Ad Stagirium a daemone vexatum

For this man, the gentlest of all men on earth, is born while his own people are faring badly, and being estranged from those who begot him, and not knowing his parents, he is reared throughout his earliest age by barbarian men. What could be more grievous than this for a Hebrew youth who has understanding, even if he seems ten thousand times to be a king's son? But at that time this was not the only dreadful thing, but also that he saw his whole race in the utmost misfortunes. For he who did not even endure to live, nor to be written in the book of God, apart from their salvation—how would he have enjoyed the good things in the palaces, seeing all men lying in such a great surge of troubles? For if such great pity for that slaughter of children enters into us, who have come into being after so much time and have no such claim of sympathy toward the Jews, what would that blessed man not have suffered, bound to the whole nation by much longing, and receiving their misfortunes through sights, and being compelled to inscribe as parents those who wrought these evils? For I count him even more than the parents—the wretched children

I think those men were then in mourning; and this is clear from what he did afterwards. For since he could neither persuade nor compel the man who seemed to be his father to abolish that brutish and tyrannical decree, he himself thereafter advanced to close quarters with their evils. And I do not marvel so much at this now, but judging from the murder how great a flame of despondency he was nourishing in the past time, at that I am the more astonished. For the man who burst forth into murder made that former travail clear through his final acts. For he would not have defended them with such vehemence, unless he had been consumed more by the evils of those fathers. What then, when he had defended them and rested his soul a little from that despondency? Was he able to enjoy that consolation completely, the one that came from the vengeance? A second day did not arrive before another, more grievous than the first, succeeded to that blessed man's pain, and such fear as to drive him out of all Egypt. It is a terrible thing, then, to be spoken ill of by anyone at all, but when the one doing this is also one of those who have been benefited, and he reproaches and throws in his face the benefits done to him—"Do you not wish to kill me," he says, "in the way you killed the Egyptian yesterday?"—then indeed, then the insolence becomes unbearable, and it could even strangle the one insulted; so much anger does it bring along with the despondency. And in the case of Moses a third thing besides these was present, the fear of the king, which so mastered the soul of the righteous man as to cast him out of the whole country. So then the son of the king becomes a fugitive.

So if anyone calls him blessed because of his upbringing in the palace, let him now remember that abundance, and he will see that it became for the righteous man a source of countless despondencies and hardships. For it is not the same thing for one who has been raised in a private household, and has endured many toils, many journeys and miseries, to bear long wanderings and to endure the evils of a foreign land, and for one who has never even come to a brief experience of these things, but has spent his entire time in luxury, to suffer this very same thing; for the latter will feel the exile far more bitterly than the former, if ever it should befall him to be brought into this necessity; which is exactly what happened to that man then. And having become a fugitive, he is received as a guest by an idolater and a foreigner; and this too is no small ground for despondency, to be a guest for so long a time with one consecrated to demons. And having been entrusted with the care of that man's flocks, he spent the forty years in this way. But if this seems to anyone to be no terrible thing, let us examine those who go abroad and hide themselves not out of fear and dread, but those who of their own will are torn away a little from their household—how they are distressed, how they are vexed, how many good things they count their return to be. But when fear is also present, and a wretched life, and these burdensome and grievous things seem lighter than the sweetest return, behold for me the manifold nature of the misfortune. For do not hear the word "he shepherded" in a simple way, but now recall the words of Jacob, which he lamented to his father-in-law, saying: I myself bore the losses by day and the losses by night.

I was scorched by the heat of the day and by the frost of the night, and sleep departed from my eyes. For it was likely that all these things happened to this man as well, over more years and with greater severity, in proportion as that land was more desolate than the other. But if Moses did not lament these things—for that blessed man would not have said it, unless he had come into great necessity of the matter, and was forced by the inconsiderateness of his father-in-law to come to these words. Now this foreign land is itself sufficient to humble a man, even one who is away from home only for the sake of need. For as a bird, he says, when it has flown out of its nest, so a man is enslaved when he is estranged from his own places. But then, in addition to this, he could not even be confident concerning his own safety, but like some servant who has run away from a cruel master, he trembles continually and fears lest he be caught; so also the blessed Moses lived with continual fear; and this is clear from the fact that even when God after so long a time commanded him to depart, he shrinks back and hesitates, and that too after hearing: He who seeks his own soul is dead.

2. But when at length he was persuaded and departed, and was compelled to leave his wife and children, again there were censures and insults and threats from the ruler of Egypt at that time, and accusations and curses from those very men who were being benefited. The one, then, was saying: Why, Moses and Aaron, do you pervert the people from their works? Go, each of you, to his own works. And the Israelites were saying: May God see you and judge, because you have made our odor abominable before Pharaoh and before his servants, to give a sword into their hands to kill us. These things, then, were painful and grievous, but heavier than all was that, having come in and promised countless good things—freedom, release from the evils that lay upon them—he seemed to be a deceiver. For not only was the burden of the slavery that lay upon them not lightened, but it was even stretched to something worse, and he who was expected to be the liberator of the whole nation, and who had promised this, seemed to be the cause of the tortures and the scourges, and a plotter and a destroyer. Who would not easily have been swallowed up by despondency, having promised release from so many evils, but after the promise seeing an addition of others more grievous? He was despondent, then, as it was likely a man would be despondent who heard and saw these things, but he was not turned aside by the suffering, but remained unbending, although the promises did not accord with what was happening, but were even in conflict. And coming to God, and conversing about these things, and lamenting much—for he said, it says: Lord, why have you afflicted your people, and why have you sent me?

And from the time I went in to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has afflicted this people, and you have not delivered your people. Having lamented these things, and having again heard the same things as before, he reports them again to the Israelites, but they do not accept them, because their souls were overpowered by the toil and the despondency. For they did not listen to Moses, it says, because of their despondency and because of the hard labors. And this did not afflict him in an ordinary way. But when he was at the signs, and had often been mocked by Pharaoh and bore it nobly, and had also borne this mockery, and had departed from Egypt, and was now confident together with the Jews, before he could fully breathe again, he was seized by the former fear, or rather by one far greater than the former. For not yet three whole days had passed, and they saw all the barbarians standing near them with their weapons, and they suffered the same as if some fugitives in a foreign land had suddenly fallen into the eyes of their masters; or as if these very men, having once happened to revel in pleasant dreams and having imagined this deliverance, then awoke and found themselves in Egypt again, and in the same evils. Or rather, I do not know what one would say they thought was the dream—the three days of their deliverance, or that present vision, dreadful and fearful. So great a mist of despondency was poured over the eyes of all. But Moses was held by an even greater darkness. For he had not only feared the Egyptians, as the rest of the Israelites did, but also these men along with them.

