Homily 11 — First Corinthians 4, verses 3 to 5

“But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you, or by human judgment. Indeed, I do not even judge myself. For I know nothing against myself, yet I am not counted righteous by this; but the one who judges me is the Lord.” [a]

Along with all our other ills, somehow or other the disease of restless prying and untimely curiosity has come upon human nature. Christ himself rebuked it when he said, “Do not judge, so that you will not be judged” (Matthew 7, verse 1). It is a kind of sin that has no pleasure in it, as all other sins have, but only punishment and vengeance. For though we ourselves are full of countless evils and carry “beams” in our own eyes, we turn into exacting inspectors of our neighbor’s faults, which are not at all bigger than “specks.”

This is how things were going at Corinth. Devout men, dear to God, were mocked and pushed aside because they lacked education, while others, brimming over with countless evils, were ranked high because of their fluent speech. Then, like men sitting in public to try cases, they kept rashly passing verdicts of this sort: “So-and-so is worthy. So-and-so is better than so-and-so. This man is inferior to that one; that one is better than this.” They had stopped mourning over their own bad ways and had set themselves up as judges of others, and in this way they were once again kindling a bitter war.

See, then, how wisely Paul corrects them and does away with this disease. He had said, “Moreover, it is required in stewards that one be found faithful.” It seemed as if he were giving them an opening to judge and pry into each man’s life, and this was feeding the party spirit. So that this would not be the effect on them, he draws them away from that sort of petty dispute, saying, “With me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you.” Once again he carries on the discussion in his own person.

But what does “With me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you, or by a human day” mean? He says: “I consider it unfitting that I should be judged by you. And why do I say ‘by you’? I will add, ‘by anyone else.’” But let no one accuse Paul of arrogance for saying that no human being is worthy to pass sentence on him. First, he says these things not for his own sake, but because he wants to rescue others from the ill will they had drawn from the Corinthians. Second, he does not limit the matter to the Corinthians only; he removes even himself from this right of judging, saying that to pass such verdicts was beyond his own power to decide. At least, he adds, “I do not even judge myself.” [c]

But besides what has been said, we must look into the ground on which these words were spoken. In many cases he knew well how to speak with a high spirit — not out of pride or arrogance, but as a wise way of meeting the situation. So here too he says this, not to lift himself up, but to take down other men’s sails, and because he was eager to give the saints the honor due to them.

For proof that he was one of the truly humble, listen to what he says, bringing forward his enemies’ own testimony on this point: “His bodily presence is weak, and his speech of no account” (Second Corinthians 10, verse 10); and again, “Last of all, as to one untimely born, he appeared to me also” (First Corinthians 15, verse 8). Yet see this humble man, when the moment called for it, raising his disciples’ spirit to a great height — not teaching them pride, but putting a healthy courage into them. For in speaking to these same people he says, “And if the world is to be judged by you, are you unworthy to judge the smallest matters?” (First Corinthians 6, verse 2).

For as a Christian ought to be far removed from arrogance, so also from flattery and a mean spirit. So if someone says, “I count money as nothing; everything here is to me a shadow, a dream, child’s play,” we are not at all to charge him with arrogance. Otherwise we will have to accuse Solomon himself of arrogance, for speaking with such strict wisdom about these things and saying, “Vanity of vanities; all is vanity” (Ecclesiastes 1, verse 2). Far from it! We must never call the strict way of life by the name of arrogance.

So to despise these things is not haughtiness but greatness of soul, even though we see kings and rulers and men in power making much of them. Many a poor man who lives a strict life despises them, and we are not to call him arrogant for that, but high-minded; just as, on the other hand, if someone is utterly devoted to them, we do not call him humble and modest, but weak, mean-spirited and ignoble. So too, if a son despised the pursuits fitting for his father and took up the ways of a slave, we would not praise him as humble; we would reproach him as base and servile. What we would admire in him would be that he despised those lower things and made much of what came to him from his father. For arrogance is thinking oneself better than one’s fellow servants; but to pass a true verdict on things comes not from boasting but from a strict way of life.

That is why Paul too said, “With me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you, or by a human day” — not to exalt himself, but to humble others, to keep down those who were rising above their place, and to persuade them to think modestly of themselves. And notice how he soothes the other side as well. Anyone who is told that Paul looks down on everyone alike and does not consent to be judged by anyone will no longer feel hurt, as though he alone were being shut out. If he had said only “by you” and stopped there, that would have been enough to sting them, as if they were being treated with contempt. But as it is, by bringing in “or by a human day,” he softened the blow, giving them partners in the contempt. Indeed, he softens this point further by saying, “I do not even judge myself.” Notice how completely free from arrogance the words are: not even he himself, he says, is capable of such exactness.

