Ad Stagirium a daemone vexatum

Of the same, an exhortatory discourse to Stagirius the ascetic, afflicted by demons, discourse one. 1. It was indeed fitting, O Stagirius, dearest to me of all men, that we should both be present with you now and share in your distress, and encourage you by word, and serve you by deed, and in all other ways assist you, and so lighten some portion of your despondency, as far as was possible for us. But since the weakness of the body, and the affliction that has fallen upon the head, have compelled us to remain at home, and have deprived us of a ministry that carries so great a profit, what remains both for your consolation and for our own benefit, this we shall not hesitate to contribute according to our ability. For perhaps there will be some gain toward your bearing the present circumstances nobly; but if indeed we accomplish nothing of that sort, at any rate the fact that nothing has been omitted of what was in our power will make us more at ease for the future. For he who has fulfilled everything, as many things as he thinks bring relief from the troubles that beset him, even if he accomplishes nothing, is at least freed from the blame that comes from his own reasonings, and having laid aside the burden of accusations, he is compelled to bear only the burden of despondency. If, then, I happened to be one of those who are held in esteem before God and are able to do great things, I would not cease entreating and supplicating on behalf of the head that is precious to me; but since the multitude of my sins has taken away from me that boldness and that strength, I shall attempt to bring you encouragement through words.

For in the case of those who are ill in body, it belongs to physicians to make the pains disappear and to stop the disease, but the privilege of encouraging is not taken away even from the servants who are engaged in care, but these are especially the ones who spend many words on this subject, whenever they happen to be well-disposed toward those who possess them. For if something is said by us that is able to quench this measureless pain, what we pray for has come to pass; but if we find nothing of that sort to utter, at any rate the one who commanded through the blessed Paul to weep with those who weep and to be brought low with the humble will surely accept our eagerness. It seems, then, that to you there is one ground of despondency—the madness of this wicked demon; but one could find many grievous things born in succession from this root. And I do not say these things now from myself, but from what I often heard you lamenting to us when you were with us. And first, that while you lived a more ordinary life in the time before, you suffered nothing of the kind, but when you crucified yourself to the world, then you received the perception of the disease—this is enough to disturb and to cast one into perplexity. Second, that many even of those who live in luxury, having been afflicted with the same things as you, after enduring a short time, were delivered from this infirmity, and so returned to complete health as even to be joined in marriage, and to become fathers of many children, and to enjoy the pleasures of the present life, and never again to suffer anything of the kind; but you, having dragged on so long a time in fastings and all-night vigils and the rest of your austerity, have found no release from the evils that hold you.

Third, in addition to these things, that holy man who displayed so great a power among other men was able to accomplish nothing in the case of your love, neither he nor those with him, and that too though they were more powerful than he, but that all alike departed in shame. And along with these things you said that you were also grieved in another way exceedingly, because the power of despondency so prevailed over your soul that often you came near to rushing even upon a noose, and upon a river, and upon a precipice. And there is also a fifth thing in addition to these: that you see your companions and those who began this way of life together with you passing their time in good cheer, while you yourself lie in the most grievous tempest and still inhabit a prison, the most pitiable of all things. For you said that those bound in iron ought not to be wept for so much as those who wear this chain. And you told me that there is also another thing in addition to these that most disturbs you: for you fear concerning your father and tremble, lest at some time, perceiving it, he do great harm to the holy men who received you at the beginning; for trusting in his power and his wealth, and being mastered by despondency, he will dare all things against them, and will refrain from nothing that falls in his way. And up to the present your mother has been able to conceal what has happened and often to elude him when he seeks you; but if more time intervenes, the mother's pretense will be detected, and he will be unbearable both to her and to the monks.

The crowning point of these evils is not even to be able to be confident about the future, nor to know clearly whether there will ever be a release and deliverance from this sickness, because after often expecting this he again fell into the same things. These things are certainly enough to disturb a soul and to fill it with great confusion—but a soul that is slack, uneducated, and sluggish. But if we are willing to look a little, and to stir up our pious reasonings, we shall shake off these occasions of despondency like some fine dust. And yet do not suppose that because I stand outside this toil and storm, I now promise you these things with ease. For even if I shall seem to some to speak incredible things, nevertheless I will speak; for you will not, along with the others, disbelieve us too. For since that foul demon leaped upon your soul at the beginning, and cast you down in the midst of all while you were praying, I did not happen to be present—and I give thanks to the philanthropic God—but I learned everything with precision, as though I were present. For my friend and yours, Theophilos of Ephesus, came and clearly recounted to me everything: the twisting of the hands, the distortion of the eyes, the foam from the mouth, that abominable and inarticulate voice, the trembling of the body, the insensibility that lasted a long time, the dream that appeared that night. For he said that a certain wild boar, defiled with much mire, was continually leaping upon you and wrestling with you; then that the one lying beside you, disturbed by the vision, woke up and again found you moving under the demon.

2. Since, then, he reported these things, he poured over us as much darkness as this demon has over your love. But when after a long time I recovered, no longer did any of the terrible things in this world seem terrible to me, nor any of the pleasant things pleasant; but having long ago condemned the great vanity of life, I suffered this far more then, and a greater longing for your piety came upon me. For such is the nature of painful things: it is accustomed always to intensify friendships, and this is clear from the fact that it can also easily dissolve enmities. For there is no one so wretched or so foolish that, seeing his enemy in pain, he will be able to keep his hatred toward him. But if we pity enemies and make them friends when we see them enduring some unwanted thing, consider what it was fitting for me to suffer, who am the dearest of all to myself and whom I regard as equal to my own head, seeing him in incurable circumstances, in the matter of despondency. Do not think that we stand outside your affliction, nor suspect my consolation for this reason. For even if I have been released through the grace of God from being torn apart and cast down by the wicked demon, at any rate I bear an equal share with you of the despondency that comes from these things and of the pain, and no one who knows how to love as one ought would disbelieve me. Come, then, let us shake off the dust; for in this way the nature of this despondency will be bearable and light, only if we do not wish simply to give ourselves over to the passion and be dragged down precipices, but strive also to rouse ourselves and to reason about some of the things that are needful. For many of the things that seem to be terrible

Great and unbearable do they appear before they are well examined; but if one considers them with reason, he will find them far less than the suspicion. Which I hope will now also come to pass. But rouse yourself, and do not, following the vain and irrational opinion of the many, make the enemy more vehement against us. If, then, my argument were addressed to some one of the unbelievers, either of those who think that all things are borne along at random, or of those who assign the providence of the world to evil demons, much labor would have been needed on my part, so that first casting out the erroneous opinion, and persuading them to know the true providence of the whole, I might thus turn my argument to exhortation. But since by the grace of God from infancy you know the sacred Scriptures, and having received the true and saving doctrines from your ancestors, you believe accurately that God cares for all things, and especially for those who believe in him, leaving this part aside, let us make our beginning from another point. Since God made the angels—or rather, let us lead the argument higher: before the angels came to be, and the other powers in the heavens, God was, never having received a beginning of being. And being always without need—for such is the Divine—he made angels, archangels, and the other essences of incorporeal beings, and he made them for no other reason than goodness alone. For those whose service he did not need, he would not have become their creator either, unless he were exceedingly good. And after the creation of these, he makes also man for this same cause again, and all this world.

And having filled him with countless good things, he set that small and insignificant man over works so great, showing him upon the earth to be that very thing which he himself is in the heavens. For the words, Let us make man in our image and after our likeness, are nothing other than that he too should be invested with the rule over the things on the earth. And having made him and established him in so great honor, like a palace for a king he assigned to him the fairest of the things on earth, paradise. And besides these things, wishing to show him from another side also how far he has risen above the remaining living creatures, he brings them all to him, and commands him to give names to them all. And yet he gives him none of them for a helper; and he adds the reason: For there was not found, he says, a helper like him. And having taught him through these things also the middle position between each of the two natures, and that he himself is more honorable than all, and that in so great a multitude there is nothing equal to him, then indeed he creates the woman also, honoring him in this too and making it clear that she came into being for his sake, just as Paul also says: For the man was not created for the woman, but the woman for the man. And not by these things only did he exalt him, but he also granted to him alone of all the gift of speech, and deemed him worthy of the knowledge of himself, and gave him to enjoy converse with him, as it was possible for that one to enjoy, and he promised to bestow immortality, and filled him with great wisdom, and implanted spiritual grace in him, so that some might even prophesy. And all these things he bestowed as gifts when no right action had been previously performed by him. What then did that man do after so many and such great good things?

He considered the enemy more trustworthy than the one who had given him these gifts, and disregarding the command of the one who had made him, he preferred the deceit of the one who was striving to destroy him utterly and to cast him out from all good things at once. And he preferred him, though that one had shown him nothing, neither great nor small, for the sake of beneficence, but had only offered him words. Did God, then, blot him out, who had shown such ingratitude from the beginning and, so to speak, from the very first line? For this would have been consistent with the reasoning of justice—to destroy and cast out of the midst the man who had experienced countless good things, and in return for these had made the prelude of his life one of disobedience and ingratitude from the start. But God did not cease to benefit him any less than before, showing that, even if we sin ten thousand times and turn away from him, he himself does not cease to arrange what pertains to our salvation, so that if we turn back, we may also be saved; but if we persist in wickedness, at least this much is gained from it—that he does his own part. So then, the casting out of paradise, the barring from the tree of life, and the handing over to death seem to be the acts of one who punishes and takes vengeance; but it is no less the act of one who provides, just as before. For even if what is said seems paradoxical, nevertheless it is true; for the things that happened were contrary to one another, but the ends of both were in harmony and consistent. What I mean is this:

The closing of Paradise, the settling him opposite it, the barring from the tree of life, the restraint, the making him mortal, the for a time showing him superior to the sentence—all these things, both those that came from the former and those that came from the latter, were done for this man's salvation and honor. And concerning the former things I would say nothing, for it is clear to everyone; but one must give an account of the things that came after these. 3. How then shall we know that the second things also were for what was advantageous to him? If we consider what he would have suffered had these things not happened. What then would he have suffered? If, after the devil promised following the transgression to show them equal to gods, he had remained in the same honor, he would have fallen into three of the most extreme evils. For first, he would have thought God was envious, and a deceiver, and a liar; second, that the truly deceiver, and father of the lie and of envy, was a benefactor and friend; and besides these, he would have continued sinning immortally thereafter. But from all these things he freed him, by casting him out of Paradise then. In this way, surely, a physician also, leaving the sore, makes the putrefaction greater, but by cutting it out he prevents the evil of the wound from proceeding further. What then? he says. He did not stop at these things, but added both sweat and toil, because nothing is so useless for ease as the nature of men. For if, even with these things pressing upon us, we do not cease sinning, what would we not have dared, if God had let us go to luxury and idleness? For idleness, he says, has taught every evil.

And what happens every day bears witness to this account, as do the things that happened in the time of our forebears. For the people sat down, it says, to eat and drink, and rose up to play; and again: The beloved one grew fat, grew thick, grew broad, and kicked. In harmony with these things the blessed David also speaks, saying: When he killed them, then they sought him, and they turned back and rose early to God. And to Jerusalem God says through Jeremiah: Be instructed at all times, Jerusalem, lest my soul depart from you. And that it is for salvation not only for the wicked but also for the good both to be humbled and to be bent low, the prophet again says: It is good for me, Lord, that you have humbled me, so that I might learn your statutes. And after him Jeremiah cries out these very same things, even if not in the same words: It is good for a man when he bears a heavy yoke from his youth; he shall sit alone and be silent. And concerning God himself he prays, saying: Do not become one who spares me for estrangement in an evil day. And the blessed Paul, who shone so greatly in grace and surpassed human nature, nevertheless also himself needed the benefit of this good thing; therefore he also said: A thorn was given to me in the flesh, an angel of Satan, to buffet me, so that I might not be exalted. For this I pleaded with the Lord three times, and he said to me: My grace is sufficient for you; for my power is perfected in weakness. And yet it was possible for the preaching to be accomplished even without persecutions and afflictions and labors and sweat, but nevertheless Christ did not wish it, sparing those who preach.

Therefore he says to them: In the world you will have tribulation. And to those who wish to walk into the kingdom, he commands them to do this through the narrow road, since it is not possible to come there by another way. Thus tribulations and temptations and the painful things that befall us no less demonstrate to us the care of God than do good things. And why do I speak of the tribulations here? For the threat of Gehenna no less than the kingdom of heaven sets forth his love for mankind. For if Gehenna had not been threatened, no one would have quickly attained the good things in the heavens. For the promise of good things alone is not sufficient to urge toward virtue, unless the fear of terrible things also pushes forward those who are more slackly disposed toward it. For this reason he also cast the first-formed man out from the beginning of paradise, because the honor granted to him would have made him worse, if indeed that honor had remained unshaken and firm when the commandment was moved. And why do I speak of Adam? For what would Cain not have done, turning about in paradise and enjoying such luxury, when even deprived of these things, and seeing his father's punishment at his very feet, he was not even so brought to his senses, but fell into greater wickedness, being himself the first both to discover and to dare murder, and murder the most accursed of all? For he did not come to this new pollution little by little, nor over a long time, but at once and suddenly he leaped straight to its very summit, lying in wait for and slaying him who had shared the same pangs with him, who had wronged him in nothing, except that he thought honoring God was a wrong.

But here again, observe with me the love of God for humanity. For when he [Cain] insulted God himself, he admonishes him through words and comforts him in his distress; but when he raged against his brother, then indeed he proceeds against him and brings punishment upon him. And yet the former things were worthy of the same punishment, or rather of even harsher. For if among humans, whenever one of the servants keeps the better things for himself and brings the inferior things to the master, the matter seems dreadful and an insult, how much more so in the case of God? But Cain not only sinned in this, but also in another matter no less serious—his resentment at the honor shown to his brother. For if he had repented as one who had sinned, he would have been accepted for this most excellent change; but as it was, the confusion was not of repentance but of jealousy and envy, and the outcome proved it. For he all but raged against God, because he did not honor him when he had been insulted, and preferred the profligate to the decent man. But nevertheless, even so, when his sins demanded severe punishment, he dealt with the offender far more leniently than he deserved, and tries to calm his inflamed soul. For that despondency came from anger; therefore he also says to him: Be still. And he said these things, knowing to what evil he would proceed, but wishing to cut off every pretext from those who are obstinate. For if he had been punished from the beginning, many would have said many such things: was it not possible to exhort by word, and admonish, and rebuke first, and then, if he persisted in the same things, to punish him? This punishment is one of great cruelty and harshness.

