Homily 16 — Matthew 5, verses 17 to 26

“Do not think that I have come to destroy the Law or the Prophets.” [a]

Why, who suspected this? Or who accused him, that he should defend himself against this charge? Surely nothing he had said before could have given rise to such a suspicion. To command people to be meek and gentle and merciful and pure in heart, and to strive for righteousness, pointed to no such design, but to the very opposite.

Why, then, would he say this? Not at random, and not for nothing. He was about to lay down commands greater than the ancient ones, saying, “It was said to the people of old, ‘You shall not kill’; but I say to you, do not even be angry.” He was about to mark out the road to a kind of divine and heavenly way of life. So that the strangeness of it would not unsettle the souls of his hearers, or stir them to rise up altogether against what he said, he used this means to set them right in advance.

For although they did not keep the law, they still held it in deep and scrupulous reverence. While they were breaking it every day by what they did, they wanted its letters to stay untouched, and no one to add anything more to them. Or rather, they put up with their rulers adding to it — not for the better, though, but for the worse. That was how they used to set aside the honor due to parents, by additions of their own; and they freed themselves from a great many other commands as well by these misplaced additions.

Therefore, since Christ in the first place was not of the priestly tribe, and next, what he was about to bring in was a kind of addition — one that did not lessen virtue but raised it higher — and since he knew beforehand that both these things would trouble them, he drives out what was bound to be lurking there before writing those wonderful laws on their minds. And what was it that was lurking there and standing in the way?

They thought that in speaking this way he meant to abolish the ancient institutions. So he heals this suspicion — and not only here, but elsewhere too. For instance, since they counted him nothing less than God’s enemy because he did not keep the sabbath, he sets out his defense there as well, to heal that suspicion of theirs. Some of his pleas belonged to himself alone, as when he says, “My Father is working, and I am working.” But others stooped a long way down to meet them, as when he brings up the sheep lost on the sabbath day and points out that the law gives way to save it, and again when he mentions circumcision as having the same effect. [c]

That is why we see him often speaking words somewhat beneath him: to take away any appearance of being God’s enemy.

This is why he, who had raised thousands of the dead with a word alone, also added a prayer when he was calling Lazarus. Then, so that this would not make him seem less than the one who begot him, he corrected the suspicion by adding, “I said this because of the people standing here, so that they may believe that you sent me.” He does not do everything as one acting by his own power, so as to correct their weakness thoroughly; nor does he do everything with prayer, so as not to leave those who came later with grounds for an evil suspicion, as though he lacked strength or power. Instead he mixes the one with the other, and the other again with the first.

And he does not do this at random, but with a wisdom all his own. He does the greater works with authority, and in the lesser ones he looks up to heaven. When he forgave sins, revealed his secrets, opened paradise, drove out demons, cleansed lepers, reined in death, and raised the dead by the thousands, he did it all by command. But when he was making many loaves spring from a few — a far smaller thing than these — then he looked up to heaven, showing that he did not do this out of weakness. For how could he who was able to do the greater things with authority need prayer for the lesser? But as I was saying, he does this to silence their shamelessness.

So I ask you to reckon the same way about his words, when you hear him saying lowly things. There are many reasons for words and deeds of that kind: that he might not be thought a stranger to God; that he was teaching and serving everyone; that he was teaching humility; that he was clothed in flesh; that the Jews could not take in everything at once; that he was teaching us never to say anything grand about ourselves. For this reason he often said many lowly things about himself in his own person and left the great things to be said by others. So, reasoning with the Jews, he himself said, “Before Abraham was, I am.” But his disciple did not speak that way; he said, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

Again, that he himself made heaven and earth and sea, and all things visible and invisible, he nowhere said outright in his own person. But his disciple, speaking plainly and holding nothing back, says it once, twice, many times, writing that “all things were made through him,” and “without him not one thing was made,” and “he was in the world, and the world was made through him.”

And why be surprised if others have said greater things about him than he did about himself, when — what is more — in many cases he did not say openly in words what he showed by his deeds? That it was he who made mankind, he showed clearly even by means of that blind man. But when he spoke of our making at the beginning, he did not say, “I made,” but “He who made them made them male and female.” Again, that he created the world and everything in it, he demonstrated by the fish, by the wine, by the loaves, by the calm on the sea, by the sunlight he turned away at the cross, and by a great many other things besides. But in words he has nowhere said this plainly, though his disciples declare it constantly — John, and Paul, and Peter.

Think of those who heard him speak night and day and saw him work wonders; to whom he explained many things in private; to whom he gave such power that they could even raise the dead; whom he made so complete that they left everything for him. If even they, after so much virtue and self-denial, did not have the strength to bear it all before the Spirit was supplied to them, how could the Jewish people have been persuaded? They were without understanding, far behind such excellence, and only there by chance whenever he did or said anything. How could they have been persuaded that he was not a stranger to the God of all, unless he had stooped down to meet them so fully all along?

That is why we see that even when he was setting the sabbath aside, he did not bring in that law of his as a declared purpose; instead he puts together many different pleas in his defense. Now if, when he was about to bring a single commandment to an end, he was so restrained in his language so as not to startle his hearers, how much more, when he was adding to the whole law a whole second set of laws, did he need great care and management so as not to alarm those who were listening to him then! For this same reason we do not find him teaching clearly everywhere about his own divinity. For if his adding to the law was bound to perplex them so greatly, his declaring himself God would do so far more.