For both sides were now treating him as a deceiver and a mocker—some with ridicule and insolence, others with resentment and despondency. But why must one infer the man's despondency from these things, when it is possible to learn all his grief from the voice brought down from above? For when he was silent and did not dare even to open his lips, God says: Why do you cry out to me? By this one utterance he makes clear to us the turmoil of his soul. 3. But when this fear too was dissolved, the evils again rose greater. For the Egyptians and Pharaoh treated him more harshly throughout the whole journey—those who were led as a people by him and had enjoyed countless goods through him. And first they pressed upon him violently, choking him and demanding back the meat they had in Egypt, ungrateful for what was present and seeking after the former things, which was heavier than all. For what harsher thing could he have suffered, if he had been entrusted to command mad and deranged men? But nevertheless that blessed man bore all these things nobly; and if he had not been affectionately disposed toward them, the terrible thing would have been bearable, and it would have caused him pain only for what was done to himself; but as it was, being disposed toward them more than parents are, from this care he had another compulsion of despondency—that over their perversion and vileness. For being insulted did not sting him as much as that they were the insulter. It was terrible, then, even before the extraordinary provision of that food, to be ungrateful.

But others even in the midst of the wonders displayed their own wickedness—their lawlessness and their greed concerning the collection—and after advancing a little they again murmured, again blamed the benefactions of God; and at each of these things that blessed man was more cut to the heart than the sinners themselves and was disheartened. For when they made the calf, they were playing and reveling, but Moses was mourning and grieving and cursing himself with that grievous curse, and nothing at all persuaded him to withdraw from his sympathy for them. Seeing, then, those who were so longed for by him always advancing toward the worse, with how much grief, with how many tears did he live! For if someone having one son could not go on living if ever he perceived him inclining toward wickedness—and even if he himself happened to be worse than all—the one who had so many thousands in the rank of children, or rather who loved them even more than children (for no father would pray to perish together with a son who had done nothing wrong, as that man did)—the one who had so many children, being both a hater of wickedness and a lover of goodness, what do you think he suffered when he saw them all, as if by some signal, rushing down into the precipice of wickedness? For unless that dizziness of despondency had greatly darkened him and overturned his soul from its foundations, he would have thrown the tablets from his hands and shattered them, but he quickly healed the calamity. But tell me, what did he do? For the manner of the healing, even if it assuaged what had happened, nevertheless was itself full of many tears.

And no one was so made of stone as to feel nothing when he saw brothers and kinsmen slaughtered by their own people, and this pitiable slaughter stretching out to the number of three thousand bodies. For we too, when we catch our own children in some dreadful act, torture them and scourge them, yet we do not do this without feeling, but with distress no less than that of the sufferers themselves. 4. Since great mourning then held both him and the camp, another struggle was added besides. For God threatened that he would no longer lead them, but would abandon them and hand over their protection to an angel—which was more unbearable to Moses than all else. Hear, then, what he says to God: If you yourself do not go with me, do not lead me up from here. Do you see how fears succeeded fears, and griefs followed griefs? And the evil did not stop even there; but when he had persuaded God of this, and the lover of mankind consented and gave the favor, again other pains encompassed him, as they provoked the merciful one and dragged themselves into the utmost calamities. For after that tearful slaughter they again stumbled so as to call down upon themselves that conflagration which would have consumed almost all, had he not even so shown great loving-kindness toward them. And for Moses, discouragement in all things was doubled—both because those men were perishing, and because those who remained stayed uncorrected and gained nothing from the calamity of those others. For that death had not yet reached its end, and

Those of us who were left remembered the onions and were displeased with what was before us, saying: Who will give us meat to eat? For we remembered the fish that we ate in Egypt, and the cucumbers and the melons and the leeks and the onions and the garlic. But now our soul is dried up, and our eyes are on nothing except the manna. Then Moses, no longer able to bear their ingratitude, begged to be released from his leadership, overcome by despondency, and prayed for death instead of that bitter life. Hear also their words: And Moses, it says, said to God: Why have you afflicted your servant, and why have I not found favor before you, that you should lay the burden of this people upon me? Did I conceive all this people in my womb, or did I give birth to them, that you say to me, Take them into your bosom, as a nurse would take up the nursing child, into the land which I swore to their fathers? Where am I to get meat to give to all this people, for they weep before me, saying, Give us meat, that we may eat? I am not able to bear this people alone, for this matter is too heavy for me; but if you will deal thus with me, kill me outright, if I have found favor before you. These words were spoken by the one who had said, And now, if you will forgive their sin, forgive it; but if not, blot me out of the book which you have written. So greatly did despondency overturn him. The same thing happens often to parents who are vexed by what their children do. For that even after these words he did not cease from his compassion toward them is clear to us from what he did afterward.

For after they had killed the spies, they set upon him and were stoning him, and escaping from their hands he turned again to prayer on their behalf, and he besought God to be merciful to those who wished to kill him; so much more intensely than natural affection did his love press upon him. So then, when the spies had died and the mourning was at its height, before any time had yet passed, they were again weaving for him other occasions of discouragement: first, because they could not endure that he forbade them to go to war; and second, because they were cut down by the Amalekites. And even before this war they had been sufficiently consumed by the plague and by gluttony. For he killed them, it says, in the greater part of them, while the food was still in their mouth. And when he had seen that great slaughter as well, while the discouragement over this had not yet ceased, he was struck again by another grief, and was brought into such necessity that these beloved and dearest ones prayed to end their life by some strange and extraordinary death; thus some, when fire was kindled, were suddenly burned, and others, when a chasm opened, were swallowed up; and those who suffered these things were not a few in number, but more than fifteen thousand men. When this had happened, how was it likely that their kinsmen, how their friends, were disposed toward Moses? And how was Moses himself disposed, seeing both children orphaned and women made widows by this calamity, and his sister and his brother dead, and that man's sons burned for some transgression—

Each one of these things is enough to distress a soul that has suffered nothing, let alone one already worn down by so many evils. But when they had taken the Canaanite and were circling a long road, the Jews again murmured, and again they were being destroyed—not, as before, by disease, nor by fire and a chasm as previously, but by the bites of venomous serpents, which would have destroyed them all, had not Moses again come near and besought God. And when they had been delivered from this destruction too and had escaped the curses of the seer, they again threw themselves down the most grievous precipices, and after the blessings of Balaam—or rather of God, for the words were not from his own choice but from the power that moved him—they committed fornication with the daughters of the foreigners and were initiated into Beelphegor. And Moses, seeing so great a shame and the mockery, again ordered them to cut one another down, saying: Kill each one his neighbor, the one initiated into Beelphegor—just as in the case of a wound that has received many incisions and cauterizations and has not been made any better by this, one might order the remaining part to be cut and cauterized again. But you, hearing these difficulties, do not suppose that only these things happened, although I have passed over not a few of those that lie before us: the wars, the oppositions of enemies, the long journeys, the outrage against his sister, the punishment for which that gentlest of men, Moses, grieved the more. But nevertheless, even if one gathers them all with precision, what has been written is not even a ten-thousandth part of what happened.