For this reason God is patient with insults against himself, at once putting those men to silence and at the same time showing that it was out of goodness that he disciplined Cain's father, and further leading those who came afterward to repentance through such kindness of his. But when, in his hardness and unrepentant heart, he stored up wrath for himself, then at last he exacts punishment; and if he had remained unpunished even after the murder, he would have proceeded to another, greater evil. For it cannot be said that he sinned through ignorance; for what the younger brother understood, how could this one have been ignorant of? Nevertheless, if you wish, let the former deed be set down as also due to ignorance; but after hearing the words "Be quiet," after obtaining pardon, from what sort of ignorance did he proceed to murder, and defile the earth, and overturn the laws of nature? Do you see that not even the earlier deeds were matters of ignorance, but of wickedness and evil and the utmost pollution? What, then, is their punishment? "You shall be," he says, "groaning and trembling upon the earth." The chastisement seems, then, to be bitter; but it does not, if we reckon up the sin and also carefully consider the punishment itself. For when he brought his offering badly, he grieved that, having insulted God, he was not honored by the God he had insulted; he spat upon him as he admonished him; he dared to commit murder first, or rather something far more polluted than murder; he grieved those who had begotten him; he lied to God. For he says, "Am I my brother's keeper?" And

For all these things he is punished only with fear and trembling. But nevertheless I would say that the goodness of God is shown not only from the punishment being milder than the sin, but also from its having no ordinary gain. And the gain was that all who came after might be brought to their senses and become better through the rebuke inflicted on him. For this reason he did not put him to death; for it was not the same thing to hear that a certain Cain killed his brother and died, and to see the killer paying the penalty. For then, even if this were said, it would have been disbelieved because of the excess of the pollution; but as it was, being visible and present, and making many witnesses of the punishment for a long time, he made what had happened clear and credible both to those then and to those afterwards. What then is this to him, he says? In the first place, he also provided for his own salvation, in that he checked his frenzy beforehand, as far as lay in him, through the exhortation of words. But if one examines the punishment itself, he will see that from this too there was great benefit. For if God had killed him immediately, he would not have given him any appointed time for repentance and improvement; but as it was, living with trembling and fear, unless he was exceedingly insensible and more a beast than a man, he would have gained much from this life. And apart from these things, he was making his future punishment less by this punishment. For the painful things or chastisements brought upon us by God in the present life cut off no small part of the torments there. And one might bring the testimonies of this from the divine Scriptures.

For Christ, conversing with his disciples and recounting the events concerning Lazarus, says that Abraham, entreated by the rich man to drip a little with the tip of his finger onto his burning tongue, said to him: "Child, remember that you received your good things in your life, and Lazarus his evil things; but now he is comforted here, and you are in anguish." And Paul—when I say Paul, I mean again the ordinances of Christ; for he was moving that blessed soul, when writing to the Corinthians once concerning the man who had committed fornication, he commands that such a one be delivered to Satan for the destruction of the flesh, so that the spirit may be saved in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. And again, speaking to the same people concerning those who partake of the mysteries unworthily, he says: "For this cause many among you are weak and sickly, and a good many sleep. For if we judged ourselves, we would not be judged; but being judged by the Lord, we are chastened, so that we may not be condemned with the world." Did you see the ineffable love for humanity, and the boundless wealth of goodness? Did you see how God does and accomplishes all things, so that even when we sin we may be able to undergo a punishment gentler than what is owed, or even be delivered from it entirely? 4. But if someone should say, "For what reason, then, did he not destroy the one who deceived from the beginning?"—this too is out of his great care for us. For if that foul one were ruling by force, the question would have some basis; but if he has been deprived of this power, and only persuades, while not being persuaded lies in our power, for what reason do you remove the occasion of good repute, and cut off the ground for crowns?

Moreover, if he knew that he was invincible and would prevail over all, and then let him go, even so it would not be right to be at a loss about these things; for even then it was in our power that he should prevail and conquer those who did not force themselves but willingly submitted to him; yet nevertheless not even this would have sufficed for those who wish to be unreasonable. But if many are those who have already overcome his power, and many are those who will overcome it again, why do you deprive of so great an honor those who are going to distinguish themselves and display a brilliant victory? For this reason he let him go, so that those who were previously defeated by him might bring him down; which is greater than every punishment, and sufficient to bring him to the utmost condemnation. But not all will overcome him, he says. And what is this to the point being made? For it is far more just that the noble receive opportunities in which they will display their own purpose, and that those who are not such be punished for their own negligence, than that the former be maltreated on account of the latter. For now the base man, even if he is wronged, is overcome not by his adversary but by his own sluggishness; and the multitude of those who conquer him makes this clear; but then, if the earnest were maltreated on account of the base, having no place to exercise their courage because of them—

And it became like this: as if some judge of a contest, having two athletes, the one ready both to grapple with the opponent and to display great endurance and to be crowned with the wreath, but the other preferring idleness and luxury to that hardship, taking the opponent out of the midst, should send both away from him without achievement. For in this way the earnest man was injured because of the base man, but that one was no longer bad because of the noble man, but because of his own wickedness. And now indeed what is sought by them seems to be about the devil; but as this argument proceeds in its sequence, it will accuse his providence to many and find fault with it, and will slander the whole creation of God. For it will also accuse the formation of the mouth and of the eyes; for through these men desire what they ought not, and many fall into adultery; and through that other they blaspheme, and others bring forth the destructive things of doctrines. Was it necessary, then, on this account for men to be born without tongue and eyes? Then we will also cut off the feet, and sever the hands, since these are full of blood, and those run to wickedness. But not even the ears will be able to escape the absurdity of this argument; for it receives vain hearing, and transmits the corruption of doctrines to the soul; so that we will take these away too. And if this, then also foods, and drinks, and heaven, and earth, and sea, and sun, and light, and moon, and the chorus of the stars, and all the kinds of irrational animals;

For where will these things be useful, when the one for whose sake all things came to be has been cut down so pitiably? Do you see the absurdity and the ridiculousness into which the argument is compelled to turn? For the devil is evil to himself, not to us; for we, if we wish, will reap many good things even through him, unwilling and not wanting it—and the wonder is greater in this too, and the excess of God's love for humanity. For that people become better stings him, even by itself, and grieves him; but when this is brought about for us even through him, he will not be able to endure the insult. How, then, is it brought about through him? Fearing his cruelty and his continual plots and his successive devices, we drive off much sleep, we stay sober, we remember the Lord continually. And that this word is not mine, but that of the blessed Paul, hear how by nearly the same words he rouses the sleeping among the faithful. For writing to the Ephesians, he says something like this: Our struggle is not against blood and flesh, but against the principalities, against the authorities, against the world-rulers of the darkness of this age, against the spiritual forces of wickedness in the heavenly places. He said these things, however, not wishing to cast them down, but to stir them up. And Peter also says, Be sober, be watchful, because your adversary the devil walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour; resist him, firm in the faith. He said this wishing to make them more vehement and to persuade them to have greater intimacy with God.

For the one who sees the enemy standing over him runs all the more to the one who is able to help, and clings to him. So it is, surely, with little children: when one of them sees something frightening, they flee into their mother's bosom, and hanging from her garments they hold fast to them securely, and even when many often pull them back, they do not let go; but when there is nothing to alarm them, they do not endure it even when she calls and draws them, but they even spurn her when she calls, and turn away from her though she contrives many things to attract them, and when a table is set they despise it. For this reason many mothers, when they have no strength in entreating, fashion bogeymen and frights, and so contrive their return, and persuade them to run back to them again. And this happens not only with children, but also with us. For when the Evil One frightens and disturbs us, then we are brought to our senses, then we recognize ourselves, then with great eagerness we run to God; but if he had vanished from the beginning and been got out of the way, perhaps many would not even have believed concerning the past—for instance, that he deceived man and cast him out from those many good things; but they would have said that God did this out of envy and malice. For where even now there are those who dare such things after so great a demonstration of his deceit, if they had not had any experience at all of that one's wickedness, what would they not have said, what would they not have uttered? And, to speak generally, if one must attend precisely to what has happened, the devil does not drive us into all things, but he himself works many evils, and we also work many for ourselves by mere laziness and contempt.

For where—to return again to the beginning—did the devil approach Cain and urge him to commit murder? For he is seen conversing with that man's mother and contriving the deception; but here no longer, unless someone should say that he suggested the evil thoughts to him, and this too depended on the one who received them and was persuaded and gave him the opening for the assault. But nevertheless not even so did God leave him alone, but he continued instructing and admonishing him through the very things by which he seemed to punish him. And why do I speak of the punishment of Cain, one man, when even the flood, where the destruction of so many men could make clear to us the care of God? For first he did not bring those terrible things upon them simply or unexpectedly, but he foretold them, and not a short time before, but a hundred and twenty years before. Then, so that because of the length of the forewarning they might not fall into forgetfulness and negligence, he arranged for the ark to be built before their very eyes, crying out the threat of God more loudly than any voice. For Cain had already fallen out of the minds of men, but that ark, lying before their eyes, continually stirred up the memory of the things threatened. But not even so were they brought to their senses, but they persisted in provoking and drawing evils upon themselves. For God neither wished to threaten the flood nor to bring it on, just as not even Gehenna itself, but we are the cause of all these things; which indeed one of the wisest, having understood, said: "God did not make death, nor does he delight in the destruction of the living." And he himself also says through the prophet:

For I do not will the death of the sinner, but rather that he turn back and live. But when we do not turn back, it is we who bring destruction and death upon ourselves, not God, who does not will that we perish and who points out the way to escape the devil's path. Can we then say only this concerning the flood, and find no benefit that came from it? But it is not even possible to say how much benefit accrued both to those who perished themselves and to those who came after them. For those were prevented from advancing further in wickedness; and those after them gained all the more greatly from them, since the leaven, so to speak, and the foundation of evils was wiped out from their midst together with those who dared them. For if even without an example men could easily discover evils, what would they not have done when there were many urging them on to wicked deeds? So that this might not happen, nor those who came afterward have so many teachers of baseness, he destroyed them all utterly.

5. But what is this clever argument—or rather, this foolish one—of those who wish to do nothing good, but seek and say everything in order to bring the blame for their own sins upon God? "If God had not permitted it," they say, "the devil would not have come near, nor would he have deceived us in the first place." But neither would Adam have learned how great a good he possessed, nor would he ever have come down from that folly. For this man, who deemed himself worthy of such great things as even to expect to become a god—what would he not have dared, had he not been brought to his senses? But let us suppose that the devil neither gave any counsel nor conversed with Eve at all about the tree: would they then have remained free from stumbling if this had not happened? It is not possible to say so. For the man who was so easily persuaded by his wife would quickly have fallen into sin of his own accord even without a devil—which would also have made his punishment greater. And apart from these considerations, even now the whole matter is not merely the devil's deception, but the woman also fell, caught by her own desire. And Scripture indicated this when it said: "And the woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasing to the eyes to look upon, and fair to contemplate; and she took of its fruit and ate." And I say these things now not to absolve the devil of the charges of his plotting, but wishing to show that if they had not fallen willingly, no one would have brought them down. For the one who so easily received deception from another was, even before the deception, in a careless and slack condition; for that one would not have prevailed so much, if he had been conversing with a sober and watchful soul.

But there are some who, when they are refuted on this point, leave the devil aside and move on to the commandment, and while they keep away from the one who has sinned, they bring a charge against God, saying, "Why then did he give a commandment, knowing that they would sin?" But these too are the devil's words and the inventions of an impious mind. For that giving the commandment is a matter of greater care than not giving it is clear from this. For let Adam have his will so easy-going, as the outcome proved, and let him receive no commandment, but let him remain in luxury. Would his weakness and slackness have advanced from this relaxation for the worse or for the better? But it is clear to everyone, surely, that he would have fallen into the utmost wickedness, being free from care. For the one who did not yet have confidence about immortality, but knew that this hope was still hanging in the balance, and was lifted up to such a height of arrogance and folly as even to hope to become a god—and that without seeing from anywhere that the one who promised this was trustworthy—if he had had immortality secure, to what depth of madness would he not have reached? What would he not have sinned? When would he have obeyed God? But you do something similar in bringing a charge, as if someone were to blame the one who forbids fornication, because those who would hear these things were going to commit fornication. And how are these words not those of the utmost madness? For if the devil, coming to him when he had not received the commandment, had advised him to revolt from God, he would easily have persuaded him; for the one who, after the giving of the commandment, despised the one who gave it—if he had heard nothing at all from him, he would quickly have failed to recognize even that he was under a master.

