Tue qualifications for the christian priest- hood are a subject of infinite importance: for as a faithful, godly, and well instructed ministry is a blessing, so a negligent, vicious, and ill taught ministry, is a curse to any christian community.
Accordingly, various treatises on this sub- ject have been published in all ages, the most celebrated of which is that, a translation of which is now submitted to the English rea- der. It is the oldest production extant on this great argument, and exhibits in detail the sentiments of one of the chief ornaments of the early church. Chrysostom was born lv in the year of our Lord, 354. He was made archbishop of Constantinople in 398, and died in 407.
The work has been continually quoted, and appealed to by all subsequent writers on the qualifications of the ministers of the gospel. Particularly the author of the most noted treatise in our own church on the pastoral care, bishop Burnet, has the following pas- sage in regard to it. After a quotation of some length from the second, third, fourth, and fifth books of the treatise he says—‘ I ‘hope I have drawn out enough to givea ‘ curiosity to such as have not yet read those ‘excellent books, to do it over and over ‘again: for to any, that has a true relish, ‘they can never be too often read. Every ‘reading will afford a fresh pleasure, and ‘new matter of instruction and meditation.’
It seems therefore desirable, that the Eng- lish reader should be put in possession of a work, so recommended.
There is moreover an additional reason for bringing forward this particular work in the present day, because the opinions of the V ta 3 ay cer a early church on the claims, prétensiors, and character of the christian priesthood have of late become in an unusual degree a subject of discussion; and it is therefore greatly to be desired, that the actual facts of the case should be brought as clearly as possible within reach of the christian public.
I have, however, judged it advisable to accompany this publication with a few notes, in the hope of assisting the reader to esti- mate the value, and test the correctness of the sentiments, contained in it, by a reference to the only standard of christian truth, the Bible.
We may thus gain some insight into the state of the early church: for the work before us may be regarded, as a portrait of the prevailing turn of thought and sentiment among the leading christians of the age, when it was written.
I will not enter into that inquiry prema- turely, but will only make one observation on the title, which is prefixed to it. Chry- sostom has adopted the levitical title, priesthood, ‘pwn, in preference to the evangelical al word, presbytership, from which the English word, priest, is a contraction. The words in the original are perfectly distinct, and cannot be mistaken, or confounded. This preference accordingly is an indication of a prevailing disposition in that age unduly to magnify the ministerial office by borrowing the terms, and investing it with all the pecu- liarities, of the levitical priesthood.
At the same time these indications are not to be judged by the consequences, which in other ages have resulted from them. If St. Paul magnified his office, it was surely allow- able for other ministers to magnify it too, provided they did not exceed the limits of christian sobriety. How far this apology is applicable to the eminent writer of this trea- tise, will appear in the sequel. ‘But the mere adaptation of ancient mysteries to a more recent dispensation may be in itself inno- cent, having indeed the hallowed precedent of the prophetic style in its favour, while yet its hability to perversion, and still more its actual perversion by a large section of the vil christian church should make us cautious in the use of it.
There are other sentiments contained in the volume, which will surprise a modern reader, and which will be noticed separately hereafter. But the main subject of inquiry, the spirit, in which the holy office of the ministry ought to be undertaken, and the manner, in which it ought to be discharged, constitutes the value of the work, and will amply reward a diligent perusal.
ON THE PRIESTHOOD.
BOOK THE FIRST.
I wap many good and valued friends, who knew, and conscientiously regarded the laws of friend- ship. But there was one of them, who excelled. all the rest in his regard for me, and aspired to leave them as far behind as they left others, who were indifferent to me. He was one of those, who were always with me: for we ap- plied to the same studies, and attended the same preceptors; we had one common zeal and ardour for the pursuits, in which we were en- gaged; our inclinations were similar, and pro- duced by a similarity of employment. Nor was this the case, merely, while we were at school; but, even after we had left it, when it became necessary to decide upon the course of B 2 life, which it would be best to follow, in this point also we were of one mind: and there were other things, besides these, which contri- buted to preserve our unanimity unbroken: for as neither of us could value himself upon the grandeur of his country above the other, so neither was I possessed of a superfluity of wealth, while he was in the extreme of penury, but the limits of our fortunes resembled the equality of our desires. Our families too were of equal rank; and all things favored our attachment.