For if one of a few servants put in charge of a household has countless occasions for irritation and grief, how many troubles was he compelled to have each day, how many cares, how many despondencies—both for the living and for the dead—who was forced to govern so many thousands in the wilderness for forty years, where there was neither air nor water! For he saw all those whom he had led out die, except only two men, and he was not deemed worthy to lead those born from them into the land of promise; but he saw it from the summit of Mount Nabau, and was well taught its nature, yet he was not permitted to enjoy it with the rest of the Israelites, but remained outside and died. On account of this he himself also lamented to the Israelites, saying: And the Lord God was angry with me because of the things spoken by you, and he swore that I should not cross this Jordan, and that I should not enter into the land which the Lord God gives you as an inheritance. For I am dying in this land, and I do not cross this Jordan; but you shall cross over and inherit this good land. And what is more terrible than all, that he brought him down to Hades with grief; for he foreknew the evils that were going to succeed the Jews—the idolatry, the captivity, the unspeakable calamities—so that his soul was worn down no longer only by what he saw and what had happened, but also by what had not yet come to pass. For beginning from his earliest age to feel pain and anguish, he ended his life with the same despondency.

5. Joshua, who succeeded him, shared in, so to speak, all his troubles; and if anything he escaped because of the youth of his age, this he made up for after that man's death. For it was not only while Moses was alive that he tore his garments and sprinkled ashes, but even after he had died he again came into the same necessity, or rather into a greater one than this—not for a short time, but lying prone on the ground the whole day. Hear indeed both his words and his lamentations: And Joshua, it says, tore his garments, and fell on his face on the ground before the Lord until evening, he and the elders of Israel, and they put dust on their heads, and Joshua said: I beseech you, Lord, why has your servant brought this people across the Jordan, to deliver them to the Amorite to destroy us? If only we had remained and settled beside the Jordan. And what shall I say, since Israel has turned its neck before its enemy? And when the Canaanite hears and all who dwell in the land, they will surround us and wipe us out from the land. When God heard these things, he showed him the cause of the defeat; and when he learned it, he destroyed them all utterly—not only the one who had sinned, but also his relatives and kin, and the multitude of their livestock, which did not disturb his soul in an ordinary way. For if we, seeing strangers punished, cannot even bear to look, what would that man not have suffered, surrounding his own countrymen and fellow soldiers with such evils? And what of the deception of the Gibeonites and the suspicion that arose against the tribes that dwelt beyond the Jordan?

What then is it to be constantly engaged in wars and battles? And what kind of soul would he have left behind in a settled state? For even if he continued always victorious, nevertheless the pleasure from his trophies was disturbed by anxiety about those who remained, and the distribution of the allotments caused him much toil and many difficulties. And those know this who have been appointed to divide even a chance possession among brothers or among those who become heirs of someone from elsewhere. For the subsequent calamities of the people I do not think it necessary to mention; for it is not now proposed to speak of whether someone led a painful life, but whether someone was among those who were exceedingly well-pleasing to God. 6. Therefore, if it seems good, let us pass by Eli; for he too is among those who offended because of the wickedness of his sons, or rather because of his own negligence. For he was not punished because he had wicked sons, but because he was more sparing than was fitting, and did not defend the laws of God when they were being outraged; which he himself, having understood after the severe threat, said: "The Lord himself will do what is pleasing before him." Therefore, passing him by, let us come to Samuel, who was brought up from childhood in the temple, and was always well-approved before God; and he displayed such virtue from his earliest age that before coming to manhood he was counted among the wondrous prophets, and this at a time when the matter had failed. For, it says, there was no vision distinguishing, and a precious word was.

This Samuel, then, who was born with many tears, first, when he saw his own teacher carried off to that pitiable death, was so confounded and disturbed, as was fitting for a grateful and affectionate disciple. After this, he was also compelled to lament continually the calamities of the Jews. And his sons, being unjust and wicked, and driving on to the utmost of evil, both grieved him by this and by their not being able to inherit the honor that had been granted to him. Upon this despondency succeeds—or rather does not succeed, for it did not cease, but is added to it—the lawlessness of the Israelites' request, where he fell so low as even to need much consolation. Hear, then, what God says to him: They have not rejected you, but me. Nevertheless, even after these things he cared for them so as to say to them: But far be it from me to sin by ceasing to pray for you. Seeing these, then, who were so loved by him, faring badly, and stumbling in wars, and provoking God to anger, what pleasure would he have felt? What season would he have passed without despondency and tears? And when he also established Saul as king, successive and continual pains were again added to him. For when he offered the sacrifice contrary to what was pleasing to God, and when, having conquered the Amalekites, he spared their king, and this contrary to the command, he was so struck in soul that he no longer saw the man, but from that time until his last day mourned and wept for him, when he was also rebuked because of the vehemence of his despondency.

For how long, he says, will you mourn over Saul, and I have rejected him? But if he mourned after these things had happened, what was it when that man slaughtered so many priests rashly and in vain? When he came a second time to destroy his benefactor who had done no wrong? When he saw him prophesying naked and falling down? When he heard David lamenting countless things before him and pleading? 7. Since I have mentioned David, I do not know what to do: whether I should now bring forward his long and continuous laments recorded in the Psalms, or set these aside for you to read at leisure, and myself go through his calamities. This David, then, endured many terrible things even while shepherding, fighting against the irregularities of the air and the savagery of wild beasts; and this can be seen partly from what Jacob said, and partly from what he himself said to Saul about the lion and the bear. But since, leaving that life behind, he rushed prematurely into the affairs of war, I pass over the envy of his brothers, even though this is very burdensome; but since he achieved the splendid victory

Having taken up that wondrous single combat, he found the man he had benefited, Saul, a fiercer enemy than the Goliath who had been struck down. For he did not array himself openly against him, but putting on the mask of a friend and feigning to honor and care for him, he treated him in the manner of enemies. But how great an evil it is to receive evils in return for good things—hear the blessed prophet continually lamenting and resenting this and saying, "If evils are repaid to me for good things." Indeed, even when no danger is present, this very thing by itself is worthy of great discouragement—for the general to be held in suspicion by the king, and to be seen by him with displeasure. And why do I speak of a general and a king? For even if we suffer this at the hands of our own household, we are vexed; but when plots are also being woven against the life of the one who is hated, what life could be more bitter than his? Nevertheless he bore and endured all things, and was with the one who was murdering him, and commanded his wars. But when at length he also departed and removed himself far from the war, this very thing—being far away, and making the enmity manifest—gave him somewhat more ground for confidence; but when he was compelled to array himself with four hundred men against so great an army, he trembled more than before. For consider what he was—possessing neither city, nor fortress, nor allies, nor revenues—when he was compelled to wage war against the one who had all these things, and could find no place to flee except the desert and the caves there.