For this reason God, having first taken the initiative through the things he commanded, taught that he also has a master, and that one must obey him in all things. And what more has come from this? he says. In the first place, even if nothing had come of it, this is no fault of God who taught, but of the one who did not receive this most excellent instruction; but as it is, not even so has the giving of the commandment after the transgression proved unprofitable. For the hiding, and the confessing of the sin, and the eagerness to transfer the cause of what had happened—the man to the woman, and she to the serpent—these are the marks of those who fear and tremble and have recognized the authority of God. And how great a gain it was to be transferred from that satanic expectation to so much fear, no one is ignorant. For he who had imagined himself equal to God was himself so humbled and brought low as to tremble for punishment and chastisement, and to declare his own sin. But to sin without perceiving it, yet to recognize quickly and discern the offense—this is no small thing, but a kind of road and beginning leading to correction and to change for the better. All the goodness of the Lord toward us, then, can neither be learned nor described; but of the things which

I know the sum of it; I will state it. For after so great a disobedience, after so many sins, when the tyranny of sin had taken hold of the whole inhabited world, when it was already time to exact the final penalty and to perish utterly, and for the race of men to become nameless, then he displayed the greatest beneficence toward us: for his enemies, for those estranged and hating him and turning away from the Only-Begotten, he slaughtered his own Son, and through him worked out for us reconciliation with himself, and promised to give the kingdom of heaven, and eternal life, and the countless good things which eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart of man. What could be equal to this care, this love for humanity, this goodness? For this reason he himself says: As the heaven is far from the earth, so is my way far from your ways, and my thoughts from your thoughts. And the gentlest David also, speaking of his love for humanity, says: As the height of heaven is from the earth, the Lord has strengthened his mercy upon those who fear him; as far as the east is from the west, he has removed our iniquities far from us; as a father has compassion on his sons, the Lord has had compassion on those who fear him; not only because it is so great, but because we know no other example of the utmost affection that is greater. Since Isaiah taught even more than this; for taking a mother as the example, who is far more compassionate toward her offspring than a father, he speaks thus:

Will a woman forget her own child, or not have compassion on the offspring of her womb? And even if a woman should forget these things, yet I will not forget you, says the Lord—showing that the mercy of God is higher even than natural affection. And the prophets said these things; but Christ himself, conversing with the Jews, said: If you, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your heavenly Father give good things to those who ask him? By these words he shows nothing else than that, as great as is the distance between the good and the evil, so great is the difference between God's care and a father's. And do not stop again at this point, but go forward in thought even further; for this too has been said as far as you are able to hear it; for where his understanding is boundless, so evidently is his goodness and his love for mankind. And if we do not suspect it in each of the things that happen, this too is a sign of its boundlessness. For many and great things are arranged each day for our salvation, which are manifest to him alone. For since through goodness he benefits our race, and neither needs glory from us nor requires any other recompense, he lets most things escape our notice; but if at some time he does reveal them, he does this too for our sake, so that, being disposed with gratitude, we may draw down greater help. Let us therefore give thanks to him not only for the things we know, but also for the things we do not know; for he knows how to do good not only to the willing but also to the unwilling. Knowing this, Paul also always urged us to give thanks in all things.

That he cares not only for all in common, but also for each one individually, this too one may hear him saying again: It is not the will before my Father in heaven that one of these little ones should perish—speaking of those who believe in him. For he wills that even those who do not believe in him be saved by changing and believing, all of them, as Paul also says: Who wills all men to be saved, and to come to the knowledge of the truth; and he himself said to the Jews: I came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance; and again through the prophet: I desire mercy, and not sacrifice. But when, having enjoyed not even so great a care, they will to become better and to know the truth, not even so does he abandon them; but since they have willingly deprived themselves of heavenly life, at any rate he supplies them with all things for the present life—causing his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and raining on the just and the unjust, and providing all other things for the maintenance of the present life. But if he makes so great a provision for enemies, how will he ever overlook those who believe in him and serve him according to their power? It is not so, it is not; but he holds these in greater zeal than all. For your hairs, he says, even all the hairs of your head are numbered.

28. So when you consider that you threw away from your hands father, home, friends, relatives, untold wealth, and great glory for the sake of Christ, and then you now endure such great affliction, do not cast yourself down. For from the very things out of which perplexity of thoughts is born, from these same things the solution of the perplexity will also come to us. How? It is impossible for God to lie; and he promised eternal life to those who leave these things. You have left all things and spat them out; what then remains that prevents you from being confident about the promise? The temptation that now holds you? And what is this compared to the promise? For it was not here that he promised us eternal life; but even if the things of the promise were going to be fulfilled here as well, not even so ought one to be distressed. For the devout and faithful man ought to be so firmly disposed toward the promises of God that even if what happens appears contrary to them, he is not even so disturbed, nor does he give up on the outcome. Consider, then: what promise did faithful Abraham receive, and what was he compelled to do? The promise was that from Isaac he would fill the whole inhabited world, and the command was to sacrifice this very Isaac, from whom the whole earth was going to be filled. What then? Did this trouble the righteous man? By no means. But even though there was such a disagreement and conflict between the command and the promise, he was not disturbed, nor did he grow dizzy, nor did he say anything like this: "He promised one thing, and now God compels me to do another. From this child he promised me a great multitude of descendants, and now he commands me to slaughter him. How then will this be, when the root has been cut off?

He deceived me, then, and mocked me. He said none of these things, nor even thought them—and very reasonably so. For when it is God who makes the promise, even if countless things seem to destroy the promise, one must not be disturbed about the outcome nor dispute it. For this very thing is especially the work of God's power: to find a way out of the impossible, just as that blessed man reasoned at that time. Therefore Paul was struck with wonder at his faith, saying thus: By faith Abraham, when he was tested, offered up Isaac, and he who had received the promises offered up his only-begotten son—making plain and hinting at the very things I have now said. Nor was he alone, but Joseph his descendant also, seeing the promise in danger through a long time and many circumstances, remained unswerving; for he looked only to the one who had promised. But if he had fallen into human reasonings, he would have despaired of the outcome. For the vision shown to him foretold the worship of him by his brothers and by his parents; but the events were not of that sort, but far removed from them. For first, those very men who were to worship him cast him into a pit, and after selling him to barbarian men they sent him to a foreign land lying far away; and so the events seemed to be contrary to what had been shown, so that even those wretched men mocked him and said: Behold, that dreamer comes; now then, come, let us kill him, and cast him into one of the pits, and we will say: An evil beast has devoured him; and we shall see what will become of his dreams.

After this, those who had bought him hand him over again not to some free man but to a slave of the emperor. And the horrors did not stop even there; but falling foul of his mistress through slander and being condemned, he lived in prison for many years, and though others escaped, he himself remained there a longer time. And though so many things were capable of disturbing that man's soul, he remained unshaken by them all. Such too are our own circumstances, or rather far more perplexing than these. For what he promised—the kingdom of heaven, and eternal life, and incorruption, and the countless good things—while what is happening for now and befalling us is far removed from these: for there is death and corruption and punishment and chastisement and various and continual afflictions. For what reason, then, does God do this, and allow things contrary to his promises to come to pass? He accomplishes two very great things: one, providing us an indisputable proof of his own power, that he could bring his promises to fulfillment even from things despaired of; the other, training our soul to believe him in all things, even if what happens appears contrary to what was said. For such is the strength of hope: it does not put to shame the one who clings to it sincerely. For if those who received the promises here were so disposed, much more ought we to do this, who expect the outcome of the good things not in the present life but in other ages. For what he foretold here is affliction and distress. What, then, is it that disturbs you? From where do you suspect the promise of God?

For to despise the whole world for his sake, and then to say again that he has been neglected by him, is nothing other than the act of one who disbelieves and suspects, and thinks that promise to be a deception—which is truly to be possessed by a demon, and to summon the fire of Gehenna. But there are some who, busying themselves with worldly affairs, live in ease; for Christ foretold this too: "Amen, amen, I say to you," he says, "that you will weep and lament, but the world will rejoice." And in earlier generations too, the Babylonians, who did not even know God, were in wealth and power and honor, while the Jews were in captivity and slavery and the worst evils. And Lazarus, who was worthy of the heavens and of the kingdom there, covered with sores, lay exposed to the tongues of dogs, battling unceasing hunger; while the rich man was in honor and bodyguard and ease and luxury. Yet nevertheless neither did this man enjoy any of these things in Gehenna, nor was Lazarus, because of hunger and wounds, harmed in the least in the exactness of the present life; but like some noble athlete, wrestling in dust and the heaviest suffocation, he both conquered and was crowned. For this reason a certain wise man also says: "Child, if you come to serve the Lord, prepare your soul for temptation; direct your heart, and endure, and do not hurry in the time of calamity." And after a little he says that "gold is tested in fire, and acceptable men in the furnace of humiliation." And again elsewhere he says: "Child, do not make light of the Lord's discipline, nor grow faint when you are reproved by him.

For he who casts gold into the furnace knows both to what extent it must be heated and when it must be drawn out. Therefore this one says: Do not hasten in the time of calamity. And Solomon, teaching this very thing, said: Do not grow weary when you are reproved by him. For great is affliction, great for producing a proven man and for training the virtue of endurance. What then, he says, if he overturns and casts him down through excess? God is faithful, who will not allow us to be tempted beyond what we are able, but with the temptation will also provide the way out, so that we are able to endure it. For if discipline is from love, but abandonment is from hatred, it is not the same person's to love and to hate the same man at once, nor to discipline and to abandon at once. How then did many fall? he says. By depriving themselves of God, not by being forsaken by him. For behold, those who distance themselves from you shall perish. And they distance themselves by not bearing God's disciplines, but growing angry and resentful; and just like wicked children, when their fathers send them to teachers, if after fleeing the toils there and the few blows they leap away from the sight of their parents, they have gained nothing, and have plunged themselves into worse evils, starving and wandering in a strange land and falling sick and being dishonored

and are compelled to serve; so too those who do not bear the discipline of God with gratitude, but chafe under it, in addition to reaping no benefit from it, also wrap themselves in the most extreme calamities. For this reason we have been commanded to endure and to make our own heart straight. But you have suffered things far more grievous. For neither do athletic trainers exercise all alike and in one manner, but to the weaker they provide weaker opponents, and to the noble such as are like them; for he who has received an opponent less than his own strength, even if he wrestles with him the whole day, that man remains untrained. How then, he says, has he not made those who have chosen the same manner of life to contend with the same labors? Because there is not one form of training with God, nor do all need the same things, even if they are in the same circumstances; for many who are sick with the same diseases have not needed the same remedies, but these needed one set and those another. For this reason the modes of scourging are varied and different, and one is tested by a long illness, another by the most grievous poverty, another by being violently treated and wronged, another by seeing continuous and successive deaths of children and of his own kin; and this one by being cast off by all and deemed worthy not even of a single word, that one by being slandered in matters of which he is conscious of nothing in himself, and by enduring the weight of evil repute, and another in another way; for it is not possible to enumerate all things accurately now. And each of these seems, in comparison with the calamities you have set beside them, to be light and nothing;

But if you had experience of them, you would have learned that this thing under which you now chafe is far more bearable than those. And if there are some who are disciplined less than we are, let us not be scandalized at this; for the intensification of labors is an intensification of rewards and a secure foundation, so that we may no longer fall away either willingly or unwillingly. For it checks arrogance, and turns aside laziness, and makes us more prudent, and renders us more circumspect. And in general, if one wished to enumerate everything, he would find many are the gains of trials, and there is no one who is of great account before God apart from affliction, even if it does not appear so to us. 7. For if the blessed Paul endured the matter greatly, and no one is greater than he, nor even equal to him, how is it possible for them not to need this assistance? But if some were not brought to their senses even by these afflictions, this is no longer due to the cause of him who brought the discipline, but to their own negligence. But if the remedy had not been applied, they would have seemed to perish through neglect; but now it is no small gain that the physician is blamed not at all, but rather the sick and their inattention. But if some, walking uprightly before their trials, fell after these were brought upon them, and again others, advancing into every kind of wickedness, experienced no affliction, while others from their earliest age to their last breath continued to be worn away by countless calamities, let us not be disturbed or cast down by any of these things. For if, being able and obliged to know the whole economy of his providence, we were ignorant of these things, we ought to be disheartened and troubled.

But if even the one who had shared in so many ineffable mysteries, and had ascended to the third heaven, grew dizzy before this abyss, and having peered into the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God, was only overwhelmed and at once withdrew—why do we vainly wear ourselves out, busying ourselves over what cannot be searched out and seeking what cannot be traced? And to a physician, when he often prescribes things contrary to what seems to us beneficial, and bids us apply a chilled limb to a running stream, and does many other such paradoxical things, we will not object, but since we have already convinced ourselves that he does this by the principle of his art, we will yield with eagerness, even though he has often erred; but God, who is so far removed from us in all things, who is wisdom itself, who never errs—shall we busy ourselves over him? And the one to whom we ought to demand accounts, him we will trust simply; but the one whom alone we ought to trust, from him we will demand reckonings and reasons for what is done, and we will be vexed at our ignorance? And where is this worthy of a pious soul? Do not, I beg and implore, do not let us come to such great madness, but in all things wherein we are at a loss, let us say that word: Your judgments are a great abyss. For this very thing is also of God's wisdom—that we do not know all things clearly. For if, knowing the causes of what happens, we thus obeyed God, our reward would not be great, nor would the matter be a display of faith; but when, knowing none of these things, we still love to yield to all his commands, both for genuine obedience and for sincere faith, we greatly benefit our souls.

For we must be persuaded of one thing only: that all things are brought upon us by God for our benefit; but we must no longer inquire into the manner, nor, being ignorant, be vexed or disheartened. For neither is it possible to know these things, nor is it beneficial—the one because we are mortal, the other because we are quickly lifted up into folly. We do many things that seem to our children to be harmful but are nevertheless beneficial; and neither do they think it worth learning the reason, nor do we, after first persuading ourselves that what is done is beneficial, then proceed to do it, but we train them in this one thing only: to yield to whatever their fathers command, and to seek nothing further. Then, shall we be so disposed toward parents, who are of the same nature as ourselves, and not be indignant, but be displeased with God, between whom and us the distance is as great as that between God and men, because we do not know all things? And what is equal to this impiety? For it was in indignation at such people that the blessed Paul said: Nay but, O man, who are you that reply against God? Shall the thing formed say to him that formed it, Why have you made me thus? And I have used the example of children, but he set forth one far greater than this—that of the potter, and of the clay molded by him. For just as the clay follows wherever the hands of the one shaping it lead it, so also man must follow wherever God commands, and must receive with thanksgiving whatever he brings upon him, contradicting nothing, nor busying himself beyond measure in order to learn.

