Homily 12 — First Corinthians 4, verses 6 to 9

“Now these things, brothers and sisters, I have transferred in a figure to myself and Apollos for your sakes, so that in us you might learn not to think of men above what is written.” [a]

As long as there was need for words as harsh as these, he held back from drawing up the curtain, and went on arguing as though he himself were the one they were aimed at. That way the high standing of the men who seemed to be under censure would hold back those who were doing the censuring, and leave them no room to fly into a rage at the charges. But when the time came for a gentler method, he strips off the disguise, removes the mask, and shows who the people were that had been hidden under the names of Paul and Apollos. That is why he said, “These things, brothers and sisters, I have transferred in a figure to myself and Apollos.”

It is like what happens with the sick. When a child who is unwell kicks and turns away from the food the physicians offer, the attendants call the father or the tutor and ask them to take the food from the physician’s hands and bring it, so that out of fear of them the child may take it and be quiet. So too Paul. He meant to rebuke them about certain other people, some of whom, he thought, were being wronged, and others honored beyond measure. He did not name those people themselves, but carried on the argument in his own name and in that of Apollos, so that out of reverence for these two they might accept his treatment. But once it had been accepted, he immediately makes known on whose behalf he had been speaking this way.

Now this was not hypocrisy, but a stooping down to meet them, and tact. If he had said openly, “As for you, the men you are judging are holy men and worthy of all admiration,” they might have taken it badly and recoiled. But as it was, by saying, “But with me it is a very small thing that I should be judged by you,” and again, “Who is Paul, and who is Apollos?” he made his words easy to accept. If you notice, this is the reason he says here, “These things I have transferred in a figure to myself for your sakes, so that in us you may learn not to be wise above what is written.” He means that if he had applied his argument to them in their own persons, they would not have learned all they needed to learn, nor would they have accepted the correction, being annoyed at what was said. But as it was, since they revered Paul, they took the rebuke well.

But what does “not to be wise above what is written” mean? It is written (Matthew 7, verse 3), “Why do you look at the speck that is in your brother’s eye, but do not notice the beam that is in your own eye?” and, “Do not judge, so that you will not be judged.” For if we are one and bound together with one another, we ought not to rise up against one another. For “he who humbles himself will be exalted,” he says. And (Matthew 20, verses 26 and 27; Mark 10, verse 43; not word for word), “Whoever wants to be first of all, let him be the servant of all.” These are the things that “are written.” [d]

“So that none of you may be puffed up for one against another.” Again, having let the teachers go, he rebukes the disciples, for it was they who made the teachers proud. Besides, the leaders would not have taken that kind of speech quietly, because of their desire for outward glory; that passion had even blinded them. The disciples, on the other hand, since they were not reaping the fruits of the glory themselves but securing it for others, would bear the scolding with better temper, and it was more in their power than in the leaders’ to destroy the disease.

It seems, then, that this too is a sign of being “puffed up”: to be proud on someone else’s account, even when a person has no such feeling about what is his own. For just as the man who is proud of another’s wealth is so out of arrogance, so it is with another’s glory.

And he has put it well in calling it “being puffed up.” When one particular member rises up above the rest, that is nothing but inflammation and disease; for in no other way does one member become higher than another, except when a swelling takes place. So it is in the body of the church too. Whoever is inflamed and puffed up must be the diseased one, for he is swollen out of proportion to the rest; that is what we mean by “swelling.” In the body it comes about when some false and harmful fluid gathers in place of the usual nourishment. That is how arrogance is born too: notions we have no right to come over us. And notice how exactly he says, “Do not be puffed up.” For what is puffed up has a kind of swelling of the spirit, from being filled with a corrupt fluid.

Yet he says these things not to forbid all paying court to others, but only the kind of paying court that leads to harm. “Would you wait on this person or that? I do not forbid you. But do not do it to someone else’s injury.” For teachers were not given to us so that we might line up against one another, but so that we might all be united with one another. A general is set over the army for this very purpose: to make one body out of those who are separate. But if he is going to break up the army, he stands in the place of an enemy rather than a general.

