Thomas More - Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation

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And this I would answer, if the man had there done the one out of
hand--the giving, I mean, of half in alms--and not so much as
spoken of restitution till afterward. Whereas now, though he spoke
the one in order before the other (and yet all at one time) it
remained still in his liberty to put them both in execution, after
such order as he should then think expedient. But now, cousin, did
the spirit of God temper the tongue of Zachaeus in the utterance
of these words in such wise that it may well appear that the
saying of the wise man is verified in them, where he saith, "To
God it belongeth to govern the tongue." For here, when he said
that he would give half of his goods unto poor people and yet
beside that not only recompense any man whom he had wronged but
more than recompense him by three times as much again, he doubly
reproved the false suspicion of the people. For they accounted him
for so evil that they reckoned in their mind all his goods wrongly
gotten, because he was grown to substance in that office that was
commonly misused with extortion. But his words declared that he
was deep enough in his reckoning so that, if half his goods were
given away, he would yet be well able to yield every man his due
with the other half--and yet leave himself no beggar either, for
he said not he would give away all.

Would God, cousin, that every rich Christian man who is reputed
right worshipful--yea, and (which yet, to my mind, is more)
reckoned for right honest, too--would and could do the thing that
little Zachaeus, that same great publican, were he Jew or were he
paynim, said that he would do: that is, with less than half his
goods, to recompense every man whom he had wronged four times as
much. Yea, yea, cousin, as much for as much, hardly! And then they
who receive it shall be content, I dare promise for them, to let
the other thrice-as-much go, and forgive it. Because that was one
of the hard points of the old law, whereas Christian men must be
full of forgiving, and not require and exact their amends to the
uttermost.

But now, for our purpose here: He promised neither to give away
all nor to become a beggar--no, nor yet to leave off his office
either. For, albeit that he had not used it before peradventure in
every point so pure as St. John the Baptist had taught them the
lesson: "Do no more than is appointed unto you," yet he might both
lawfully use his substance that he intended to reserve, and
lawfully might use his office, too, in receiving the prince's
duty, according to Christ's express commandment, "Give the Emperor
those things that are his," refusing all extortion and bribery
besides. Yet our Lord, well approving his good purpose, and
exacting no further of him concerning his worldly behaviour,
answered and said, "This day is health come to this house, for he
too is the son of Abraham."

But now I forget not, cousin, that in effect you conceded to me
thus far: that a man may be rich and yet not out of the state of
grace, nor out of God's favour. Howbeit, you think that, though it
may be so in some time or in some other place, yet at this time
and in this place, or any other such in which there be so many
poor people, upon whom you think they are bound to bestow their
goods, they can keep no riches with conscience.

Verily, cousin, if that reason would hold, I daresay the world was
never such anywhere that any man might have kept any substance
without the danger of damnation. For since Christ's days to the
world's end, we have the witness of his own word that there hath
never lacked poor men nor ever shall. For he said himself, "Poor
men shall you always have with you, unto whom, when you will, you
may do good." So that, as I tell you, if your rule should hold,
then I suppose there would be no place, in no time, since Christ's
days hitherto, nor I think in as long before that either, nor never
shall there be hereafter, in which any man could abide rich
without the danger of eternal damnation, even for his riches
alone, though he demeaned himself never so well.

But, cousin, men of substance must there be. For otherwise shall
you have more beggars, perdy, than there are, and no man left able
to relieve another. For this I think in my mind a very sure
conclusion: If all the money that is in this country were tomorrow
brought together out of every man's hand and laid all upon one
heap, and then divided out unto every man alike, it would be on
the morrow after worse than it was the day before. For I suppose
that when it were all equally thus divided among all, the best
would be left little better then than almost a beggar is now. And
yet he who was a beggar before, all that he shall be the richer
for, that he should thereby receive, shall not make him much above
a beggar still. But many a one of the rich men, if their riches
stood but in movable substance, shall be safe enough from riches,
haply for all their life after!

