It is not idle, most beloved, that among all the vices which assail the life of the human condition, the prophet especially chastises the insolence of the tongue. He knew of necessity that poisons are sometimes compounded by an eager mouth, and that hatreds are frequently procured by too great a facility of the lips. And truly, most beloved, so it is. For the tongue, restless by nature, brings no small detriment of life to mortals, since, when things are well composed, it scatters them, or disturbs things long at peace. But when does it come to pass that a quarrel is stirred up, if the tongue restrains itself? Or what place is there for enmities, where the poisons of words cease? For a malicious tongue always has this trade: to sow strifes, to stir up hatreds, to procure deaths; thus in this passage Solomon says:
'The tongue has disquieted many who had peace; it has destroyed cities, and dug up houses' (Ecclus. XXVIII, 16, 17). They are surely deceived who think that nothing is stronger than iron, nothing more violent than poison: for although these have their peculiar advantage of nature in accomplishing deaths, they nevertheless yield in a contest with words. For nothing is so noxious or malicious that it is not less than its own strength, if once the tongue, incited, has bestirred itself. There are indeed many vices of the human body, and grave enough, but they can do little by their own counsels and powers unless they are armed by another's crimes: such as cruelty, which serves impiety, and guards the gates of hell by the bloody law of death.
But what could falsehood do, if covetousness lay idly asleep? For even the very issue of death would be less, if either the sword failed or the poisons ceased. But the tongue is a singular evil, in which so great a strength of malice exults that in accomplishing its own work it requires no other's help. It must therefore be restrained by us, as the prophet admonishes: lest perchance, when it has burst forth, it either wound when provoked, or strike when incited. For it is not wont to withdraw unpunished, when it has flung itself into the impudence of words. For when stirred it vomits forth flames; and when it seeks to harm another, it inflames the whole breast within, conscious of evil. Hear the prophet saying: 'In much talking you shall not escape sin' (Prov. x, 19).
More easily, if need be, can anyone bear ranks armed with iron and legions equipped with the instruments of war; but who could endure the darts of the lips fixed in his breast? Without doubt bodies torn by iron more easily recover health: or why should anyone lay so much weight of cruel death upon those slain by the sword alone, when there are sometimes fewer perils where there is a greater odium of bloodshed? But whatever is enclosed by an inward collision is always more difficultly healed. It is surely not difficult for a physician to soothe ulcers, however swelling, placed in the eyes, tempered by the benefit of herbs. Even the force of poison has its own remedy; which, though drunk it should reign in the innermost seat of the vitals, yet the wave of a saving cup is sought out;
insomuch that the artificer of crimes sometimes marvels that, upon the arrival of medicine, his incantation availed nothing. But the wound of the tongue is incurable, which, though it strike but lightly, yet always stirs deep sighs of grief in the breast. Without doubt the prophet knew how great an evil was of the tongue, when he cried out: 'Set, O Lord, a guard to my mouth, and a door of enclosure round about my lips, that my heart may not turn aside to evil words' (Ps. cxl, 3, 4). If, therefore, anyone is wise, let him set a guard to his mouth, and give his lips to the bond of silence. But the envy of a wanton tongue assails the endeavors not of one party only.
This man must indeed take care not to utter anything injurious; but no less must that other provide that he beat down the sayings of the raging man by a reasonable response of words. But it is a great endeavor of preserving peace, if you pursue the bitterness of another's tongue with bland address, for a friendly speech quickly confounds the lips of the wicked. But, what is worse, you will more easily find one who wishes either always to speak evil, or gladly to hear evil. Nothing is more savage, nothing more violent than bitter and harsh speeches; whose wounds are healed the more difficultly the more easily they are uttered. The barbs of iron flying through the air you easily despise by the interposition of a shield;
but the cast of words can neither be recalled nor prevented, for they are far swifter than arrows. But what bulwarks could there succor, or what fortification so ready could relieve, where the missile once let loose strikes almost before it goes forth? It cannot be reckoned with how many darts of words the tongue is girded, by which it is ready enough to strike even the more secret things of the soul. But whatever injury the ears receive, they straightway transmit to the secrets of the heart: where, if it has once entered, it does not withdraw without the issue of death. But a thing which, tracked out by no benefits of medicine, is shut in, works pains forever. Wherefore the sound of the tongue must be chastised, lest by the facility of words it make poison.