For these things are not difficult for us alone, but also for those holy and wonderful men before us. For Job said: Why do the ungodly live, and grow old in wealth? and the rest. And the blessed David: My steps had almost slipped, because I was envious at the lawless, when I saw the peace of sinners; because there is no refusal in their death, and no firmness in their scourge; they are not in the labors of men, and they shall not be scourged with men. And after him Jeremiah said: You are righteous, O Lord, yet I will speak judgments with you. Why is it that the way of the ungodly prospers? They too, then, were at a loss and sought, but not on equal terms with the ungodly, nor accusing God, nor condemning injustice from what He does. For the one said: Your righteousness is like the mountains of God; your judgments are a great deep. And the other, having suffered so much, he says, did not give folly to God; and in the midst of the book he said, explaining the incomprehensibility of His wisdom and providence, since he had spoken concerning creation: Behold, these are parts of His ways, and at a drop of a word shall we hear of Him. And Jeremiah, foreseeing this very thing, lest anyone should ever suspect otherwise, sets before the question his own judgment, saying: You are righteous, O Lord; that is, I know that all things are done by You righteously, but the manner in which they are done I do not understand. What then, did those men learn anything more? But indeed they did not obtain an answer concerning these things; which the blessed David also indicating said: And I took it upon me to know, that this is labor before me.

They did not obtain an answer, so that they might teach those after them not even to ask. And those men sought only one thing—why the ungodly are in prosperity and wealth—and not even so did they learn; but those now busy themselves about far more things than they did, for the matters now set forth are far more numerous than those. Let the clear account of these things be entrusted to the one who knows all things before their birth. 8. But if it is necessary, for the sake of those who are exceedingly curious about these things, that we ourselves also devise from what has already happened some solution and consolation known to us for the questions raised, I say this: that the righteous are in afflictions and the wicked at ease is no longer worthy of inquiry, now that the kingdom has been revealed and the recompense in the age to come has been shown to us. For since each one's portion remains there according to worth, why should one be disturbed by the good or evil things that happen here? For God, as with noble athletes, trains those who attend to him by these labors, while those who are weaker and slower and unable to endure any of the heavier things he first leads on by encouragement to good works. But if the opposite often happens, and many of the righteous live in ease and honor, while the wicked are in dishonor and the worst evils, for the present the former objection—which says that the righteous are ill-treated while the unjust live in luxury—is overturned by our argument. But if this too must be resolved, I would say this: that God is not accustomed to order our affairs in one way only, but being resourceful he cuts many paths for us to salvation.

For since many cannot endure to accept the account of things to come and of the resurrection, for this reason he shows here in brief the image of the judgment, when he punishes the wicked and benefits the good. For this happens wholly in the judgment, but in part also here and now, so that those who have fallen back on that long time may become more reasonable by at least the things done in the present. For if no wicked person were punished at all, nor any good person honored, many of those who disbelieve the account of the resurrection would flee virtue as the cause of evils and pursue wickedness as the procurer of good things; and if again all received here according to their desert, they would have considered the account of the judgment superfluous and false. In order, then, that this account may not be disbelieved, nor the great and common people become more base by despising it, he visits many of those who sin even here, and repays some of those who do right—by not doing this to all, confirming the account of the judgment; and by punishing some even before the judgment, awakening those who sleep a deep sleep. For by the punishment of the wicked many are roused through fear of suffering the same things; and by the fact that not all receive here according to their desert, they are compelled to reason that this has been stored up for another time. For surely God, being just, would not have overlooked so many of the wicked departing unpunished, and of the good being punished with countless terrors, unless he had prepared for both another state of an age.

Therefore he punishes and honors not all, but some, as in the case of the Persian, as in the case of Hezekiah; although many were equally impious with the Assyrian, and virtuous like Hezekiah, yet he did not do this in the case of all; and the cause, as I said, is that the time of judgment is not yet present. And that this is not my own account, hear it from him who is himself going to judge us then. For when those who reported to him the end of those buried by the tower, and the madness of Pilate which he showed toward the dead, mingling their blood with the sacrifices, came to him, what does he say? Do you think that these Galileans were sinners beyond all the Galileans, because they suffered such things? No, I tell you, but unless you repent, you will all perish likewise. Or those eighteen on whom the tower in Siloam fell and killed them, do you think that they themselves were debtors beyond all those who dwell in Jerusalem? No, I tell you, but unless you repent, you will all perish in the same way. This is the cause of the delay. For this reason those who are worthy of the same

He is not accustomed to punish all at once, so that those who remain may become better through the calamities of those others. And let these matters be resolved by us in this way. But perhaps you are now also inquiring into the questions presently set before us, which are much more perplexing than these. Nevertheless, since these have been made clear by us as far as we are able, I think that through them some beginning has been laid down beforehand for the solution of those questions as well. What then is it that perplexes you? That many, from their earliest age until death, have wrestled with many calamities. But I would say concerning both these and the former cases that, in the first place, he punishes them because of their own wickedness; and then, so that others too may profit from the evils that befall them. But if this does not happen in every case, the time of judgment has not yet come. What then, he says, when some are punished before they come to the age that can distinguish good from what is not so, as though they had done great wrongs? Of this there is not one cause only, but many and various. For this could happen because of the intemperance of the parents, and because of the negligence of those who reared them, and because of the irregularity of the airs, and because of many other such circumstances. Moreover, God knows that many of them will be wicked; and so, as it were, he holds them back beforehand with these punishments as with fetters. Or do you not see that many of the beggars, even in the midst of their affliction itself, do countless terrible things, not because of the affliction, nor because of the famine, but only because of their own wickedness? For I once heard some saying that, having taken a free and respectable woman in a deserted place, they abused her. And yet of what necessity, of what affliction was this the work?

What terrible thing would these men not have done, if they had not been held by so great a bond? But who could easily endure the madness and frenzy of those who inhabit the prison? And those possessed by demons do no less than these. I do not speak of the things they do during the time of the demon's possession, but of the things after that, when that bacchic frenzy has ceased. For they are gluttonous, and steal, and get drunk, and do many things more shameful than these. Just as, then, in the case of criminals, the judge allows the many to inhabit the prison for a long time, so that they often even end their life there, but when he wishes to admonish some of the many, taking one or perhaps two from among them, and seating himself on the high tribunal, with all standing around, he thus orders him to be led to death, and he has no need of all the wicked for the fear of the rest; so too God has no need of all the wicked, when he wishes to discipline us, but taking some from among them, whom he knows to be incurably disposed, he displays his power and his wrath, accomplishing many things by this. For in this way he both urges the wicked to change from their wickedness, if they are willing, and makes the good more attentive, and demonstrates his own long-suffering, and makes the doctrine concerning the resurrection, as I said before, clear to all. What then, he says, does this have to do with those who were raised in misfortunes their entire first age, and who breathed their last before they came to know good or evil?

And what terrible thing do these men suffer, tell me, when they do not yet have perception of what they suffer, nor have learned to grieve and rejoice? But I resolve this argument not only by this consideration, but also because parents and brothers and relatives have been brought to their senses by such calamities; and this is no small gain, that while another has been wronged in no way, another is benefited most greatly. It is likely that there is also some other unutterable cause, manifest only to the One who made us. 9. One argument still remains: why is it that those who were walking uprightly before their temptations fell after them? Who, then, is the one who knows well those who walk uprightly, except the One who formed our hearts in private, and who understands all our works? For many times many of those who seem to be good are worse than all others. And this has been demonstrated already even in the present life, but in the case of some, when some circumstance and necessity arose. But when the One who tests hearts and reins, the living and active and sharper than any two-edged sword, the One who penetrates even to the division of soul and body, of joints and marrow, the discerner of thoughts and intentions, sits in judgment over us, then, then you will see not a few out of many, but all such persons exposed; and neither a sheep's skin could hide the wolf, nor the whitewashing of a tomb hide the defilement within. For no creature is hidden before the One who judges then, but all things are naked and laid bare to his eyes; which Paul also, making clear to the Corinthians, said:

So do not judge before the time, until the Lord comes, who will both bring to light the hidden things of darkness and make manifest the counsels of the hearts. But so that, leaving aside the hypocrites, we may come in our discourse to those who live rightly: how is it clear whether in other respects they have succeeded, but have neglected the chief of goods, humility? And for this reason God left them, so that they might learn that they were not succeeding in those things by their own power, but by the grace of God. But if someone should say that it is better to succeed and be elated than to be humbled by falling, he is greatly ignorant of the harm of arrogance and the gain of humility. For know well and clearly that a man who succeeds with presumption—if indeed this is at all to succeed—will quickly fall into the utmost destruction. And he who is permitted to slip, and learns moderation from the fall, will both rise again and recover himself more quickly, if indeed he so wishes; but he who seems to do well with arrogance, and suffers nothing terrible, will never even gain perception of his own transgression, but will also increase the evil, and will depart from here empty without noticing it—just like that Pharisee, who went up thinking he was rich in all good things, but came down having learned that he was poorer even than the tax collector. There is also another kind of thing that has great power to empty out the good things gathered with many sweats and labors: the wind of vainglory. For like a wind, it truly enters and blows away all the treasures of virtue. Behold, then, a second pretext has appeared to us concerning those who walk in right paths, as you said.

For many among us who seemed to have endured many toils for the sake of virtue, and who were enduring them, because they looked to the honor that comes from men and did not do all things with a view to God, were allowed to fall into temptation, so that, being deprived of the glory that comes from the many, for which they had suffered loss in all things, and having learned its nature—that it is in no better state than the flower of grass—they might attend to God alone for the rest of their lives and do all things for his sake. And there are other accounts besides these, far more numerous than these, hidden from us, as I said, but known to the God who made them. Let us not, then, be vexed at what happens, but let us give thanks; for this is the mark of grateful servants. But you, marveling that it was not earlier, when you were living in luxury and clothed in worldly display, but now, when you have cast all that aside and dedicated your whole self to God, that this foul creature leaped upon you—you are doing something much like marveling why on earth no one troubles the spectators, but only the man who has enrolled for boxing, who has trained, and who has entered the contest—upon him alone of all does the adversary come, striking his head and battering his face. So it is not this that is wonderful or worthy of discouragement—that when we have chosen to box, that one oppresses and vexes and weighs us down; for this is the law of boxers—but if he overturns us and casts us down and takes away the prize, this is the terrible thing. As long as he cannot do this, he has not only done us no harm, but has even benefited us greatly, making us more honorable by the fierce struggle.

For in the camps that man is the better than all, the one who has more wounds to show, and who has taken upon himself the single combats against the stronger of the enemies; and among the athletes we admire those who grapple with the unconquered—for so they call the more contentious of the antagonists—and the hunter is most of all the one who is held fast, the one who takes on the beasts that are hard to catch. Is this demon shameless and undaunted? Therefore I do not cease being astonished at you and marveling, because, allotted such an antagonist, you did not fall, nor did you give yourself up, but you remained unbending, turned aside from no quarter. 10. And that I say these things now not flattering you, but that you have truly reaped the greatest fruits from this affliction, bear with us speaking with boldness; for I could not otherwise provide the proof of this. You know somewhere and remember your former manner of life—I mean the one before this trial. So examine that well, and set it beside the present one, the one after the trial, and then you will see how great the gain has come to you from this encounter. For now both in fastings and in all-night vigils, and in your zeal for reading, and in your endurance in prayers, there has been much intensification, and the undistracted and humble state has been accomplished by you beyond measure; but formerly there was no account of books for you, and all your care and toil was spent on the tending of the plants in the garden.

I heard many at that time mocking you even to the point of madness, and blaming for this the splendor of your family, and the glory of your father, and your having been raised in great wealth; and the slackness in the all-night vigils you yourself also know clearly. For often, when others rose immediately after deep evening, you yourself remained held fast by deep sleep, and you were vexed at those who tried to wake you. But now all those things have been dissolved and changed for the better, since you took up this battle and war. And if you should ask me why God did not permit this demon to oppose you while you were still living in luxury and excited about the affairs of the world, I would answer this: that this too was part of His care for you. For He knew that, finding you then easy to overthrow, he would quickly destroy you. Therefore He did not call you to this wrestling match even immediately when you came to the monastic life, but He allowed you to train beforehand and to wait a long time, and then, when you had become most steadfast, at that point He drew you to this toilsome arena. Since, then, you still remember those who are occupied in the world, and you bring your servant into the middle of the discussion—for I think you are hinting at him when you say that many men of worldly life who fell into this disease obtained the swiftest and most complete release. But your servant, O dearest friend, and all those who obtained the same as he, did not become entangled in the same things as he did in the same way as you now; for to him and to such men God let loose this beast only for the purpose of frightening them, and by fear making them better.

For you, so as to strive nobly, and to conquer splendidly, and to be crowned with the crown of endurance. And victory is not when someone, while the theater is still assembled, drags himself away from his opponent and leads him off, but when he lets him grapple completely, and then, by wrestling and through despondency leading him into absurd thoughts, he prevails in nothing. And that these things are so, I will reason well from that. It is clear to everyone, even if you yourself wish to be modest, how much better your life differs from the life of the servant. Therefore both your account with God and his care are greater than his. And since this is clear, that also will be equally evident, that if this were a forgiveness of hatred, he would not have extended it to the one he loved more, snatching this one, who is far weaker, quickly from the demon. And I would not assert this from this alone, but also from the very things in which you seem to have been abandoned—from these especially I will try to demonstrate that God cares greatly for your affairs. For if you had not made great effort, nor undertaken long journeys, so as to associate with holy men and those able to loose such bonds, perhaps one of the many would have been at a loss, since the cause is not very clear, for which he allowed so much time; since

And having occupied the places of the martyrs, where many even of those who ate men were healed, and having lived a long time for this purpose with those wondrous and noble men who never failed, and having left out nothing at all of the things that contribute to release from the passion, you returned again having the enemy with you; you brought a clear and vivid proof of God's providence concerning you even to the very foolish. For he would not have hindered so great a grace, nor would he have endured that his own servants be put to shame, unless he saw very much more toward your good repute and your benefit. So that which seems to be a sign of God's abandonment is a sign of his great affection and zeal for you. Of the same author, to Stagirius, and that despondency is harsher and a demon's word, second discourse 1. Let these things be said by us concerning God's providence, and that it is not turning away nor hating, but loving exceedingly, that he trains in this way. But since you said that you also grieve in another way exceedingly, so that the demon often persuades you to destroy yourself in the sea or down a cliff, or by some other such manner to dissolve the present life, I wish to speak briefly about these thoughts. For this counsel is not his alone, but also of your despondency, and of this more than of him, and perhaps of this alone. And it is clear from the fact that many even of those not possessed by demons, from grieving only, deliberate such things.