For having taken the city called Keilah, he immediately sprang away from it, when the priest said that God would not snatch him out of Saul's hands if he remained there. And this priest was that very man who had escaped Saul's hands and had reported to the king the tragedy that took place in Nob, when he also uttered that bitter cry: "For I," he says, "am the cause of the souls of your father's whole house." So that being with him continually was nothing other than a reminder of that despondency. For looking at him, he always remembered the destruction of the priests; and remembering the destruction, and attributing the cause of so great a slaughter to himself, he lived a life more wretched than any condemned man. For even if nothing else was troubling him, it was enough to wound a soul and destroy it to reckon himself the slaughterer of so many priests. And struck by this reasoning, which gnawed through his soul more than a moth both by night and by day, he received other wounds in succession, continuous and following one upon another. For when Nabal insulted him through his servants and called him a runaway and a fugitive and an ungrateful slave, he did not bear the words without pain; and when he went to Achish and pretended to be mad, and fell down, and twisted his eyes and let much foam flow from his mouth, he was more consumed than those truly possessed by demons, reckoning into what necessity he had brought himself, he who had been so greatly benefited. But when he had breathed a little, having come to be among the enemies, he had to campaign against their enemies;

But his satraps, corrupted against him and wishing to denounce him to the king, sent him away from the army as useless to them and as one who would be a plotter and a traitor. For the satraps of the foreigners, it says, were enraged against him, and they say to him: Send the man back, and let him return to the place where you appointed him, and let him not go with us into battle, and let him not become a plotter against the camp. And by what means will this man be reconciled to his lord, if not by the heads of those men? And he, struck by these words, withdrew with great insult and despondency. But coming home, he found so many evils that he nearly choked with grief. For the terrible things that had happened at that time were sufficient, even when rehearsed beforehand, to darken his soul; but when the unexpected was added, and beyond hope, they appeared double what they were, and were no longer bearable. For he was going away as one who would rest at home, and would find relief from that despondency

his children and wives as a consolation; but standing suddenly upon them, he heard that these were enslaved among the enemy, and he beheld fire and smoke and blood and corpses, and before they could grieve over these things and lament the captivity, the inhabitants of the city fell upon him more savagely than wild beasts, each one seeking from his head to find consolation for his own misfortunes. And just as when opposing winds fall upon the sea, great and fierce from that battle becomes the storm; so also then, with despondency and fear cutting through the soul of the righteous man, great was the tossing and the tumult, these passions prevailing over one another and being prevailed over continually. But when he was able to slip through these evils, and to recover the women, and all the captivity, before he could again perceive that victory, he is struck by a bitter message, that concerning the slaughter of Jonathan, which so cast down his soul, as one may learn from the laments: For your love fell upon me, it says, as the love of women. And why do I speak of the laments? For he who so wept for that man's father, his own enemy and plotter and one who ten thousand times desired his destruction—what would he have suffered for the one who stood by him in those dangers and often rescued him from his father's plotting, and shared secrets with him, and made covenants with him over many things—this man, when he was able to repay him the recompense for those benefits, then, learning that he had been snatched away from life?

8. While this passion was at its height, the commander once again enveloped him in another despondency—he who had promised to hand over the entire army to him without toil and with all ease—snatching him away beforehand from his promise and destroying him by treachery. For he grieved so greatly over that slaughter that even then he cursed Joab, and at the very time of his death he charged his own son to exact this penalty from him for the murder. And the words which he lamented when recalling him are sufficient to set before us the passion of his soul: For the king, it says, lifted up his voice and wept over the tomb of Abner, and said: Shall Abner die according to the death of Nabal? Your hands were not bound, nor your feet in fetters, nor did you bring them as Nabal; before a son of iniquity you fell. And what after this? Mephibosheth is treacherously slain, and by the grief that came to him on account of this—for again he grieved over this too—so that the opposition of the lame and the maimed, added to it, greatly disturbed him, that he wished to destroy the murderers. And having prevailed over these and other enemies, he brings up the ark with great gladness; but while it was still being brought up, and all were rejoicing, a thing that happened in the midst of the cheerfulness dimmed the pleasure of all, and cast the king's soul into great despondency and fear.

For when Uzzah wished to steady the ark that was toppling, the wrath of God struck him at once and put him to death, and this fear so greatly shook the soul of David that he did not dare to bring the ark up to himself until he had learned how he should deal with Obed-edom, who at that time had received it. After these things, when the king of the Ammonites died, doing the work of a kind and humane man, he sent to console his son and to persuade him to bear his father's death gently; but he, instead of this honor, shamefully insulted those who had gone and so sent them back to the king. Does this seem to you a small thing for striking down and casting down a soul? Does not that war demonstrate it, which had its occasion from nowhere else and was stretched to such vehemence as to surround him with countless evils? These things, then, are enough, even if one mingles countless pleasures with them, to reckon that man's life among the life of painful things; but now the things that follow are such that he has not even begun the truly grievous things. For he conquered every myth and every tragedy

the passions of this king; so strange and successive were the calamities that fell upon his house, as they eagerly sought to heal one evil with another. For observe: Amnon fell in love with his own sister; having fallen in love, he violated her; having violated her, he hated her, and he made a public show of the violation and the union, immediately ordering one of his servants to cast her out of the house against her will, and to escort her through the marketplace as she cried out and lamented. When Absalom learned this, and invited all his brothers to a banquet, among whom was that violator as well, he slaughtered him through his servants while he was feasting and drinking in their midst. Then someone rose up from there, and not learning the truth because of the uproar, reported to the king that all his children were dead. And he sat mourning the slaughter of all that had not happened; but when he learned the truth, he threatened his son and said he would kill him, but when he had fled and spent a period of three years in a foreign land, he remained angry all that time; and he would not even have called him back then, if the general's wisdom had not forced him, even unwilling, into this promise. But having called him back, not even so did he extinguish the wound of his heart, but again keeping him away from his sight for another two years, scarcely after this long time, being again persuaded by the general, did he grant him freedom of access. But he, bearing a grudge over these things, or otherwise desiring tyranny, rose up against his father, and again brought him back into the wanderings and flights which he had endured under Saul, or rather made that time far more grievous than that one.