If we look, most beloved, at all the pains that dominate bodies, you will find nothing that cannot be either healed by iron, or softened by the bland poultice of a remedy. But it can be hidden from no one how grievous are the bites of wolves, how perilous the venom of serpents: but these can easily be resisted either by the juice of herbs or by the physicians' art. But the wound of words is intolerable: another cause of grief can with difficulty heal that which, once fixed in the breast, has secretly invaded the seat of the soul. Hear the prophet saying: 'Death and life are in the hands of the tongue' (Prov. XVIII, 21). Truly, most beloved, if you look to the inner parts, and diligently inquire into the swelling of an exasperated heart, you will find that the wounds of words work deaths.
But why should anyone, in comparison with the malicious tongue, reproach me with the craft of poisoning, and accuse the noxious compoundings of potions? It is every kind of poison, which cannot be checked except by death. All malice indeed descends from the heart; but this very malice, though it be noxious, can easily be borne, if, nourished by wicked counsel, it be not provoked into strife; but let it either grieve in silence, or find rest, folded within its own seats. For the sickness of iniquitous thoughts can be healed just so long as what is conceived in the heart is kept within by a silent mouth. But once the tongue, whirling, has burst forth, in vain does it seek a physician; for the fault of words is without remedy;
for he cannot swiftly recall whatever injury, inserted through the ears, has propagated tears. Hear the Lord saying: 'Make doors and bars for your mouth, and for your words make a balance' (Ecclus. XXVIII, 28). To this perhaps you may reply: Who could so restrain the lips of his mouth as to pass the day in silence? This sentence does not enjoin the bond of silence upon an honorable tongue. It plainly wishes a man to speak; but to speak honorable things, and to think peaceable things. But much honor accrues to words, if no bitterness of mind confounds the sweet-sounding songs of the instrument. We have set these things forth, most beloved, because we have found many who sometimes, in one and the same speech, mingle poisons with sweet words;
and under feigned flatteries of peace they enter the battles of strife. What can be more wretched, what more perilous than these, who by the zeal of a deceitful tongue lie in ambush against another's life? Why do these men not look to that prophetic psalm which says: 'May the Lord destroy deceitful lips' (Ps. xi, 4)? You see under what a curse he lives, who sows one thing in his heart and disposes another on his tongue. Well indeed did the Lord of heaven and earth know that the wicked sometimes deceive the endeavors of the saints by a feigned humility; He who with an evangelical mouth says: 'They come to you in the clothing of sheep, but inwardly they are ravening wolves' (Matt. VII, 15).
It is surely an inextricable evil to mingle deceitful counsels with flatteries. I do not want the suspect sweetnesses of gifts. But who would gladly have sour milk, and things seasoned with the bitter savor of herbs? It can therefore hardly come to pass that he should be able to please anyone who offers at once sweet and salt water. But when does it happen that the taste is not offended, if any bitterness mingle itself with the honey of the comb? The very heart of man, though it be living and wise, lacks whole prudence when the bitterness of gall has infected it. And so all the vices of a crafty mind must be checked: lest, while they begin to prepare certain bitter things outwardly, even those things which are sweet in our mouth should begin to displease.
Hear the prophet saying: 'Set, O Lord, a guard to my mouth.' This is a useful guard of our mouth: that our heart may not easily turn aside to words, whatever base speech utters or the vile bearing of a person contrives for the overthrowing of the endeavors of peace. But amid the confused sounds of the tongue, no one has ever repented of having kept silence. For we frequently see even deeds of words come into accusation, and by too great a facility of words hatreds succeed to friendships. But when can it happen that a man, whether grandiloquent or evil-tongued, is not held ungrateful? Yet if you should inquire into this vice, it superabounds in a good many women: who, as they do not hesitate to say things that are base, so neither are they confounded to hear the things that are shameful.