That is why he says many things far beneath his true dignity. And here, as he is about to go on to his addition to the law, he has used a great deal of correction in advance. For he did not say only once, “I do not abolish the law”; he said it again, and added something more, and greater. To the words, “Do not think that I have come to destroy,” he joined, “I have not come to destroy, but to fulfill.” [g]

Now this not only blocks the stubbornness of the Jews; it also stops the mouths of those heretics who say that the old covenant comes from the devil. For if Christ came to destroy the devil’s tyranny, how is it that this covenant is not only not destroyed but even fulfilled by him? He did not say only, “I do not destroy it,” though that would have been enough, but “I even fulfill it.” These are the words of one so far from opposing it that he is actually establishing it.

Someone may ask: “And how did he not destroy it? In what way did he instead fulfill either the law or the prophets?” The prophets he fulfilled by confirming through his actions everything that had been said about him. That is why the evangelist would say in each case, “So that what was spoken by the prophet might be fulfilled.” When he was born, when the children sang that wonderful hymn to him, when he sat on the donkey, and in a great many other instances, he brought about this same fulfillment; and all these things would have remained unfulfilled if he had not come.

But the law he fulfilled not in one way only, but in a second and a third as well. The first way was by breaking none of the law’s commands. That he did fulfill it all, hear what he says to John: “For this is how it is fitting for us to fulfill all righteousness.” And to the Jews he said, “Which of you convicts me of sin?” And to his disciples again, “The ruler of this world is coming, and he finds nothing in me.” And the prophet too had said from the first that “he did no sin.”

This, then, was one way he fulfilled it. Another was that he did the same through us as well. This is the wonder: he not only fulfilled it himself, but granted this to us too. Paul declares this when he says, “Christ is the end of the law for righteousness to everyone who believes.” He also said that “he judged sin in the flesh, so that the righteousness of the law might be fulfilled in us, who walk not according to the flesh.” And again, “Do we then make the law void through faith? Certainly not! On the contrary, we establish the law.” For the law was laboring at this, to make man righteous, but it did not have the power. So he came and brought in the way of righteousness by faith, and so established what the law desired: what the law could not do by its letters, he accomplished by faith. That is why he says, “I have not come to destroy the law.”

But if anyone looks closely, he will find a third way in which this was done as well. What is it? It lies in the laws he was about to give them. His sayings were not a repeal of the former laws, but a drawing out and filling up of them. “Do not kill,” for example, is not cancelled by “Do not be angry”; rather, it is filled up and made more secure. And so with all the rest. [k]

So you see: earlier he had sown the seeds of this teaching without arousing suspicion. Now, when by comparing the old commandments with the new he was more likely to be suspected of setting them against each other, he used his correction in advance. For he had indeed already scattered those seeds, in a hidden way, in what he had said. “Blessed are the poor” is the same as saying that we are not to be angry. “Blessed are the pure in heart” is the same as not to “look at a woman with lust.” “Not storing up treasures on earth” fits with “Blessed are the merciful.” To “mourn,” to be “persecuted” and “reviled,” agree with “entering by the narrow gate.” And “to hunger and thirst for righteousness” is nothing other than what he says later: “Whatever you want people to do to you, do the same to them.” And after declaring “the peacemaker blessed,” he said almost the same thing again when he commanded us “to leave the gift” and hurry to be reconciled with the one who had a grievance against us, and spoke of “coming to terms with our adversary.”

But there he set out the rewards of those who do right; here, rather, the punishments of those who neglect to practice it. So, as he said there, “The meek will inherit the earth,” here he says, “Whoever calls his brother a fool will be liable to the fire of hell.” There he said, “The pure in heart will see God”; here, the man who looks with an unchaste eye is a complete adulterer. There he called “the peacemakers sons of God”; here he alarms us from another side, saying, “Or your adversary may hand you over to the judge.” In the same way, in the earlier part he blesses those who mourn and those who are persecuted; in the part that follows, establishing the very same point, he threatens ruin to those who do not go that way: “Those who walk in the broad way,” he says, “come to their end there.” And “You cannot serve God and mammon” seems to me the same as “Blessed are the merciful” and “those who hunger for righteousness.”

But as I said, he is going to say these things more clearly — and not only more clearly, but adding still more to what had already been said. He no longer merely looks for a merciful man, but commands us to give up even our coat; not simply a meek person, but one who also turns the other cheek to anyone who would strike us. So he first takes away the apparent contradiction.

That is why, as I have already said, he did not say this only once, but twice: to the words, “Do not think that I have come to destroy,” he added, “I have not come to destroy, but to fulfill.”

“For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth pass away, not one iota or one stroke will pass away from the law until all things come to pass.”

What he says amounts to this: it cannot be that the law remains unaccomplished; even the least thing in it must be fulfilled. And he himself did this, completing it with all exactness.

Here he also hints to us that the form of the whole world is being changed. He did not put this in without purpose, but to rouse the hearer and to show that he had good reason to bring in another way of training — since the very works of creation are all to be transformed, and mankind is to be called to another homeland and to a higher way of practicing how to live.