But, when the time came for our entering upon that happy state, the life of monks, and the pursuit of the true philosophy, we no longer found our balance even; but his scale, being lighter, mounted aloft, while I, being entangled in the vanities of the world, drew mine down with me, and kept it low by the weight of my youthful follies. From this time, though our friendship remained, unshaken, as before, our intercourse was interrupted; for it was not possible for those, who had devoted, their affections to different objects, to spend their time together: and even, when I at length f Ls 3 emerged a little from the sea of life, though he received me with open arms, we could not again resume our former equality; for now, having got the start of me in point of time, and displayed a superiority of zeal, he rose to a still greater height, and was borne to an immea- surable distance above me. Nevertheless, as he was naturally kind, and had also a great value for my friendship, he separated himself from every one else, and spent the whole of his time in my company, as indeed he would will- ingly have done before, had he not been with- held, as I said, by my backwardness; for it was impossible for one, who frequented the courts of justice, and was constantly hovering about the theatre, to have frequent communica- tions with a person, who was nailed to his books, and never went to the forum.
When therefore he had at length brought me to the same way of life with himself, he at once gave birth to a project, which he had con- ceived long before, though he was till now re- strained, from declaring it: and from this time he never desisted a moment from urging it, as his wish, that we should each leave his own 4 home, and repair to some common habitation; insomuch, that in fact he prevailed upon me, and the matter was in agitation. Nevertheless the continual intreaties of my mother prevented me from granting him this request, or rather from receiving this favour at his hands. For no sooner had she heard of my intention, than she took me by the right hand, and leading me into her own apartment, seated me near her upon the bed, in which I was born, and, after shed- ding a flood of tears, began with words, still more moving than her tears, to vent this Jamen- tation before me.
‘My child,’ (said she) ‘I was not long in- ‘ dulged (such was the will of God) in the en- ‘ joyment of your father’s virtues: for his death, ‘ succeeding my pangs in your birth, at once ¢ entailed upon you the condition of an orphan, ‘and upon me an untimely widowhood, toge- ‘ther with all those miseries of widowhood, ‘ which they only, who have felt them, can ap- ‘ preciate; for no description can adequately ‘represent that troubled sea, into which a ‘young woman, who has just quitted her ‘father’s house, and is still inexperienced in ¢ 6 « n aN n ns n a a a n n A n a ” n wn “ “ un“ n nn 5 the world, is suddenly thrown by that insuf- ferable calamity, by which she is driven to engage in cares beyond her sex and age, and compelled at once to superintend the idleness, and observe the misconduct of domestics, to defend herself against the cabals of her re- lations, and to sustain with fortitude both the insolence of assessors, and their rudeness in collecting the taxes: in addition to all which, should the deceased have left a child behind him, it will, even though a female, be productive of no small uneasiness to her, though in that case unaccompanied with expence or apprehension. But, if it should be a male, it will fill her every day with a thousand alarms, and still more distracting anxieties, to say nothing of the sums, which she must necessarily spend, if she would procure him a liberal education. How- ever, I was not prevailed on by any of these difficulties to engage in a second mar- riage, and to bring a second husband into your father’s family, but abode the tempest and misery without shrinking from the iron ‘furnace of widowhood: for I was in the first 6 ‘ place assisted with strength from above, and ‘secondly found no small alleviation to my ‘ distress in gazing continually upon your coun- ‘tenance, and fostering that living image of ‘my departed husband, which was so accu- ‘rately delineated in your person. In this ‘view, while you were yet an infant, and un- ‘able to speak, which is the age, at which ‘children give most delight to their parents, ‘ you afforded me no trifling consolation: nor ‘have you moreover to say of me, that, with ‘ whatever resolution I bore my widowhood, I ‘have yet diminished your patrimony through ‘ the necessities of widowhood, which has hap- ‘pened to many of my acquaintance through ‘ falling into the unhappy condition of orphans; ‘for I have preserved it entire, and, while ‘T neglected nothing, which became your situ- ‘ation, have defrayed the expence of it wholly ‘from my own purse, and from <hat pro- ‘perty, which I brought with me from my ‘father. Yet IT would not have you imagine, ‘that I say this, to upbraid you. I only in re- ‘turn for all ask you one favour; and that is, ‘that you would wait for my decease, and not n~ ON ”“ “ a a n n n~ “ n “ n ii revive a grief, now laid to rest, by abandoning me to a second widowhood. It cannot be very long, and I shall be gone: for, though the young may with reason hope for length of days, we, who are old, have nothing to ex- pect, but death. As soon therefore as you have committed me to the dust, and laid me by the bones of your father, then set out upon your distant pilgrimage! Sail over what sea you will! There will then be none to impede you. Only, while I have breath, be contented to dwell with me! Do not rashly or without any necessity provoke God by thus exposing me, who have never injured you, to so many evils! If indeed you can charge me with having involved you in secular concerns, and obliged you to look after my own affairs, then disregard at once all the laws of nature, of your education, of our intimacy, or any other tie, and avoid me, as an intriguer and an enemy! But, if I do every thing, that can secure you leisure for pursuing your present course of life, let this bond at least, if nothing else, detain you with me! For though you should profess to have a thousand friends, 8 ‘there is none of them, who will leave you so ‘ much at liberty as I have done, since there is ‘no one, who has a regard for your character, ‘at all comparable to mine.’