Then, because this saying too seemed to be that of a man praising himself highly, he corrects this as well, saying, “Yet I am not counted righteous by this.”

What then? Ought we not to judge ourselves and our own wrongdoing? Yes, certainly; there is great need to do this when we sin. But that is not what Paul said. “For I know nothing against myself,” he says. What wrongdoing, then, was he to judge, when he “knew nothing against himself”? And yet, he says, he “was not counted righteous” (First Corinthians 4, verse 4). Then what can we say, whose consciences are covered with countless wounds, who know of nothing good in ourselves, but quite the opposite?

And how could it be that he knew nothing against himself and yet was not counted righteous? Because it was possible for him to have committed some sins without knowing that they were sins. From this, work out for yourself how great the strictness of the judgment to come will be.

You see, it is not because he considers himself blameless that he says it is so unfitting for him to be judged by them; he says it to stop the mouths of those who were doing this so unreasonably. At least in another place, even though people’s sins are well known, he does not allow others to judge, because the occasion required it. “Why do you judge your brother?” he says, “or you, why do you despise your brother?” (Romans 14, verse 10). For you were not commanded, my friend, to judge others, but to test your own doings. Why, then, do you seize the Lord’s office? The judgment is his, not yours.

To this effect he adds, “Therefore judge nothing before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal the purposes of the hearts; and then each one will have his praise from God.”

What then? Is it not right for our teachers to do this? It is right in the case of open and admitted sins, and at a fitting time, and even then with pain and inward distress — not as these people were doing then, out of empty glory and arrogance. For here too he is not speaking of sins that everyone admits to be sins, but of preferring one person to another and comparing ways of life. These things only he knows how to judge exactly who is to judge our secret doings: which of them deserve greater and which lesser punishment and honor. But we do all this by what meets the eye. He says: “If I know nothing clearly about my own faults, how can I be worthy to pass sentence on other people? And how will I, who do not know my own case exactly, be able to judge the state of others?” Now if Paul felt this way, much more should we. To go on: he said these things not to present himself as faultless, but to show that even if there were someone among them of that kind, free from wrongdoing, not even he would be worthy to judge the lives of others. And if he, though he knew nothing against himself, declares himself guilty, much more those who are aware of countless sins in themselves.

So, you see, having stopped the mouths of those who pass such verdicts, he next labors with a strong feeling that is ready to break out and fall on the impure man. It is like a coming storm. First, clouds heavy with darkness run ahead of it; then, when the crash of thunder rises and turns the whole sky into one black cloud, the rain suddenly bursts down on the earth. That is what happened here. Though in his deep indignation he might have dealt with the sexually immoral man, he does not do so; first, with fearful words, he represses the man’s swelling pride. For in truth what had happened was a double sin: sexual immorality, and something worse than sexual immorality — not grieving over the sin committed. [e]

For he does not mourn so much over the sin as over the man who committed it and had not yet repented. So he says, “I will mourn over many” — not simply “who have sinned before,” but he adds, “and have not repented of the uncleanness and impurity which they practiced” (Second Corinthians 12, verse 21). For the one who has repented after sinning deserves not grief but congratulations, since he has crossed over into the company of the righteous. For “Declare your wrongdoings first, so that you may be counted righteous” (Isaiah 43, verse 26). But if someone has sinned and is without shame, he is to be pitied not so much for falling as for lying where he fell.

Now if it is a serious fault not to repent after sinning, what punishment does it deserve to be puffed up because of sins? For if the one who is proud of his good deeds is unclean, what pardon will he find who feels that way about his sins?

Since, then, the sexually immoral man was of this kind, and had made his mind so headstrong and unyielding through his sin, Paul naturally begins by bringing down his pride. He does not put the charge first, for fear of hardening him, as if he had been singled out for accusation ahead of the rest; nor later, in case he should think that what concerned him was only incidental. Instead, he first stirs up great alarm in him by speaking plainly to others, and only then goes on to him; in the course of rebuking the others, he gives the man’s willfulness its share in advance.

For these very words — “I know nothing against myself, yet I am not counted righteous by this,” and, “The one who judges me is the Lord, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and reveal the purposes of the hearts” — strike, and not lightly, both at that man and at those who were acting together with him and despising the saints. He says: “What does it matter if some appear outwardly to be virtuous and admirable people? The Judge does not see only what is outward; he also brings every secret to light.”