“Whoever, then, breaks one of these least commandments and teaches people to do so will be called least in the kingdom of heaven.” Having rid himself of the evil suspicion, and stopped the mouths of those who wanted to contradict him, he now at last goes on to alarm them, and sets down a heavy threat to support the laws he was beginning to give. [n]

That he said this on behalf not of the ancient laws but of those he was about to lay down, listen to what follows: “For I tell you,” he says, “unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” If he were threatening on behalf of the ancient laws, how could he say, “unless it exceeds”? Those who did just the same as the people of old could not exceed them in righteousness.

But what kind of excess was required? Not to be angry; not even to look at a woman with an unchaste eye.

Why, then, does he call these commandments “least,” when they were so great and lofty? Because he himself was about to bring them in as law. Just as he humbled himself and often speaks of himself with restraint, so he speaks of his own laws, teaching us again by this to be modest in everything. Besides, since there seemed to be some suspicion of novelty, he framed his words with reserve for the time being.

But when you hear “least in the kingdom of heaven,” imagine nothing other than hell and torment. For he often meant by “the kingdom” not merely the enjoyment of it, but also the time of the resurrection and that fearful coming. And how could it be reasonable that the man who called his brother a fool, and broke only one commandment, falls into hell, while the one who breaks them all and leads others to do the same should be inside the kingdom? So this is not what he means. He means that such a man will be least at that time — that is, cast out, last. And the one who is last will certainly fall into hell then.

For being God, he foresaw the carelessness of most people. He foresaw that some would think these sayings mere exaggeration, and would argue about the laws and say, “What, if someone calls another a fool, is he punished? If a man only looks at a woman, does he become an adulterer?” For this very reason he struck down such insolence in advance, and set down the strongest threat against both kinds: those who break the laws, and those who lead others to break them.

So, knowing his threat as we do, let us neither break these laws ourselves nor discourage those who are inclined to keep them.

“But whoever does and teaches them,” he says, “will be called great.” For we should be useful not to ourselves alone, but to others as well. The reward is not as great for someone who guides himself rightly as for one who brings another along with himself. Teaching without doing condemns the teacher — “you who teach another,” it says, “do you not teach yourself?” — and in the same way doing without guiding others makes our reward smaller. So one ought to excel in both works: first set oneself right, and then go on to care for the rest. That is why he himself put the doing before the teaching: to show that this, above all, is how one is able to teach, and in no other way. For such a person will be told, “Physician, heal yourself.” Whoever cannot teach himself and yet tries to set others right will have many laughing at him. Or rather, such a person will have no power to teach at all, since his actions cry out against him. But if he is complete in both respects, “he will be called great in the kingdom of heaven.”

“For I tell you, unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the scribes and Pharisees, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven.” [p]

By righteousness here he means the whole of virtue, just as, speaking of Job, he said, “He was a blameless man, righteous.” In the same sense of the word Paul too called “righteous” the man for whom, he said, no law is even laid down: “For,” he says, “the law is not made for a righteous man.” And in many other places too one could find this word standing for virtue in general.

But notice, please, how grace has grown: he wants his newly come disciples to be better than the teachers of the old covenant. For by “scribes and Pharisees” here he did not mean merely the lawless, but those who did well. If they had not been doing well, he would not have said they have a righteousness; nor would he have compared what was not real with what was.

Notice too how he commends the old law here by comparing it with the new, for this kind of comparison implies that the two are of the same stock and family: more and less belong to the same kind. He does not, you see, find fault with the old law, but wants it made stricter. If it had been evil, he would not have required more of it; he would not have made it more complete, but would have thrown it out.

Someone may say: “If it is such a law, why does it not bring us into the kingdom?” It does not bring in, now, those who live after the coming of Christ, since they have been given more strength and are bound to strive for greater things. But as for its own foster children, it brings in every one of them. Yes, for “many will come,” he says, “from east and west, and will recline in the bosoms of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob.” Lazarus too, receiving the great prize, is shown living in Abraham’s bosom. And all who shone out with excellence under the old covenant shone by it, every one of them. And Christ himself, if it had been evil in anything or foreign to him, would not have fulfilled it all when he came. For if he did this only to win over the Jews, and not to prove it akin to the new law and in agreement with it, why did he not also fulfill the laws and customs of the Gentiles, so as to win over the Gentiles too?

So from every consideration it is clear that it does not fail to bring us in because of any badness of its own, but because it is now the season for higher commands.

And if it is less complete than the new, this does not imply that it is evil either, since on that principle the new law itself would be in exactly the same position. For in truth our knowledge of it, compared with what is to come, is something partial and incomplete, and it is done away with when that other comes. “For when the perfect comes,” he says, “then what is partial will be done away with” — just as happened to the old law through the new. Yet we are not to blame the new law for this, even though it too gives way when we reach the kingdom — for “then,” he says, “what is partial will be done away with” — but for all that we call it great.

Since, then, its rewards are greater and the power given by the Spirit more abundant, it is only reasonable that it should require greater excellence of us as well. For it is no longer “a land flowing with milk and honey,” or a comfortable old age, or many children, or grain and wine, flocks and herds. It is heaven and the good things in heaven; adoption as sons and brotherhood with the only Son; a share in the inheritance, being glorified with him and reigning with him; and those countless rewards. And as for our having received more abundant help, listen to Paul when he says, “There is therefore now no condemnation for those who are in Christ Jesus, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit. For the law of the Spirit of life has set me free from the law of sin and death.”