This, and much more my mother said to me, and I reported every thing to my generous friend. Nevertheless he not only remained unmoved by these intreaties, but became still more importunate with me than before in press- ing his former suit. However in the midst of this uncertainty, while he was continually in- treating me, and I had not yet given my con- sent, a sudden rumour arose, that alarmed us both. The rumour was, that we were to be advanced to the dignity of the priesthood; on hearing which I was overwhelmed with fear and perplexity, with fear, lest I should be sur- prised against my will, and with perplexity, because I was unable to imagine any reason for entertaining any such design concerning me: for, when I looked into myself, I found there nothing worthy of that honour.
However, my generous friend, fancying, that I had not heard the report, came to me privately, and, when he had told me of it, begged 9 me to act in such a manner, that we might still be observed to agree, as we had always done hitherto, both in our sentiments and actions; for which purpose he professed himself ready to follow whatever course I might adopt, either to elude, or to accept the offer.
When therefore I saw his readiness, it occur- red to me, that I should be guilty of an injury to the whole community of the church, if I were through my own unfitness to deprive the flock of Christ of a young person, who was so good, and so worthy to preside over its mem- - bers: for which reason I resolved not to ac- quaint him with the determination I had formed, although till that time I had never left him in ignorance of any of my designs, but, telling him, that I thought it would be proper to put off our decision on the point till another oppor- tunity, inasmuch as the matter did not imme- diately press, I easily induced him to think no more upon the subject, and used such means as convinced him afterwards, that, if anything of the kind should happen, I would concur with him.
After no great length of time therefore the 10 person arrived, who intended to ordain us. I concealed myself. He, knowing nothing of my design, is introduced to the assembly upon some other pretext, and accepts the yoke, con- fiding in my promise to follow him, or rather imagining, that I was gone before him: for some persons even in the assembly helped to deceive him, and, when they saw him express reluctance at being apprehended, exclaimed, that it would be strange indeed, if, when I, who was universally considered the more self- willed of the two, had yielded submissively to the decision of the fathers, he, so far my supe- rior both in intelligence and propriety of be- haviour, should kick, and start, and struggle, and shew himself both headstrong and ambi- tious. To these solicitations he yielded.
But, when after a time he heard, that I had escaped, he came in to me, and with shame and much confusion in his countenance, having taken his seat near me, prepared to speak, but was so overcome with perplexity, and so unable to describe the violence, that had been done him, that he had no sooner opened his mouth than he found himself incapable of utterance, di di the agony and sorrow of his spirit choking the words, before they had escaped his lips. Seeing him therefore filled with tears, and over- whelmed with confusion, I, who knew the cause of it, laughed for delight, and when I had forcibly seized his right hand, and kissed it, glorified God, that my artifice had succeeded so well, and turned out so agreeably to my wishes.
