Ad Stelechium de compunctione ii

To Stelechius, and on Compunction, Second Discourse. 1. And how is it possible for this which you have commanded, holy man of God Stelechius, to be accomplished, and for words concerning compunction to be produced from a soul so weak and cold? For I think that one who is going to say something noble on this subject must himself, before all others, be especially inflamed with this zeal and boil over, so that the words uttered concerning these matters fall into the souls of the hearers more vehemently than any red-hot iron. But this fire is not present in us; rather, everything within is ash and dust. Whence then, tell me, whence shall we kindle this flame, when there is neither a spark for us, nor material lying beneath, nor a wind present to fan it, because of the great mist which the multitude of sins has spread over our soul? I, for my part, do not know; it would then be for you, the one who gives the command, to say how the injunction might come to fulfillment and attain its proper end. For we will provide the service of the tongue. But do you call upon the one who heals the broken-hearted, who gives patience to the faint-hearted, who raises the poor from the ground, to kindle in us that fire which is accustomed to consume all human weakness, and to cut away all sleep and listlessness and bodily heaviness, which lifts the wing of the soul toward heaven, and shows from that vault, as from some lofty lookout, the whole illusion and pretense of this present life.

For the one who has not been able to take flight there, nor to sit in this lookout, it is not possible to see the earth, nor the things on the earth, in a manner worthy of seeing. For since many things obscure the vision, many things disturb the hearing, and trip up the tongue, one must, after withdrawing oneself from all disturbance and smoke, retreat to that solitude, where there is great calm, bright sky, and no turmoil, but the eyes are fixed unwaveringly, gazing intently at the desire for God, and the ears stand still, occupied with only one thing, the hearing of divine words, and listening to the all-harmonious and spiritual symphony, whose tyranny so prevails over the soul once captured, that the one drawn by that melody chooses neither food, nor drink, nor sleep with pleasure. Therefore, neither the turmoil of worldly affairs, nor the crowd of many bodily concerns, could slacken that tension. For the cry rising from the storm below does not reach that height of the soul; but just as those who have moved to the highest mountains would no longer hear or see anything of what happens or is said in the city, but would hear only some indistinct and unpleasant cry, no more pleasant than the buzzing of wasps, so those who have withdrawn themselves from worldly things and have flown to the height of spiritual philosophy perceive none of the things among us.

The body and the senses of the body, as long as the soul revolves around the earth, surround it with countless bonds, gathering from all sides the harsh storm of perishable pleasures; for hearing and sight and touch and smell and tongue deposit many of the external evils into it. But when it becomes elevated and transfers its leisure to spiritual things, it has walled off the entrance to evil fantasies, not by blocking the senses, but by redirecting their attention to that height. Just as a mistress, formidable and grave, when preparing a varied perfume, costly and precious, and needing many hands to serve in this, rouses her maidservants and brings them to herself, ordering one to separate with a sieve the not yet processed part of the aromatics, another to take scales and weights and examine precisely, so that neither less nor more than necessary enters and ruins the symmetry of the whole composition, and one to boil what requires it, another to grind what is not well, another to mix and blend other things with the rest, another to stand holding an alabaster jar, another to handle a different vessel, and each other to handle something else, and thus having fastened their mind and hands to that work, she does not allow anything to be spoiled by negligence, standing over them throughout, and not permitting them to wander outside and gape with their eyes; so also the soul, preparing this costly perfume—I mean compunction—leads the senses to itself, cutting off their indolence.

For example, if it ever happens that the soul, having gathered itself together, considers something necessary and pleasing to God, it renders the senses devoid of their activities, so that they do not untimely introduce anything superfluous and disturb the inner tranquility taking place within it. Hence, sounds fall upon the ears, and sights upon the eyes, but nothing is transmitted within, since the activity of each of these members is turned toward the soul. And why do I speak of sounds and sights, when many of those who have been in this state have not only failed to notice those passing before their eyes, but have even departed without perceiving those jostling them? So great is the virtue of the soul that it is easy for one who wishes to dwell on earth, as if seated in heaven, to perceive nothing of what happens on earth. 2. Such was the blessed Paul, who stood as far apart from all present things while moving about in the midst of cities as we stand apart from the bodies of the dead. For when he says, "The world has been crucified to me," he means this insensibility—or rather, not only this, but also another such, so that the aforementioned is twofold. For he did not only say, "The world has been crucified to me," and stop, but through the addition he indicated another, saying, "And I to the world." Now, it is a great philosophy to consider the world dead, but greater and far superior to this is to be disposed oneself as dead toward it. What Paul revealed, then, is something like this: he says that he does not stand apart from present things as much as the living stand apart from the dead, but as much as the dead stand apart from the dead.