Now, having threatened those who break the commandments, and set great rewards before those who do right, and shown that he is right to require of us something beyond the old measure, from this point he begins to make laws. He does it not simply, but by comparing them with the ancient ordinances, because he wants to make two things known: first, that he is making these laws not in conflict with the former ones, but in great harmony with them; and second, that it was fitting, and very timely, for him to add these second commands to them. [s]

To make this still clearer, let us listen to the words of the Lawgiver. What, then, does he himself say?

“You have heard that it was said to those of old, You shall not kill.” And yet it was he himself who had given those laws too; but for the moment he states them without saying who spoke them. For if he had said, “You have heard that I said to those of old,” the saying would have been hard to accept and would have stood in the way of all his hearers. And if, on the other hand, after saying, “You have heard that it was said to those of old by my Father,” he had added, “But I say,” he would have seemed to be claiming still more for himself.

So he has stated it simply, and by it he establishes one point only: that he had come at the fitting time to say these things. For by the words “It was said to those of old,” he pointed to how long it had been since they received this commandment. He did this to shame the hearer who was shrinking back from moving up to the higher class of his commandments — as if a teacher were to say to a lazy child, “Don’t you know how long you have spent learning your syllables?” This is what he quietly hints at with the words “those of old,” and so, from now on, he calls them on to the higher level of his teaching, as if he had said, “You have been learning these lessons long enough; from now on you must press on to higher ones.”

And it is well that he does not disturb the order of the commandments, but begins with the one that comes first, the one the law also began with. Yes, for this too suits someone who is showing the harmony between the two.

“But I say to you that whoever is angry with his brother without a cause will be liable to the judgment.”

Do you see authority in its fullness? Do you see a bearing that suits a lawgiver? Why, which of the prophets ever spoke like this? Which of the righteous? Which of the patriarchs? None. They said, “Thus says the Lord.” But not so the Son. For they were announcing their Master’s commands, and he his Father’s. And when I say “his Father’s,” I mean his own: “For all that is mine,” he says, “is yours, and yours is mine.” And they were making laws for their fellow servants, he for his own servants.

Let us now ask those who reject the law: Is “Do not be angry” contrary to “Do not murder”? Or is the one commandment not the completion and the unfolding of the other? Clearly the one fulfills the other, and it is greater for that very reason. For the man who is not stirred to anger will all the more keep from murder, and the man who reins in his rage will all the more keep his hands to himself. Anger is the root of murder. And you see that whoever cuts out the root will all the more remove the branches — or rather, will not let them sprout at all.

So it was not to abolish the law that he made these laws, but so that it might be kept more completely. For what did the law intend when it commanded these things? Was it not that no one should kill his neighbor? It follows that someone opposing the law would have had to command murder, since murdering is the opposite of not murdering. But if he does not allow a person even to be angry, the law’s intention is established by him more completely. For the man who takes care to avoid murder will not keep from it as surely as the man who has put away even anger, since the latter stands further from the crime.

But so that we may refute them another way as well, let us bring forward everything they allege. What, then, do they claim? They claim that the God who made the world, who “makes his sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust,” is in some sense evil. The more moderate among them, if you please, decline to say this; but while they call him just, they deny that he is good. And they assign to Christ as Father some other being, one who does not exist and made none of the things that exist. They say that the one who is not good stays among his own and preserves what is his, but that the good one goes after what belongs to another, and suddenly wants to become Savior to those whose Creator he was not. [v]

Do you see the children of the devil, how they speak from the spring of their father, taking the work of creation away from God? And all the while John cries out, “He came to his own,” and, “The world was made through him.”

Next, they find fault with the law in the old covenant that commands putting out “an eye for an eye” and “a tooth for a tooth.” At once they sneer and say, “Why, how can anyone who speaks like that be good?”

What, then, do we say in answer? That it is love for humankind of the highest kind. For he made this law not so that we would strike out one another’s eyes, but so that fear of suffering it at others’ hands would keep us from doing any such thing to them. He threatened the Ninevites with overthrow, not in order to destroy them — for if that had been his will, he ought to have kept silent — but so that by fear he might make them better and so quiet his anger. In the same way he has set a punishment for those who recklessly attack the eyes of others, so that if good principle does not move them to hold back from such cruelty, fear may keep them from injuring their neighbors’ sight.

If this is cruelty, then it is cruelty too for the murderer to be restrained and the adulterer checked. But these are the words of senseless men, of people mad to the very extreme of madness. For I, far from saying that this comes from cruelty, would say that the opposite would be unlawful, even by human reckoning. You say, “Because he commanded putting out ‘an eye for an eye,’ he is cruel.” I say that if he had not given this commandment, then in most people’s judgment he would have seemed to be what you say he is.

For suppose this law had been done away with altogether, and no one feared the punishment that follows, but license had been given to all the wicked — adulterers, murderers, perjurers, and those who kill their own fathers — to follow their own inclinations in complete safety. Would not everything have been turned upside down? Would not cities, marketplaces and houses, sea and land, and the whole world have been filled with countless defilements and murders? Anyone can see it. For if, when there are laws and fear and threats, our evil inclinations are barely held in check, what would stop people from choosing wickedness if even this safeguard were taken away? And what amount of harm would not then come running riot through the whole of human life?