When therefore he saw me so overjoyed and cheerful, though he was sensible, that I had so lately deceived him, he was the more offended, and after, recovering a little from his distress said—‘ Though you may now despise my inten rests, and have no longer (I cannot tell for a what reason) your former regard for me, you a might at least have been expected to shew n some regard for your own character. Instead n of this you have opened every one’s mouth x against you. Your refusal of this ministry is a universally attributed to a love of vain glory; “ nor is there any one, who exempts you from “ this reproach. Indeed I can no longer go “ with comfort even into the market-place. So n many are there, that daily come up, to upbraid ‘ ¢ ¢ ¢ 12 me: for, when any of our acquaintance see me in the city, they all take me aside, and cast the principal part of their accusations against me. ‘‘ For,” (say they) ‘‘ when you «‘ knew his intention, as indeed none of his de- “sions was ever concealed from you, it was ‘‘ your duty not to assist him in the stratagem, ‘“‘ but to make it known to us: and then we “ should not have been in any want of means ‘to surprise him.” At this charge I blush, n “~ n~ n and am ashamed to tell them, that I knew nothing of your plot beforehand, lest they should ascribe our former friendship to hypo- crisy: for indeed, notwithstanding what has happened, and which you yourself cannot deny, notwithstanding your late behaviour to me, we ought still to conceal our failings from strangers, who, even as it is, have but a poor opinion of us. It is for this cause, that I am unwilling to let them know the real state of the case, and am consequently reduced to the necessity of being silent, of looking down upon the ground, of turning aside, and getting out of the way of those, who would meet me, since, even if I could silence their first accusaa a na a“ ww a a a a a wn a “ a ns wx a n n a a aw a ‘6 13 tions, they would still hold me guilty of a falsehood; for they could never be persuaded, that you place Basil among the number of those, from whom you hide your intentions. However of all this I will say little, since it has proved agreeable to you. How shall we bear up against the obloquy, which awaits us? For some men charge you with contumacy, others with vanity, and those, who are less spa- ring of their reproaches, tax us with both these faults at once, and even add to the number the charge of disrespect towards those, who have done us honour. They even declare, that they would have been justly treated, had they met with greater neglect from us for having passed over so many men of high character, that they might gratify some little children of but yesterday, who are still wrap- ped up in the cares of life, with an occasion of contracting their brows for a while, and put- ting on a grave habit, and making a show of seriousness, by raising them suddenly to an honour, which they could not themselves have aspired to, even in a dream; while those, who from their earliest youth to extreme age have ¢ n n n n n n nn a ” a n 14 kept a strict discipline over themselves, are subjected to their authority, and see boys set over them, that have not yet heard the laws, by which such a charge is to be governed. With such and many more reproaches they continually assail us: and what answer to make to them I know not, but request you to instruct me; for [do not suppose you could have resorted to this concealment without consideration, or that you would rashly pro- voke a quarrel with persons of such consequence. You must certainly have entered ‘upon it with some reflection and premeditaoN n ‘ nn n n “ a n a“ n _ tion: for which reason I presume you have some plea ready for your defence. Tell me then, how we may be prepared to offer any reasonable excuse to our accusers! For as to the injury, which I have myself sustained, I require no account of it, neither of your de- ceit, nor of your treachery, nor of the use you have hitherto had of my friendship: for I have taken up my soul, if I may so express myself, and deposited it in your hands, while you on the other hand have practised a reserve to- wards me, such as you might have practised < ¢ ‘6 wn” CN n n wn n .
wn cn .
ON n n n a n ” ”.