Men cannot, you know, live here in this world unless some one man
provide a means of living for many others. Every man cannot have a
ship of his own, nor every man be a merchant without a stock. And
these things, you know, must needs be had. Nor can every man have a
plough by himself. And who could live by the tailor's craft, if no
man were able to have a gown made? Who could live by masonry, or
who could live a carpenter, if no man were able to build either
church or house? Who would be the makers of any manner of cloth, if
there lacked men of substance to set sundry sorts to work? Some man
who hath not two ducats in his house would do better to lose them
both and leave himself not a farthing, but utterly lose all his
own, rather than that some rich man by whom he is weekly set to
work should lose one half of his money. For then would he himself
be likely to lack work. For surely the rich man's substance is the
wellspring of the poor man's living. And therefore here would it
fare by the poor man as it fared by the woman in one of AEsop's
fables. She had a hen that laid her every day a golden egg, till on
a day she thought she would have a great many eggs at once. And
therefore she killed her hen and found but one or twain in her
belly, so that for a few she lost many.

But now, cousin, to come to your doubt how it can be that a man
may with conscience keep riches with him, when he seeth so many
poor men on whom he may bestow them. Verily, that might he not
with conscience do, if he must bestow it upon as many as he can.
And so much of truth every rich man do, if all the poor folk that
he seeth are so specially by God's commandment committed unto his
charge alone that, because our Saviour said, "Give to every man
who asketh thee," therefore he is bound to give out still to every
beggar who will ask him, as long as any penny lasteth in his
purse. But verily, cousin, that saying hath (as St. Austine saith
other places in scripture have) need of interpretation. For, as
holy St. Austine saith, though Christ say, "Give to every man who
asketh thee," he saith not yet, "Give them all that they will ask
thee." But surely they would be the same, if he meant to bind me
by commandment to give every man without exception something. For
so should I leave myself nothing.

Our Saviour, in that place of the sixth chapter of St. Luke,
speaketh both of the contempt that we should have in heart of
these worldly things, and also of the manner that men should use
toward their enemies. For there he biddeth us love our enemies,
give good words for evil, and not only suffer injuries patiently
(both the taking away of our goods and harm done unto our body),
but also be ready to suffer the double, and over that to do good
in return to those who do us the harm. And among these things he
biddeth us give to every man who asketh, meaning that when we can
conveniently do a man good, we should not refuse it, whatsoever
manner of man he may be, though he were our mortal enemy, if we
see that unless we help him ourselves, the person of that man
should stand in peril of perishing. And therefore saith St. Paul,
"If thine enemy be in hunger, give him meat."

But now, though I be bound to give every manner of man in some
manner of his necessity, were he my friend or my foe, Christian
man or heathen, yet am I not bound alike unto all men, nor unto
any many in every case alike. But, as I began to tell you, the
differences of the circumstances make great change in the matter.
St. Paul saith, "He that provideth not for those that are his, is
worse than an infidel." Those are ours who are belonging to our
charge, either by nature or by law, or any commandment of God. By
nature, as our children; by law, as our servants in our household.
Albeit these two sorts be not ours all alike, yet would I think
that the least ours of the twain--that is, the servants--if they
need, and lack, we are bound to look to them and provide for their
need, and see, so far as we can, that they lack not the things
that should serve for their necessity while they dwell in our
service. Meseemeth also that if they fall sick in our service, so
that they cannot do the service that we retain them for, yet may
we not in any wise turn them out of doors and cast them up
comfortless, while they are not able to labour and help
themselves. For this would be a thing against all humanity. And
surely, if a man were but a wayfarer whom I received into my house
as a guest, if he fell sick there and his money be gone, I reckon
myself bound to keep him still, and rather to beg about for his
relief than to cast him out in that condition to the peril of his
life, whatsoever loss I should happen to sustain in the keeping of
him. For when God hath by such chance sent him to me and there
once matched me with him, I reckon myself surely charged with him
until I may, without peril of his life, be well and conveniently
discharged of him.