For the living person, even if he does not desire the deceased, still perceives him differently, either still admiring the beauty of the one lying there, or pitying him and weeping; but the dead person has not even this relation and disposition toward the one who has departed. Wishing therefore to make this clear, after saying, "The world has been crucified to me," he added, "and I to the world." Do you see how far he stood apart from the inhabited world, how, while walking on the earth, he had sprung up to the summit of heaven? Do not speak to me of mountain peaks, nor of glens and ravines and impassable wilderness; for these alone are not sufficient to remove the turmoil of the soul. Rather, there is need of that flame which Christ kindled in the soul of Paul, and which that blessed one nourished through this spiritual reasoning, and raised to such a height that, beginning from below on the earth, it reached heaven itself, and the heaven beyond that, and the one after that again. For he himself was snatched up as far as the third heaven; but his longing and his love for Christ outran not only three heavens, but all the heavens. His body was small, and in this respect he had no advantage over us; but in spiritual disposition he far surpassed all men who have ever lived on earth.

And one would not err, for this reason, to compare that saint to some such image, as if a flame, covering the whole surface of the earth with its back, and rising to a height, should pass through the heavenly vault from all sides, and, running through the air above it—whether it be air or whatever it is—should fill the space between these two heavens with fire, and should not stop its course even there, but should leap forth suddenly to the third heaven and ascend, and make everything one single pyre, having as much breadth as the width of the whole earth, and as much height as from the third heaven to us. Rather, I do not think I have spoken even the hundredth part of his love. And that these words are not an exaggeration, one will know accurately who goes through what we wrote to Demetrius on this subject. Thus one must love Christ, thus one must stand aloof from present affairs. Such souls the holy prophets also had; for this reason they also received other eyes. Now, to separate themselves from present things was a matter of their own zeal; but that afterwards other visions were opened to them for the contemplation of future things was, from then on, a matter of the grace of God. Such was Elisha, who, when he had withdrawn from all worldly things and fallen in love with the kingdom in heaven, and had spurned all present things—I mean kingship, power, glory, and honor from all—saw what no one else ever saw: an entire mountain hidden by a formation of fiery horses and chariots and soldiers of that kind. For he who admires present things would never be deemed worthy of the contemplation of future things.

But one who overlooks these things, and considers them no better than a shadow and a dream, will quickly attain those great and spiritual things. For we too then display the wealth befitting men to our children, when we see them become men and despise all childish things; but as long as they admire those, we consider them unworthy of these. For a soul that has not practiced despising small and worldly things will not be able to admire the things in the heavens; just as, admiring those, it will not be able to refrain from laughing at these. This also the blessed Paul said; for even if what was said was spoken concerning doctrines, it would be timely to have been spoken also concerning ways and gifts, that "The psychic man does not receive the things of the Spirit of God." 3. What then I was saying, let us seek deserts, not only those of places, but also those of choice, and before all else let us lead the soul into that uninhabited place. For with such a disposition, the blessed David, even while dwelling in a city, and administering a kingdom, and surrounded by countless cares, was more fervently seized with the desire for Christ than those who had occupied the deserts. For those tears and lamentations and wailings, by day and by night, one would scarcely see displayed by one or two of those now crucified, if indeed there is any at all. For let us not examine only the dirges, but also who he was who made them.

let us examine these things precisely. For it is not the same for one who is in such a high office, and is courted by all, and has no one to reprove him, to humble himself and bend and consume himself, and for one deprived of all these things to do the very same. For the king has many things that draw him to distraction and prevent the soul from being contracted. For he is dissolved and becomes puffed up by daily luxury, and is inflated by power and raised to arrogance; the love of glory also inflames him, and no less the love of bodies, which is born of power and nourished by luxury. In addition, the snowstorms of cares, striking him from all sides, disturb his soul no less than those passions; hence compunction will not be able to find even a small entrance, being blocked by so many walls; for it is a great thing even for one freed from all these to be able to plant this good in oneself. But the private person stands outside all this turmoil, unless he is excessively perverted; therefore he will be able to come to the task with less difficulty—but not the one in power and office and such attendance. And just as it is difficult, or rather impossible, to mix fire with water, so, I think, it is to bring together luxury and compunction; for these are opposites and mutually destructive. For the one is the mother of tears and sobriety, the other of laughter and derangement; and the one makes the soul light and winged, the other renders it heavier than any lead.