Verse 7: “For who makes you different? And what do you have that you did not receive?” [f]

From this point, letting those who are governed go, he turns to those who govern. What he says comes to this. How is it clear that you deserve praise? Has any judgment been held? Any inquiry made? Any trial? Any strict testing? No, you cannot say so. And if people cast their votes for you, their judgment is not honest. But suppose you really do deserve praise and really have the gift of grace, and that people’s judgment is not corrupt. Even so it would not be right to be proud, for you have nothing of yourself; you received it from God. Why, then, do you pretend to have what you do not have? You will say, “But I have it.” And others have it along with you. Well then, you have it because you received it: not merely this thing or that, but everything you have, whatever it is.

These excellent things do not belong to you, but to the grace of God. If you name faith, it came from his calling. If it is the forgiveness of sins you speak of, or spiritual gifts, or the word of teaching, or the miracles, you received them all from there. Now tell me, what do you have that you have not received, but have achieved on your own? You have nothing to say. Very well: you have received. And does that make you proud? No, it ought to make you shrink back into yourself. For what was given is not yours, but the giver’s. What if you did receive it? You received it from him. And if you received it from him, what you received was not yours. And if all you did was receive what was not your own, why are you exalted as though you had something of your own? That is why he also added, “And if you did receive it, why do you boast as though you had not received it?”

So, you see, he has won his point by granting their claim for the sake of argument. Now he shows that they are lacking, and in not a few things either. He says, “In the first place, even if you had received everything, it would not be right to boast, for nothing is your own. But as things really stand, there are many things you do not have.” At the beginning he only hinted at this, saying, “I could not speak to you as to spiritual people,” and, “I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified.” But here he does it in a way that shames them, saying, in verse 8: “Already you are filled, already you are rich.” [g]

That is: you lack nothing from now on; you have become complete; you have reached the very summit; you need no one, as you think, whether among apostles or teachers.

“Already you are filled.” He does well to say “already,” for by the time involved he points out how incredible their claims were and how unreasonable their opinion of themselves. So it was in mockery that he said to them, “How quickly you have come to the end!” That was impossible in so short a time, for all the more perfect things wait far off in the future. To be “full” on a little is the mark of a feeble soul, and to imagine oneself “rich” on a little, of a sick and miserable one. For godliness is something one can never have enough of. It shows a childish mind to imagine from the mere beginnings that you have gained the whole, and for people who have not yet reached even the opening notes of a thing to be proud as though they had laid hold of its end.

Then with what follows he shames them still more. Having said, “Already you are full,” he added, “You have become rich; you have reigned without us. And I wish to God you did reign, so that we also might reign with you!” The words are full of great severity, and that is why they come last: he brings them in after all that reproof. For our warning is respected and easily received when, after our accusations, we bring in words that shame. This is enough to hold back even a shameless soul and to strike it more sharply than a direct accusation, and to correct the bitterness and hardness that the charge is likely to stir up. It is certain that this, more than anything else, is what is admirable about arguments that appeal to our sense of shame: they have two opposite advantages. On the one hand, they cut deeper than an open attack; on the other, they make the person rebuked bear that sharper stab more patiently.

“You have reigned without us.” There is great force in this, touching both the teachers and the disciples. It points out their ignorance of themselves too, and their great thoughtlessness. What he says is this: “In the labors,” he says, “everything is shared between us and you; but in the rewards and the crowns you come first. I do not say this out of annoyance.” That is why he also added, “I wish you did reign.” Then, so that it would not seem to be irony, he added, “so that we also might reign with you.” For, he says, we too would then have these blessings. Do you see how he shows in himself, all at once, his severity, his care for them, and his self-denying mind? Do you see how he brings down their pride?

Verse 9: “For I think that God has put us apostles on display last of all, as men doomed to death.”

Once again there is great depth of meaning and severity in his saying “us.” And not content even with this, he added his rank as well, striking at them hard: “us the apostles,” who are enduring countless sufferings, who are sowing the word of godliness, who are leading you into this strict way of life. These, he says, God “has put on display last, as doomed to death,” that is, as condemned. He had said, “so that we also might reign with you,” and by that expression had eased his sharpness so as not to discourage them. Now he takes it up again with greater weight and says, “For I think that God has put us apostles on display last, as men doomed to death.” “From what I see,” he says, “and from what you say, the lowest of all people, and condemned in the fullest sense, are we, who are put forward to suffer without end. But in your imagination you already have a kingdom and honors and great rewards.” And wanting to push their reasoning to still greater absurdity, and to show it to be utterly beyond belief, he did not merely say, “We are last,” but, “God has made us last.” Nor was he satisfied with saying “last”; he added “doomed to death” as well, so that even someone entirely without understanding might feel the claim to be quite unbelievable, and his words to be those of a man who is vexed and is shaming them hard.