Cast this out, therefore, and drive it away from the soul, and that one will no longer have any strength, not only to persuade such things, but not even to suggest them at all. For now, just as housebreakers, when night comes on, having extinguished the light, can both steal the possessions and slaughter their owners with great ease, so too this one, spreading despondency in place of night and darkness, tries to steal away all the reasonings that lead to safety, so that, taking the soul desolate and helpless, he may wound it with countless blows. But when someone, by hope in God, has scattered this darkness and, fleeing to the sun of righteousness, hastens to deposit those rays into his own soul, he will transfer the turmoil from his own reasonings to the robber; for those who perpetrate such evils, when someone convicts them and shows the light, tremble, grow dizzy, and are thrown into confusion. And how, he says, could one be rid of this pain without first being rid of the demon who stirs it up? It is not the demon who stirs up despondency, but that very thing which makes the demon strong and suggests the evil reasonings. And the blessed Paul would bear witness to us here; for it was not some demon, but the excess of this, that he feared when he enjoined the Corinthians to spare the one who had erred for the sins he had committed, lest, he says, such a one be swallowed up by excessive grief. But if you wish, let us for now suppose in argument that the demon is pressing upon you, but that despondency has been driven out of your soul; what harm will there be thereafter?

What could this one by himself do to harm us, either small or great? But that one, even when this one is not present, could work many terrible things; and we shall find that the majority of those who have hanged themselves with nooses, or destroyed themselves with a sword, or drowned themselves in rivers, or in some other way made away with themselves, were driven by despondency to these violent deaths. And if some of the demon-possessed are among these, the destruction of these too must not be attributed to the demon, but to the tyranny and violence of despondency. And how is it possible, he says, not to be despondent? If, departing from the opinion of the many concerning the matter, you think on things above. For now, since the many consider the matter to be terrible, it seems so to you as well; but if you would wish to look at it by itself with precision, freed from vain and mistaken preconception, you will find that it has no occasion for despondency, as has already been demonstrated by us many times. But concerning those of your own age—for I think that when you see their cheerfulness and their boldness toward their brothers, you are confounded and cast down—I would say this: if, while these were living in self-control and orderliness and the rest of the philosophy of life, you yourself were spending all your time in brothels and dice and revels, the pretext for despondency would have a reason; but if you are still walking the same road as they, what is it that grieves you? For I, if my argument were addressed to some other one of those who are easily elated, I would even have kept silent about these things which I am now about to say to you.

Since I am very confident that, even if countless people were to praise and admire you, you will never abandon moderation, but will remain as you are, ranking yourself among the last, I will speak everything without holding anything back. For I hear that such has been the increase of your piety that your contest is no longer against those youths, but against the great and wonderful men. For they say that you fall short of none of them—not in the matter of fasting; for how could you, when you are nourished on water and bread alone, and that every other day? Nor in the time of all-night vigils, but you pass many nights in succession sleepless like them. And in your daily conduct they say you have already surpassed many of them; for I hear those who come from there recounting that all your time is spent in prayers and tears; and just as those who practice silence, or who have shut themselves alone in a cell, speak to no one, so too they say you continue even while moving about in so great a crowd. And your heart's contrition, and your dryness, and your pain they have shuddered at as they recount them, and many here they have pierced with compunction by reporting your ways. He does not look anyone in the face, they say, of those who enter there, nor does he let himself off from his continual labors; often we have feared lest he blind his eyes with his lamentations, lest he injure his membranes by the intensity of his sleeplessness and his unremitting and ceaseless zeal for reading.

These things, then, grieve and disturb you: that you have so far surpassed those of your own age, and that, though you have a violent and shameless adversary, you have with great measure outrun those who run alongside you. Was I not right in saying that this despondency is merely a matter of preconception, and that when examined it provides us with many occasions for good cheer? For tell me, what profit is there in not being demon-possessed, when one's life is neglected? And what harm is there from being demon-possessed, when the affairs of one's conduct have been brought to exactness and well compacted? But perhaps you are ashamed and blush when he throws you down in the presence of others? But this again happens to you from the same underlying cause: that you have entrusted the matter to the opinion of the many, but never to reasoning. For to fall down is not what you say you suffer, but to fall into sin; at this fall it is noble to be ashamed and to grieve. But now, over things that have no shame at all we sink down, while the things that are truly shameful and full of great laughter and of the utmost punishment—these we do and think we suffer nothing terrible. But while the soul falls each day through the working of sins, there is no one who mourns; but if ever this body should suffer something, it seems dreadful and unbearable. Is this not what being demon-possessed is—to have the soul in such a state and to go astray in one's judgment of matters? For if you suffered this from drunkenness, you ought to sink down and be despondent, for the blame would belong to choice; but if the matter is from another's violence, it is not the one who is abused, nor the one who endures the violence, but the one who does it who ought to be ashamed.

It is necessary. For if ever in the marketplace a fight has arisen and one man has pushed another and thrown him down, we all blame the one who threw him down, not the one who fell. It is good to blush, but only when we are doing something that brings us punishment from the one who is then going to judge us; but as long as we are conscious of nothing of that sort in ourselves, for what reason do we cover our faces? For neither, if someone took you alone aside and simply struck you, having nothing to accuse you of, or again threw you down to the ground, and you, having borne it all meekly, went away—the matter was not one of shame, but of philosophy and the greatest praises. Then, when men are abusing us, to bear the abuse is a praise; but when the one more wicked than all does this very same thing, will the man who has nobly borne that one's madness sink down as though he were doing something blameworthy? And what could be more irrational than this contradiction? For if, having risen up from that fall, you were led on to do or say something absurd, I myself would not have prevented you from being cut to pieces and grieving over these things; but if you bear all things with thanksgiving and turn yourself straightway to prayers, what then is it that produces the shame? But perhaps the reproaches from others are painful. And what could be more disgraceful than these men, who are not even able to know well the very things that one ought to reproach? For these are truly the mad and demon-possessed, who have not learned to see things as they are by nature, but blame the things worthy of praise, and transfer the disgraceful things into the rank of the praised. Many also of those sick with frenzy say evil things against those present, but those who hear do not consider themselves insulted.

Do not, then, when you hear those who are out of their minds, consider the matter to be a shame and an outrage, lest you ever truly make yourself reproachable by provoking God. For when you consider the things brought upon you by God for discipline and benefit to be a reproach, see where the evil ends. 3. For if you wish to see those who are truly worthy of shame and reproach, I will try to show you a few out of many by my argument. Look at those who are frantic over the beauties of women, those who are mad for money, those who lust after power and glory, and who choose both to do and to suffer everything for the sake of these things, those who are consumed by envy, those who plot against those who have done them no wrong, those who are simply melancholy, those who are always raving after the vain things of life; these and such things are works of madness and worthy of punishment, these are worthy of reproach and shame and laughter. But if someone troubled by a demon should display philosophy even so, and much of it in his life, he would be justly not only not reproached, but even admired and crowned by all, running so toilsome a race with so many bonds, and ascending the uphill and rough road of virtue. But I do not know how another point has almost escaped me, in which you have an advantage over your brothers; and this is that you easily, even if you have committed some fault, strip off these sins through this affliction. And this has become clear to us from what I have already discussed, when I spoke about Lazarus and the one who committed fornication among the Corinthians. But I am afraid for the father, he says.

For even if I could bear my own troubles gently, how shall we easily bear his misfortunes and his madness, if ever he should become aware of any of these things? For the present he has not become aware. But it is a mark of great faint-heartedness to reap despondency already and to beat oneself over things that will happen at some later time, or will not happen at all. For how is it clear to us that he will even perceive it? Rather, let it be clear, and let it be granted, if you wish, both that he will perceive it and that he will do great harm; I praise you for grieving over his evils, but I do not think you should do this at your own loss. For those who set their minds on things above and not on things on the earth must master not only anger and desire and the other passions, but despondency as well. For this too will work greater evils in us than in them, and we must stand against it bravely, since we are not about to perish utterly. For if you were going to be the cause of the painful things that befall your father, you would rightly fear and tremble, having become the cause of so great a destruction; but if he himself wishes to pierce himself through with the worst evils, there is no account of these things to be rendered to you, except insofar as one ought to grieve together with a father. Apart from these things, we do not even know how he will bear this report; for many things have often turned out contrary to expectations. And that is among the things that happen unexpectedly and rarely, while this is among things that are likely and very much possible. From where, then, is this clear? He makes much account of the bastards, and his affection toward them is sufficient to overshadow this despondency of his. Do not, then, pain yourself in vain with your anxieties.

But if one must grieve over the father, it is for his senseless expenditures, his revels, his arrogance, his tyranny, his present adultery. Or do you think it a small evil that, while your mother is at home, he should be attached to another girl and beget children from unlawful unions? These things are worthy of mourning, worthy of tears—the evils that are manifest and have run their course to the end. But the things that will befall you are perhaps terrible, perhaps not terrible; yet it is great folly to submit to a confessed ordeal now for things so uncertain. But let us grant that they will come upon you with great severity; still, they will have a very swift end, and before they are well kindled they will be quenched. For a man who devotes himself to such luxury, and manages many affairs, and supports parasites and flatterers, and is so inflamed with passion for that girl by whom he has the brothers who are half yours—even if he should become aware of your situation, he will take it lightly and as worth nothing. And I conjecture this not only from what I have said but also from what has already happened. For you know, you know clearly, that though he loved you exceedingly before these things and regarded your head as everything, when you changed to the monastic life he quenched all that longing, and considered the matter shameful and unworthy of the splendor of his ancestors, and said that you were disgracing his own reputation; and if the constraint of nature had not held him back, perhaps he would even have disowned you.

So that, unless the saying is utterly senseless, I think he even took pleasure in what happened, as though you had paid the penalty for the many times he urged you and wished to draw you away from this endurance of life, and you did not endure the advice even as far as words. 4. And concerning the father and the fear you have felt on his account, this is what I have to say, being sufficient, I think, to dispel all the fear that has arisen in you concerning these things. But since you said that the chief of evils is not even to be able to have confidence concerning the future, nor to know whether there will ever be some release from these things, or whether the one who set this contest before you will wish to contend with you even to the end, I myself have nothing certain to say about these things, nor to declare concerning the future; this, however, I know clearly, and I think it right that you yourself be persuaded of it, that whichever of these comes to pass, it will be for our advantage and for our good; and even if you are so disposed, you will quickly beat off, as you say, the capstone of these evils. In addition to this, one must also consider that the time of the prizes and the crowns is the age to come, while the time of the wrestling and the sweat is the present. And wishing to make this clear to us, the blessed Paul said: So I run as not uncertainly, so I box as not beating the air, but I buffet my body and bring it into subjection, lest after preaching to others I myself become disqualified. And when he had reached the end, then he uttered that blessed cry: I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith; henceforth there is laid up for me the crown of righteousness.

showing that our whole life must be one of struggle and toil, if indeed we are to enjoy eternal rest and the countless good things. But if anyone, in his laziness, wishes to enjoy the pleasures here as well as the rewards laid up there for those who toil, he deceives and cheats himself. For just as in the case of athletes, the one who seeks relaxation at the time of the contests procures for himself shame and dishonor for all his life, while the one who in the stadium has nobly endured every toil reaps crowns and glory and praise, both during the contests themselves and, when they are over, from the spectators; so too with us. The one who makes the time of toils a time of relaxation, when he must rest in that ageless rest, will then wail and gnash his teeth and suffer the worst of evils; but the one who here has borne his afflictions eagerly will be radiant both here and there, and glorious with the immortal and true glory. For if in worldly matters the one who confuses the proper timing of affairs will fall short of everything set before him and will involve himself in countless calamities, much more in spiritual matters will this befall the one who does not know the order of the times. Christ said, You will have tribulation in the world. Blessed Paul said, And all who wish to live piously in Christ Jesus will be persecuted—meaning not only persecutions from men, but also the plots of demons. Job said, that the life of man upon the earth is a trial. Why then are you distressed, being pressed hard in the time of misery?

For then it would have been right to grieve, if the time that Christ foretold to be a time of affliction, this we were making a season of luxury and rest; if, in the period when we were commanded to struggle and toil, we had been slack; if we were walking the broad way, when he commanded the narrow one. For thus thereafter it would necessarily have followed for us to be punished in those ages. What then, he says, would you say to those who walk here also with room to spare, and are going to rest there? And who is this? For I am persuaded by the word of Christ alone, which says, Narrow and afflicted is the way that leads to life; and that it is never possible to walk through the narrow way with room to spare is surely clear to everyone. For where in external contests no one has been crowned without sweat, and that though his opponents share the same nature, where wicked powers rise up against us, how is it possible to prevail apart from affliction and constraint, away from their madness? 5. But until when shall we examine these things from reasonings, when it is possible to flee to the blessed and noble athletes who lived in former times? For examine all those who were famous then, and you will see that all obtained boldness before God from afflictions. And if you wish, let us come first to the first child of the first-formed man, the lamb of Christ, Abel, who did no wrong, but endured the things of those who had done the most terrible deeds. For we pay the penalties of sins through temptations; but that righteous man was punished for no other reason than that he was righteous.