All the more so, since cruelty lies not only in letting the wicked do as they please, but just as much in something else: in overlooking and leaving uncared for the person who has done no wrong, yet suffers harm without cause or reason. For tell me: if someone gathered wicked men from every quarter, armed them with swords, and ordered them to go through the whole city and slaughter everyone they met, could anything be more like a wild beast than he? And what if someone else bound and locked up, as strictly as possible, the men the first had armed, and snatched out of those lawless hands the people who were about to be butchered? Could anything be more humane than this?

Now, I ask you to carry these examples over to the law as well. The one who commands putting out “an eye for an eye” has laid fear like a strong chain on the souls of the wicked, and so he is like the man who holds those assassins in prison. But whoever sets no punishment for them as good as arms them with that safety, and plays the part of the other man, who put the swords in their hands and let them loose on the whole city.

Don’t you see how the commandments, far from coming from cruelty, come rather from overflowing mercy? And if because of these you call the Lawgiver harsh and hard to bear, tell me: which command is more toilsome and harsh, “Do not murder,” or “Do not even be angry”? Which is more extreme: the one who exacts a penalty for murder, or the one who exacts it for mere anger? The one who punishes the adulterer after the act, or the one who sets a penalty even for the desire itself — and a penalty that lasts forever?

Don’t you see how their reasoning comes around to the very opposite? How the God of the old covenant, whom they call cruel, will turn out to be mild and gentle, and the God of the new, whom they acknowledged as good, will be hard and harsh, according to their madness? But we say that there is one and the same Lawgiver of both covenants, who arranged everything fittingly and matched the difference between the two bodies of law to the difference of the times. So the first commandments are not cruel, nor the second hard and harsh; all of them come from one and the same providential care.

That he himself gave the old covenant too, hear the prophet declare it — or rather, for this is how we must put it, hear him who is both the one and the other: “I will make a covenant with you, not like the covenant I made with your fathers.”

But if the man sick with the Manichaean teachings will not accept this, let him hear Paul saying the very same thing in another place: “For Abraham had two sons, one by the slave woman and one by the free woman; and these are two covenants.” So just as there the wives are different and the husband the same, so here too the covenants are two, and the Lawgiver one.

And to prove to you that both come from one and the same mildness: in the one he says, “An eye for an eye,” but in the other, “If anyone strikes you on your right cheek, turn to him the other also.” For just as in the first case he checks the wrongdoer with the fear of suffering the same, so he does in this one too.

“How so, when he tells us to turn the other cheek to him as well?” Well, what of that? He did not command this to take away the man’s fear, but to charge you yourself to let him take his fill entirely. Nor did he say that the other goes unpunished, but, “Do not punish him yourself.” So at one stroke he increases the fear of the one who strikes, if he persists, and comforts the one who is struck.

But these things we have said in passing, as one might, about all the commandments. Now we must go on to the matter before us and keep to the thread of what was being said. “Whoever is angry with his brother without a cause will be liable to the judgment” — so he says. So he has not taken the passion away altogether. First, because it is impossible for a human being to be free of passions. We can indeed gain the mastery over them, but to be entirely without them is out of the question. [aa]

Second, because this passion is even useful, if we know how to use it at the right time. See, for instance, how much good was done by Paul’s anger against the Corinthians on that well-known occasion; and how, just as it rid them of a grievous plague, so by the same means he won back the Galatian people too, who had fallen away; and others besides these.

What, then, is the right time for anger? When we are not avenging ourselves, but checking others in their lawless excesses, or forcing them to pay attention when they are careless.

And what is the wrong time? When we are angry to avenge ourselves — which Paul too forbade when he said, “Do not avenge yourselves, beloved, but give place to wrath.” And when we are fighting over money — yes, this too he has taken away, where he says, “Why not rather suffer wrong? Why not rather let yourselves be cheated?” For just as this last kind of anger is needless, the first kind is necessary and useful. But most people do the opposite: they become like wild beasts when they themselves are wronged, but slack and cowardly when they see an outrage done to someone else — and both are directly contrary to the laws of the Gospel. So being angry is not a transgression; being angry at the wrong time is. That is why the prophet too said, “Be angry, and do not sin.”

“And whoever says to his brother, Raca, will be liable to the council.” [ac]

By “the council” here he means the court of the Hebrews. He has mentioned it now so that he would not seem everywhere to be playing the stranger and the innovator.

But this word “Raca” is not an expression of great insult, but rather of a certain contempt and disregard on the speaker’s part. Just as we, when we give orders to our servants or to anyone far beneath us, say, “Off with you! You there, tell so-and-so,” so those who use the Syrians’ language say “Raca,” putting that word in place of “you.” But God, who loves humankind, roots out even the smallest faults, commanding us to treat one another in a seemly way and with due respect; and he does this so as to destroy the greater faults by it as well.

“But whoever says, You fool, will be liable to the fire of hell.” To many this commandment has seemed harsh and galling, if for a mere word we are really to pay so great a penalty. And some even say it was spoken as an exaggeration. But I am afraid that if we deceive ourselves with words here, we may suffer that extreme punishment in deeds there.