Notice, too, Paul’s good sense. The very things by which, at the proper time, he lifts himself up, shows himself worthy of honor, and makes himself great — by these same things he now puts them to shame, calling himself “condemned.” That is how much it matters to do everything at the right moment. By “doomed to death” he means here “condemned,” and deserving ten thousand deaths.

“For we have become a spectacle to the world, and to angels, and to men.” [h]

What does “We have become a spectacle to the world” mean? “Not in a single corner, nor in a small part of the world, do we suffer these things,” he says, “but everywhere and before everyone.”

But what does “to angels” mean? It is possible to “become a spectacle to men” without becoming one to angels, when the things done are ordinary. But our contests are such as to be worth the angels’ watching. See how, from the very things by which he runs himself down, he again shows himself great; and from the things they are proud of, how he shows up their smallness. It was thought a meaner thing to be foolish than to seem wise, to be weak than to be strong, to be without honor than to be glorious and distinguished. He was about to lay the one set of names on them while he himself accepted the other. So he shows that his own are better than theirs, since because of them he turned the eyes of the crowd — I do not say of people only, but of the very angels — to watch him and those with him. For our wrestling is not with people only, but with the bodiless powers as well. That is why a mighty theater sits watching.

Verse 10: “We are fools for Christ’s sake, but you are wise in Christ.” Again, he said this too in a way that shames them, implying that these opposites cannot agree, and that things so far apart cannot go together. “How can it be,” he says, “that you are wise, but we are fools, in the things that concern Christ?” That is: the one sort beaten and despised and dishonored and counted as nothing, the others enjoying honor and looked up to by many as wise and prudent people — this is what gives him occasion to speak this way. It is as if he had said, “How can it be that those who preach such things should be seen to be practicing the very opposite?”

“We are weak, but you are strong.” That is, we are driven about and persecuted, but you enjoy ease and have many people waiting on you. Yet the nature of the good news does not allow that.

“We are despised, but you are honored.” Here he sets himself against the well-born and against those who prided themselves on outward advantages.

“Even to this present hour we both hunger and thirst, and are naked, and are beaten, and have no settled home; and we labor, working with our own hands.” That is: “It is not an old story I am telling, but just what the present moment itself bears witness to: that we take no account of human things, nor of any outward show, but look to God alone.” And this is what we too need to practice everywhere. For not only are angels watching, but, even more than they, the one who presides over the spectacle.

So let us not desire anyone else to applaud us. That is an insult to him: as though he were not enough to admire us, we hurry past him and make our way as fast as we can to our fellow servants. Those who compete in a small theater look for a large one, as though the first were not big enough for their display. So too those who compete in the sight of God and then look for people’s applause: they give up the greater praise, eager for the lesser, and bring severe punishment on themselves.

What but this has turned everything upside down? This is what throws the whole world into confusion: that we do everything with an eye to people. Even in our good deeds we count it nothing to have God as our admirer, and look instead for the approval that comes from our fellow servants; and in the opposite things, again, we despise him and fear people. And yet those people will stand with us before that judgment seat and do us no good, while God, whom we despise now, will himself pass sentence on us.

But even though we know these things, we still gape after people, and this is the first of sins. If someone were watching, no one would choose to commit sexual immorality. Even if a man is on fire ten thousand times over with that plague, the tyranny of the passion is overcome by his respect for people. But in God’s sight people not only commit adultery and sexual immorality; many have dared, and still dare, to do other things far more dreadful. Is this alone not enough to bring down ten thousand thunderbolts from above? Adultery and sexual immorality, did I say? No: things far smaller than these we are afraid to do before people, but in God’s sight we are no longer afraid. In fact, all the world’s evils have come from this: that in things that are really bad we stand in awe, not of God, but of people.

That is why, you see, things that are truly good, but not counted so by most people, become things we turn away from. We do not look into the nature of the things, but pay regard to the opinion of the many. And we act on the same principle in the case of evil things. So certain things that are not really good, but look fine to the many, we pursue as good, out of the same habit. And so on either side we go to our destruction.

Perhaps many will find this remark a little obscure, so we must put it more clearly. When we commit impurity (for we must start from the examples already given), we fear people more than God. So once we have made ourselves subject to them in this way and made them lords over us, there are many other things that seem evil to these lords of ours, though they are not, and these too we run from in the same way.

