ought to understand how often vices appear in the form of virtues. For often stinginess excuses itself under the name of thriftiness and wastefulness hides itself under the name of generosity. Often excessive carelessness is believed to be affection and unbridled wrath is seen as spiritual zeal. Often hastiness is mistaken for punctuality and laziness for thoughtfulness.
Thus it is necessary for the minister of souls to distinguish virtues from vices with great care, lest stinginess be given free reign, or lest he congratulate someone for wastefulness. He must not overlook what he should have corrected, or else he might draw those under his care to eternal punishment; but he also must not be ruthless in correcting in others what he does himself.
On Reservations About what One has Written
Gregory was highly self-conscious of his writing, as is evident from this closing section of his famous commentary on the Book of Job. Note how his profound monastic spirituality and concern for the interior life penetrate every aspect of his work.
Now that I have finished this work, I see that I must recollect my thoughts. For even when we try to speak rightly, our mind is often scattered and fragmented when we are trying to think of the right words to say, diminishing our mind’s power, as it were, by plundering it from the inside.
So I must return from the forum of speech to the council chamber of the heart, to summon together the thoughts of my mind for a kind of council to deliberate how I may best watch over myself, to see to it that in my heart I do not speak any heedless evil, or speak any good in a poor fashion. For good is well spoken when the speaker seeks with his words to please the person who has been good to him. And if I discover that I have not spoken any evil, still I will not claim that I have never spoken evil at all. And if I have received some good from God and spoken it, I freely admit that I have spoken it less well than I should have (from my own fault, to be sure).
For when I turn inward to myself, pushing aside the leafy verbiage and the branches of arguments, and examine my intentions at the very root, I know that even though my intention was to please God, some little desire for the praise of men crept in (I do not know how) and intruded upon my desire to please God. And when later (too much later) I realize this, I find out that I have done what I set out not to do.
In this way, we often begin with good intentions in the eyes of God, but a secret desire to be liked by others creeps along and waylays our intentions. For example, we eat food out of necessity, but while we are eating, a gluttonous spirit creeps in and we begin to take excessive delight in eating for its own sake, so that what began as nourishment to protect our health ends by becoming an excuse to merely gratify our pleasures. We have to admit that our intention, which seeks to please God alone, is sometimes treacherously accompanied by a less righteous intention that seeks to exploit God’s gifts to please other men.
If God should strictly examine us in these affairs, what excuse can we offer? For we see that our evil is always evil, pure and simple, but the good that we think we have cannot really be good, pure and simple.
But I think it is worthwhile for me to reveal unhesitatingly to the ears of my brothers everything I secretly hate in myself. As a commentator, I have not hidden what I felt, and as a confessor, I have not hidden what I suffer. In this commentary I reveal the gifts of God, and in my confession I uncover my own wounds. In this vast human race there are always little ones who need to be instructed by my words, and there are always great ones who can take pity on my weakness once they hear about it.
Thus in this commentary I can offer help to some of my brothers (as much as I can) and seek the help of others. To the first I speak to explain what they should do, to the second I open my heart to ask them to forgive. I have not withheld medicine from the former, nor have I hidden my wounds from the others.
So I ask that whoever reads this should pour out their prayers to the strict judge on my behalf, so that his tears may wash away every stain that is found on me. When I balance the power of my commentary with the power of prayer, I suspect that the reader will have more than paid me back for what he hears from me, if he offers his tears for me.
On the Danger of Pride in High Positions
Having desired to avoid the papal office himself, Gregory detested nothing more in his fellow clergy than ambition and pride: his preferred title as pope was servus servorum dei, “servant of the servants of God.” When word reached him that his colleague in the East, Bishop John of Constantinople, had begun using the title “universal bishop,” Gregory wrote a series of letters to chastise him, including the following letters to John himself and to the Byzantine emperor.
From Gregory to John, Bishop of Constantinople
You will remember what peace and harmony you found among the churches at the time when you were ordained a bishop. But how many of your brothers may now take offense now that you have, with what pride and audacity I do not know, attempted to seize for yourself a new title. I am astounded at this, since I remember how once you wished to flee from the office of bishop rather than attain it. But now that you have the office, you seem to want to exercise it as though you had rushed into it out of pure ambition!
Once you confessed that you were unworthy to be called a bishop, but now you have arrived at the point where, despising your brother bishops, you desire to be named the only [universal] bishop…. I beg you, I beseech you, and with all the sweetness in my power I demand of you, that you ignore all those who flatter you by offering you this erroneous title, that you do not foolishly agree to be called by this proud title.
For truly I say it weeping, and out of inmost sorrow of heart attribute it to my own sins, that this brother of mine, who has been raised to the office of bishop to bring others to humility, has become unable to be brought to humility by others, that he who teaches truth to others has not agreed to teach himself, even when I beg him.
For what are all of your brother bishops of the universal Church but stars of heaven, whose life and speech shine forth amid the sins and errors of men, as though shining amid the shadows of night? And when you desire to raise yourself above them by this proud title, and to tread down their name in comparison with yours, what else are you saying but, “I will ascend to heaven; above the stars of God I will set my throne on high” (Is 14:13)….
As you know, the council of Chalcedon offered the bishops of the Apostolic See I serve by God’s providence [that is, Rome] the honor of being called “universal.” But not one of them has ever wished to be called by such a title, or seized this ill-advised name, lest, by seizing for himself the title, he would seem to deny it to all of his brothers.
From Gregory to Mauricius Augustus
Everyone who knows the Gospel is aware that by the Lord’s voice the care of the whole Church was committed to the holy Apostle and Prince of all the Apostles, Peter. For to him it is said, “Peter, do you love me? Feed my sheep” (see Jn 21:17). To him it is said, “Behold, Satan has desired to sift you as wheat, and I have prayed for you, Peter, that your faith not fail. And when you are converted, strengthen your brothers” (see Lk 22:31). To him it is said, “You are Peter, and on this rock I will build my Church, and the gates of Hades shall not prevail against it. I will give to you the keys of the kingdom of heaven, and whatever you bind on earth shall be bound in heaven, and whatever you loose on earth shall be loosed in heaven” (Mt 16:18–19).
Look! He has received the keys of the heavenly kingdom, and power to bind and loose is given to him, the care and dominion of the whole Church is committed to him, and yet he is not called the “universal bishop,” while the most holy man, my fellow priest John, attempts to be called “universal bishop.” I am compelled to cry out and say, O tempora, O