For tell me, why does the commandment seem too heavy? Don’t you know that most punishments and most sins have their beginning in words? Yes, for blasphemies come by words, and denials by words, and abuse, and insults, and perjuries, and false testimony. So do not look at its being a mere word; ask instead whether it does not carry great danger. Don’t you know that in a time of hostility, when anger is inflamed and the soul set on fire, even the least thing seems great, and what is not very insulting is counted unbearable? And often these little things have given birth even to murder, and overthrown whole cities. For just as where there is friendship even heavy things are light, so where hostility lies underneath, the merest trifles seem unbearable. And however innocently a word is spoken, it is suspected of having been spoken with an evil meaning.

It is as with fire. If there is only a small spark, it does not easily catch hold of the planks, even though thousands of them lie nearby. But if the flame has grown strong and high, it readily seizes not only planks but stones and every material that comes in its way; and the very things that usually put it out make it blaze all the more. For some say that at such a time not only wood and flax and the other things that burn, but even water thrown on it only fans its strength. So it is with anger too: whatever anyone says becomes food in an instant for this evil blaze.

Christ checked all these evils in advance. First he condemned the one who is angry without a cause to the judgment — that is exactly why he said, “Whoever is angry will be liable to the judgment” — and then the one who says “Raca” to the council. But these are no great matters yet, for these punishments are here in this life. That is why for the one who says “fool” he has added the fire of hell, now naming hell for the first time. For though he had spoken much before about the kingdom, not until now did he mention this, implying that the kingdom comes from his own love and kindness toward humankind, and hell from our own negligence.

And see how he advances his punishments little by little, all but apologizing to you, and showing that his own wish is to threaten nothing of the kind, but that we drag him on to such warnings. For look: “I told you not to be angry for nothing, because you are liable to the judgment. You despised the first commandment. See what anger has produced: it has led you straight on to insult, for you have called your brother ‘Raca.’ Again I set another punishment, ‘the council.’ If you disregard even this and go on to what is more grievous, I no longer visit you with these limited punishments, but with the undying penalty of hell, so that after this you will not break out even into murder.” [ad]

For there is nothing, nothing in the world, more unbearable than insult; it has very great power to sting a person’s soul. And when the word spoken is in itself more wounding than the insult, the blaze becomes twice as great. So do not think it a light thing to call someone “fool.” The mind and the understanding are what set us apart from the animals; they are what above all makes us human. When you have robbed your brother of these, you have stripped him of all his nobility. So let us not look merely at the words, but, picturing the things themselves and his feelings, let us consider how great a wound this word makes, and how much evil it leads on to.

That is why Paul too shut out of the kingdom not only “adulterers” and “the effeminate,” but “slanderers” as well. And with great reason. For the man who insults others spoils all the beauty of love. He heaps countless evils on his neighbor, stirs up lasting hostilities, tears apart the members of Christ, and every day drives away the peace God so longs for, giving the devil a great foothold by his abusive ways and making him stronger. That is why Christ himself, cutting the sinews of the devil’s power, brought in this law.

For indeed he sets great store by love, since it is above all else the mother of every good thing, the badge of his disciples, and the bond that holds our whole life together. With reason, then, he takes great pains to remove the roots and the sources of the hatred that utterly ruins it.

So do not think these sayings are in any way exaggerations. Consider the good they do, and admire the mildness of these laws. For there is nothing God takes so much trouble over as this: that we should be united and knit together with one another. That is why, both in his own person and through his disciples — those of the Old Testament as well as the New — he sets such great store by this commandment, and is a severe avenger and punisher of those who despise it. For truly nothing so opens the door to all wickedness and roots it so firmly as the removal of love. That is why he also said, “Because lawlessness will abound, the love of many will grow cold.” So it was that Cain became his brother’s murderer; so it was with Esau, and with Joseph’s brothers; so our countless crimes have come running riot in, once this bond was cut. You see why he himself, on every side and with great exactness, roots out whatever harms it.

He does not stop at the commands already mentioned, either, but adds others besides, and by this he shows how much he values this. Having threatened with “the council,” with “the judgment,” and with “hell,” he added other sayings again in keeping with the earlier ones, speaking this way: [af]

“If you bring your gift to the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your gift there before the altar, and go away; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and offer your gift.”

O goodness! O love for humankind beyond all measure! He sets no value on the honor due to himself, for the sake of our love toward our neighbor. By this he shows that it was not out of any hostility at all, nor out of any wish to punish, that he had spoken those earlier threats, but out of the tenderest affection. For what could be gentler than these words? He is saying: “Let my service be interrupted, so that your love may continue; for this too is a sacrifice — your being reconciled to your brother.” Yes, and that is why he did not say “after the offering” or “before the offering.” While the gift itself is lying there, when the sacrifice is already beginning, he sends you to be reconciled to your brother. Not after the offering lying before us has been taken away, and not before the gift has been presented, but while it lies there between, he tells you to hurry off to him.

Why, then, does he command this, and for what purpose? As it seems to me, there are two ends he is hinting at and providing for here. First, as I have said, he wants to show that he values love highly and counts it the greatest sacrifice, and that without it he does not accept even that other one. Second, he is laying on us a necessity of reconciliation that leaves no room for excuses. For someone who has been told not to make his offering until he is reconciled will hurry — if not out of love for his neighbor, then at least so that his offering will not lie there unconsecrated — to run to the one he has hurt and put an end to the hostility.