For example, many people count it a disgrace to live in poverty. And we run from poverty, not because it is disgraceful, nor because we are convinced it is, but because our masters count it disgraceful, and we fear them. Again, to be without honor, looked down on, and without any authority seems to most people a matter of great shame and baseness. This too we run from, not because we condemn the thing itself, but because of our masters’ verdict. And on the opposite side we suffer the same harm. Wealth is counted a good thing, and so are pride and show and being in the public eye. So we pursue these too, and not in this case either because we consider the nature of the things and find them good, but because we are persuaded by our masters’ opinion.

For our master is the people, the great mob: a savage master and a harsh tyrant. It does not even need to give a command to make us listen; it is enough for us just to know what it wants, and without any command we submit, so great is the goodwill we bear it. God threatens and warns us day after day, and he is not heard. But the common people, full of disorder and made up of every kind of dregs, has no need of a single word of command. It is enough for it only to show what pleases it, and we obey at once in everything.

But someone asks: “How is a person to escape these masters?” By getting a mind greater than theirs; by looking into the nature of things; by despising the voice of the crowd; and above all, by training himself to fear, in things that are truly shameful, not people but the Eye that never sleeps, and again, in everything good, to seek the crowns that come from him. For in this way we will not be able to put up with them in the other kind of things either. Whoever, when he does right, judges them unworthy even to know of his good deeds, and is content with the vote God gives, will take no account of them in matters of the opposite kind either. [j]

You will say: “And how can this be done?” Consider what a human being is, and what God is: whom you are deserting, and to whom you are fleeing for refuge. Then you will soon be right in everything. A human being lies under the same sin as you, the same condemnation, and the same punishment. “Man is like a thing of nothing” (Psalm 144, verse 4). He does not judge rightly, and he needs correcting from above. “Man is dust and ashes”; and if he gives praise, he will often give it at random, or out of favoritism, or out of ill will. And if he slanders and accuses, he will do that too from the same kind of motive. But God does not act this way. His sentence is beyond reproach, and his judgment is pure. That is why we must always flee to him for refuge — and not for these reasons alone, but because he made you, and spares you more than anyone does, and loves you better than you love yourself.

Why, then, do we neglect so wonderful a judge to approve of us, and run off to a human being, who is nothing, all rashness, all guesswork? Does he call you wicked and unclean when you are not? Then pity him all the more, and weep because he is corrupt, and despise his opinion, because the eyes of his understanding are darkened. The apostles too were spoken of this way, and they laughed their slanderers to scorn. Or does he call you good and kind? If you really are, do not be puffed up at all by his opinion; and if you are not, despise it all the more, and count the thing a mockery.

Would you like to know how corrupt the judgments of most people are, how useless, how laughable — some of them coming from people who are raving and out of their minds, others from babies at the breast? Listen to what has been the case from the beginning. I will tell you about judgments, not of the common people only, but also of those who were thought the wisest, of those who were lawgivers from the earliest times. For who among the crowd would be counted wiser than someone thought worthy to make laws for cities and peoples? Yet to these wise men sexual immorality seems nothing evil and nothing that deserves punishment. At any rate, no law of the pagans punishes it or brings anyone to trial for it. And if anyone takes another to court for things of that kind, the crowd laughs it to scorn, and the judge will not allow it. Gambling with dice, again, is free of all their penalties; no one among them was ever punished for it. Drunkenness and gluttony, so far from being crimes, are even thought by many to be something fine. At soldiers’ drinking parties men compete fiercely at it; and those who most of all need a sober mind and a strong body are the very ones most of all given over to the tyranny of drunkenness, which utterly weakens the body and darkens the soul. Yet not one of the lawgivers has punished this fault. What could be worse than this madness?

Is the good word of people with minds like these, then, something you long for? And do you not hide yourself in the ground? Even if all such people admired you, ought you not to be ashamed and cover your face at being applauded by people whose judgment is so corrupt?

Again, lawgivers in general count blasphemy as nothing terrible. At any rate, no one was ever brought to trial and punished for blaspheming God. But if a man steals someone’s cloak, or slits his purse, his sides are flayed, and he is often handed over to death; while the man who blasphemes God has no charge laid against him by the pagan lawgivers. And if a married man seduces a servant girl, it seems nothing to the pagan laws, or to people in general.

