‘The Wisdom of the Desert’ by James O. Hannay; 1904 ~ Chapter IV – ‘How We Ought to Return Good for Evil’; points I-II; part I; pages 37-40
Chapter IV ~ How We Ought to Return Good for EvilLove your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. —St. Matt. v. 44.
"My friend," said the bishop, "before you go take your candlesticks." He went to the mantlepiece, fetched the two candlesticks, and handed them to Jean Valjean. "Now," said the bishop, "go in peace, Jean Valjean, my brother, you no longer belong to evil, but to good. I have bought your soul of you." —Victor Hugo, Les Miserables.
WE can pass quite naturally from the consideration of what the hermits taught about dying to the world to the stories which illustrate the ideal of returning good for evil. Indeed, when we think of death to the world, as evidenced by the patient endurance of wrong, the passing over to the thought of returning good for such evil is so gradual that it is hard sometimes to decide under which heading to place some particular story or exhortation. Yet there seems to be a real difference between the two groups of stories. Those which illustrate death to the world are concerned chiefly with the inner life of the hermit himself. Their interest centres in the condition of his soul and its approach to the ideal of suffering with Christ. In those which deal with returning good for evil the point of moral stress shifts, and the action of the hermit is thought of mainly as it affects the man who did the injury. This distinction is not merely arbitrary. It goes back to the twofold way in which the cross of Christ is viewed. When the contemplative soul dwells mainly on the sufferings of the cross, and love is aroused to attempt to take a sympathetic share in the pain, we have the stories of self-crucifixion and death to the world. Where, on the other hand, the thought of the death on the cross as a sacrifice is predominant—that is, of a life given that others might have life—we come upon a series of stories in which the main stress lies upon the effect on others of our imitating Christ. This thought comes very clearly before us in the beautiful interpretation which the abbot Poemen gives of the words: "Greater love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life for his friend." Here the listener's mind was taken back at once to the cross of Christ and he is shown, not so much how he is to be partaker of the sufferings as how he is to share in the Lord's work of sacrifice. The same thought is present, if less obviously, in the story of the old man who kissed the hands of the brother who had robbed him.
There is nothing in this part of the hermit's teaching which should be strange to any Christian. It is impossible, in the face of the Lord's words in the Sermon on the Mount, to accuse their conduct even of exaggeration. All that we find wonderful is the extreme simplicity with which they understood the sayings of the Lord and adopted them as a practical rule of life. For most men there is need of certain explanations, of an effort of the intellect, of casuistry, before the Lord's commands can be reconciled with the maxims which direct the ordinary life. It is necessary to write some gloss beside. the saying—"If any man take away thy coat, let him have thy cloak also." Otherwise we cannot but be conscious of a divergence between the conduct which life seems to render necessary and that which is recommended by the Lord. For the hermits and their admirers no such necessity existed. They took the commands of Christ and obeyed them as if such obedience involved no absurdity. Strange as it must seem to many men, their literal obedience resulted not in an impossible deadlock and the dissolution of social relationships, but in an incomparably great type of character, and frequently in the reclamation of sinners whom methods less apparently absurd would have confirmed in their viciousness. Thus the conduct of Anastasius towards the brother who stole his book was, from the world's point of view, absurd. It is impossible to conceive of the continued existence of any society in which the majority of men not only refused to punish, but actually rewarded thieves. In the assistance which St. Macarius rendered to the robbers who were rifling his cell, the absurdity reaches a climax. Yet Anastasius rescued his brother's soul from perdition, and if in the case of St. Macarius we know nothing of the effect of his acts on the robbers, our hearts are at least enriched with the conception of a man whose spirit was the very spirit of the Lord.
It is perhaps especially interesting to notice that even in the case of postulants, whose hearts shrank back from the prospect of offering the other cheek to the smiter, there is no effort to evade the direct literalness with which the hermits interpreted our Lord's commands. They hoped, apparently, to be somehow excused from obedience. It did not occur to them to cast round for an explanation of the words which would enable them to think of themselves as obeying while they refused to obey literally. The view which the hermits took of what the world calls justifiable resistance of evil is well exemplified in the story of the brother to whom the abbot Poemen wrote a letter. The hermit's action when the robbers attacked him seems to have been most natural and right. He called for help, and the robbers were caught and imprisoned. Yet on account of what he had done, his conscience would not let him rest. Poemen explained to him where his sin lay and why his conscience troubled him. He ought, so it seems, to have acted as St. Macarius did under such circumstances. But, it may be asked, what then would become of society, of the security which civilisation has brought with it for property and life? I do not suppose that the hermits could have answered the question. I can imagine only that they would have parried it with another. What otherwise is to become of the commandments of Christ?
I ~ How an old man blessed one who injured him.
A certain brother came to the cell of an elder, one well known among the brethren for his holiness. Entering in, he stole the food which was there. The old man saw him, but did not accuse him. He only laboured more diligently to supply again what he had lost, saying in his heart, "I am sure that my brother must have been in great need, for else he would not have stolen." In spite of his toil, the old man came to endure great suffering for want of food. At last he was brought even to the point of death. The brethren, knowing only that he was dying, came and stood round his bed. Among them he saw the brother who had stolen his food. "Come hither to me," he said to him. Then taking his hands and kissing them, he said to those who stood around, "I pay my thanks to these hands, brethren, for because of them I am going, as I trust, to enter the kingdom of heaven."
Then that brother was stricken to the heart, and repented. He also in the end became an eager monk, wrought upon by the deeds of the elder which he saw.
II ~ How the abbot Sisois taught a brother that the desire of vengeance separates a man from God.
There was a certain brother who had suffered an injury at the hands of another. Coming to the abbot Sisois, he explained the wrong which he had suffered, and then said, "My father, I desire to be avenged." The old man begged him to leave his avenging in the hands of God, but he persisted, saying, "I cannot rest until I have well avenged myself." Then Sisois said to him, "Since your mind is altogether made up with regard to this matter, I need not reason with you. Let us, however, pray together." Thus saying, he arose and began to pray in these words: "O God, Thou art no longer needful to us. We do not require Thy care of us. We ourselves are willing, yea, and are able to avenge ourselves." As soon as the brother, who had desired vengeance, heard these words, he fell at the old mass feet and begged for pardon. "As for him with whom I was angry," he said, "I shall not in any way contend with him."
Image: Beato Fra (c. 1387-1455) Angelico ~ ’Deposition from Cross’ or ‘Altarpiece of Holy Trinity’, circa, 1432, detail