For at that time, being a general, he suffered such things; but now, after he had spent many years in the kingdom and had conquered, so to speak, all his enemies, he was compelled to migrate. And the one compelling him was not some stranger, nor an enemy, but the one who came out of his own belly, as he himself lamented, saying. And then he was in the prime of life and could bear all things nobly; but now, at the very time when he ought to have been cared for in his old age by that vile man, then he was plotted against and warred upon, and the king went out with a few men, barefoot, veiled, and weeping. For that war was a source not only of calamity but also of shame for him. For so much more insolently than Saul did the son treat that blessed man of that time, that he even outraged his father's concubines, and this not secretly but on the roof, with all watching, and through his madness against his father he outraged both the ordinances of nature and the laws of union, and, drunk with folly, while the war was still raging, he dared and displayed the deeds of those who had already conquered and taken their enemies captive. Siba, then, finding him thus afflicted and afraid, disturbed him further by falsely accusing his master and saying that he was minded toward the tyrant's cause.

9. He is succeeded by Shimei, a vile and thankless man, who assailed him with countless reproaches and, along with those words, with stones: "Come out," he said, "man of bloodshed, and lawless man. The Lord has brought upon you all the blood of the house of Saul, in return for which you reigned in his place, and the Lord has given the kingdom into the hands of Absalom your son, and he has shown you your wickedness, that you are a man of bloodshed." And he was melting away as he heard and suffered these things, as he showed even from his very lamentations, yet he dared to do nothing further; but saying, "Let him curse, because the Lord has spoken to him, so that he may see my humiliation, and the Lord may repay me with good things in return for the curse on this day," he let him go away alive; but he himself waited, anxious about Hushai's affairs and trembling at what the end would ever be. And when these things too were reported, the war was being clashed together, the strangest of all wars that ever occurred, and more like a riddle. For the one who was the cause of so many evils, and who in that battle provided the entire occasion, and with whose fall all the terrors would have been dissolved—this man they held in great provision and sparing

He kept calling his own commanders to him, saying continually, "Spare me the boy Absalom." What could be worse than this perplexity? What more pitiable than this helplessness? He was compelled to undertake a war in which both to conquer and to be defeated were alike abhorrent to him. For he did not wish to have the lesser share, since otherwise he would not have sent out so great an army; nor did he wish to prevail, since otherwise he would not have forbidden the killing of the man who held together and marshaled the line of battle. But when the war was decided and had the end that God willed, and that parricide had fallen, all the rest were in gladness and joy, but he alone mourned and wept, and shutting himself in he called back the dead man, and was vexed that he had not received death in his stead. For he says, "Who will give me death instead of you, Absalom, my son?" What more intricate calamity than this was ever heard? When he killed his brother, he was eager to kill him; but when he raged against him, then he spares the boy. And he would not have ceased lamenting over the corpse for a long time, had not Joab come in and shown the absurdity of the matter, and after speaking more vehemently, roused him up and prepared him to receive the army in fitting attire. And not even then did the evils take their end for him, but first the soldiers quarreled with one another and were divided; and when at last with much flattery they yielded to the king, they again leaped away and joined themselves to Sheba, and again from the beginning another war was begotten, while the remnants of the former still remained.

Because of these things David was alarmed and, having rallied the soldiers, sent them out with the commanders; but Joab, having routed this war as well, did not allow the pleasure from the victory to remain free of discouragement. For his fellow commander, who had subjected all the people to David, him he killed and dispatched, simply and having nothing to accuse him of, driven mad by envy; which so disturbed and confounded the king that at his death he even charged his son concerning this, and begged him not to overlook Amasa going off unpunished. And what is worse, being so disposed he did not even dare to speak out the cause of his discouragement, because he had already been worn down by countless evils. For after these wars famine succeeded throughout the whole land, and seeking to find a solution to the evil, he was compelled to hand over the sons of Saul for slaughter. For this is what the oracle said: "On Saul," it says, "and on his house is this injustice, because he put the Gibeonites to death." And if anyone remembers how he mourned for Saul, he knows what he also suffered then in handing them over to the Gibeonites; but nevertheless he bore these things too, and again the course of calamities went further. For after the famine came pestilence, and seventy thousand men fall in the space of half a day, when the king also utters those pitiable words. For seeing the angel with his sword drawn, he said: "Behold, I the shepherd have sinned, and I the shepherd have done evil, and these, the flock, what have they done? Let your hand be on me, and on my father's house.

It is not possible for us to recount all his despondencies with exactness; for not all of them are recorded. But from his laments and wailings it is possible to conjecture the magnitude of those that were omitted as well, and that the righteous man never ceased being struck down and in pain. For what does he say? The days of the years of our life are seventy years in themselves; but if in powers, eighty years, and the greater part of them is toil and pain. But if you say that he made this condemnation of the common life, not of his own only, you say something greater than I myself wish to say, and you relieve us of many words, since you yourself confess that it is not only his life but not even any other man's that can be found not to have far more of the difficult than of the good. For indeed, just as you yourself well said, he examined not only his own circumstances but also those of others, and so uttered this verdict, speaking the same things as the patriarch, but with greater vehemence; for what that one said in part, this one later declared universally. For he said, Few and evil are my days; but this one, The days of the years of our life are seventy years in themselves, that is, of all men, and the greater part of them is toil and pain. 10. But these things, as I said, I leave to you to go through at leisure with all exactness; but I will come to the remaining prophets, although indeed they have left us their life nowhere recorded, yet nevertheless, having fallen into such great straits because of the excess of the evils that seized them, I think I will be able to show from a single utterance that their whole life was grievous.

And first, what was common to them all: they were being racked, scourged, sawn asunder, stoned, imprisoned, put to death by the sword, wandering about in sheepskins and goatskins, being destitute, afflicted, ill-treated, and so they spent their whole life. And after this they had yet another addition to their despondency, harsher than this: to see the wickedness of those who brought these things upon them advancing, on account of which they were bitten more than by their own afflictions. And one said: "Cursing and lying, and theft and adultery and murder have been poured out upon the earth, and they mingle blood with blood"—showing us the fearless, manifold, and abundant nature of wickedness. Another cried out again: "Woe is me! for I am become as one that gathers stubble in the harvest, and as a gleaning in the vintage when there is no cluster of grapes"—lamenting by these words the scarcity of good men. Another again bewailed other such things. But the goatherd grieved not only for their wickedness, but lamented their calamities more than his own trials, and besought God, saying: "Be propitious, O Lord; who shall raise up Jacob, for he is few in number? Repent, O Lord, concerning this." And not even so does he obtain his supplication; for he said: "And it shall not come to pass, says the Lord." And Isaiah, having heard that the whole earth shall be desolate, did not even wish to be comforted, but mourned continually and said: "Let me alone, I will weep bitterly, do not strive to comfort me; for the manner of death surpasses every calamity.