Would you also like to hear about things of another kind that show their folly? Just as they do not punish these things, so there are others that they actually enforce by law. What are they? They gather crowds to fill the theaters, and there they bring on choruses of prostitutes and of children who have been prostituted — yes, those who trample on nature itself. They seat the whole people up high, and in this way they captivate their city; in this way they crown these mighty kings whom they are forever admiring for their trophies and victories. And yet what could be more tasteless than this honor? What could be more joyless than this delight? Is it from among these, then, that you look for judges to applaud what you do? Is it in the company of dancers and effeminate men and clowns and prostitutes that you are eager to enjoy the sound of compliments? Answer me.

How can these things be anything but proof of the height of folly? For I would like to ask them: is it, or is it not, a terrible thing to overturn the laws of nature and bring in unlawful intercourse? They will certainly say it is terrible; at any rate, they make a show of punishing that crime. Then why do you bring those abused wretches onto the stage — and not only bring them on, but honor them too with countless honors and gifts beyond telling? Elsewhere you punish those who dare such things; but here you spend money on them and support them at public expense, as though they were the city’s common benefactors.

But you will say: “They are disgraced by law.” Then why train them? Why choose the disgraced to pay honor to kings with? Why ruin our cities? Why spend so much on these people?

If they are disgraced, then expulsion is the proper thing for the disgraced. For why did you make them disgraced — to praise them or to condemn them? To condemn them, of course. Is the next thing, then, that although you mark them with disgrace as condemned people, you run to watch them as though they were honorable, and admire and praise and applaud them? And why should I speak of the kind of charms found at the horse races, or at the contests with wild beasts? Those places too, full of every senseless excitement, train the people to a merciless, savage, inhuman temper, and give them practice in watching men torn to pieces, blood flowing, and the ferocity of wild beasts throwing everything into confusion. All these things our wise lawgivers brought in from the beginning — so many plagues! — and our cities applaud and admire them.

But if you like, let us leave these things that are plainly and admittedly abominable, though the pagan lawgivers did not think so, and go on to their respectable institutions; and you will see that these too have been corrupted by the opinion of the crowd. Marriage, for example, is counted an honorable thing (Hebrews 13, verse 4), both by us and by those outside; and it is honorable. But when weddings are celebrated, such ridiculous things take place as you will hear of in a moment. Most people, held fast and deceived by custom, are not even aware how absurd they are, and need others to teach them. For dancing and cymbals and pipes, shameful words and songs, drunkenness and revelry, and the devil’s whole great heap of garbage are brought in then. [m]

I know, of course, that I will seem ridiculous for finding fault with these things, and that most people will charge me with great folly for disturbing the ancient laws; for, as I said before, the deceiving power of custom is great. Nevertheless, I will not stop repeating these things. For there is — there surely is — a chance that, if not all, at least a few will take our words to heart, and will choose to be laughed at along with us rather than have us laugh along with them, with the kind of laughter that deserves tears and overflowing punishment and vengeance.

For how can it be anything but worthy of the utmost condemnation that a young girl who has spent her whole life at home, and been schooled in modesty from earliest childhood, should suddenly be forced to throw off all shame, and from the very start of her marriage be taught shamelessness, and find herself thrust forward among insolent, coarse men, unchaste and effeminate? What evil will not be planted in the bride from that day on? Immodesty, forwardness, insolence, the love of empty glory — since women will naturally go on to want all their days to be like this one. This is why our women become extravagant and wasteful; this is why they lack all modesty; this is where their countless evils come from.

And do not talk to me about custom. If it is an evil thing, let it not be done even once; if it is good, let it be done all the time. Tell me, is sexual immorality not evil? Shall we then allow it to be done just once? By no means. Why? Because even if it is done only once, it is evil all the same. So too with entertaining the bride in this way: if it is evil, let it not be done even once; but if it is not evil, let it be done always.

But someone says: “What then? Are you finding fault with marriage? Tell me.” Far from it! I am not so senseless. I am finding fault with the things so unworthily attached to marriage: painting the face, coloring the eyebrows, and all the other fussy finery of that kind. For from that day on she will draw many lovers, even before the husband intended for her.

“But many will admire the woman for her beauty.” And what of that? Even if she is discreet, she will hardly escape evil suspicion; and if she is careless, she will quickly be caught, since that very day has given her a starting point for loose living.