a “ n 15 towards an enemy. Yet surely, if you know their design to be for our advantage, you ought not to have declined the advantage yourself, or if you judged it to be mischievous, then, inas- much as you have always professed to esteem me beyond all others, you were bound to de- liver me too from the mischief; instead of which you have not merely done every thing, which could expose me to a certainty of being taken, but have even conducted yourself with the last degree of hypocrisy and deceit to- wards one, who has always behaved to you both in word and deed with the utmost can- dour and simplicity. However, as I said be- fore, I do not now lay any of these things to your charge, nor do I reproach you with the solitary condition, to which you have reduced me by putting an end to those meetings, from which we have often reaped no common de- light and advantage. All this I pass over, and will bear the whole with silence and modera- tion, not because your offence against me has been moderate, but because from the day, when I first sought your friendship, I imposed upon myself this law, that I would never re- 16 ‘duce you to the necessity of apologizing for wn n n n n“ n ~ n a“ any pain you might give me, though indeed you must yourself be conscious, that the wrong you have now done me is of no trifling conse- quence, if you only bear in mind what has always been said of us by strangers, and in- deed by ourselves too, namely, that it was a great benefit to us to be of one mind, and to shelter ourselves in our mutual friendship; and they even added, that our unanimity might be of no small service to many others. As for any benefit indeed to others, it is what, as far as regards myself, I never ex- pected. But I have ever maintained, that we should be sure to gain this advantage at least, which is no inconsiderable one, from our union, that we should thereby become more secure from the attacks of those, who are ready to quarrel with us. Moreover of this also I have never ceased to remind you. The crisis is arduous, our calumniators many. The genuine gift of charity is gone. The pest of envy has succeeded. We live in the midst of snares. We walk upon the battlements of cities. If any misfortune should befal us, i ‘there are many, who would rejoice at it; and *‘ they surround us from various quarters. But ‘ there is no one, or at least they are very few ‘ indeed, that would condole with us. Be caun tious therefore, lest by any division we should ‘incur great ridicule, and still greater loss!
a One brother, assisted by another, is, as a ‘ strong city, and like a fortified kingdom. Do ‘not dissolve this connexion! Do not break down this fortification! These things, and many more I have been continually saying to n a * you, not suspecting, that such an event would “ever happen, but, though I believed your at- tachment to me to be sound, being yet unne- ‘ cessarily anxious to work a superfluous cure. I little thought, that I was all this while, as it ‘now appears, administering medicine to the a“ na ‘sick: nor yet even so unhappily did I do ‘any good, or obtain any benefit by my pre- ‘caution; for you have thrown away all my ‘medicines at once without regarding any of ‘them, and have turned me adrift, as a vessel ‘without ballast, into the boundless ocean, oN without once reflecting on those wild waves, n which I must necessarily encounter. For, if I Cc wn a n n“ a a a a a n n n .
a .
n a“ a x n a a wn n 18 should ever be assailed by calumny, or ridicule, or any other injustice and insult, (and such things must often happen), to whom shall I fly? To whom shall I communicate my distresses? Who will defend me? Who will restrain those, that annoy me, and cause them to de- sist from their vexations? Who will give me comfort, and encourage me to endure the in- solence of others? There is no one: and you all the while are at a distance from this dread- ful warfare, and cannot even hear my cries. Now do you see, what an injury you have done me? Can you at length, after having wounded me, perceive, that the wound you have inflicted is mortal? However let this pass! For it is impossible to undo what is already done, or to provide an escape for the hopeless. What shall we say to our oppo- nents? What reply shall we make to their accusations?’
‘ Be not’ (said I) ‘ uneasy! I am ready to give you an account not only of this, but, as far as may be, of those actions also, for which you are unwilling to make me accountable: and by your leave I will begin with my ex- 19 ‘ cuse to yourself; for it would be highly irra- ‘ tional, and even absurd, if I were to regard the ‘ opinions of strangers, and adopt every expe- ‘dient, that would enable me to silence their ‘accusations, while yet I cannot so much as * persuade the dearest of all my friends, that I ‘ have not wronged him, but must appear to act ‘towards a person, who has behaved to me ‘ with such moderation as not even to upbraid ‘me with the wrongs he says I have done him, ‘but still to regard only my character and ‘interest, putting aside all thoughts of himself, ‘ with greater indifference than he has shewn ‘ zeal in my favour. In what respect then have ‘J injured you? For it is from this poimt, that ‘I propose to launch out into the deep of this ‘ vindication. Is it, that I have overreached ‘ you, and concealed my own intention? But ‘this was for the interest both of you, whom I ‘ deceived, and of those, to whom by that de- ‘ceit I betrayed you. If indeed all deceit is ‘wrong, and never should be practised, even ‘ for a legitimate purpose, I am ready to submit ‘to any punishment you may direct; or rather, ‘since you will never be brought to inflict it, I Cc -2 ~ a cn n n a w n n ¢ ¢ 20 will condemn