But neither do we say these things so that anyone should always restrain his voice with a closed mouth, and that perpetual silence should shut up the sound of the tongue with sealed lips. As it is ungrateful for the very wicked to speak, so it is useless for the good always to keep silent. When, therefore, there is need, let us bring forth words of justice: let our mouth be seasoned. But perhaps you say, one cannot but sometimes answer when provoked. Silence is plainly to be kept when a wicked speech solicits quiet lips; and speech is to be used when a friendly mouth commends the endeavors of peace. Thus both to speak and to be silent is perfection. But the cause of both parts is to have kept a moderate measure of words. It is a great thing to be silent, it is a great thing to speak;
but it belongs to the wise man to moderate both. For sometimes too great taciturnity is ascribed to folly, just as an excess of words is referred to madness. On which matter, if you should ask the opinion of our judgment, I would rather that anyone be judged foolish by keeping silent than mad by speaking too much. Let us speak, then, but with fear and trembling, considering that an account must be rendered of all words (Matt. xii, 36): so that nothing iniquitous go forth from our heart, nothing blasphemous proceed from our mouth, nothing remain in our thought that may wound. For besides those things by which the hearing is offended, the prophet chastises the inward conscience of certain men: 'Deceitful lips have spoken evil things in mouth and heart' (Ps. xi, 3).
Among those faults of an insolent tongue, therefore, are the thoughts. For whatever you speak in your heart, you confess to the Lord: because God is the searcher of the heart. See, therefore, whether it can come to pass that what you cry out could be hidden or excused to Him, from whom what you think cannot lie concealed. With all zeal, therefore, most beloved, let our mouths be governed by an equal bond. Let the tongue utter nothing ungrateful, let base speech contrive nothing injurious, let there be nothing crafty, nothing deceitful in our heart, nothing harsh, nothing idle. For the Lord said that an account must be rendered even of idle words (Matt. XII, 36). But although a man fortify his life with faith, govern it with knowledge, compose it with chastity and sobriety;
there is nothing that can please in a man, if in the whole body the tongue alone displeases. As often as, most beloved, for the zeal of the necessity committed to us we have treated the cause of discipline, while we wished to pursue the graver matters, we have neglected certain lesser ones: which, though to some they may seem easy, if you should inquire more diligently, are found liable to many crimes. To these now the hand must be extended, and we must labor with the zeal of medicine, so that each thing may recognize the faults of its own infirmity. Run therefore through the several matters, if it seems good, which either serve punishment or flatter with delight; and you will find that noxious venom reigns not only in savage dragons, but that poisons also lie hidden in the tiny bodies of bees.
We have frequently said, most beloved, that drunkenness and covetousness are certain fountains of vices, from which certain headlong torrents of sins are born, which drag with them the greatest part of the human race into the depth: since on this side drunkenness feeds the whirlpool of gluttony, and on that side covetousness kindles the fury of wicked usurpation. For this latter is the mother of pride, that of luxury; of which the one is the companion of falsehood, the other of deformity: whose zeal it is to practice murders, to fabricate adulteries, to destroy the foundations of friendships; since with a certain traffic of foulness covetousness supplies the wage for furtive love, and drunkenness furnishes the occasion.