And I have not yet said the greatest thing of all, that he lived in times when no great demands were made for precision in conduct; whereas we entered the contest at a time when not only other things, but even laughter itself incurs severe punishment, and mourning and distress are praised everywhere. Yet that blessed man, having broken through all these obstacles, seized upon it so vehemently, being one of the many, never having even dreamed of a kingdom, nor having seen the luxury of palaces, displayed such compunction in a purple robe, a diadem, and a royal throne as one sitting in sackcloth and ashes in the wilderness. For when this good thing genuinely comes to anyone, it shows such power as fire does among thorns. Even if it finds one choked by countless evils, even if many cords of sins are wrapped around him, even if the flame of desires is burning fiercely, even if a great tumult of worldly affairs surrounds him, it drives all those things away, striking them with a severe whip, and sets them far from the soul. And just as fine dust could never stand against the force of a violent wind, so too the multitude of desires will not be able to withstand the rush of compulsion when it falls upon them, but vanishes and disperses faster than dust or smoke. For if the love of bodies enslaves the soul so much as to lead it away from everything and nail it to the sole tyranny of the beloved, what would the longing for Christ and the fear of estrangement from him not accomplish?

Both of these things so turned the prophet's soul that at one time he says: "As the hart longs for the springs of water, so my soul longs for you, O God"; and again: "My soul is like a waterless land to you"; and: "My soul has cleaved after you"; and at another time: "Lord, do not convict me in your wrath, nor discipline me in your anger." 4. And let no one say to me that he wrote this psalm mourning his sin; for this is not true, nor do the letters inscribed above allow any such suspicion. For if no one had the subject matter shown as written beforehand, it would be possible for anyone who wished to apply this psalm to those events; but if the one spoken of in those matters is clear, and this one has a different subject, let us not, I beg, confuse the divine things, nor let us vote that our own reasonings are more authoritative than the doctrines spoken by the Spirit. What then is the inscription? "Concerning the eighth," it says. And what is the eighth but the great and glorious day of the Lord, which burns like a furnace, which also causes the powers above to tremble? For it says, "Even the powers of the heavens will be shaken," showing fire running before that king at that time. And he called it the eighth, indicating the changed state and the renewal of the future life. For the present life is nothing other than a single week, beginning from the first day and ending with the seventh, and again revolving in the same intervals, ascending to the same beginning and descending to the end.

Therefore, one would never call the Lord's day the eighth day, but the first; for the cycle of the week does not extend to the number eight. But when all these things cease and are dissolved, then the course of the octave is brought forward; for it does not run back to the beginning, but holds to the intervals that follow. So the prophet, from great compunction, kept the memory of the judgment engraved within himself continually, and that day he constantly turned over in his own mind with such care and delight as we scarcely recall in times of distress; and, continually reflecting on its judgments, he wrote this psalm. And what does he say? "Lord, do not convict me in your wrath, nor discipline me in your anger"—calling wrath and anger the intensity of punishment, for he knows that the Divine is free from every passion, although he is conscious in himself of things worthy not of punishment or chastisement, but of honor and crowns. For both the faith by which he brought down the tower of the foreigners and snatched the whole nation of the Jews from the very gates of death, and the benefaction shown to the one who wronged him, once and twice and many times, and before these the verdict of God pronounced concerning him, are sufficient to demonstrate the man's virtue, even more than his achievements themselves. For deeds, even if they are great and marvelous, could nevertheless be suspected of being base, even though the achievements of a righteous man are most of all free from any suspicion; but when God is the one bearing witness, the verdict is beyond all suspicion; for he would not have obtained the proclamation in the heavens if he had not displayed the most exact test of virtue.