But who could go through the Lamentations of Jeremiah—both those composed separately and those scattered throughout the prophecy—those for the city and those for himself—without tears? For at one time he said: Who will give water to my head, and a fountain of tears to my eyes? and I will weep for this people day and night; and at another: Who will give me in the wilderness a last resting place, and I will leave this people, and depart from them? for they are all adulterers. And sometimes in indignation he cried out: Woe is me, mother! that you bore me a man judged and disputed with in all the earth; and sometimes he even cursed the day of his birth, saying, Cursed be the day in which I was born. But the pit of mire, and the afflictions of chains, and the scourges, and the plots, and the continual mockery so affected him that he finally gave up. But when the city was captured, did he obtain any providence or honor from the barbarians? Did he perceive these things? At that time, then, he also wrote the bitter laments, mourning for those who had perished, and he saw evils no less than those past, since those left from the war themselves provoked God. For having promised to obey him in all things and not to contradict at all, they went down again to Egypt, though the oracle said the opposite, and they brought the prophet down with them, and by their own folly forced him to foretell harsher things than the former. But what of Ezekiel? What of Daniel? Did they not spend their entire time in captivity?

And he was punished by hunger and thirst for the evils of others, and when his wife departed he was commanded to bear so great a calamity without tears—than which what could be heavier than not even being permitted to lament one's own evils? For to be compelled to eat his own bread upon dung, and to lie upon one side for ninety and a hundred days, and whatever other such things he was ordered to endure, I now pass over. For even if none of the grievous things had befallen him—neither those we have omitted nor those now mentioned—the mere fact of the righteous and pure man being amid enemies and barbarians and unclean men was harsher than any punishment. And Daniel seemed indeed to enjoy much honor, and not to live as in captivity, moving about in the palaces and being in positions of power; but if one should listen to his prayer and observe his fasting, and the alteration of his countenance and his continual supplications, and should well understand for what he did these things, he will know that this man above all was in pains and despondencies. For not only the present evils troubled him, but the future ones also disturbed him, which he was deemed worthy to learn by prophetic eyes even before they had come to pass; and seeing the Jews not yet freed from their former slavery, he was compelled to foresee another captivity for them, and he saw the city not yet built being captured, and the temple defiled by the sacrifices and laid waste, and all the sanctuary overturned. Therefore he mourned and wept, saying:

To us belongs the shame of face, and to our kings, and to our rulers, and to our fathers, who have sinned against you, O Lord. 11. But I do not know how, in the midst of the prophets, I passed over that heaven-high soul, the one who dwelt on the earth as though it were heaven; for nothing was more to him than his sheepskin cloak. What then did this great and wonderful man do—if indeed one should call him a man? After his boldness before Ahab, after the sending down of fire, after the slaughter of the priests, after closing and opening heaven at whatever time he wished for both, after so many and such great achievements, he was so mastered by fear and by the excess of despondency that he uttered these words: Take my soul from me, for I am no better than my fathers. This was said by that man who has not even yet died. And not only this, but he went away into the desert and slept, bowed down by heaviness of soul. But his disciple received not only a double portion of his teacher's spirit, but also afflictions far greater. At any rate, the blessed Paul, setting these men before us a little while ago and numbering their hardships, said: Of whom the world was not worthy. And the blessed one has come in upon us opportunely; for he who alone appeared and sufficed for consolation—this one, entering in after the others, what despondency and grief would he not dispel?

Therefore, the famine, the thirst, the nakedness, the shipwrecks, the sojourns in the deserts, the fears, the dangers, the plots, the prisons, the beatings, the sleepless nights, the countless deaths, and all the other things he endured for the sake of the preaching—I think there is no need to speak of them. For these things, even if they were certain afflictions, nevertheless also gave him pleasures. But when all those in Asia turned away from him, when the Galatians were turned aside—a whole nation and one that had been well reputed—when the Corinthians divided the church among them into many parts, and by flattering the one who had committed fornication led him into insensibility, what do you think he suffered? By how much darkness do you think his soul was seized? But why do we need reasonings, when it is possible to hear his own words? For writing to the Corinthians he said, Out of much affliction and anguish of heart I wrote to you with many tears; and again, Lest when I come, God should humble me, and I should mourn for many of those who have sinned before and have not repented. And to the Galatians, My little children, for whom I am again in travail until Christ is formed in you. And concerning the Asians he laments to his disciple. Nor did these things alone distress him, but also the thorn given to him so afflicted and constrained him that often, for the removal of this

to entreat God; for the "thrice" here means "many times." And in general, when was he who was even distressed at the absence of a brother ever able to breathe freely? "Because I did not find Titus my brother," he says, "I had no rest." And again, in the case of sickness he suffered this same thing. For "God had mercy on him," he says concerning Epaphras, writing to the Philippians, "and not on him only, but on me also, so that I might not have sorrow upon sorrow." And in the case of the deceivers and those who opposed him, being exceedingly heavy at heart, he said in his letter to Timothy: "Alexander the coppersmith did me much evil; may the Lord repay him according to his works." Who then was able to have even a little respite from despondency and pain? For it was not only the things mentioned that besieged his soul, but also others besides these, which gave him continual despondency; and these things he himself revealed when he said: "Besides those things that are without, there is the daily pressure upon me, the care of all the churches. Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to stumble, and I do not burn?" If, then, he himself burned at each one of those who stumbled, it was not possible for this burning to be quenched from his soul. For those who stumbled did not cease, providing fuel for the fire. For where cities and often whole nations fell away, it was far more likely that there were always one or two who suffered this, since there were so many churches throughout the world. But let us suppose, if you wish, in argument that no one stumbled, nor was ever separated from him, nor any other of these sorrowful things happened to him; for not even so can I find him free from despondency.

And in this again I need no other witness, but the man who suffered it himself. For what does he say? "I was praying to be accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh, who are Israelites." What he means is this: it was more desirable to me to fall into Gehenna than to see the Israelites disbelieving. For "I was praying to be accursed" means this: and he who chose the punishment in Gehenna in order to be able to win over all the Jews, it is evident that, not obtaining this, he lived a life heavier than those punished in Gehenna, since that was more according to his mind than this. 12. But do not consider with me, in each of the things said, only the circumstance from which the despondency was produced in those men, but also the measure of the grief, and you will see these things much greater than your pain. For what is being examined now is this: whether those men grieved more severely; and the measure of despondency is naturally judged not only from the cause that produces it, but also from the words and from the deeds. Many, then, having lost money alone, grieved more greatly than your love, and some threw themselves into the sea, and others even laid hold of a noose, not enduring the loss; and the excess of this despondency extinguished the eyes of others; and yet losing money seems to be less and lighter than being troubled by a demon, but nevertheless many bore this, but were defeated by that.