But these things, most beloved, as we have sometimes said, you will be able to restrain with little labor, if you are first willing to cut away those things which furnish the tinder of sinning: nor will it plainly be difficult for you to check the things that follow, if those vices which are at the head be chastised and condemned. For the whole joining of the body will quickly fail, if there be no one to supply food to the wicked belly. Wherefore before all things the vices of drunkenness or of covetousness must be chastised, which among the rest claim for themselves the primacy; so that those which are subservient to these may be imperiled in their own office. For it is easy for the wave even of a deep whirlpool to be dried up, if the rising of the water can be shut out. Many things indeed, most beloved, are still suggested to memory concerning these things which we recall:
but since we have sometimes done enough of discipline in the chastisement of these same things, we think that what is said today may suffice for the commemoration of matters. Wherefore, of those things which seem inserted into the present material, we for the meanwhile refrain, until we may expound the crimes of those parts which seem easy to some. You have heard, most beloved, the evangelist saying that an account must be rendered to the Lord of idle words (Ibid.). If you should look, most beloved, to these things which we have set forth, and to those which we have sometimes said in the chastisement of the undisciplined tongue, you understand that this sentence pertains to the insolence of the mouth: whose sayings, though they be called idle, are nevertheless not to be treated idly.
But let no one believe the fault to be light, which the heavenly sentence of strictness so greatly assails. Hence, finally, follows whatever falsifies a reputation: for the conversations exposed to a feigned rumor are always idle and unfruitful. But what is to be thought idle speech, save one ignorant of reason and a messenger of falsehood; whose zeal it is either to contrive laughable things, or to feel about uncertain things as though certain? But there is a kind of men who, while they feed fables, know not to beware of a lie. Let these hear the Lord saying: 'The mouth that lies kills the soul' (Wis. 1, 11). Idle words are figured revilings, composed with foolish weariness, sweet as some think, but girded with many blows and armed besides with deadly punishments.
For although they excite mirth, they nonetheless frequently occasion hatreds. There are many things, most beloved, similar to these, which perhaps are not to be passed over, although among all the vices of words they seem the extremest. If, for example, you call a man of dusky color 'silvery,' you do an injury by an idle word; because if you have spoken the truth, you have accused him; if you have brought forward a falsehood, you have derided him. When you call a man of tall stature and advanced age an 'infant,' do you not do an injury, if, the truth suppressed, you lie with childish zeal? For it pertains to insult, if by your words you either add something to or take something from the human body. But perhaps you say that these things are light enough, and easily to be borne. It is true.
For such kinds of appellations are as if you had inserted light feathers among another's hair; or if over a whole crown gleaming with the honor of earliest youth you had sprinkled flowing ashes or something of dusty whiteness: you do not indeed burden the head, but you deform it. Similarly also hair plucked out in jest, though it works no grief, yet exhibits much foulness. It must therefore be guarded against, most beloved, lest by theatrical speech one wound another, and by theatrical words strike into a brother the shame of a wounded reputation. For too great facetiousness of the mouth is wont to excite the motions of minds, and speech girt with mirth to prepare a reciprocal reviling.
Thus, in short, a spark, however small, vomits forth flames, and arising from nothing frequently stirs great conflagrations. Idle speech is nourished by an author idle enough. Wherefore, since we have made mention of theatrical words, perhaps for the zeal of discipline I ought not to be silent about those things also which by idle words capture curious ears, and shake the secrets of the deep breast, while they flatter the strayings with modulations. These are those vices which we mentioned above are composed with a certain sweetness of honey: this is that work which we said institutes the sad pains of wounds with an admixed sweetness. In this passage perhaps someone, for the love of discipline, may think it should be asked what those idle voices are, which excite injury and prepare peril for the hearers.
You inquire well, lest through ignorance the hearing be imperiled. We have found, then, that frequently the way to unchastity is thus paved, and from this fuel is ministered to adulteries: when here one with agile plectrum draws forth the sounds of a tinkling cithara, there another with docile finger composes the blandishments of a laboring instrument. These are the snares by which, among the other wounds ministered by them, the devil works the deaths of men. For as often as the hearing is soothed by a sweet voice, the sight is invited to base crime. Let no one trust to insidious songs, nor look to those incitements of a lustful voice: which, when they delight, rage; when they flatter, kill. Thus we frequently see birds deceived by coaxing whistles,
and dull-witted beasts driven into the snare of death by the sweetness of a voice. Similar, most beloved, is the case of mortals whom the care of sweet-sounding songs solicits. But in this the varieties of voices and words drawn out without syllables avail, that a man be either captured or captures.