What then does God say about him? "I have found David, the son of Jesse, a man after my heart." Yet after such a judgment and such great deeds of valor, he uttered the words of those who are condemned and have no boldness before God, fulfilling that evangelical saying: "When you have done everything, say, 'We are worthless servants.'" What more than this did that tax collector, truly full of countless evils, who could not bear to look up to heaven, nor to prolong a speech, nor to stand near the Pharisee, utter? For the Pharisee reproached him, saying, "I am not like the rest of men—thieves, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector." But he, as if hearing nothing harsh, not only accepted what was said and was not indignant, but also honored that insolent and arrogant man with such great honor that he considered himself unworthy even of the ground trodden by him. And he said nothing, except to confess his own sins, beating his breast.

vehemently, so he besought God to be propitious. But that he did these things is nothing remarkable; for the multitude of his sins compelled him, willingly and unwillingly, to bow down low. But that the righteous man, conscious of nothing of the sort in himself, should approach with the same condemnation as the publican—this is the paradox, and truly a sign of a contrite soul. For what difference is there between "Be propitious to me, the sinner," and "Lord, do not convict me in your wrath, nor discipline me in your anger"? Rather, this is even far greater than that. For the publican did not even dare to look up to heaven, but the righteous man did something greater than that. For the one said, "Be propitious to me," but the other did not even dare to say this; for he did not say, "Do not convict me," but "Do not convict me in your wrath," nor "Do not discipline me," but "Do not discipline me in your anger," asking not to escape punishment, but not to suffer it severely. So from every side one can see the humility of his soul, both from his deeming himself worthy of such great punishment, and from his not daring to ask God for complete forgiveness—which is characteristic of those who are severely condemned and have convinced themselves that they are more sinful than all men. And what is even greater than this is that he asks to receive even the not being severely punished from the mercy and philanthropy of God, as one who is weak: "Have mercy on me," he says, "for I am weak." What is this? He who enjoyed such testimony, and did not forget the judgments of God—"For I have not forgotten your judgments," he says—he who shines brighter than the sun, does he utter such words? Yes.

This is the remarkable thing: that while achieving such great things, he never said or thought anything great about himself, but considered himself the last of all, and thought he was saved only by God's love for humanity, as if he were saying: "I am worthy of inexorable punishment and of being punished eternally; but because I can no longer bear it, I ask that a release from my present evils be granted me"—just as slaves who have done countless terrible things, though they could not claim they had not sinned, because the pain from the whips is unbearable, ask to be released from the blows. I think he is now hinting at another weakness. What is this? The weakness arising from despondency and lamentations. For excessive grief, when it attacks us violently, tends to consume all the strength of the soul. This, I think, the righteous man also suffered from severely condemning himself and never holding out good hopes for himself, but always the opposite. This, at any rate, he makes clear from what follows: "Have mercy on me," he added, "because I am weak; heal me, Lord, because my bones are shaken, and my soul is greatly shaken," having first said: "Lord, do not rebuke me in your wrath." If he, with such a clear conscience, asks that there be no exact examination of his deeds, what shall we do, we who are entangled in so many evils, so far from that confidence, and who have not shown even a fraction of that confession? How then did the blessed one confess in this way?

He had been taught that no one will be justified before God, and that even the righteous man is saved with difficulty. For this reason he sometimes entreats, saying, "Do not enter into judgment with your servant," and at other times, "Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am weak." 5. For this is what is worthy of observation everywhere: how he never mentions his own achievements, but casts his own salvation upon the love of God for humanity. For this belongs to a crushed soul, to a humbled spirit, to one who, while accomplishing great things, is rather afraid and trembles like a sinner. For that he trembled and feared in this way, hear him saying, "If you scrutinize lawlessness, Lord, Lord, who will withstand?" For he knew, he knew clearly, that we are liable for many debts to God, and that even the smallest sins are deemed worthy of great punishment. He knew, foreseeing from above what Christ was about to legislate when he came: he believed that not only for murders, but also for insults, revilings, evil thoughts, laughter, untimely speech, and buffoonery, and even for still smaller things, a severe penalty is established. For this reason also Paul, although conscious of nothing against himself, said, "I am conscious of nothing in myself, but I am not justified by this." Why so? Because even if he had done no evil, as indeed he had not, he still did not consider that he had fulfilled the measure of the honor owed to God. For even if we die ten thousand times, even if we display every virtue, we have not rendered the worth of the honors that have been conferred upon us by God. For see:

He needs nothing from us, but is self-sufficient, and brought us from non-being into being, breathed into us a soul such as none of the creatures on earth possess, planted a paradise, stretched out the sky, spread the earth beneath, kindled the bright luminaries, and adorned the earth with lakes, springs, rivers, flowers, and plants, while he decorated the sky with the variegated chorus of stars, making the night no less useful to us than the day, through the rest and strength that come from sleep. For sleep nourishes our bodies no less than food does; and this is evident from the fact that one may often see many people enduring many days of famine, but not even a few days without sleep. And it cools and dissolves the heat generated during the day, both from the sun's rays and from daily labors, and then raises us up again, invigorated for our toils. In winter, by the length of the night, it provides us with even more rest and warmth, compelling us to stay under shelter. And darkness is not simply or idly allotted to this time, but for the sake of greater rest. Just as affectionate mothers, when they wish to put their restless children to sleep, place them under their arms and cover their faces with a little garment, and so lull them to sleep, so God, spreading darkness like a curtain over the inhabited world, puts an end to men's labors. For if this were not so, we would all be torn apart by excessive meddlesomeness or love of gain and by our toils; but as it is, even against our will, he releases us from our sweat.

Not only does this law give us our bodies, but it also gives us our soul, no less than our bodies. For what could one say about the calm of this time, the quiet, and how everything is filled with silence, and is free from disturbances, and there is no sound of any shouting as there is by day—some lamenting poverty, others crying out against oppression, others bewailing bodily illness and infirmities, and some mourning the death of relatives, others the loss of property, and others some other of the human misfortunes, which are many? From all these, as from a triple wave, night snatches the human race and brings it to rest in its own harbor. And through the night we have such great benefits; through the day, those which we all know. What could one say about the ease of intercourse that is given to us? For so that the length of a journey might not become a hindrance to our communion with one another, God has released the sea as a shorter path for us throughout the earth, so that, just as a house

Living together in the whole world, let us go frequently to one another, and each one, readily sharing what he has with his neighbor, may receive in return what that one has, and, occupying a small part of the earth, as if he were lord of the whole, may enjoy the goods that occur everywhere; just as at a rich table each of the guests, by giving what is set before him to the one reclining far off, may receive in return what lies by that one, merely by stretching out his hand. But if one should attempt to go through all the other things in speech, he will fall into an unspeakable length, and will not cover even a small part; for how could a man, being human, attempt to measure the infinite wisdom of God? Consider for the moment the differences of plants, of those that bear fruit, of those that are barren, of those in deserts, of those throughout the inhabited world, of those on mountains, of those in plains; see the variety in seeds, in herbs, in flowers, in land animals, in amphibians, in swimming creatures; consider that all visible things are for our sake: heaven, earth, sea, and everything in them. For just as someone, having built for himself a splendid palace, gleaming with much gold and shining with much brilliance of stones, so God, having constructed the world, brought man in as king over all things in it.

And what is far more wonderful, he constructed the roof of this house not from stones, but fashioned it from another more precious material, and he did not kindle the flame of a golden lamp, but commanded the torches from above to run across the ceiling of this house, so that there might be for us not only utility but also great pleasure; and he spread the floor as a costly table. And these things he provided to one who had as yet shown no good deed. Yet, after such a great gift, when that one became ungrateful toward his benefactor, he did not even then deprive him of honor, but only expelled him from paradise, punishing him in this way, preventing ingratitude from going further, and checking the inclination toward the worse. Now the Apostle, reflecting on all these things, and on more than these, being moved by the divine Spirit—both the things from the beginning, and those happening each day, both those for each individual and those common to all, both the manifest and the hidden, which are far more numerous than the manifest, and also the things concerning the economy of the only-begotten Son of God, and the future goods, and simply everything—surveying and gathering from all sides the ineffable love of God, and realizing, as if falling into a vast sea, he learned of how many and how great things he was indebted, and that he had not repaid even the smallest part. Therefore he uttered these things, and examined the small sins with great precision, while consigning the good deeds to oblivion. But not so we, who make neither account nor memory of our transgressions, though they are many and great.

If we accomplish something small, we turn it this way and that, and we do not stop preening and puffing ourselves up until we have emptied even that small thing through our boastfulness. David, observing this, said: "What is man, that he should be remembered?" And not only that, but also accusing his ingratitude, he says: "Man, being in honor, did not understand; he was compared to senseless beasts and became like them." 6. This is the mark of a grateful servant: to appropriate the common benefits as his own, and, as one who is a debtor for everything, to be concerned and anxious. This is what Paul did—for it is good to mention him again—saying that the Lord died for him: "For now I live," he says, "in the flesh, I live in the faith of the Son of God who loved me and gave himself for me." He said these things not to diminish Christ's gift, but hastening to make himself responsible for everything, and persuading each person to be so disposed. For if Christ came for even one man, the gift is not only not diminished by this, but is shown to be greater. How? Because he appears to show as much zeal for one as the one who sought the single sheep was troubled and lamented over it. For if those who have borrowed money and cannot repay, but are sunk in a deep abyss of debt, neither eat nor sleep, bitten by anxiety, what would the righteous man not suffer, seeing that the debt lies not in money but in deeds?