By God's commandment our parents are in our charge, for by nature
we are in theirs. Since, as St. Paul saith, it is not the
children's part to provide for the parents but the parents' to
provide for the children. Provide, I mean, conveniently--good
learning or good occupations to get their living by, with truth
and the favour of God--but not to make provision for them of such
manner of living as they should live the worse toward God for. But
rather, if they see by their manner that too much would make them
wicked, the father should then give them a great deal less. But
although nature put not the parents in the children's charge, yet
not only God commandeth but the order of nature compelleth, that
the children should both in reverent behaviour honour their father
and mother, and also in all their necessity maintain them. And
yet, as much as God and nature both bind us to the sustenance of
our father, his need may be so little (though it be somewhat) and
another man's so great, that both nature and God also would that I
should, in such unequal need, relieve that urgent necessity of a
stranger--yea, my foe, and God's enemy too, the very Turk or
Saracen--before a little need, and unlikely to do great harm, in
my father and my mother too. For so ought they both twain
themselves to be well content that I should.

But now, cousin, outside of such extreme need well perceived and
known unto myself, I am not bound to give to every beggar who will
ask; nor to believe every imposter that I meet in the street who
will say himself that he is very sick; nor to reckon all the poor
folk committed by God only so to my charge alone, that no other
man should give them anything of his until I have first given out
all mine. Nor am I bound either to have so evil opinion of all
other folk save myself as to think that, unless I help, the poor
folk shall all fail at once, for God hath left in all this quarter
no more good folk now but me! I may think better of my neighbours
and worse of myself than that, and yet come to heaven, by God's
grace, well enough.

VINCENT: Marry, uncle, but some man will peradventure be right
content, in such cases, to think his neighbours very charitable,
to the intent that he may think himself at liberty to give nothing
at all.

ANTHONY: That is, cousin, very true. Some will be content either
to think so, or to make as though they thought so. But those are
they who are content to give naught because they are naught! But
our question is, cousin, not of them, but of good folk who, by
the keeping of worldly goods, stand in great fear to offend God.
For the quieting of their conscience speak we now, to the intent
that they may perceive what manner of having of worldly goods, and
keeping of them, may stand with the state of grace.

Now think I, cousin, that if a man keep riches about him for a
glory and royalty of the world, taking a great delight in the
consideration of it and liking himself for it, and taking him who
is poorer for the lack of it as one far worse than himself, such a
mind is very vain foolish pride and such a man is very wicked
indeed. But on the other hand, there may be a man--such as would
God there were many!--who hath no love unto riches, but having it
fall abundantly unto him, taketh for his own part no great
pleasure of it, but, as though he had it not, keepeth himself in
like abstinence and penance privily as he would do in case he had
it not. And, in such things as he doth openly, he may bestow
somewhat more liberally upon himself in his house after some
manner of the world, lest he should give other folk occasion to
marvel and muse and talk of his manner and misreport him for a
hypocrite. And therein, between God and him, he may truly protest
and testify, as did the good queen Hester, that he doth it not for
any desire thereof in the satisfying of his own pleasure, but
would with as good will or better forbear the possession of
riches, saving them--as perhaps in keeping a good household in
good Christian order and fashion, and in setting other folk to
work with such things as they gain their living the better by his
means. If there be such a man, his having of riches methinketh I
might in a manner match in merit with another man's forsaking of
all. Or so would it be if there were no other circumstances more
pleasing unto God added further unto the forsaking besides, as
perhaps for the more fervent contemplation by reason of the
solicitude of all worldly business being left off, which was the
thing that made Mary Magdalene's part the better. For otherwise
would Christ have given her much more thanks to go about and be
busy in the helping her sister Martha to dress his dinner, than to
take her stool and sit down at her ease and do naught.

Now, if he who hath these goods and riches by him, have not haply
fully so perfect a mind, but somewhat loveth to keep himself from
lack; and if he be not, so fully as a pure Christian fashion
requireth, determined to abandon his pleasure--well, what will you
more? The man is so much the less perfect than I would that he
were, and haply than he himself would wish, if it were as easy to
be it as to wish it. But yet is he not forthwith in the state of
damnation, for all that. No more than every man is forthwith in a
state of damnation who, forsaking all and entering into religion,
is not yet always so clear purified from worldly affections as he
himself would very fain that he were, and much bewaileth that he
is not. Many a man, who hath in the world willingly forsaken the
likelihood of right worshipful offices, hath afterward had much
ado to keep himself from the desire of the office of cellarer or
sexton, to bear yet at least some rule and authority, though it
were but among the bellies. But God is more merciful to man's
imperfection--if the man know it, and acknowledge it, and mislike
it, and little by little labour to amend it--than to reject and
cast off to the devil him who, according as his frailty can bear
and suffer, hath a general intent and purpose to please him and to
prefer or set by nothing in this world before him.