It cannot be explained, dearly beloved, how perilous are the snares that the pursuits of theatrical pleasure hold out. For if anyone could search out the hidden things of the human heart, he would find that at every note of the flute the hearts of wretched men sigh. Understand therefore what too familiar and secret talk between men and women brings about; what close neighborhood does; what conversations mingled with jesting; what the gullet invited by delicacies; what the hunger for gold, laid bare to every crime of prostitution — if the blandishments even of a mute voice deceive another into frenzy. This erring sound of the voice, then, must be fled, which by its sweetness has wrought bitterness in human breasts, and by the persuasion, as it were, of a honeyed song has often mingled deadly poisons for the sick.
In this matter the ears must first be stopped, setting against it the shield of faith, so that all hearing of the seductive voice may the more easily be shut out. Discipline too must be applied, which may drive back the desires of the eyes and restrain the incitements of a melting heart. For thus the Evangelist teaches, saying: 'If your eye scandalize you, pluck it out' (Matt. 5:29). Let no one, dearly beloved, believe that the meaning of this saying stands as though the Lord wished to deform the human body, which He shaped to His own likeness and established after the beauty of His condescension:
To pluck out the eye is this: to cut away what is base in a man, to check vile deeds by amendment, to lop off luxury by the chastening of allurements, and for a good conscience to cut off the hand of wicked desire. But that man cuts off his own hands who shatters upon himself the darts of unbelief, and by a just judgment prunes away the reeds of infidelity. It pertains, then, to the soul's salvation if the vices nourished by iniquitous acts are weakened, and if the impious gaze of the eyes is torn out by the root — vices to which the goad of death quickly yields, if you allow those things which I have named above to hold sway whole and unharmed. But that we may the more easily accomplish these things, we must listen to Christ, who says: 'Leave all your goods, and follow me' (Matt. 19:21).
I know indeed, dearly beloved, that those who are taken up with worldly affairs, to whom the enjoyment of this life is sweet, undertake these things with difficulty. But if you inquire diligently, the world, full of vanity and clothed as it were with a thin shadow, is compliant only for a season, and this deceitful pomp of riches which you behold merely flatters. Well did holy David know these things, who says: 'Turn away, O Lord, my eyes, that they may not see vanity' (Ps. 118:37). And what is this vanity, but the cultivation of riches and the pursuit of worldly pleasures? Solomon confirms this, saying: 'Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity' (Eccl. 1:2). Let no one, therefore, dearly beloved, trust in the vanity of this world, which he sees standing on infirm footsteps;
whose adornment is temporal and empty, and whose ornament is like smoke and wind. Such is the comeliness of its countenance; and if you look upon the appearance of that vine which, decked with a summer blossom, knows not how to yield the fruit of the promised vintage — which, while it labors too much to bring forth, incurs the stain of perpetual barrenness. Far otherwise, dearly beloved, does the season of eternal life promise us adornment, provided a man walk poor in sins. But that man goes rich to Christ who gathers the fruits of mercy and assails the pursuits of foolish greed. That man proceeds most opulent to the heavens who shuts out from himself the pomp of temporal vanity. That man carries great wealth with him to paradise who by the pursuit of religion unburdens the breast laden with vices.
That man, finally, has escaped all the penury of beggary who daily sows in his heart the commandments of our Christ, and by ever-watchful faith has filled the granaries of his breast with the seeds of divine instruction. So that above all you should restrain the license of that idle speech, which, if it settle mingled among those pursuits of the religious life, without doubt prejudices holiness in the examination of the judgment to come. And the best things in a man quickly grow worthless, unless, among the other things that require amendment, those vices of the tongue which we have mentioned above are diligently cut away.