myself to those penalties, to which the judges condemn similar offenders, when convicted by their accusers. But, if it be not always hurtful, but is good or bad according to the intention of those, who use it, then cease to upbraid me with deceiving you, and shew, that I have done it with a malicious design! For as long as this is unproved, those, who would act on correct principles, ought not only to desist from blaming and accusing, but should even wel- come the deceiver: for a seasonable deceit, practised with an upright design, is pro- ductive of advantages so considerable, that many have suffered punishment for not com- mitting it. If you examine the conduct of the most approved generals in history, you will find the greater number of their trophies to have been the result of successful fraud, and these generals to have been more extolled than such as have conquered by force of arms: for the latter obtain victory at a greater ex- pence both of treasure and of blood than the former, insomuch, that they gain nothing be- yond their mere success, the conquerors being n n n nn n a a n n nw n is 21 no less distressed both by want of money and loss of men than the conquered: besides which they cannot claim the whole honour of the victory; of which those, who fell, receive a great part, as having conquered in spirit, though their bodies were defeated, because, if it were possible for the wounded not to fall, or if death had not put an end to their exer- tions, they would never have desisted from the struggle. On the other hand he, who contrives to conquer by stratagem, covers his enemies not only with calamity, but with con- tempt also: for in this case the two parties do not divide the reputation of talent between them, as in the other they had done that of courage, but the whole prize belongs to the victor, and, what is of no less consequence, he may convey the pleasure of the victory to his country without alloy: for it is not with the resources of genius, as it is with those of wealth and population. These are things, which by being constantly employed in war are expended, and become lost to their pos- sessors, whereas the others are even augmented by exercise. The frequent use however, and ¢ ¢ n na “ n n a a “~ “~ n n n~ the necessity of fraud are discernible not only in war, but in peace too, not only in affairs of state, but even in a family, being practised by men to their wives, and by wives to their hus- bands, by fathers to their sons, and by friends to their friends, and even by children to their parents: for the daughter of Saul was only able to deliver her husband from the hands of her father by misleading him: and in lke manner her brother with a view of rescuing the same person, whom she had preserved, from a subsequent danger, employed the same weapons, which she had made use of.’
Upon this Basil says. ‘But none of these examples apply to me: for I am neither an opponent, nor an enemy; nor have I ever attempted to injure you, but directly the con- trary: for I have trusted in every thing to your judgment, and in all respects followed your direction.’
‘ True,’ (said 1), ‘my best and most honored friend; and it was for that reason, that I just now said it is honorable to use deceit not only in war, nor only against enemies, but in peace also, and towards the dearest intimates. But, 23 ¢ if you would be convinced, that fraud is some- times for the interest not only of the deceiver, ‘ ¢ but of the deceived, go to any of the physi- ‘ cians, and ask him, how he heals the distem- ‘ pers of his patients! and he will tell you, that ‘he is not contented with science only, but ‘ with a view to recover the invalid sometimes ‘ calls in deceit in aid of his professional skill: ‘ for, when the patient’s waywardness and the ‘ obstinacy of the disease reject the physician’s ‘advice, it then becomes necessary to put on ‘the mask of deceit, that they may be able to ‘ disguise, as upon the stage, the real state of ‘ the fact. If you choose then, I will tell you ‘one stratagem out of many, which (I have ‘ heard) was once practised by a physician. A ‘man was suddenly’ taken ill with a violent ‘fever; and though it increased exceedingly, ‘ yet the sick man refused every thing, that had ‘a tendency to reduce the inflammation. On ‘the contrary the poor wretch wanted, and ‘ earnestly begged every one, who came to him, ‘ to give him a large draught of wine, to gratify ‘his perverted taste; which whoever granted ‘him, would not only aggravate the fever, but ¢ a n n n a 6 ¢ € ¢ ‘ 24 drive him to certain madness. Upon this the faculty, being at a stand, as all their recom- mendations were rejected, had recourse to stratagem; and the effect was such as you shall presently hear. The physician, having taken an earthen cup from the pottery, and dipped it in wine, brought it out again empty, and filled it with water. He then gives orders to darken the room, where the sick man lay, with a quantity of furniture, that the light might not discover the trick, and offers him the cup to drink, as if it had been filled with pure wine. The man, before he took it into his hands, being deceived by the flavour, did not wait, to examine minutely what was given him, but, trusting to his misconception, and being at once deluded by the darkness and impelled by his thirst, caught what was offered to him with much eagerness, and drank it off; after which he soon got rid of the inflammation, and escaped the impending danger. You perceive the advantage of that deceit. Should any one indeed attempt to enumerate all the strata- gems of physicians, the tale would soon swell to an immeasurable length. Nor is this expe- ‘ ‘ ¢ 6 a a n ‘ ¢ na w n“ n “ ry n n n na n n“ n a.