Yet although the evils are so great, some people — no better than animals without reason — call it an insult when these proceedings are left out, and are indignant that the woman is not put on display before a crowd, not set out as a stage spectacle for everyone to gaze at. Surely they ought rather to count it an insult when these things do take place — a laughingstock and a farce. Even now, I know, people will convict me of great folly and make me a laughingstock. But I can bear the mockery when some gain comes of it. I would indeed deserve to be mocked if, while urging you to despise the opinion of the crowd, I of all people were overcome by that very feeling.

Now look at what follows from all this. Not only by day but in the evening too, they deliberately bring in men who have drunk deeply, befuddled and inflamed with rich food, to gaze on the beauty of the girl’s face. And not only in the house: they lead her in procession through the marketplace as well, to put her on show, escorting her with torches late in the evening so that she may be seen by everyone. By what they do they recommend nothing else than that from then on she should put off all modesty. Nor do they stop even there; they escort her with shameful words. And among the crowd this is a law. Runaway slaves and criminals, thousands of them, desperate characters, go along saying whatever they please without being punished, both against her and against the man who is about to take her into his home. There is nothing dignified about it; all is base and full of indecency. Will it not be a fine lesson in chastity for the bride to see and hear such things? And there is a sort of devilish rivalry among these debauched men to outdo one another in their zeal for insults and foul words, so that they put the whole company to shame; and the ones who go away victorious are those who have found the biggest store of abuse and the grossest indecencies to throw at those around them.

Now I know that I am a troublesome sort of person, disagreeable and gloomy, as though I were cutting some of the pleasure out of life. Why, this is the very reason I mourn: that things so unpleasant are counted a kind of pleasure. For how, I ask, can it be anything but unpleasant to be insulted and abused, to be reviled by everyone together with your bride? If anyone in the marketplace speaks ill of your wife, you make no end of fuss and think life not worth living. Can it be that when you disgrace yourself along with your bride-to-be in front of the whole city, you are pleased and look cheerful about it? Why, what strange madness is this!

But someone says: “The thing is customary.” No — that is the very reason we ought most to lament it, because the devil has fenced the thing around with custom. For since marriage is a solemn thing, the means by which our race is replenished and the cause of many blessings, that evil one, pining away inside, and knowing that it was ordained as a barrier against impurity, brings every kind of impurity into it by a new trick. At any rate, at gatherings like these many virgins have even been ruined. And if it does not happen in every case, that is because for the time being the devil is content with those words and those songs, so shameful, with making a show of the bride in public, and with leading the bridegroom through the marketplace as if in a triumph.

Besides, because all this takes place in the evening, so that not even the darkness may be a veil over these evils, many torches are brought in, and the disgraceful scene is not allowed to stay hidden. For what is the meaning of the huge crowd, the drinking, the pipes? Plainly it is so that not even those who are in their houses, sunk in deep sleep, may remain unaware of what is going on — so that, woken by the pipe and leaning out through their window lattices to look, they may be witnesses of this comedy, such as it is.

And what can one say of the songs themselves, crammed with every uncleanness, bringing in monstrous love affairs, unlawful unions, the ruin of households, and tragic scenes without end, and continually repeating the names “friend and lover,” “mistress and beloved”? And what is still more grievous, young women are present at these things, having stripped off all modesty, in honor of the bride — or rather, I should say, to insult her — throwing away even their own salvation, and in the midst of wanton young men playing a shameless part with their disorderly songs, their foul words, their devilish music. Tell me, then: do you still ask, “Where do adulteries come from? Where does sexual immorality come from? Where do broken marriages come from?”

But you will say: “The women who do these things are not well-born or respectable.” Then why laugh at me for this protest, when you yourself recognized this rule before I said a word? I say: if these proceedings are right, let those well-born women take part in them too. For what if these others live in poverty? Are they not virgins too? Ought they not also to guard their chastity? But as it is, here is a virgin dancing in a public theater full of licentious young men. Tell me, does she not seem to you more disgraced than a prostitute? [n]

But if you say, “Servant girls do these things,” not even so do I clear you of my charge. For these ought not to have been allowed such things either. This is where all these evils come from: we think nothing of our household servants. In our contempt it is enough to say, “He is a slave,” or, “They are maidservants.” And yet day after day we hear, “In Christ Jesus there is neither slave nor free” (Galatians 3, verse 28). Again, if it were a horse or a donkey, you would not overlook it, but would take every pains not to have one of poor quality; and do you neglect your slaves, who have souls like your own? And why do I say slaves, when I might say sons and daughters? What, then, must follow? Grief is bound to come in at once, when all these are going to ruin. And often very great losses follow as well, when valuable gold ornaments are lost in the crowd and the confusion.