Do not judge these things now from your own soul, nor suppose that because you laugh at the loss of money, others are also so disposed; for the removal of these things has led many both to madness and to the utmost ruin. For neither of these can cast down a noble soul; but the weak soul, one disposed more toward the things of this life, is bitten more by the latter than by the former. Why is this? Because it is not the same thing to fear famine continually and to be troubled every few days by this disease. For here the whole violence lasts for a brief part of time, like a fever, or a chill, or some other periodic attack that comes on, and indeed it holds its season far shorter than these; but if it conquers by its vehemence, I could show you many of those sick with fever far more deranged than those possessed by demons, when they are seized by that fire. But since the fear of want, the lack of necessities, like a ceaseless moth, thus ever sitting by, devours the soul of the poor. And why do I speak of poverty? For if we wished to enumerate all the calamities of men, not only you, but perhaps you yourself would laugh at your own lamentations and wailings. All of them, then—or rather, we cannot speak even the smallest fraction of them; for neither do we know them, nor, even if we knew them, would all time suffice us for the telling. But having gathered a few from many, from these I will enable you, as far as I can, to conjecture also those not mentioned. For remember that most beloved old man, I mean Demophilus, from the great and illustrious house.

This man has now reached his fifteenth year, and in respect to activity he is no better off than the dead, except that he trembles continually, utters sounds, and has a clear perception of his own misfortunes. He lives in the utmost poverty and has one young attendant, a good man and devoted to his master, but not capable of alleviating that calamity; for he can neither ward off poverty nor stop the trembling of his paralysis, but can only put a morsel into his master's mouth—for his hands are not even sufficient for this assistance—and bring a cup, and wipe the nose of one who has a running cold, and he could do nothing more than these things. But this man has now spent fifteen years in such misery as I have described; and I consider the one who has consumed eight and thirty years in this affliction. In addition to these, reckon for me also Aristoxenus the Bithynian; for his body has not been dissolved like that old man's, but a disease lies upon him far more grievous than that paralysis. For through the abdomen, certain spasms and pains more bitter than all agony, sometimes piercing worse than spits, sometimes gnawing more fiercely than fire, and troubling him every day and night, give to those who do not know his affliction the opinion that he is mad—so do they distort his eyes, so do they twist his hands together with his feet, and render him speechless.

His cries and wailings—for he often shrieks after that speechlessness—surpass the ululations of women in labor, and often those living far away who had sick people, troubled by much sleeplessness, sent complaints on behalf of their patients, saying they had been made worse by his voice. This happens to him not at long intervals, but often by day and often by night, and this is now the sixth year since he was handed over to this evil scourge, and there is no servant present to care for him, nor a physician to comfort him—partly because of poverty, partly because their art had been shown useless in his affliction; for many who suffered much—and indeed before this he happened to have much money—benefited nothing. And what is worse still, no longer does any of his friends wish to see him, but all have abandoned him, even those who had previously been greatly benefited by him. And if anyone ever does enter, he immediately leaps back; so great a stench has filled the room, because there is no one to care for him. For a single maidservant sits by him alone, rendering as many services as it is reasonable for a woman to be able to render, and one alone, and one who is sustained by the work of her hands. How much harsher, then, are that man's evils than those of how many demons!

For even if none of these things troubled him, what would he not suffer in considering the long time during which he lies on his bed, the great expense that has plunged him into extreme poverty, the contempt of his friends, the desolation of those who should care for him, the not even knowing whether these evils will ever cease—which is what you always lament—or rather the being firmly convinced that they will never cease as long as he lives and still breathes? For the intensification of the disease and its advancing each day to the worse—this, he says, is the terrible thing. 13. But that I may not seem to wear out my hearers by enumerating individually those who have suffered such misfortunes, go to the man entrusted with the oversight of the guest-house, and bid him lead you in to those lying there, so that you may see every root of the passions, and strange forms of disease, and every kind of occasion for despondency. From there, having gone to the prison and learned thoroughly all that is in that dwelling, walk on to the vestibule of the baths, where some lie naked, using dung and reeds instead of garments and houses, besieged by cold and disease and continual hunger, entreating passers-by only by their appearance and the trembling of their body and the chattering of their knocking teeth, able neither to utter a sound nor to stretch out their hands, so utterly wasted are they already by such great evils. But do not stop even at these, but go out also to the shelter of the poor before the city, and then you will clearly see that the despondency which seems to grip you is now a calm harbor.

For what could one say of men being consumed little by little by elephantiasis, or of women being eaten away by cancer? For both of these diseases are long-lasting and incurable; and one of them even drives those who have it out of the city, and it is not lawful for them to share in either the baths, or the marketplace, or any other of the things within it. And this is not the only terrible thing, but also that they cannot even be confident of an abundance of necessities. And what of those who have often been condemned to dwell in the mines, vainly and to no purpose? For all these have an anguish much greater than that of the demon-possessed. And if you do not believe it, that is no wonder. For we are not accustomed to judge our own evils and those of others by the same standard, but we have learned the latter only by word and sight, while these by experience and perception and with our own sympathy; and therefore we consider them more unbearable than those, even if they are very light and bearable. But if someone, having been freed from all these things, were to examine their nature thoroughly and consider those who have fallen into them, he would bring us an undecided vote concerning these matters. But perhaps you will say that all those afflictions revolve only around the body, whereas this disease touches the soul, and is more grievous than all of them. Yet by this very thing we shall find it to be lighter than those. For this one does not destroy the body, as those do, and it troubles the soul for a short time only.