And as long as he displayed nothing great, his brother recognized him; but when he shone forth from the sacrifice, he no longer knew even his very nature, blinded by envy. How then do you know whether even now the same cause has stirred up the devil, and the splendor of your life has provoked him to this very battle? And if you laugh at these words of mine, I praise you indeed for your humility, but I will not cease from being so disposed. For if that man, by offering fat, was so well-pleasing—he who dedicated nothing of external things but his whole self to God—how much more would he have provoked the enemy against himself. And God permitted him to come upon him; for neither then did he prevent the murder from happening, but he let the righteous man fall into the hands of the murderer, and did not snatch him away, though the honor was being taken away for his sake and for him; for he did not wish his crowns to be diminished; therefore he let him run to the end. And what punishment is death? he says. Would that I too had now undergone this penalty. You say these things, beloved, now, but previously the matter seemed to be the most difficult of all, and more pitiable than every punishment. Therefore also in the

Under the law of Moses, those who had committed the greatest wrongs and offenses beyond forgiveness underwent this punishment. And among the lawgivers outside, even now all are in no other way punished, as many as are convicted of the most shameful evils; yet nevertheless the righteous man suffered the same things as the lawless, or rather far harsher things, inasmuch as he received the blow even from a brother's right hand. But what of Noah? For he too was righteous and perfect, and when all were corrupted, he alone was well-pleasing to God, while all the others had provoked him. Countless afflictions, many and grievous, he endured. For he did not die at once like that man, nor did he suffer this, which seems to you a light thing, but he endured a long life, throughout so many years being in no better condition than those who toil and are pressed by a most heavy burden. And I will make this clear to you presently, having first said that. For a whole year he dwelt in a prison, a strange and fearful prison. For to pass over the multitude of beasts and reptiles, with which he lived for so long a time, confined in such a narrow space, what do you think he suffered from the crash of the thunders, from the roar of the rains? The abyss was bursting forth from below, and from above it was pouring down; and he sat inside alone with his sons. For even if he could have confidence concerning the end, yet by the violence of what was happening he had died beforehand through fear.

For if we, who have houses firmly planted on the earth and dwell in cities, nevertheless whenever we see rain falling a little more violently than usual, are cast down and shrink back, what would that man not have suffered, being alone inside, and pondering that most terrifying abyss and the various kinds of those who were drowned? Indeed, it is enough to strike a soul with amazement that a single city, or even a single house, should be flooded and covered by the waves; but that the whole inhabited world should suffer this—it is not even possible to say how it would have affected the man being tossed about in the midst of the surge. Throughout that year, then, he was held fast by so great a fear. But when at last the flood ceased, his fear began to give way, yet his despondency increased, and another storm, no less than the former, succeeded it as he looked out from the ark: seeing the great desolation, and that violent death, and the bodies of those who had perished smeared with slime and mud, and all alike—men and donkeys and the more dishonorable kinds of these—buried in one most pitiable burial. For even if those who suffered these things were exceedingly sinful, nevertheless Noah was a man, and he felt something toward his own kind. For Ezekiel also, being righteous and knowing the Israelites to be the most wicked of all, when he saw them being slaughtered and falling, suffered this common feeling and wept; and yet God, foreseeing this, had beforehand uncovered to him all their impiety and prepared him to look upon it with his own eyes, so that when he saw them being punished, he might bear the calamity nobly.

But nevertheless, even though so great a consolation had been prepared for him beforehand, he was still reproved, and having fallen he cried out, saying: "Alas, Lord, do you blot out the remnant of Israel?" Nor did he suffer this only once, but again when he saw Jechoniah being destroyed. So that even Noah, even if he knew countless evils about them, was not braver than this man or than Moses. For he too often suffered the same things as the prophet, and seeing them sinning, when they ought to be punished, he grieved, and was pained more than those who were being chastised themselves. But in the case of Noah the calamity was even more grievous; for he alone became such a death. Held fast, then, by so many evils—by his solitude, by his compassion toward those of his own race, by the multitude of those who perished, by the manner of their end, by the desolation of the earth—and with despondency lifted up on every side and raging violently, the insolence of his son also immediately assailed him, a thing unbearable, and full of much shame and much pain. For to the degree that reproaches from friends are heavier than those from enemies, to that same degree those from children

even more unbearable. For when a man sees the one he begot, the one he reared, the one he educated, for whom he endured many toils and labors and anxieties, treating him more outrageously than all others, the one who suffers this will not be able to bear the great grief of his soul. For insolence is in itself unbearable to free men, but when it comes even from one's children, it could drive the sufferer to distraction; so heavy is it. But do not consider that audacious act alone; learn from it also how this insolent man treated him all the time before. For he who still had in his hands the fear of what had happened, and had just been released from that prison, and was still beholding the calamities of the world, and not even so was brought to his senses, but insulted the one whom he least of all ought to have insulted, and became no better for the death of the many, nor for the desolation, nor for the wrath of God, nor for any other of the things that then happened—what was he before the flood, when he had many to urge him on to wickedness? For then, then that righteous man endured a more grievous tempest than the one that came afterward at the flood, both because of this man and because of all the others. For at the flood only a mass of waters surrounded him, but before it he was hemmed in on every side by an abyss of wickedness, and the plots of wicked men broke upon him more violently than the waves.

For left alone among so great a multitude of lawless and polluted men, even if he suffered no harm, nevertheless he bore much laughter and many mockeries—if not before, at least when he spoke to them about the ark and the calamities that were to come upon them. And how great is the power of this to trouble a soul, he who was sanctified from the womb would testify to us, he who for this reason was even about to desist from prophecy. For he said, "I will surely not prophesy." Apart from these things, the mere fact of having no one of like soul or like character—how great a disgust, how great a despondency it produced in him! And not only this, but also by grieving with them he suffered countless evils. For surely the righteous do not grieve so only when they see the wicked coming to their end, but no longer when they sin—rather they are bitten far more by this than by that; and one may well learn this from the prophets. For one cried out bitterly: "Woe, O soul, for the devout has perished from the earth, and he who sets things right among men does not exist." Another said to God: "Why have you shown me labors and toils to look upon?" And being greatly struck on behalf of those who were wronged, he lamented, saying: "You will make men like the fish of the sea, which have no leader." But if these things happened then, when there were laws, and rulers, and courts, and priests, and prophets, and punishments, consider with what excess all things were dared in the time of Noah, when none of these restrained them. And in the case of the prophets, the time of life was not even long, but seventy years and eighty.

But at that time the life of men was extended even to six hundred years and more. To pass over, then, all that has been said, how many troubles was he compelled to endure, traveling so long a road and striving not to be turned aside even a little over so great a length, when there were many obstacles in between? And why do I say many? Since the whole road was entirely of such a kind, from the ends of the earth to the ends of the whole world, filled with rocks and thorns and wild beasts and drought and plague and frost and evildoers. For it was easier to walk a worn path in the deepest night continually than the road of virtue in those times; so many were those who were forcing his steps aside. For when it is permitted to all to do whatever they wish, and there is but one alone who walks the opposite way to them, how will he be able to reach the end when all are pushing him back and driving him back? For how great a difficulty it is to succeed when one is among many, those who have occupied the deserts now show, when by the

By God's grace it is possible to see the good life scattered everywhere, when there is also no small concord and affection toward one another. But at that time none of these things existed, but all were disposed toward him more savagely than wild beasts. 6. What, then, could be more painful than this life? What more wretched than this existence? I, for my part, promised to show that he was in no better condition than those who carry burdens continually and never breathe freely; but the account has done far more, showing us that he was not only in no better condition, but also far more burdened than they. Now it seems to many that Abraham spent his entire time in cheerfulness, which is why they are accustomed to compare with him those who prosper and are adorned on every side. Come, then, let us examine what happened to him. For to me this man is far greater than both Noah and Abel—or rather, I will say nothing until the examination of the facts casts its vote for us. Now the things in Persia, and whatever painful thing happened to him up to his seventieth year, no one could know clearly. For not even the blessed Moses wrote the history of that time for us, but passing over that entire period of his life, he made the beginning of his narrative from the events after these. But that it was likely that he also suffered the same things as Noah, wishing to be pious alone in the midst of so many impious and barbarous men—this is no longer equally unclear to others, but even the very foolish could easily conjecture it. Nevertheless, let these things also be passed over now.

Let us begin our account from his departure, having first examined this question: how far the land of the Chaldeans is distant from Palestine, and what sort of condition the roads were in, how matters of intercourse between people stood, and what the manner of their civic life was. For let it not seem, just because that righteous man obeyed readily, that the matter is easy now; nor, because Moses narrated what happened briefly and in few words, suppose that the deed imitates the brevity of the words. To say and narrate these things is easy, but to do them is no longer equally feasible—rather, exceedingly difficult. Now the length of the journey and how great the distance between these regions is, those who have crossed over to us from there could say with precision—if indeed there are any such. But we, having met with none of those, but with someone who had reached the outer country, and having asked him about the time itself, how long he was compelled to travel, heard that it was a number of thirty-five days; and he said he did not know Babylon, but had heard from those who had been there that there is again another journey of equal length from there. And the distance was so great then, and is so now; but the condition of the roads is no longer the same as it is now and was then. For now it is divided up by continuous posting-stations and cities and fields, and one walking would meet many travelers, which is no less a matter of safety than a posting-station and a city and a field.

Besides these, the rulers of the cities, having arranged men who surpassed others in bodily strength and who were as effective with javelin and sling as archers are with arrows and hoplites with spears, and having set commanders over them, occupied them with nothing else but entrusted them solely with the guarding of the roads. Along with these they devised yet another, more exact safeguard than these. For having built houses along the road at intervals of a thousand paces, they stationed night-watchers in them, setting up their wakefulness and leisure as the greatest obstacle, a wall against the incursions of evildoers. But at that time none of these things existed—no continuous fields, no cities, no stations, no lodging, no quickly finding a fellow traveler, nor any other of these things at all; for I now pass over the roughness of the path and the irregularity of the airs, although these are sufficient, even without those things being present, to distress travelers considerably. And those who use teams and beasts of burden could bear witness to me, who not even thus are able to set foot on the customary

daring to travel a road unless they first paved it with stones and filled up the ravines from the torrents and so made it level. But at that time it was more desolate than uninhabited places, more impassable than mountains, more treacherous than pits and cliffs. And the hardest thing of all I have not mentioned: how the matter of intercourse stood, which gave them far more and greater trouble than the road itself, since all were divided by nations, or rather by city. For it was not as now, when one rule is extended over the greater part of the inhabited world, and all serve one man, and are administered by the same laws; but as one body cut into many parts, so the race of men was torn apart, and the righteous man was compelled to exchange enemies for enemies, falling in with others always before escaping the former, here through many rulers, there through anarchy. What life, then, was harder than this? For he feared and trembled not only for himself, but also for his father and wife and nephew. Nor was the care of servants a small matter, if indeed they happened to be in their own country, let alone when they were compelled to be always in a foreign land. And if he had clearly known where the affairs of his wandering would come to a stop, the burden of cares would not have been so unbearable; but now, having heard simply and without definition, "A land," not this one or that one, but "which I will show you," he went about everywhere in his mind, and received great turmoil in his soul, unable to come to a stop anywhere in his reasoning, but having much to suspect and being compelled to be anxious.

For it is likely that he expected him to reach even the very ends of the inhabited world, and the ocean itself; so that even if he did not traverse the whole earth, yet he endured the anxiety of so great a journey. For he had not prepared his soul as one who would go only as far as Palestine, but as one who would follow everywhere, even if he were commanded to go beyond the inhabited world, and to come to the islands outside it. But if the undefined character of the command persuaded him to expect the opposite, this too was again difficult. For one who is about to endure some burden, it is far lighter to know clearly what he will undergo, and what he is preparing for, than to wander everywhere in his reasoning, and now to expect good things, now the opposite, and to have confidence in none of these, but to distrust both alike. 7. And these things were before he came into the promised land; but when at last he had reached Palestine, and for the rest expected to rest, then indeed he found a greater storm in the harbor. And this is no small ground for pain, but even more unbearable than all things, when someone, thinking he has been delivered and has come to the very end itself, and having laid aside all care and anxiety, again from the beginning finds another beginning of troubles. For one who is still prepared for terrible things would more easily bear their onset; but one who has reclined and released his thoughts from cares, if something such as before should happen again, is somehow disturbed twofold, and becomes easy to overcome both by the unexpected and by his having dissolved all his zeal and preparation. What then was the storm?

At that time a famine so severe seized Palestine that it immediately drove him from there and brought him down to Egypt. But when he came there expecting to find relief from the trouble, he fell again into a more grievous calamity of famine, being compelled to be in danger of his very life; and at that time he was brought into such great fear that he chose the thing which is more unbearable than all things to everyone—that their own wives be violated. For he came then into such great necessity that he even served the pretense—and what could be more pitiable than that? For what sort of soul do you think he had when he was compelled to give such counsel to his wife? I know that you are a woman fair of face; therefore it shall be that when the Egyptians see you, they will say, "This is his wife," and they will kill me, but they will keep you alive. Say, therefore, that you are his sister, so that it may go well with me because of you, and my soul shall live because of you. And these words were spoken by the man who for God's sake had left behind his homeland, his house, his friends, his relatives, and all the other things in his house—the man who endured such hardship and so great toil during this long time on his journey; and yet he said none of these things, such as, "God has abandoned me, he has turned away, and has cast me out of his own providence"; but he bore all things nobly and faithfully, and when his wife was being violated, though he above all ought to have been enraged by the great violence, he did everything so that the violation should not become manifest. But how much dejection and pain this involves cannot be set forth in words, but those know it who have had wives and have fallen into suspicion of jealousy.

Solomon also bears witness to this passion, saying: "For the spirit of a man is full of jealousy for his wife; he will not spare in the day of judgment, nor will he exchange his enmity for any ransom, nor will he be reconciled by many gifts." And again: "Love is strong as death; jealousy is hard as Hades." But if the jealous man is so inflamed, he who is mastered by so many evils that he is compelled even to flatter the insulter, and to do everything to the one whom he ought to have punished so that the adulterer may easily enjoy his wife—of whom was he not more pitiable? And when these evils had also reached their end, other terrors were again brought forth, and war succeeded that famine. For I now pass over the quarrel of the shepherds and the division against his nephew, although these things, when examined in the case of others, are sufficient to cast great despondency. For when the man who had been saved by him and had become master of so many goods—and who ought to have yielded everything to him and to have rebuked his own shepherds—this man, when a choice was offered, runs to the more fertile districts and leaves the more desolate parts to him. Who could easily bear—I do not speak of the loss, but of being dishonored after honoring, and of suffering the lesser portion, which seems to be more grievous than any loss? Nevertheless, I now pass over all these things; for our discourse concerns the patriarch, not any one of the many.

