the other are those who, by opposing the natures, drift into paganism.
Between these opposing parties inspired Scripture has no power to mediate, and apostolic traditions cannot provide terms of reconciliation. Frankness is fatal to friendship; difference of opinion is enough to produce hostility. No sworn alliance holds people together in faction more firmly than sharing the same error.
Everyone is a theologian, even if his soul is branded with stains beyond counting. Thus innovators easily find an abundance of people ready for faction, while self-appointed aspirants to office reject the governance of the Holy Spirit and divide among themselves the chief dignities of the churches.
The institutions of the Gospel have everywhere been thrown into confusion by lack of discipline. There is an indescribable rush for positions of authority, as every self-promoter tries to force himself into high office. The result of this passion for commanding is that the people are thrown into complete disorder for lack of genuine order. The exhortations of those in authority are rendered useless, because almost everyone, in ignorant arrogance, thinks himself as entitled to command others as he is obliged to obey anyone.
Since no human voice is strong enough to be heard amid such disorder, I consider silence more profitable than speech. For if the Preacher speaks truly when he says, “The words of the wise are heard in quiet,” then discussion of such things can hardly be fitting in the present condition.
I am also restrained by the Prophet’s words: “Therefore the prudent will keep silent at that time, for it is an evil time”—a time when some trip up their neighbors, others trample the fallen, and still others clap their hands with delight; yet no one grieves for the one who has fallen or reaches out a hand to help him. Under the ancient law, even the person who passed by an enemy’s beast collapsed beneath its burden was not held guiltless. Yet this is not how things are now.
Why? The love of many has grown cold. Brotherly concord has been destroyed. The very name of unity is ignored. Brotherly admonition is heard no longer. Nowhere is there Christian compassion; nowhere falls the tear of sympathy.
There is no one now to receive “the one who is weak in faith.” Mutual hatred has burned so fiercely among people of the same household that they take more pleasure in a neighbor’s fall than in their own success.
Just as during a plague even those who live the most disciplined lives suffer the same disease as everyone else because they catch the infection from those around them, so now the evil rivalry that possesses our souls carries all of us into competition in wickedness, until each becomes as bad as the others.
Hence the judges of those who err sit merciless and severe, while the critics of those who mean well are cold and hostile. This evil has taken such deep root among us that we have become more savage than irrational animals. Animals at least herd with their own kind; our fiercest warfare is against our own people.
For all these reasons I ought to have remained silent. Yet love drew me in the opposite direction—love that “does not seek its own” and desires to overcome every obstacle created by time and circumstance.
I was also taught by the children in Babylon that when no one else stands for the cause of true religion, we must do our duty even if we stand alone. From the midst of the flame they raised their voices in hymns and praise to God. They paid no attention to the great crowd that rejected the truth; three persons were sufficient for one another.
So we too have not been frightened by the cloud of enemies surrounding us. Resting our hope on the help of the Spirit, we have proclaimed the truth with all boldness. Indeed, it would have been terrible if those who blaspheme the Spirit were so readily emboldened to attack true religion while we, having so mighty an ally and defender beside us, shrank from serving the doctrine that has been preserved down to our own day through an unbroken memory of the tradition of the Fathers.
A further powerful encouragement to undertake this work was the ardor of your “sincere love,” together with the seriousness and discretion of your character. These assured me that you would not publish everywhere what I was about to say—not because the teaching is unworthy of being made known, but because we must not cast pearls before swine.
My task is now complete. If what I have said seems sufficient to you, let our discussion of these matters end here. If you think anything still requires clarification, do not hesitate to pursue the inquiry with all diligence and to increase your knowledge by raising whatever question does not invite quarrelsome controversy.
Whether through me or through others, the Lord will grant full clarification of what remains to be made clear, according to the knowledge the Holy Spirit gives to those who are worthy. Amen.