And therefore, cousin, to make an end of this piece withal--of
this devil, I mean, whom the prophet calleth "Business walking in
the darknesses": If a man have a mind to serve God and please him,
and would rather lose all the goods he hath than wittingly to do
deadly sin; and if he would, without murmur or grudge, give it
every whit away in case God should so command him, and intend to
take it patiently if God would take it from him; and if he would
be glad to use it unto God's pleasure, and do his diligence to
know and be taught what manner of using of it God would be pleased
with; and if he be glad to follow therein, from time to time, the
counsel of good virtuous men, though he neither give away all at
once, nor give to every man who asketh him neither; and though
every man should fear and think in this world that all the good
that he doth or can do is a great deal too little--yet, for all
that fear, let that man dwell in the faithful hope of God's help!
And then shall the truth of God so compass him about, as the
prophet saith, with a shield, that he shall not so need to dread
the snares and the temptations of this devil whom the prophet
calleth "Business walking about in the darknesses." But he shall,
for all the having of riches and worldly substance, so avoid his
snares and temptations, that he shall in conclusion, by the great
grace and almighty mercy of God, get into heaven well enough.

And now was I, cousin, after this piece thus ended, about to bid
them bring in our dinner. But now shall I not need to, lo, for
here they come with it already.

VINCENT: Forsooth, good uncle, God disposeth and timeth your
matter and your dinner both, I trust. For the end of your good
tale--for which our Lord reward you!--and the beginning here of
your good dinner too (from which it would be more than pity that
you should any longer have tarried) meet even at the close
together.

ANTHONY: Well, cousin, now will we say grace. And then for a
while will we leave talking and essay how our dinner shall please
us, and how fair we can fall to feeding. After that, you know my
customary guise (for "manner" I cannot call it, because the guise
is unmannerly) to bid you not farewell but steal away from you to
sleep. But you know I am not wont to sleep long in the afternoon,
but even a little to forget the world. And when I wake, I will
again come to you. And then is, God willing, all this long day
ours, in which we shall have time enough to talk much more than
shall suffice for the finishing of this one part of our matter
that now alone remaineth.

VINCENT: I pray you, good uncle, keep your customary manner, for
"manner" may you call it well enough. For as it would be against
good manners to look that a man should kneel down for courtesy
when his knee is sore, so is it very good manners that a man of
your age (aggrieved with such sundry sicknesses besides, that
suffer you not always to sleep when you should) should not let his
sleep slip away but should take it when he can. And I will, uncle,
in the meanwhile steal from you, too, and speed a little errand
and return to you again.

ANTHONY: Stay as long as you will, and when you have dined go at
your pleasure. But I pray you, tarry not long.

VINCENT: You shall not need, uncle, to put me in mind of that, I
would so fain have up the rest of our matter.

______________________________

BOOK THREE

VINCENT: I have tarried somewhat the longer, uncle, partly because
I was loth to come over-soon, lest my soon-coming might have happed
to have made you wake too soon. But I tarried especially for the
reason that I was delayed by someone who showed me a letter, dated
at Constantinople, by which it appeareth that the great Turk
prepareth a marvellous mighty army. And yet whither he will go with
it, that can there yet no man tell. But I fear in good faith,
uncle, that his voyage shall be hither. Howbeit, he who wrote the
letter saith that it is secretly said in Constantinople that a
great part of his army shall be shipped and sent either into Naples
or into Sicily.

ANTHONY: It may fortune, cousin, that the letter of a Venetian,
dated at Constantinople, was devised at Venice. From thence come
there some letters--and sometimes from Rome, too, and sometimes
also from some other places--all stuffed full of such tidings that
the Turk is ready to do some great exploit. These tidings they blow
about for the furtherance of some such affairs as they have
themselves then in hand.