But those afflictions which we have just now enumerated are indeed produced in the flesh, yet they do not stop all their injury at that point, but pass it on even to the soul, torturing it continually and corrupting it through pain and great despondency. For just as, he says, vinegar draws in what is harmful, so a passion that falls upon the body grieves the heart. Do not, then, merely say that this is begotten from the body, but show that it does not pass on all its injury and corruption to the soul. Since even the plague, though not begotten from bodies, corrupts bodies, and the venom of serpents issues from them, yet harms us; so too with these passions: they are begotten from the body, but they pour out the venom of their own wickedness into our soul. For the excess of despondency is more harmful than every demonic operation; since even the demon, in whomsoever he prevails, prevails through this; and if you take this away, no one will suffer anything terrible from him. And how is it possible not to be despondent, he says? But I will ask you, how is it possible to be despondent? For if adultery and murder, or any other such thing of those that exclude from the kingdom of heaven, has been dared by you, be despondent and mourn—no one will prevent you; but if by the grace of God you stand far removed from all these things, why do you strike yourself in vain? 14. For God implanted despondency in our nature, not that we should use it simply and unseasonably and in contrary circumstances, nor that we should destroy ourselves, but that we should gain the greatest things from it. And how is it possible to gain? When we take it up at the right time; and the right time for despondency is not when we suffer badly, but...

when we do evil; but we have overturned the order and exchanged the seasons, and though we commit countless evils, we are not restrained even for a moment; but if we suffer some small thing at anyone's hands, we collapse, we grow dizzy, we hasten to be released and to depart from life. Therefore for this reason the matter seems to us to be burdensome and heavy, just as indeed both anger and desire do. For those who have not used these well nor as they ought have also slandered them; and the same thing happens as in the case of medicines given by physicians; for when those are applied not to the appropriate conditions, and for which they were prepared, but to other ailments instead of others, they not only do not relieve the sufferer of what distresses him, but even aggravate the disease the more; which is exactly what despondency also does, and reasonably so. For being a harsh and corrosive medicine, and, as one might say, a purgative of the wickedness within us, when it is supplied to a soul that is idle and luxurious and has a great heap of sins, it benefits the one who receives it most greatly; but when it is supplied to one who is striving and contending and laboring and full of cares and suffering badly, besides doing no good, it has also greatly harmed, making him weaker and easy to overcome. For this reason Paul, writing to those who stood firm and were contending, said, Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, rejoice; but to those who had been dissipated and had much inflammation, And you are puffed up, and did not rather mourn. For let the one who is fattened with the fattening of sins be made lean and be torn to pieces by this medicine;

But the one who is in good health and keeps himself in the proper condition, for what reason would he destroy his good health through despondency? For this is so effective that, when it is applied even to those who need it for a longer time than is fitting, it works great evils. And the blessed Paul, fearing this very thing, quickly ordered it to be removed after it had done its own work, and he added this reason, which I now state: Lest, he says, such a one be swallowed up by excessive grief. But if it knows how to destroy those who are in need when it falls upon them beyond measure, what will it do to those who do not need it at all, when they draw it upon themselves in great measure? Yes, he says, I know this myself, but how I shall repel it and drive it away from my soul, I do not know. And what difficulty is there in this, my friend? For if it were some desire, or an unnatural love of bodies, or the tyranny of vainglory, that difficult-to-contend-against evil, or some other such passion, you would rightly be at a loss about how to be rid of it; for those caught by such things cannot by any means, yet it is nevertheless difficult, escape the nets. Why is that? Because they have pleasure working with them and helping them; and this is what for the most part wraps those who are caught in ropes from every side; and this is the first difficulty in setting things right, to persuade the soul actually to wish and desire the removal; and it becomes like a case where someone who ought to put away a scab or an itch takes pleasure in the disease and thrusts himself further into the passion. But for the retreat of grief, this much has been accomplished for us, namely, to feel aversion toward it for the time being.

For the one who is weighed down by something will also hasten to cast it off quickly. What then, if he hastens but is unable? Let him not cease hastening, and he will soon be able. For consider that a Christian, if ever he is grieved, ought to have only two grounds for despondency: either when he himself, or when his neighbor, has offended God. But since the present grief has none of these reasons as its root, you are tormenting yourself in vain. And how is it clear, he says, that we are not paying this penalty for offenses? Indeed it is clear, though for now I do not insist on this. But let it be, if you wish, not even unclear, as you said, but even very clear, that this is a repayment for sins; is it for this reason, then, tell me, that you are in pain? And yet it is worthy of cheerfulness that sins are dissolved here, and that one is not condemned together with the world. For the one in pain ought to grieve not over what he is punished for, but over what he sins and provokes God by; for sins remove God from us and make him an enemy, but punishments reconcile him to us and prepare him to be propitious and near. But that this sweat and toil is not a repayment for sins, but a ground for crowns and prizes, is clear from this. For if, having lived your former life shamefully and dissolutely, you thus transferred yourself to the monastic way of life, not even in this way was it right to suspect this suspicion. For if God brings on punishments for this reason, that he might turn to repentance those who are unyielding, once repentance has been shown, the punishments are henceforth superfluous for this purpose at least.

For God is so far from wishing to punish us that even when we often do things worthy of punishment and need much correction, he only admonishes us by threat and fearful words. And you may see this in the case of Israel, and in the case of the city of the Ninevites. For he not only did not bring the punishment upon them, when they showed repentance, but he even straightway loosed the threat. For he himself wishes far more than we do that we suffer no evil at all, and no one would spare himself as God spares us all. Then he who frightens by words those who have often sinned, but does not punish them, and when they have repented releases them from this agony as well—has he not only not released you, who have shown such great piety and virtue, from the threat, but has even handed you over to punishment through deeds? And how could anyone believe this? Yet if your life before this had been corrupt and wicked, as I said, it would have been possible for someone to come to this thought; but as it is, that former life was inferior to the present one, and it too was orderly and full of much dignity, so that it is clear to us from every side that these struggles are for crowns and a greater prize. It is necessary, then, as I said, to stir up these thoughts and thoughts like them, and it is necessary along with these, or rather before these, to scatter this darkness by prayers and supplications. For the blessed David, that wonderful and great man, used these medicines continually, and in this way drove off the many pains of his afflictions, now praying and saying: The afflictions of my heart were multiplied;

Deliver me out of my necessities." But now he stirs up devout thoughts: "Why are you sorrowful, my soul, and why do you trouble me? Hope in God, for I will give thanks to him." And again, turning from thoughts to prayers: "Let me alone," he says, "that I may be refreshed before I depart, and shall be no more." And from prayers back to thoughts: "For what is there for me in heaven, and what have I desired from you on the earth?" So too Job fought off with his thoughts the satanic words his wife advised, and rebuked her, saying: "Why have you spoken like one of the foolish women? If we received good things from the hand of the Lord, shall we not endure evil things?" But to God he had recourse in supplications. And the blessed Paul also came to the aid of those in afflictions and temptations by both of these means, now saying: "But if you are outside of discipline, then you are bastards, and not sons; for who is a son whom a father does not discipline?" and now praying: "For God is faithful, who will not allow you to be tempted beyond what you are able"; and again: "Since it is a righteous thing with God to repay those who afflict you with affliction, and to you who are afflicted, rest." If, then, you too are willing to use these weapons, and to fence yourself about well on every side, walling off the assault of despondency with thoughts, and making this wall strong by prayers, both your own and others', you will quickly perceive the fruits of discipline. For you will gain not only this—to bear the present circumstances nobly—but by training well in them, you will henceforth be invulnerable to all the painful things of life.