Then after the marriage, if a child happens to be born, here again we will see the same folly and many practices full of absurdity. When the time comes to give the infant a name, they do not bother to name it after the saints, as people of old did at first. Instead they light lamps and give them names, and name the child after whichever lamp keeps burning longest, guessing from this that he will live a long time. Then, when it turns out that the child dies young — and there are many such cases — the devil has a great laugh at having made sport of them as though they were silly children. And what are we to say about the amulets and the bells hung on the hand, the scarlet thread, and the other things so full of utter folly, when they ought to surround the child with nothing but the protection of the cross? But as it is, the cross is despised — the thing that converted the whole world, dealt the devil his deadly wound, and overthrew all his power — while the thread and the yarn and the other amulets of that kind are trusted with the child’s safety.

May I mention something even more ridiculous than this? Only let no one accuse us of speaking out of place if our argument goes on to that example too. For anyone who wants to clean an ulcer will not hesitate to soil his own hands first. What, then, is this so very ridiculous custom? It is counted as nothing — and that is why I grieve — yet it is the beginning of folly and of utter madness. The women at the bath, nurses and maids, take up mud, smear it with a finger, and make a mark on the child’s forehead. And if someone asks, “What is the mud for? What is the clay for?” the answer is: “It wards off the evil eye, sorcery, and envy.” Astonishing! What power in mud! What might in clay! What a mighty force it has! It drives off the whole army of the devil! Tell me, can you keep from hiding yourselves for shame? Will you never come to understand the devil’s snares — how, from earliest life, he brings in little by little each of the evils he has devised? If the mud has this effect, why do you not do the same to your own forehead, now that you are a grown man with your character formed, and more likely than the child to have people who envy you? Why do you not smear your whole body with mud as well? I say, if its power is so great on the forehead, why not coat yourself all over with mud? All this is amusement and theater to Satan — and not mockery only, for hell-fire is the end toward which these deceived people are heading.

That such things should be done among the Greeks is no wonder. But that such unseemly things should prevail among those who bow down before the cross, who share in mysteries beyond words, and who practice so lofty a philosophy — this above all is to be lamented, again and again. God has honored you with a spiritual anointing, and do you defile your child with mud? God has honored you, and do you dishonor yourself? When you ought to write on his forehead the cross, which gives a security no one can overcome, do you give this up and throw yourself into Satan’s madness? If anyone looks on these things as trifles, let him know that they are the source of great evils, and that not even Paul thought it right to overlook the smaller things. For tell me, what can be smaller than a man’s covering his head? Yet see how great a matter he makes of it, and with what earnestness he forbids it, saying among many other things, “He dishonors his head” (First Corinthians 11, verse 4). Now if the man who covers himself “dishonors his head,” how can the one who smears his child with mud be doing anything less than making it abominable? How, I want to know, can he bring the child into the priest’s hands? How can you ask for the seal to be placed by the presbyter’s hand on the forehead where you have been smearing mud? No, my brothers and sisters, do not do these things. From earliest life surround them with spiritual armor, and teach them to seal their foreheads with their hand; and before they are able to do this with their own hand, imprint the cross on them yourselves. [o]

And why should anyone speak of the other satanic practices at labor pains and childbirth, which the midwives bring in to their own ruin? Of the outcries raised at each person’s death, and when he is carried out to burial; the senseless wailing; the folly acted out at funerals; the eagerness over people’s tombs; the persistent and ridiculous swarm of mourning women; the keeping of days — I mean the days of coming into the world and of leaving it?

Are these, I ask you, the people whose good opinion you chase after? What can it be but the height of folly to seek eagerly the praise of people so corrupt in their ideas, people whose conduct is all at random, when we ought always to run to the Eye that never sleeps, and look to his sentence in everything we do and say? For these people, even if they approve of us, will have no power to help us. But he, if he accepts what we do, will both make us glorious here and, on the day to come, give us a share in the good things beyond words. May it be the lot of all of us 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 forever and ever. Amen.