That is why he has put it all so pointedly: to alarm him and wake him up completely. When he had said, “Leave your gift,” he did not stop there, but added, “before the altar” — making him shudder once more by the very place — “and go away.” And he did not say only, “Go away,” but added, “first, and then come and offer your gift.” By all these things he makes it plain that this table does not receive those who are at enmity with each other.

Let the initiated hear this, all of you who come near while at enmity; and let those not yet initiated hear it too, for the saying has something to do with them as well. They too offer a gift and a sacrifice — prayer, I mean, and almsgiving. That this too is a sacrifice, listen to what the prophet says: “A sacrifice of praise will glorify me”; and again, “Sacrifice to God a sacrifice of praise”; and, “The lifting up of my hands is an evening sacrifice.” So even if it is only a prayer that you are offering in such a frame of mind, it would be better to leave your prayer, be reconciled to your brother, and then offer your prayer.

For this is what everything was done for. For this God even became man and carried out all those works: so that he might make us one.

Here he sends the one who did the wrong to the one who suffered it; in his prayer he leads the one who suffered to the one who did the wrong, and reconciles them. There he says, “Forgive people their debts”; here, “If he has something against you, go to him.”

Or rather, even here he seems to me to be sending the injured person, and it is for some such reason that he did not say, “Reconcile yourself to your brother,” but, “Be reconciled.” Though the saying seems to concern the one who gave the offense, the whole of it really concerns the one who has been wronged. Christ is saying: “If you are reconciled to him, then through your love for him you will have me gracious to you as well, and you will be able to offer your sacrifice with great confidence. But if you are still sore, consider that I myself readily command that what is mine be held cheap, so that you may become friends; and let these thoughts soothe your anger.”

And he did not say, “When you have suffered one of the greater wrongs, then be reconciled,” but, “Even if it is some trifle that he has against you.” Nor did he add, “whether justly or unjustly,” but simply, “If he has something against you.” For even if it is justly, you ought not to drag out the hostility even then. Christ too was justly angry with us, and yet he gave himself up to be slain for us, “not counting those trespasses.”

That is why Paul too, urging us to reconciliation in another way, said, “Do not let the sun go down on your anger.” As Christ presses us toward this by the argument of the sacrifice, so Paul there presses us toward the very same point by the argument of the day. The truth is, he fears the night, in case it should catch the wounded man alone and make the wound deeper. In the day there are many things to distract him and draw him away; but at night, when he is alone and turning it over by himself, the waves swell and the storm grows. So Paul, you see, to prevent this, wants to hand him over to the night already reconciled, so that the devil will have no opening after that, from his being alone, to stoke the furnace of his anger again and make it fiercer.

In the same way Christ does not allow even the slightest delay, for fear that once the sacrifice is finished such a man will grow slacker and put it off from day to day; for he knows that this condition needs very quick treatment. And as a skilled physician provides not only what prevents our diseases but also what corrects them, so he does too. To forbid us to say “fool” is a way of preventing enmity; to command reconciliation is a way of removing the diseases that follow from enmity.

And notice how both commands are laid down with great force. As in the first case he threatened hell, so here he does not accept the gift before the reconciliation, showing great displeasure. By all these means he is destroying both the root and the crop.

First of all he says, “Do not be angry,” and after that, “Do not insult.” For each of these grows from the other: from enmity comes insult, and from insult enmity. That is why he heals now the root and now the fruit. He keeps the evil from ever springing up in the first place; but if by chance it has sprouted and borne its evil fruit, then he burns it down all the more thoroughly.

So, you see, having mentioned first the judgment, then the council, then hell, and having spoken of the sacrifice offered to himself, he adds other points again, speaking this way: [ak]

“Come to terms with your adversary quickly, while you are on the way with him.”

He says this so that you cannot say: “What then, if I am wronged? What if I am robbed, and dragged into court as well?” He has taken away even this occasion and excuse, for he commands us not to be at enmity even then. Next, since this command was a great one, he draws his advice from present things, which usually restrain the cruder sort of people more than things to come. He is saying: “Why, what are you saying? That your adversary is stronger and is wronging you? Then of course he will wrong you even more if you do not settle with him, but are forced to go into court. In the first case, by giving up some money you will keep your body free; but once you have come under the judge’s sentence, you will both be put in chains and pay the utmost penalty. If you avoid the contest there, you will reap two good results: first, you will not have to suffer anything painful; and second, the good that is done will from then on be your own doing, and no longer something forced on you by him. But if you will not be guided by these words, you are wronging not him so much as yourself.”

And see how here too he hurries him. Having said, “Come to terms with your adversary,” he added, “quickly”; and he was not satisfied even with that, but demanded that the quickness itself be quicker still, saying, “while you are on the way with him.” By this he presses and hurries him with great earnestness. For nothing turns our life upside down so much as delay and putting off our good works. Indeed, this has often made us lose everything.

So, just as Paul for his part says, “Before the sun sets, put an end to the enmity,” and just as he himself had said above, “Before the offering is completed, be reconciled,” so here too he says, “Quickly, while you are on the way with him” — before you have come to the doors of the court, before you stand at the bar and come under the power of the one who judges. For before you go in, everything is in your own control; but once you set foot on that threshold, however hard you try you will not be able to arrange your affairs as you wish, because you have come under another’s constraint.

