The size and beauty of the universe, but still more the perfect regularity with which the system worked, proclaimed a designing power. The succession of day and night, the series of the seasons, like a band of maidens dancing in a circle, the four elements of which the world was composed, mingling in such exquisite proportions that they exactly balanced one another, the sun tempering the action of water, the water that of the sun, the sea unable to break its bounds or reduce the earth to a mass of clay; who could contemplate all these forces at work and suppose that they moved spontaneously, instead of adoring Him who had arranged them all with a wisdom commensurate with the results? As the health of the body depended on the due balance of those humours of which it was composed, if the bile increased fever was produced, or if the phlegmatic element prevailed many diseases were engendered, so was it in the case of the universe: each element observed its proper limits, restrained, as it were, with a bridle by the will of the Maker; and the struggle between these elements was the source of peace for the whole system. As the body failed, languished, died, in proportion as the soul was withdrawn from it, so if the regulating and life-giving power of God’s providence were removed from the earth, all would go to rack and ruin, like a vessel deserted by her pilot.[305]
In treating this subject, he manifests a keen appreciation of natural beauties. The infinite varieties of flowers and herbs, trees, animals, insects, and birds—the flowery fields below, the starry fields above—the never-failing fountains—the sea receiving countless streams into its bosom, yet never overflowing,—all proclaimed a Creator and an Upholder, and drew from man the exclamation, “How manifold are Thy works; in wisdom hast Thou made them all!” Yet, lest they should be worshipped instead of the Maker, conditions of change, as decay or death, were imposed upon all.[306] His observation of nature appears in some of his similes. The poor female relatives hovering about the courts of justice, when the culprits of the outrage on the statues were being tried, he compares to parent birds, which wildly flutter round the hunter who has stolen the young from their nest, in an agony of grief, but impotent from weakness and fear.[307] He perceives in some of the lower animals characteristics to be imitated or avoided, and describes them with a kind of humour. The bee especially was a pattern for imitation, not merely because it was industrious, but because it toiled with an unconscious kind of self-sacrifice for the benefit of others as well as itself. It was the most honourable of insects; the spider, on the contrary, was the most ignoble, because it spread its fine web for its own selfish gratification only. The innocence of the dove, the docility of the ox, the light-heartedness of birds, were all examples for imitation. The ferocity, or the cunning of other animals or insects, were examples for avoidance. The good which brutes had by nature man might acquire by force of moral purpose; and the sovereign of the lower animals ought to comprise in his nature all the best qualities of his subjects.[308] The plumage of the peacock, excelling in variety and beauty all possible art of the dyer, evinced the superhuman power of the Maker of all things.[309]
His ethical doctrine bears singular resemblance to that of Butler. God has bestowed on man a faculty of discerning right from wrong; He has impressed upon him a natural law, the law of conscience. Hence some commands are delivered without explanation: for instance, the prohibition to kill, or to commit adultery, because these merely enjoin what is already evident by the light of the natural law. On the other hand, for the command to observe the Sabbath a reason is assigned, because this was a special and temporary enactment. The obligation of the law of conscience was universal and eternal. As soon as Adam had sinned, he hid himself, a clear evidence of his consciousness of guilt, although no written law existed at that time.
The Greeks might attempt to deny the universality of this inherent law, but to what other origin could they ascribe the laws which had been made by their own ancestors concerning respect for life, the marriage bond, covenants, trusts, and the like? They had indeed been handed down from generation to generation; but whence did the first promulgators derive the idea of them, if not from this moral sense? To the law of conscience was added the energy of a moral purpose, προαίρεσις, which enabled man to practise what conscience prescribed: conscience informs man that temperance is right; moral purpose enables him to become temperate. God had also endowed man with some natural virtues: indignation at injustice, compassion for the injured, sympathy with the joys and sorrows of our fellow-men.[310] At the same time Chrysostom fully allows the value of training and teaching as supplementary to and co-operating with all these natural gifts.[311] If conscience grew languid, the admonition of parent and friend, and, in the case of public offences, the law, stepped in, to effect what conscience failed to do; and frequently God sent afflictions for the same remedial purpose.[312]
Thus day after day the indefatigable preacher sounded the note of encouragement, or warning, or instruction. He not only held the Christian flock together, but largely increased its numbers. His eloquence frequently excited rapturous applause, which was invariably repressed with sternness. On one occasion the congregation yielded to a panic; a false rumour was circulated that a body of troops was entering the city, to take vengeance on the inhabitants. The Prefect entered the church to allay the fears of the affrighted people who had fled thither, but Chrysostom was overwhelmed with shame, and sharply upbraided them that a Christian congregation should owe the restoration of calmness to a Pagan, whom they ought to have impressed, like Paul before Agrippa, by a display of Christian firmness and fortitude.[313]
About the middle of Lent, two commissioners, Hellebicus and Cæsarius, arrived at Antioch, invested with full powers to inquire into the late outrage. Their authority was backed by a considerable military force. They were men not only of intelligence and humanity, but Christians in faith; and they had many friends in Antioch. They entered the city, surrounded by a large multitude, who turned weeping faces and held out supplicating hands towards them. The commissioners were moved, and in deep silence entered the lodging provided for them; but it was necessary for them to perform their duty, which was in the first place to announce that Antioch was degraded from the rank of capital of Syria, and its metropolitan honours were transferred to the neighbouring city of Laodicea. Secondly, all the public baths, circuses, theatres, and other places of recreation, were to be closed for an indefinite time. Thirdly, the commissioners were to revise the trials already held by the local governor, and to inflict rigorous sentences upon all the guilty, especially any persons of distinction. These judicial proceedings were to begin on the following day.