You see, then, that for two reasons — or rather three — exact judgment does not belong to us. First, because even if we know nothing against ourselves, we still need someone to call our sins strictly to account. Second, because most of what is done escapes us and is hidden. And third, besides these, because many things others do seem good to us, yet do not come from a right mind. So why do you say that this or that person has committed no sin? That so-and-so is better than so-and-so? We are not to pronounce this even about someone who knows nothing against himself. For it is the one who discerns secrets who judges with certainty. Look at this, for example: “I, for my part, know nothing against myself; yet I am not counted righteous by this — that is, I am not released from the accounts I must give, or from the charges I must answer.” For he does not say, “I do not rank among the righteous,” but, “I am not pure from sin.” Elsewhere too he says, “He who has died is counted righteous from sin” (Romans 6, verse 7) — that is, “is set free.” [g]

Again, many things we do are good, yet not done with a right mind. For instance, we praise many people, not because we want to make them stand out, but to wound others by means of them. The deed itself is right, for the one who does well is being praised; but the intention is corrupt, for it is done with a satanic purpose. Many a person has often done this, not because he rejoices with his brother, but because he wants to wound the other side.

Again, a man has made a great mistake. Someone else, wanting to undermine him, says he has done nothing wrong, and comforts him, supposedly, in his error by pointing to the frailty that all human nature shares. But often he does this not from any wish to sympathize, but to make him more comfortable in his faults.

Again, a man often rebukes, not so much to correct and warn as to parade and dramatize his neighbor’s sin in public. People do not know our intentions themselves; but “He who searches the hearts” (Romans 8, verse 27) knows them perfectly, and he will bring all such things into view at that time. That is why Paul says, “who will bring to light the secret things of darkness and reveal the purposes of the hearts.”

Since, then, even where we “know nothing against ourselves” we cannot be clear of accusations, and where we do something good but not with a right mind we are liable to punishment, think how badly people are deceived in their judgments. For all these matters cannot be reached by human beings, but only by the Eye that never sleeps; and though we may deceive people, our clever arguments will never work against him. [i]

So do not say, “Darkness is around me, and walls; who sees me?” For he who alone formed our hearts knows all things himself: “For darkness is not dark to him” (Psalm 139, verse 12). And yet the one who is committing sin says it, and says it rightly: “Darkness is around me, and walls.” For if there were no darkness in his mind, he would not have thrown off the fear of God and done as he pleased. Unless the ruling part of the soul is darkened first, it is impossible for sin to come in without fear. So do not say, “Who sees me?” For there is one who “pierces even to soul and spirit, joints and marrow” (Hebrews 4, verse 12). But you do not see yourself, nor can you pierce the cloud; as if walls surrounded you on every side, you have no power to look up to heaven.

Take any sin you like; let us examine it first, and you will see that this is how it is born. Robbers and those who dig through walls, when they want to carry off something valuable, put out the lamp and then do their work; and people’s twisted reasoning does the same in those who are committing sin. For in us too there is certainly a light always burning: the light of reason. But if the spirit of wickedness comes rushing on with its strong blast and puts out that flame, it immediately darkens the soul, overpowers it, and at once strips it of everything stored up inside.

For when the soul is taken captive by unclean desire, that desire blocks the mind’s foresight, as a cloud or mist blocks the body’s eyes, and lets it see nothing at any distance — no cliff edge, no hell, no fear. From then on, with that deceit ruling over him like a tyrant, he is easily conquered by sin. It is as though a wall without windows were raised before his eyes, which does not let the ray of righteousness shine in on the mind, for the absurd fancies of lust enclose it like a rampart on every side. And from that time on the unchaste woman meets him everywhere, standing before his eyes, before his mind, before his thoughts.

The blind, even when they stand at high noon directly under the midpoint of the sky, do not take in the light, because their eyes are tightly shut. In just the same way these people, though countless teachings of salvation sound in their ears from every side, have their souls taken up with this passion and stop their ears against such words. Those who have tried it know this well. But far be it from you to learn it by experience!

And it is not only this sin that has these effects, but every misplaced love as well. Let us move the argument, if you like, from the unchaste woman to money, and here too we will see a thick, unbroken darkness. In the first case, since the object of love is one and confined to one place, the feeling is not so violent. But money shows itself everywhere — in silversmiths’ shops, in taverns, in gold foundries, in the houses of the wealthy — and so the passion blows a raging gale. When the man who has this disease looks with desire at slaves strutting in the marketplace, at horses with golden harness, at men decked out in costly clothes, the darkness that surrounds him grows intense.