8. That famine is succeeded by the war of the Persians, and he is compelled to march out against them, not while both sides still remained intact from the beginning, but when all had been put to flight, and victory was with the enemy, and no one was any longer able to withstand them—some having been cut down utterly, some hiding, and some serving as slaves among them. Yet none of these things persuaded him to stay at home, but, struck by the violent despondency over what had happened, he went off to share in those evils and to throw himself into manifest death. For to array himself with three hundred servants and a little more against so great an army was nothing other than reckoning on these things—captivity and punishment—and preparing himself for countless deaths. So he departed as though he too would taste of the barbarian cruelty; but having been preserved by the philanthropy of God and having returned with the spoil and his kinsman, he was compelled again to lament his own misfortunes—I mean his childlessness, and that he had no heir to his lot. For do not suppose, because you heard him then lamenting to God and saying, "What will you give me? And I am dying childless," that this grief was therefore recent; for this care and anxiety entered the house of the righteous man together with the bride—or rather even before the bride herself.

For it is a habit common to us all, whenever we have only begun to deliberate and converse about marriage, to be pricked by all the anxieties of the matter, of which the sum total is the matter of children, and this fear shakes our souls from that very day. But if it should happen, once the marriages have taken place, that a first year or a second or even a third has passed, the feelings of discouragement are intensified, and the hopes of better things grow weaker; and when another longer time has been added, those hopes at last wholly withdraw, and this discouragement prevails over the soul, casting darkness over all its sweetest things, and not allowing it to perceive anything. So that even if none of so many distressing things had befallen him, but all had gone according to his mind, the discouragement of childlessness, following upon all that happens, would be enough to overshadow and cast down every cheerfulness. For the promise of God came at the very end of old age, when the powers of nature were despaired of; but all the time before, so long as it was, he continued in grief and anguish, and the more he saw his wealth increasing, the more he mourned, since there was no one to succeed to it. For what do you think he suffered when he heard: Your seed shall be a stranger in a land not their own, and they shall enslave them, and afflict and humble them four hundred years? And the woman, now commanding him to take her own maidservant, now, when he had taken her, accusing and blaming him, and calling on God against him, and forcing him to cast out her who had shared his bed and was now about to bear him a child—into what extreme discouragement would she not have plunged him?

For if these things seem to anyone now to be small, let him consider that whole households were overturned for their sake, and let him marvel at the righteous man. For even if he bore them nobly because of the fear of God, nevertheless he was a man, and he was pricked and pained by all these things. But the master's servant-girl comes back again into the house, and bears him the bastard child, and Abraham becomes a father after that long time; and the matter had a certain pleasure, but a greater discouragement. For the bastard child kept reminding him of the legitimate one, and cast into him a greater desire for the matter. For he thought that the words, "This one shall not inherit you, but he who shall come out of you," were spoken concerning Ishmael; for nothing had yet been said concerning Sarah. But when he had at last received a clearer promise concerning Isaac, and a time was appointed for the birth, before he could rejoice again in these hopes, the sufferings of the Sodomites poured a great mist of discouragement over him. For that the matter disturbed the righteous man not as it happened by chance is clear to everyone from his own words and the supplication which he set before God on their behalf; but when he saw that most dreadful rain brought down, and all things suddenly become dust and ashes, he was no longer even in himself. For if we, seeing houses burning from afar, are beside ourselves and fall down from discouragement and fear, what would he not have suffered, seeing whole cities and lands with their inhabitants burned up, not by ordinary fire, but by a strange and fearful one? Does it not seem to you that the sufferings of the righteous man imitate the continuity of the waves succeeding one another in the sea?

For just as there, before the former things had been done away, the second things are brought to a head, so also throughout the life of this righteous man it happened. For while the evils in Sodom were still at their height, the king of Gerar attempted to dare the same things as Pharaoh against Sarah; and again the woman was compelled to play that pitiable pretense, and the outrage would have been carried into deed, had God not again prevented it. And while the child and the wife and the whole household together were rejoicing at the birth of the child, the righteous man alone was compelled to grieve and be disheartened amid such great pleasure, being forced to cast out the concubine with the child. For even if Ishmael was a bastard and born of a slave-girl, nevertheless the tyranny of nature was in no way lessened by her unworthiness, nor did the lowliness of the mother's birth make the compulsion of fatherly affection weaker; and this can be learned from the Book itself. For the firm and courageous man, who accepted to slaughter his only-begotten with his own hands, this man grieved when his wife commanded him these things, and he would not have yielded nor been persuaded by Sarah, although she then had greater boldness and spoke to him, unless the fear of God had greatly bowed him down. So that when you hear that he sent them out at God's command, do not suppose that this dissolved his pain—for that was impossible—but marvel at his fervent obedience, that even though bent by compassion he did not contradict God, but

He sent the child away with his mother, not even knowing where he would go, and he endured and bore up in his pain; for he was not stronger than nature. 9. This, too, he suffered in the case of his legitimate son. For let no one say that he did not grieve, nor that he did not endure the things that fathers endure, nor, wishing to show him philosophizing beyond measure, deprive him of the chief part of his praises. For if, when we see those caught in the most shameful acts, who have enjoyed this life for a long time, who are unknown to us and have never even been seen by us, suddenly being led to death in the marketplace, we shrink back and grieve, and often even weep—then he who was commanded to sacrifice and burn with his own hands his own legitimate son, his only-begotten, born beyond hope, after so long a time, in extreme old age (for these things too raise the flame higher), while he was still young—did he suffer nothing human? And what is more ridiculous than those who say these things? For if he were stone, if he were iron, if he were adamant itself, would he not have been bent and broken at the hour of the child—for he was in the very flower of his age, in the understanding of his words, in the piety of his soul? He asked his father, saying: Behold the wood and the fire, where is the sheep? He heard: God will see to a sheep for himself for a whole burnt offering, O child; and he did nothing more. He saw his father binding him, and he did not resist; he was laid upon the wood, and he did not leap off; he saw the knife being brought against him, and he was not disturbed. What soul could be more pious than this?

Will anyone still dare to say that Abraham suffered nothing from all these things? For if he was about to sacrifice an enemy and an adversary—if it were a wild beast—would he have done these things without pain? It is not so, it is not so; do not impute such cruelty to the righteous man; for he was in pain and was torn apart. "God," he says, "will see for himself a sheep for a whole burnt offering, child." Of how much compassion do you think these words are? But nevertheless he held his grief down and pressed it back, and he did everything with as much eagerness as those who are held back by none of these hindrances. Having therefore sacrificed him—for he did sacrifice him in his eagerness—he hands him back sound and whole to his mother; and she, having received him, before she could be properly filled with the child, departs this life. And that too did not pain Abraham a little. For even if she had lived with him a long time, nothing would have been sufficient to persuade him to bear the misfortune more easily; indeed this very thing gave him greater discouragement; for those who have lived together for a long time, and have given us much proof of their own friendship and virtue, these we seek most of all. And that this is so, the patriarch himself showed by mourning and lamenting her. But why should one speak of his cares for the child, his cares for this man's wife, his cares for this man's brothers, and all the other things, which if one wished to examine accurately, he will see the life of the righteous man as much more painful than what has now been shown, and full of more cares?

For Scripture, having mentioned only the most important things, has passed over all the rest for us to examine—all that would naturally happen each day in a household where there is a multitude of servants, and a man and a woman and children, and the care of many affairs. Yes, he says; but for that man the greatest consolation in each of these troubles was that he endured those things for God's sake. Therefore this will now console you as well; for the one who allowed this trial to come upon you is no other than God. For if those wicked demons would not have dared to rush upon the swine without his permission then, much less upon your honored soul. Just as, therefore, for that man the bearing of all things nobly and with thanksgiving brought him a great reward, so it will bring you also, provided only that you do not chafe or resent, but give thanks to the loving-kind God for all things. Since indeed blessed Job suffered what he suffered by God's permission, yet what brought him his crowns was not merely the suffering, but also standing nobly against all his terrible afflictions; and we all marvel at him, not because the devil deprived him of everything, but because in all these things he did not sin, nor with his lips. 10. Since I have mentioned Job, I wished also to set forth in my discourse his long lamentations and the vehemence of his sufferings; but to avoid making the length too great, I return to Isaac. But if you wish to learn those things accurately, take his book in your hands and look down into the abyss of his calamities, and you will find in them great consolation for your own.

For even if the righteous man was far better than we are, he was also matched against a far greater activity; for the Evil One breathed more fiercely against him then. But achievements are judged not by the measure of the temptations, but by the power of those who perform them. So even if this present struggle is lesser, this will be able to do you no harm as regards your crowns. For the one who brought forward the two talents carried off no less than the one who displayed the five. Why? Because even if the income was not the same, the eagerness was the same, and hence each of them received the same honor, hearing, Enter into the joy of your Lord. What then of Isaac? He did not set out on a long journey, as his father did, nor was he compelled to leave his own land, as that one was, but he too endured the chief of evils, the fear of childlessness. And when he had dissolved that dread by prayer, another fear succeeded it, greater than the former; for it was not the same to tremble for childlessness as for the very root of it. For she was so cut through by her birth-pangs that she endured a life more bitter than any death; and hear her saying this: If it is to be so with me, why should I live? He also had experience of famine; but if he did not go down into Egypt, yet what his father nearly suffered there, these things he too endured and was in danger concerning his own wife. And all his neighbors honored his father, but him they drove out as an enemy and foe, and they did not allow him to enjoy the fruits of his own labors, but while putting him in great straits, they themselves reveled with authority in his toils.

But when he had at length gained these too as friends, and saw his own children grown to manhood, then, yes then, when he expected to find great consolation and to have good support in his old age, he fell into the utmost despondency. For first, the elder son, having taken a wife from the foreigners against his father's judgment, greatly vexed him in this very matter, and brought war and battle into the house. For those women assailed them with countless evils, all of which Scripture, declining to relate them all, hinted at in a single phrase, saying, "They contended with Rebekah"; and it has left it to those who have households and children already married to know what was said. For they above all know precisely how great an evil it is for the mother of the bridegroom and the bride to be disposed to constant quarreling, and especially when both dwell in one house. This, then, was a continuous affliction. But what happened after these things—the blinding of his eyes—only those who have suffered it know how great an evil it is. And after this, the son's failure to obtain the blessings, by which he was so struck in his soul that he cried out more bitterly than the one who had suffered the deception, and made his defense to him; for he said he had not wronged him willingly, but had been deceived. The events from there on displayed the tragedy on the stage and depicted the drama of the Theban youths. For here too the elder, despising his father's age and blindness, cast the younger brother out of the house. But if he did not kill him as that one did, the wisdom of the mother prevented it.

For he too threatened murder and waited for his father's death. But his mother, learning of it and speaking with his father, snatched him from that man's hands; and they were compelled to send into exile the one who cared for them and was well disposed toward them, while the wicked one who made life unlivable for them—for this is what Rebecca herself says—they kept continually with them. When, then, that man had run away—the one who had been brought up in the household all along, for he dwelt in the house unformed and for the most part stayed at home with his mother—how was it likely that Rebecca lamented and mourned, remembering her child continually, and seeing her husband no better off than the dead, both because of his age and because of his illness? And with how much grief was the old man possessed, along with his household, being compelled to mourn his wife's calamities? And when she was about to die, what did she not say, what did she not utter, things sufficient to melt even a stone—not seeing her child standing by and weeping, and wiping her eyes, and closing her mouth, and wrapping her, and tending to all the other things which seem to parents bitterer than death itself? And Isaac, seeing her thus breathing her last—what sort of soul did he possess both then and after her death? 11. Such has he shown himself to be—the one who seemed to be more cheerful than many. But as for Jacob's life, Jacob's own declaration is sufficient to show it even without examination; for speaking to Pharaoh at that time he said: "Few and evil are my days, and they have not reached the days of my fathers.

That is, I lived a life both shorter and more wretched. But apart from the sentence, his calamities are so manifest that not even any of the many are ignorant of them. For his grandfather, even if he set out on a long journey abroad, yet it was at God's command, which brought him the greatest consolation; but this man was fleeing a brother who plotted against him and sought to murder him. And the former never lamented over the supply of necessities; but this man considered it beloved and desirable merely to have plenty of a cloak and bread. And having been preserved and delivered from the hardships of the journey, and having come to his own relatives, he who had been raised in such abundance was compelled to be a slave. And you know that slavery is bitter everywhere; but when someone is compelled to endure the lot of household slaves among those of equal rank, and this when he had never had experience of the matter, but had spent his entire early life in freedom and luxury, the evil becomes unbearable; yet nevertheless he bore all things nobly. And you hear him recounting the hardships in his shepherding, and saying: I atoned for myself for thefts by day and thefts by night; I was scorched by the heat of the day and the frost of the night, and sleep departed from my eyes. These things for twenty years. These things he suffered who had lived an unformed life, who had dwelt in a house continually, and after so many toils and losses and that long time, he endured the bitter deception concerning his wife.