The scene at the entrance of the court was a melancholy spectacle; the wives and daughters of the accused hung around it in mean garments sprinkled with ashes, and in attitudes of supplication or despair.
There were no lawyers to plead for the prisoners; they had run away or concealed themselves, to evade the perilous duty. Libanius alone, towards evening, crept timidly into the court. Cæsarius, to whom he was known, observed him, beckoned him to approach, and placed him by his side. In a low voice he bade him take courage; he and his colleague would endeavour as much as possible to spare life. Libanius earnestly thanked him, and promised if he kept his word to immortalise him by an oration in his honour.[314]
An appeal, however, more effectual, was made to the mercy of the commissioners, by persons widely different from Libanius. As they were riding in state to the hall of justice on the second day, they saw amongst the people a group of strange half-wild-looking beings, in rough coarse garments, with long unkempt hair. These were hermits, who had descended from their solitudes in the neighbouring mountains—some who for years had not been seen in the streets of the city, but now appeared to plead on behalf of the offending people. An old man, diminutive in stature, whose clothing was in tatters, started forward from the group as the commissioners passed by, seized the bridle of one, and commanded them in a tone of authority to dismount. “Who is this mad fellow?” inquired the commissioners. They were informed that he was the revered hermit Macedonius, surnamed Crithophagus, or the barley-eater, because barley was his only sustenance. Hellebicus and Cæsarius immediately alighted, and, falling on their knees before him, craved his pardon for having received him so rudely. “My friends,” replied the solitary, “go to the Emperor and say, ‘You are an emperor, but also a man, and you rule over beings who are of like nature with yourself. Man was created after a Divine image and likeness; do not, then, mercilessly command the image of God to be destroyed, for you will provoke the Maker if you punish his image. For, consider that you are doing this from displeasure at the injury inflicted on a statue of bronze; and how far does a living rational creature exceed the value of such an inanimate object! Let him consider that it is easy to manufacture many statues in the place of those destroyed, but it is wholly impossible for him to make a single hair again of those men who have been put to death.’”[315] The other hermits declared that they were all prepared to shed their blood and lay down their lives for the culprits; that they would not withdraw from the city until they were sent as ambassadors to the Emperor, or until the city itself had been acquitted. The joy of Chrysostom at the courage displayed by these hermits was extreme; their noble conduct compensated for the sad pusillanimity lately exhibited by the congregation in the church. He triumphantly contrasts them with the so-called philosophers of Antioch, who appear to have displayed anything but philosophic calmness in the hour of danger. “Where now are those long-bearded, cloak-wearing, staff-bearing fellows—cynic refuse, more degraded than dogs licking up the crumbs under the table, doing everything for their belly? Why, they have all hurried out of the city and hidden themselves in caves and dens, whilst those who inhabited the caves have entered the city, and boldly walk about the forum as if no calamity had happened. Their conduct illustrates what I have never ceased to maintain, that even the furnace cannot injure one who lives in virtue. Such is the power of philosophy introduced to man by Christ.”[316] The result of this singular intercession was, that the commissioners consented to suspend the execution of their sentence on those pronounced guilty, until an appeal had been made to the Emperor. Meanwhile the prisoners were to remain in confinement, and their property to be held by the State.
The hermits were anxious to repair to the court of Theodosius, but the commissioners wisely refused, making the length of the journey an objection, but perhaps really because they feared such excitable zealots might frustrate the object of their embassy by imprudent behaviour. It was finally decided that Hellebicus should remain to preserve order in Antioch, while his colleague went to Constantinople, carrying with him an intercessory letter signed by the hermits, and declaring that they were ready to give their own lives in ransom for the city.