And why speak of houses and silversmiths’ shops? For my part, I think such people are convulsed, go wild, and rave even if they see wealth only in a picture or an image. So the darkness gathers around them from every side. If they happen to see a portrait of the king, they do not admire the beauty of the precious stones, or the gold, or the purple robe; they waste away with longing. The wretched lover I spoke of before clings to the lifeless thing even if he sees only a picture of the woman he loves. In the same way this man too, looking at a lifeless image of wealth, is affected still more strongly, since he is gripped by a more tyrannical passion.

From then on he must either stay at home, or, if he ventures into the public square, come home with countless wounds, for many are the sights that pain his eyes. Just as the lover sees nothing but the woman, so this man hurries past the poor and everything else, so that he may not get even a little relief. But he fixes his eyes steadily on the wealthy, and by looking at them lets the fire into his own soul, fiercely and violently. For it is a fire that wretchedly devours anyone who falls into it. Even if no hell were threatened and no punishment, this condition would itself be punishment: to be tormented continually and never able to find an end to the sickness.

Well, these things alone might be enough to persuade us to flee from this disease. But there is no greater evil than thoughtlessness, which nails people to things that bring grief of heart and no advantage. That is why I urge you to cut off the passion at its beginning. When a fever first attacks, it does not burn the sick violently with thirst; but as it grows and its fire rises, it produces a thirst that cannot be cured from then on, and even if you let them drink their fill, it does not put out the furnace but makes it burn fiercer. The same thing happens with this passion. Unless we stop it and shut the doors when it first invades our soul, once it has got in, it makes the disease of those who let it in incurable. For good things and bad alike become stronger the longer they stay in us.

And anyone can see this happening in everything else too. A plant only lately set in the ground is easily pulled up, but not once it has been rooted a long time; then it takes a strong lever. A building newly put together is easily knocked down by those who push against it, but once it is well settled, it gives great trouble to those who try to pull it down. And a wild beast that has made its usual haunt in a place for a long time is hard to drive away. So I urge those who are not yet held by this passion not to be taken captive by it. It is easier to guard against falling into it than to get away once you have fallen.

But to those who have been seized and broken down by it, if they will consent to put themselves in the care of the word of healing, I promise, by the grace of God, great hope of salvation. For if they think about those who suffered and fell into this disease and recovered, they will have good hope of being rid of it. Who, then, ever fell into this disease and was easily freed from it? The well-known Zacchaeus. For who could be fonder of money than a tax collector? Yet all at once he became a man of strict, disciplined life and put out all that blaze. Matthew likewise: he too was a tax collector, living by constant plunder. But he too all at once stripped off the evil, quenched his thirst, and went after spiritual gain. So look at these men and others like them, and do not despair, you either. If you are willing, you will soon be able to recover. And if you like, we will prescribe exactly what you should do, following the rule of physicians. [j]

The first thing of all, then, is to get this right: that we never lose heart or despair of our salvation. Next, we must look not only at the examples of those who have done well, but also at the sufferings of those who persisted in sin. As we have considered Zacchaeus and Matthew, so we ought also to take account of Judas, Gehazi, Achan, Ahab, Ananias and Sapphira — so that by the first we may throw off all despair, and by the second cut off all laziness, and so that the soul may not grow careless about the remedies prescribed. And let us teach them to say of their own accord what the Jews said that day when they came to Peter: “What must we do to be saved?” (Acts 2, verse 37; compare Acts 16, verse 30). And let them hear what they must do.

What, then, must we do? We must learn how worthless these things are: that wealth is a runaway slave, and a faithless one, and that it surrounds those who own it with countless evils. Words like these we must keep sounding in their ears, like charms. Doctors soothe their patients when they ask for cold water by saying that they will give it, and then make excuses about the spring, and the cup, and the right moment, and much else besides; for if they refused outright, they would drive them wild with frenzy. Let us act the same way toward the lovers of money. [n]

When they say they want to be rich, let us not tell them at once that wealth is an evil thing. Let us agree, and say that we want it too, but in due time; yes, true wealth; yes, the kind that holds a pleasure that never dies; yes, the kind that is gathered for yourself and not for others, and those others often our enemies. And let us bring out the lessons of true wisdom and say, “We do not forbid riches, only riches gotten wrongly. For it is permitted to be rich, but without greed, without plunder and violence, and without a bad name among everyone.” With arguments like these let us first calm them down, and not yet speak of hell, for the sick man cannot yet bear such talk. So let us draw all our arguments on these matters from this present life, and say:

“Why do you choose to get rich by greed? So that the gold and the silver may be stored up for others, while for you there are curses and countless accusations? So that the man you have cheated may be stung by the lack of the barest necessities of life, and weep over his lot, and bring down on you the condemnation of thousands? So that at nightfall he may wander about the marketplace, stopping everyone he meets in the lanes, utterly at a loss, not knowing what to count on even for that one night? For how is he to sleep, after all, with his stomach aching and hunger giving him no rest, and often while it is freezing and the rain is coming down on him?