The Turk hath also so many men of arms in his retinue at his
continual charge that, lest they should lie still and do nothing,
but peradventure fall in devising of some novelties among
themselves, he is fain yearly to make some assembly and some
changing of them from one place unto another, and part some
asunder, that they wax not over-well acquainted by dwelling
over-long together. By these ways also, he maketh those that he
intendeth suddenly to invade indeed, to look the less for it, and
thereby to make the less preparation before. For they see him so
many times make a great visage of war when he intendeth it not, but
then, at one time or another, they suddenly feel it when they fear
it not.

Howbeit, cousin, it is of very truth full likely that into this
realm of Hungary he will not fail to come. For neither is there any
country throughout Christendom that lieth so convenient for him,
nor never was there any time till now in which he might so well and
surely win it. For now we call him in ourselves, God save us, as
AEsop telleth that the sheep took in the wolf among them to keep
them from the dogs.

VINCENT: Then are there, good uncle, all those tribulations very
like to fall upon us here, that I spoke of in the beginning of our
first communication here the other day.

ANTHONY: Very truth it is, cousin, that so there will of
likelihood in a while, but not forthwith all at first. For since he
cometh under the colour of aid for the one against the other, he
will somewhat see the proof before he fully show himself. But in
conclusion, if he be able to get it for that one, you shall see him
so handle it that he shall not fail to get it from him, and that
forthwith out of hand, ere ever he suffer him to settle himself
over-sure therein.

VINCENT: Yet say they, uncle, that he useth not to force any man
to forsake his faith.

ANTHONY: Not any man, cousin? They say more than they can make
good, those who tell you so. He maketh a solemn oath, among the
ceremonies of that feast in which he first taketh upon him his
authority, that he will diminish the faith of Christ, in all that
he possibly can, and dilate the faith of Mahomet. But yet hath he
not used to force every whole country at once to forsake their
faith. For of some countries hath he been content only to take a
tribute yearly and let them then live as they will. Out of some he
taketh the whole people away, dispersing them for slaves among many
sundry countries of his, very far from their own, without any
sufferance of regress. In some countries, so great and populous
that they cannot well be carried and conveyed thence, he destroyeth
the gentlefolk and giveth the lands partly to such as he bringeth
and partly to such as willingly will deny their faith, and keepeth
the others in such misery that they might as well (in a manner) be
dead at once. In rest he suffereth else no Christian man almost,
but those that resort as merchants or those that offer themselves
to serve him in his war.

But as for those Christian countries that he useth not only for
tributaries, as he doth Chios, Cyprus, or Crete, but reckoneth for
clear conquest and utterly taketh for his own, as Morea, Greece,
and Macedonia, and such others--and as I verily think he will
Hungary, if he get it--in all those he useth Christian people after
sundry fashions. He letteth them dwell there, indeed, because they
would be too many to carry all away, and too many to kill them all,
too, unless he should either leave the land dispeopled and desolate
or else, from some other countries of his own, should convey the
people thither (which would not be well done) to people that land
with. There, lo, those who will not be turned from their faith, of
which God--lauded be his holy name!--keepeth very many, he
suffereth to dwell still in peace. But yet is their peace for all
that not very peaceable. For he suffereth them to have no lands of
their own, honourable offices they bear none; with occasions of his
wars, he plucketh them unto the bare bones with taxes and tallages.
Their children he chooseth where he will in their youth, and taketh
them from their parents, conveying them whither he will, where
their friends never see them after, and abuseth them as he will.
Some young maidens he maketh harlots, some young men he bringeth up
in war, and some young children he causeth to be gelded--not their
stones cut out as the custom was of old, but their whole members
cut off by the body; how few escape and live he little careth, for
he will have enough! And all whom he so taketh young, to any use of
his own, are betaken unto such Turks or false renegades to keep,
that they are turned from the faith of Christ every one. Or else
they are so handled that, as for this world, they come to an evil
end. For, besides many other contumelies and despites that the
Turks and the false renegade Christians many times do to good
Christian people who still persevere and abide by the faith, they
find the means sometimes to make some false knaves say that they
heard such-and-such a Christian man speak opprobrious words against
Mahomet. And upon that point, falsely testified, they will take
occasion to compel him to forsake the faith of Christ and turn to
the profession of their shameful superstitious sect, or else will
they put him to death with cruel intolerable torments.

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