De martyribus et adversus Arianos

Oration 35. On the Martyrs, and Against the Arians. 1. What is there so great to say as there is to see with the eyes? What speech is equal to the good things that are manifest? Behold, before our eyes lies the spectacle that was disbelieved, which we often prayed to see, but the object of our desire was greater than our prayer. Once again here are honors for the martyrs, which for a long time before this had been neglected; once again gatherings of the priests of God; once again choirs and spiritual festivals. The assembly, crowded with people, is eager to celebrate, not to fight. O wonder! The weapons have been thrown from the hands, the battle line is dissolved, the war is neglected. No longer are the cries of the shouters heard; instead, festivals, joys, and peaceful delights dance around the whole city—the city which was once the mother of martyrs, but for much time in between was deprived of the honor due to her children. But now it has all and abounds, as the Apostle says. Well done, O martyrs; this contest too is yours; you have conquered the great war, I know well. These too are alone the achievements of your labors. You have raised the trophy for peace. You have drawn the priests of God to yourselves. You have set the dancers of the Holy Spirit at the head of this assembly. O how great a loss have those suffered, whose lifetime did not last until now to see this spectacle, so that, having had their fill of gloomy things, they might enjoy the good things of peace! 2. The deception of heresy has departed and vanished, like some mist, scattered by the Holy Spirit.

The clear sky of peace has shone forth, and in it the stars of the city gleam, sparkling in the bright light of truth, not allotted to night and darkness, but all visible by day, having shone forth in the true light of righteousness. And since, as the Apostle says, the night has advanced—or rather, has been utterly obliterated—and everything is brightened by the light of day, the beasts that roam by night flee and are driven into the thickets and caves; and the heretical bats, screeching and growing dim before the light of truth, flee and sink into the holes of the rocks, clinging to one another headlong. Through this day, the bands of revelers and drunkards have ceased. Thieves, housebreakers, robbers, and whatever else is the work of night have hidden themselves, now that the light of peace has risen. But while that night was darkening everything with the gloom of deceit, what things were being done? They are worthy of oblivion and deep silence, lest the present grace be defiled by the memory of the more unpleasant things. For how could one speak of the evils against it? And how could one be silent? What such passion from tragedy? What myth inventing calamities? What poet of dramas cried out such a passion on the stage? The calamity is beyond speech; it is beyond the power of those who narrate the sufferings.

The chorus was the launching pad of the devil. There he established his camp for himself, and there he set up his own shield-bearers. There was the army of falsehood, the champions of deceit, the expedition of demons, the legions of unclean spirits. And if I must also use names from outside, from there the wicked army of demonic furies marched against the Church. For I am led to call the women thus, who, contrary to nature, showed themselves manly in evil. In the days of Elijah there was one Jezebel, raging against the prophets of the Lord, and the inspired history brands her, I think, so that by the memory of that licentious woman the whole of subsequent life might be taught. So many then, like that Jezebel, like some hemlock, suddenly sprouted from the land, surpassing the one mentioned in the excess of their bitterness. But if you disbelieve the account, examine the history. That woman gave the vineyard of Naboth to the weak Ahab, to turn the vineyard into a garden, an ornament of luxury, a woman's finery; these women forced the living vineyard of God—I mean the Church—to be brought to total destruction, these women themselves working the evil. What example for my account shall I find? What image for this wickedness shall I devise? I saw such a painting on the plaster of a wall; and bear with my heart, which is swelling with the memory of evils; or rather, share in the pain with me, for we are recounting our own sufferings, not those of others. What then is the painting which I compare to the events?

There was a chorus of women behaving indecently, each contorting herself in some different dancing posture. Myths call such women Maenads. Hair tossed by the breezes, a glance that was a passage of madness, torches carried in their hands, and flames from these whirled about by the rotation of their bodies; a breeze in their bosoms ruining the modesty of their robes; feet walking on tiptoe and leaping; no seemly shame touching any of the things that were done. 4. In the midst of such a chorus was an image of a man of this sort: something androgynous, ambiguous in nature, effeminate in form, poised on the borderline of nature, loose in bearing, as if deranged by some revel and drunkenness. This one, lying supine on some cart, was carried through the chorus of Maenads by wild beasts. Much unmixed wine from a mixing-bowl was around him, and some talkative beings, monstrous in nature, were about the image, their faces shaggy, leaping around the image on goatish legs. Such were the spectacles of that night. Women, known to the dishonor of their sex, having danced out the customary decorum among women in a common indictment of nature, led a procession through the middle of the city, making a spectacle of nature behaving indecently through themselves, arming their hands with stones instead of shields, looking murderous, with a shameless cast of their eyes, and having entered within the sacred precincts, they set up their Corybant upon the holy seat.

Then came drunkenness, unmixed wine, and the Pans from the ascetic communities, and night, and a mingled way of life, and all that the Apostle forbids us to mention, having said that what they did in secret is shameful even to speak of. For who could recount in detail with precision the fire, the stones, the slaughters, the wounds? How they strove to overturn from their foundations the attendants of the sacred houses? How through the middle of the city they dispatched with clubs some zealot of the truth, and the suspected murder prevented the actual murder? But I do not know how my discourse has drifted away from proper pleasure, lingering over earthly narratives. So we must return to where we departed, so that with sweet and drinkable speech we may wash away that briny hearing. For it is said that on a day of gladness there is forgetfulness of evils. Therefore I return again to the same argument: that night and darkness have vanished, and the rays of peace shine through a clear sky with the light of truth. For this reason, everything foul and profane has been cast out of the sacred precincts; and the houses of the pious have been filled with every joy, and there remains for

no joy; the banqueters, the hosts, the table laden with good foods.