n 25 dient serviceable to those only, who heal the body, but to those also, who have to treat the disorders of the soul. It was thus, that saint Paul won the many multitudes of Jews. It _ was with this view, that he, who wrote to the Galatians—‘“‘ If ye be circumcised, Christ shall profit you nothing,”—yet consented to circum- cise Timothy. It was with this design, that he, who counted the righteousness, which is in the law, to be but loss after faith in Christ, yet became subject to the law. For the prac- tice of deceit has many advantages, provided only it be not employed with a fraudulent de- sign; or rather, when so used, it should not be called deceit, but policy and skill, an art that provides many resources in cases of perplexity, and tends to correct the errors of the soul: for I should not call Phinehas a murderer, although he killed two persons with one stroke, nor Elijah notwithstand- ing the hundred soldiers with their captains, whom he slew, and the torrent of blood, which he shed from those, who had sacrificed to de- mons; for, could this be granted, and were actions to be considered independently withn“ n a“ n “ n 4 « ¢ ¢ ¢ 26 out réference to the intention of those, who performed them, it would be easy to convict even Abraham of infanticide, or to find his grandson guilty of injustice, and his descend- ant of fraud; for it was by such artifices, that the one obtained the birthright, and that the other transferred the wealth of the Egyptians to the army of the Israelites. But this would be impossible, utterly impossible. Away with any such presumption! For we not only ab- solve them from blame, but even admire them for these actions; for which indeed God also has commended them. For he is not to be called a deceiver, who resorts to stratagem, to effect a righteous purpose, but he, who makes use of it from improper motives. There may be cases, in which deception is a duty, and one, by which the greatest good may be effected: and in such cases he, who acts with integrity, would do a serious injury to the person, whom he neglected to deceive.’
BOOK THE SECOND.
‘ More might be said in defence of the maxim, ‘that it is in some cases honorable to deceive, ‘or rather, that in such cases the name of de- ‘ ception is inadmissible, and they ought rather ‘to be described, as specimens of admirable ‘ policy. However, since what has been said is ‘ enough to determine the question, it would be ‘irksome to add unnecessary length to my re- ‘marks. It is now your business to demon- ‘ strate, that what I have done has not been for ‘ your advantage.’
‘And what advantage have I gained’ (said he) ‘ from this policy, or skill of yours (call it ‘by what name you will), which should prove ‘ to me, that you have not deceived me?’
‘What advantage’ (said I) ‘ can be greater ‘than to be engaged in the public exercise of ‘those duties, which Christ himself has pro- ‘nounced to be an evidence of love for himself?
28 ‘ For, speaking to the chief of his apostles, he ‘asked him—‘‘ Peter, lovest thou me?”—and ‘then, when he had answered the question in ‘ the affirmative, subjoined—‘ If thou love me, “‘ feed my sheep!” The master asks the disciple, ‘ whether he loves him, not that he may himself ‘be informed (for how can he receive informa- * tion, who searches the very hearts of all men?) ‘but to convince us, how deeply he is con- ‘cerned for the government of his sheep; from n which tenderness and concern we may rationna ally infer, how vast and unspeakable a reward ‘is laid up for every one, who labors in the performance of duties, on which Christ has set ‘so high a value. For, if we regard the atten- ‘ tion, which others bestow on our domestics or ‘cattle, as an evidence of their love for our- selves, although these are possessions, which ‘may be purchased for money, how will he renx ward his shepherds, who has bought his flock, ‘not with money, or with any thing of that ‘ kind, but by his own death, and who gave his ‘blood, as the price of his sheep? For this “cause, when the disciple said—‘ Lord, thou