But what does it mean to “come to terms”? He means either, “Consent rather to suffer wrong,” or, “Plead the case as if you were in the other man’s place.” That is, you are not to corrupt justice out of love for yourself, but to weigh another’s case as your own, and so go on to cast your vote in the matter. And if this is a great thing, do not be surprised. It was for this very purpose that he set out all those blessings of his first: so that, having smoothed and prepared the hearer’s soul in advance, he might make it readier to receive all his laws.

Now some say that under the name of the adversary he is hinting at the devil himself, and telling us to have nothing of his — for this, they say, is what it means to “come to terms” with him — since no settlement is possible after we depart from here, and nothing awaits us but that punishment from which no prayers can set us free. But to me he seems to be speaking of the judges in this world, of the road to the court, and of this prison. For after he had shamed people by higher things, things to come, he alarms them also by things in this life.

Paul does this too, using both the future and the present to move his hearer. When he is deterring from wickedness someone inclined to evil, he points him to the ruler under arms, saying, “But if you do what is evil, be afraid; for he does not bear the sword for nothing; for he is God’s servant.” And again, when he tells us to be subject to the ruler, he sets before us not only the fear of God but also the ruler’s threats and his watchful care: “For you must be subject, not only because of wrath, but also for conscience’ sake.” For, as I have already said, the less reasonable are usually corrected sooner by these things — things that can be seen and are close at hand.

That is why Christ too mentioned not only hell but also a court of law, and being dragged there, and the prison, and all the suffering there — by all these means destroying the roots of murder. For the man who does not insult, does not go to law, and does not drag out enmity — how will he ever commit murder? So from this too it is clear that our own advantage lies in the advantage of our neighbor. The man who comes to terms with his adversary will benefit himself far more, setting himself free, by his own act, from courts of law and prisons and the misery there.

Let us, then, obey his sayings. Let us not set ourselves against them or be contentious. For first of all, even before their rewards, these commands carry their own pleasure and profit. And if to most people they seem burdensome, and the trouble they cause great, keep in mind that you are doing it for Christ’s sake, and the pain will be pleasant. If we keep this way of reckoning at all times, we will find nothing burdensome, but will reap great pleasure from every side. Our toil will no longer seem like toil; the more it increases, the sweeter and more pleasant it grows. [ao]

So when the habit of evil things and the desire for wealth keep casting their spell on you, fight against them with the thought that tells us, “Great is the reward we will receive for despising the pleasure that lasts only for a season.” And say to your soul: “Are you downcast because I am cheating you of pleasure? No, take heart, for I am bringing you into heaven. You are not doing this for any human being’s sake, but for God’s. Be patient, then, for a little while, and you will see how great the gain is. Endure through the present life, and you will receive a confidence beyond words.” If we talk to our own soul like this, and do not only consider what is burdensome in virtue but also take account of the crown that comes from it, we will quickly draw it away from all wickedness.

For if the devil, holding out pleasure for a season but pain forever, is still strong and wins, then since our case in these matters is the exact reverse — the labor for a time, the pleasure and the profit undying — what excuse will we have if we do not follow virtue after such encouragement? Why, the goal of our labors is enough to set against everything, together with our clear conviction that it is for God’s sake that we are enduring all this. If a man who has the king in his debt thinks he has security enough for his whole life, think how great the man will be who has made the gracious and everlasting God his debtor for good deeds both small and great.

So do not talk to me of labors and sweat. God has made virtue easy not only by the hope of what is to come, but in another way too: by helping us everywhere and putting his own hand to our work. If you will only contribute a little zeal, everything else follows. That is why he wants you too to labor a little: so that the victory may be yours as well. A king will want his own son present in the battle line; he will have him shoot with the bow and show himself, so that the trophy may be counted as his, while the king achieves it all himself. God does the same in our war against the devil. He asks one thing only of you: that you show a genuine hatred toward that enemy. And if you contribute this to him, he brings the whole war to an end by himself.

Even if you are burning with anger, with the desire for riches, with any tyrannical passion at all, if he sees you only stripping yourself and ready against it, he comes to you quickly, makes everything easy, and sets you above the flame, as he did those young men of old in the furnace of Babylon. For they too took nothing in with them but their good will.

So, then, that we too may put out the whole furnace of disordered pleasure here, and so escape the hell that is there, let these be our counsels every day, our cares, and our practice, drawing God’s favor to ourselves both by our firm resolve to do good works and by our frequent prayers. For in this way even the things that seem unbearable now will be very easy, light, and lovely. As long as we are in the grip of our passions, we think virtue rugged, gloomy, and hard, and vice desirable and most pleasant. But if we would stand back from them even a little, then vice will look loathsome and ugly, and virtue easy, gentle, and much to be desired.

You can learn this plainly from those who have lived rightly. Listen, for example, to how Paul is ashamed of those passions even after he has been set free from them, saying, “What fruit did you have then in those things of which you are now ashamed?” But virtue, even after all his labor, he declares to be light: he calls the hard labor of our affliction momentary and “light,” rejoices in his sufferings, glories in his tribulations, and takes pride in the marks with which he had been branded for Christ’s sake.

So that we too may settle ourselves in this habit, let us order ourselves every day by what has been said, and, “forgetting the things that are behind, and reaching out to the things that are ahead, let us press on toward the prize of the high calling.” May God grant that we all attain it, by the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power forever and ever. Amen.