“And while you come home from the bath, freshly washed, glowing in soft clothing, merry and happy, and hurrying to a costly banquet already laid out, he is driven all over the marketplace by cold and hunger. He makes his rounds, stooping low and stretching out his hands. He does not even have the courage to ask, without trembling, for the food he needs from someone so well fed and so set on his own ease; often he even has to go away insulted.

“So when you have come home, when you lie down on your couch, when the lamps around your house are shining bright, when the table is set and plentiful, at that moment call to mind that poor, miserable man, wandering about like the dogs in the lanes, in darkness and in mud; unless, as often happens, he leaves there to go not to a house, or a wife, or a bed, but to a heap of straw, like the dogs we see howling all through the night. And you, if you see so much as a little drop falling from the roof, throw the whole house into an uproar, calling your slaves and disturbing everything, while he, lying in rags and straw and dirt, has to bear all the cold.”

What wild beast would not be softened by these things? Who is so savage and inhuman that these things would not make him gentle? And yet some have reached such a pitch of cruelty that they even say these people deserve what they suffer. When they ought to pity them, and weep, and help to relieve other people’s misfortunes, they do the opposite and attack them with savage and inhuman condemnation. I would gladly ask these people: Tell me, why do they deserve what they suffer? Is it because they want to be fed and not to starve? You will reply: “No, it is because they want to be fed while doing nothing.” And you, are you not living in idle luxury yourself? What am I saying? Are you not often toiling at an occupation worse than any idleness: grabbing, and oppressing, and coveting? It would be better if you too were idle in the way they are, for it is better to be idle like that than to be greedy. But as it is, you even trample on other people’s misfortunes. You are not only idle, not only busy at an occupation worse than idleness, but you also speak ill of those who spend their days in misery.

And let us go on to tell them about the disasters of others: the untimely loss of loved ones, those who live in prison, those torn to pieces before the judges’ bench, those trembling for their lives, women widowed when they least expected it, the rich suddenly ruined. With these let us soften their minds. For by our stories about others we will lead them, one way or another, to fear these evils for themselves too. They hear that the son of so-and-so, a greedy and grasping man, or the wife of so-and-so, who did many tyrannical things, suffered endless afflictions after the husband’s death: the people he had wronged set upon the wife and the children, and war was raised against his house from every side. Then, though a man be the most senseless creature alive, he will expect to suffer the same himself, and will fear that his own family may meet the same fate, and he will become more moderate. And we find life full of stories like these, so we will never be at a loss for correctives of this kind.

But when we say these things, let us not say them as advice or counsel, so that our talk does not become tiresome. Rather, let us come around to that kind of conversation each time as though in the course of telling a story, one thing leading to another. Let us keep steering them toward stories of this kind, and let them talk of nothing but subjects like these: how so-and-so’s splendid and famous mansion fell down; how it is now so completely deserted that everything that was in it has passed into others’ hands; how many lawsuits are fought every day over that same property, and what an uproar there is; how many of that man’s relatives have died, either as beggars or in prison.

All these things let us say as though we pity the dead and think little of the things of this life, so that by fear and by pity we may soften the cruel mind. And when we see them shrinking into themselves at these stories, then, and not before, let us bring the teaching about hell before them as well, not as though to frighten them, but as if out of compassion for others. And let us say, “But why speak of the things of this life? Our concern is far from ending with these. A still heavier punishment awaits all such people: a river of fire, and a poisonous worm, and endless darkness, and torments that never die.” If with words like these we succeed in casting a spell over them, we will correct both ourselves and them, and quickly get the better of our sickness.

And on that day we will have God to praise us, as Paul also says: “And then each one will have praise from God.” The praise that comes from people is fleeting, and sometimes it springs from no good intention. But the praise that comes from God lasts forever and shines out clearly. For when he who knew all things before they were made, and who is free from every passion, gives praise, then the proof of our virtue is beyond all question.

Knowing these things, then, let us live so as to be praised by God and to gain the greatest blessings. May God grant us all to obtain them, through the grace and love for humankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory, power, and honor to the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and always, and to all the ages of eternity. Amen.