For if he had not served those seven years, if he had suffered none of the things he lamented before his father-in-law, if he had not loved the girl, the mere fact that the better one was betrothed to him but the inferior one was given to him instead of her—how much discouragement, how much turmoil, how much insolent outrage did this bring to that blessed man of that time! Now if it had been anyone else, he would not easily have borne the outrage, but he would have overturned the whole house of his fathers-in-law, slaughtering himself upon them, or destroying himself along with them in some other way. But since Jacob was forbearing of evil and long-suffering, he did not do this, nor did he even consider it at all; and when he was ordered to serve another seven years, he obeyed readily—so gentle and equitable was he. But if the love of the girl joined forces with the equity of his character, you tell me again the excess of his discouragement. For consider how much pain he endured when he was deprived of her who was so loved, and expecting to have her within, he was thrust out again into a postponement of seven years, along with the frosts and the heats and the sleepless nights and the continual losses. And having received her also afterward, and living beside his father-in-law a wretched and toilsome life, he was envied even so, and he endured a second deception.

concerning the wages, as he himself also reproached him, saying, "You have deceived me with ten lambs." And along with the father-in-law, the brothers of the women were stirred to greater savagery against him than the father-in-law himself. But the hardest thing of all was that the beloved woman, for whom he chose to serve twice seven years, was suffocated by despondency, seeing her sister giving birth while she herself had not even a hope of the matter, and she was carried away at that time by despondency into such a frenzy that she reproached and blamed her husband and threatened death against herself if she did not give birth; for she says, "Give me children; but if not, I will die." What, then, could have gladdened him, when the one so deeply desired was lamenting such things, and her sisters were plotting against him and doing everything so that he might come into the utmost poverty? But if the things granted to women without labors, when taken away, bring great despondency, how would one who was in danger concerning things acquired by his own toils have borne this loss gently? Perceiving, then, that they held him in suspicion and looked at him askance, he withdrew secretly like a fugitive. What could be more pitiable than this? For having departed from his own country and from a foreign land with fears and dangers, he was compelled to fall again into the same abysses. For having fled his brother, he came to his father-in-law, but being driven out again by this one, he was forced to fall in with his brother; and he endured that prophetic saying which Amos speaks concerning the day of the Lord:

In the manner that if someone flees from the face of a lion, and a bear meets him, and he leaps into his house, and he presses his hand against the wall, and the snake bites him. But what need is there to speak of the trembling that he underwent when he was overtaken by Laban, the afflictions on the journey, with so many flocks and children following him? But since he was about to see his brother's face, did he not suffer the same as those who see the Gorgon's head fabricated by the poets? Did he not arrange everything as one going to death? Hear his words, and learn the flame stored up in his soul: "Deliver me," he says, "O God, from the hand of my brother Esau, for I fear him, lest he come and strike me and the mother with the children. But you said to me, I will do you good." How much gladness would this fear not have cast out, even if he had spent all the preceding time in cheerfulness? But now his whole life, even from that day when he was about to receive the blessings, had died beforehand in dread, and was woven through with calamities and plots. For so much fear possessed him then that not even after the meeting, although his brother had treated him kindly and humanely, could he take courage and lay aside his agony. When that one urged him to go along, he thought he was about to escape some wild beast, and thus he deemed it fit and contrived his departure, saying: "My lord, you know that the children are more delicate, and the sheep and the cattle are giving birth among me; and if I therefore drive them hard, in one day all the livestock will die.

Let my lord go on ahead of his servant, and I will strengthen myself on the way, at the pace of the journey that is before me, and at the foot of my children, until I come to my lord in Seir. And having breathed a little from those dangers, he fell again into another fear far more grievous. For when his daughter was carried off, at first he grieved at the outrage done to the girl; but when the king's son consoled him for what had happened by promising that he would take her as a wife by the law of marriage, and Jacob praised the intention, the men around Levi confounded the agreements, and having destroyed the city with all its people, they brought the one who had begotten them into such great terror that he even moved away from there because all had been made hostile to him. For, it says, Jacob said to Simeon and Levi: You have made me hateful, so that I am evil in the eyes of all who dwell in the land, both among the Canaanites and the Perizzites, and I am few in number, and having gathered together

They will crush me and I will be worn away, I and my house. For their neighbors would have slaughtered them all utterly, had not the philanthropy of God restrained their anger and put an end to their evils. For, it says, the fear of God came upon all the cities round about them, and they did not pursue after the sons of Israel. What then after their deliverance from these things? Did he breathe again? At that time, then, the crowning point of his evils came upon him—the death of the beloved, both untimely and violent. For, it says, Rachel gave birth and had a difficult delivery in the childbirth. And it came to pass, while she was in hard labor, the midwife said to her, Take courage, for this also is a son to you. And it came to pass, as she was giving up her soul—for she was dying—she called his name Son of my sorrow. And while the mourning was still at its height, Reuben added to his despondency by insulting his father's bed; which he bore so grievously that at the very end he cursed the child, at the time when parents are most compassionate toward their offspring, and this when he was the firstborn of all the others; and this is no small matter for the account of affection. But nevertheless the violence of despondency thrust all these things aside, and calling him he said: Reuben, my firstborn, my strength, and the beginning of my children, hard to bear, and hard and self-willed; you have acted insolently, as water that does not boil over; for you went up to your father's couch; then you defiled the bed where you went up. But when the son of the beloved woman had come of age, and he expected to have consolation from him for the grief over her, then through him manifold calamities were being prepared for him.

For his brothers dipped his tunic in blood and showed it to their father, fashioning for him a grief of many colors. For he mourned not only the death but also the manner of the death, and there were many things that confounded his soul: that he was the son of his beloved, that he was better than all the others, that he was the most loved, that it was in the very bloom of his age, that he had been sent by him, that it was neither at home nor on his bed nor with his father standing by, nor after saying anything or hearing anything, that it was not by the common death of all, that while alive he was torn apart by the savagery of beasts, that he could not even gather up the remains and give them to the earth, that he did not endure these things in his youth, when it was possible to bear them, but in extreme old age. And it was a sight more pitiable than all to see: gray hair shamed with dust, and an aged breast laid bare as his garment was torn, and lamentations greater than consolation. For Jacob, it says, tore his garments and put sackcloth on his loins, and mourned for his son many days. And all his sons and daughters gathered together and came to console him, but he would not be consoled, saying, I will go down to my son mourning into Hades. And just as it was fitting that his soul should never be free of despondency, so, when this wound began to be healed, a famine came upon him and seized the whole land, greatly afflicting him as before.

But when the sons came up from Egypt, they brought comfort for the evil, mixing it with another grief and so brought it; and the pleasure from the relief of the famine was confounded by the departure of the child. And not this only, but also because they demanded Benjamin himself, whom he had as his only consolation both for the wife who had departed and for the child devoured by beasts. And it was not these things alone that made him cling to Benjamin, but also the things of his age and of his upbringing. For he says, My son shall not go down with you, because his brother is dead, and he alone is left, and it will happen that he is weakened on the way in which you go, and you will bring my old age down with grief to Hades. At first, then, for all these reasons he kept refusing and said he would not give him; but when the famine fell upon them violently and he perceived the necessity to be greater, though lamenting exceedingly, he says, Why did you do me this evil, by reporting to the man whether you had a brother? And this was more painful than all

Jacob kept uttering those pitiful words: "Joseph is not, Simeon is not, and will you take Benjamin? All these things have come upon me." And lamenting that after Joseph and Simeon they were attempting to tear Benjamin away from him too, and showing that he would suffer anything rather than let go of the child, he was later overcome and with his own hands gave him up, saying: "Take your brother also, and arise and go down to the man; and may my God give you favor before the man, and send back your brother, the one, and Benjamin; for as for me, even as I have been bereaved, I have been bereaved." So greatly was he mastered by his many troubles that, with his very entrails torn and his children gradually diminishing, he endured all things because of the excess of the greater griefs; for a greater despondency held him concerning these than concerning Joseph. For a calamity that has no expectation of remedy, even if it brings us violent despondencies, nevertheless quickly drives them out, casting the reasoning into despair; but the one still hanging in suspense does not allow the soul to rest, intensifying and ever renewing our agony by the uncertainty of what is to come. And one may learn this well from the blessed David, who wept while the child was still alive, but when it died released himself from mourning. And when his children were at a loss about this and asked him the reason, he spoke this very reasoning that I now speak. With good reason, then, that man also had feared and trembled more concerning these things.

But the longed-for sight and seeing Joseph later gave him cheerfulness. And what was the gain? For just as limbs scorched by a fierce fire—even if one cools them countless times, it does no good—so too with that man's soul, which had become deeply distressed and had been thoroughly burned by the flame of despondency, nothing was able to restore it, especially since the perception was not likely to be clear either; which is exactly what Barzillai also said when declining David: "How many are the days of the years of my life that I should go up with the king to Jerusalem? I am a son of eighty years today; can I know between good and evil, or will your servant taste what he eats or what he drinks, or will I hear the voice of singing men or singing women? And why should your servant become a burden to my lord the king?" But why must one infer these things from others, when it is possible to hear the sufferer himself? For after seeing his son, he says, when asked by Pharaoh about his life: "Few and evil are my days," he says, "and they have not reached the days of my fathers"—so persistently did the memory of what had happened flourish in his soul.

12. But this illustrious and famous son, Joseph—whom did he not surpass in misfortunes? For his father had only one brother who plotted against him, but this man had many more; and the one was nurtured through his entire early life in abundance and great ease, while the other, in a foreign land and still a child, was compelled to endure the hardships of travel. And Jacob had his mother to lighten the plot against him; but this man, while still young, and precisely when he most needed his mother, was then left in a wilderness devoid of that help. Besides this, Esau grieved Jacob only as far as threats; but these men carried the plot through to action, and before the plot they continually envied and slandered him—and what could be worse than to have those living with him as enemies always? For they brought a wicked accusation against him, and seeing that his father loved him more than his other sons, they hated him, and could not speak to him peaceably. For neither to fall under the merchants nor under the eunuch would I say was so great an evil; for these treated him far more humanely than his brothers did. But nevertheless not even so did the storm of his misfortunes grow gentler; for a more violent squall fell upon him and again sank him.

Perhaps someone supposes that I will speak of the plot of the mistress; but I will speak of another, more grievous than this. For it is terrible—truly terrible—both to be slandered in such matters, and to be condemned, and to dwell in prison for so long a time, a free and noble child and unacquainted with this necessity; but far heavier than all these, I think, was the storm that came upon him from his age. For if, troubled by no desire, he spat out her love, I do not greatly praise him, nor do I marvel at the man, persuaded as I am by Christ. For he says that not those who have been made eunuchs by nature, but those who have made themselves eunuchs, are deemed worthy of the kingdom of heaven. But if this were not so, what victory would he have won? Over whom did he bind the crown? Having conquered whom was he proclaimed, when there was no one wrestling against him and attempting to throw him down? For neither do we praise those who do not mate with irrational beasts in the account of chastity, because the desire for that mating is not implanted in their nature. If, then, that fire did not trouble even that blessed man at that time, for what reason do we marvel at him for chastity? But if, when the flame rises more fiercely than at all other times—for he was now in his twentieth year—and when the tyranny is unbearable and no one increases it, then the shameless woman set upon the youth, adding to the flame from her sorceries and adornments as much strength as it had from nature—

How could one describe the winter of the soul, the turmoil and the agony, when nature and age stirred him from within, and the devices of the Egyptian woman assailed him from without, and this not for one day or a second, but for a long time? For I think that he trembled then not only for himself, but also grieved for her, as she rushed toward so great a precipice; and this is clear to us from the way he answered her with great gentleness. For it was possible, if he had wished, to speak to her more insultingly and more boldly—indeed she would easily have borne anything because of her love—but he neither said nor thought anything of the kind; instead, stirring up pious reasonings, and by those means by which he thought alone to shame her, he added nothing more. For behold, he says, my master knows nothing because of me of what is in his house, and all that he has he has given into my hand, and he is not greater in this house than I, nor has anything been withheld from me except you, because you are his wife; and how shall I do this wicked thing, and sin before God? And after such gentleness and such a display of chastity he was slandered, and God permitted it. He was bound, and not even so did he expose the plot and the unjust accusation of the woman; for he wished both that his rewards should be many and his crowns more splendid, and for this reason, even when the servants of the king were released, he himself remained inside still.

Do not tell me of the jailer's humanity, but examine his words, and you will see the pain of his soul. For after he had interpreted the dream, he said to the cupbearer: But remember me through yourself, when it goes well with you, and you will do mercy upon me, and you will remember me to Pharaoh, and you will bring me out of this stronghold, because I was stolen by theft from the land of the Hebrews, and here I did nothing, but they cast me into the house of this pit. For even if he bore being imprisoned easily, at any rate living with such men—tomb-robbers, thieves, parricides, adulterers, murderers—for this dwelling was filled with all these and such as these, was heavier to him than everything. And it was not only this that distressed and oppressed him, but also seeing many there preserved in vain and to no purpose. Nevertheless, the servant was released from his bonds—the very thing you now bewail—while the free man remained still in misery. And if one should mention the kingdom, again to me the swarm of

He will speak of anxieties and sleeplessness and countless affairs, all of which are not at all pleasant to those who embrace the quiet and untroubled life. Apart from these things, for those men, even if some good came about, it was not yet with the kingdom made clear, nor with the promise of future things being manifest. But here, where so many good things lie before us, and the matter is clear to all, will someone grieve, tell me, even if he enjoys no good thing in the present life, and will he consider anything that happens here to be good at all, knowing those things? And what could be more base than this soul, if, expecting to depart to heaven a little later, it should seek out relaxations here, and a cheerfulness that differs nothing from a shadow? For vanity of vanities, it says, all is vanity. But if the man who more than all men had experience of the pleasure of life pronounced such a verdict against it, how much more ought we to be disposed and minded in this way, we who have nothing in common with the earth, but have been enrolled in the city above, and have been commanded to transfer our whole mind there.

Of the same author, the third discourse to Stagirius, on despondency. 1. What has been said is indeed sufficient to quench the flame of despondency and to persuade the soul to be more easily disposed; but so that the consolation may be abundant, I have decided to add this discourse as well, first asking you this question: tell me, if someone were calling you to a kingdom on earth, and then, before entering the city and putting on the crown, you were going to lodge in an inn, in which there is both filth and smoke, and the clamor of travelers, and the turmoil of robbers, and cramped quarters and much distress—would you have turned away from those unpleasant things, and would you not rather have despised them all as though they were nothing? How then is it not absurd that one who is about to rule the earth should be dismayed by none of the difficulties that befall him, exulting in the hopes of the kingdom, but that one who is bound for the heavens should collapse and be disturbed at each of the unpleasant things that happen to us in this lodging-place? For this present condition of life differs in no way from a lodging-place and a stay at an inn; and wishing to show this, the saints called themselves strangers and sojourners, by these words teaching us to laugh at both the pleasant and the painful things in the present life, and, having been released from the earth, to bind the whole soul to heaven. Come then, let us go to the saints themselves, transferring our discourse from Joseph to Moses.