But we are not like that. Even if we have accomplished something small, we behave as if we have accomplished everything, and even more. And we do not do even this small thing with the proper zeal of free people, but first we examine whether there is a reward, and whether the reward is great, and whether it is credited to us, uttering the words of some base hirelings. What are you saying, you petty and wretched person? Something pleasing to God lies before you to do, and you stand there worrying about reward? For if, after doing it, you were to fall into Gehenna, you ought to shrink back, but not to set about the work of good deeds with such great zeal. You do something pleasing to God, and you seek another reward? Truly you do not know how great a good it is to please God; for if you knew, you would consider no other recompense equal. Do you not know that your reward increases when you do what is necessary not in hope of rewards? Do you not see that even among men, all honor most those whom they see looking to what pleases them before rewards, and striving for this more than for honor from them? Then, while men are so nobly disposed toward their fellow servants, you, who have been so greatly benefited by the Master and expect so many good things, when you need to do something pertaining to your salvation, you examine the reward before the deed. Because of this, we are everywhere cold and wretched and prepared for no noble deeds; because of this, we have never been able to attain compunction, nor to restrain our soul even a little.

For we neither consider our sins with precision, nor examine the benefactions of God, nor look to those who have accomplished the greatest things. For this reason we forget our good works, because we bear our successes neither moderately, nor do we speak with truth when we continually call ourselves sinners. And this is evident from the following: for when we hear these things from others, we grow wild, we become savage, and we say the matter is an insult. Thus everything from us is pretense, and we do not even imitate the publican, who, when another reproached him with the multitude of his sins, having accepted the reproaches, reaped the profit through his deeds; for he went down justified, more so than the Pharisee. But we do not even know what confession is, and this while we are full of countless evils. It is necessary not only to be convinced that we have committed countless offenses, but also to have all our sins, both small and great, as if written in a book in our heart, and to mourn them as if recently committed. For in this way we would also have subdued the pride of the soul, by continually reminding it of its own evils. So great a good is it to remember one's own sins, that the blessed Paul constantly brings even the charges that have been erased into the open. For since he had washed away all his former sins

through baptism, and after that lived purely, in such a way that he was conscious of nothing against himself, and had no sins over which to groan, since those before baptism had been erased, he remembered and said, "Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners, of whom I am the first." And again, "He considered me faithful, placing me in the ministry, though I was formerly a blasphemer, a persecutor, and an insolent man; for I persecuted the Church of God excessively and ravaged it." And again, "I am not worthy to be called an apostle." For even if those sins leave us unaccountable, nevertheless they are sufficient to shame the soul and to persuade it to love God vehemently. For when Simon was asked by the Lord which of the two debtors would love the lender more, and said, "I think the one to whom more was forgiven," he heard, "You have judged rightly." 7. For when we consider the multitude of past sins, then we shall know the excess of God's grace, then we shall bow down, then we shall be humbled. For the greater the offenses of which we are guilty, the more we shall be shamed. Paul, then, remembered even those; but we are unwilling even to recall the sins after baptism, which involve danger and render us liable to examination for them, but if we ever fall into thought of something of the sort, we immediately leap away, not wishing to grieve the soul even briefly with the memory. Therefore countless evils are born for us from this useless grace.

For thus, being insensible and soft, we are unable even to confess the former things—for how could we, when we do not accustom ourselves to endure even the memory of them?—and we are readily carried away toward future things. For it is a great thing, when that memory is always fresh in us and fear shakes the mind, to be able to remove its laxity and dissipation; but if you also remove that bridle, what will hold it back as it is fearlessly borne over precipices and falls into the chasms of destruction? For these reasons that righteous man depicted the future punishment; for these reasons he lamented, for these reasons he groaned, doing these things from abundance. For you great ones, it is enough for compunction to recall the benefactions of God, not to remember your own achievements, to examine with great precision whether any small fault has befallen you, to look to the great men who have been exceedingly pleasing to God, after all this to consider the uncertainty of the future, the swift inclination toward downfall and sin, which even Paul feared; hence he said, "I fear lest after preaching to others I myself be found reprobate," and, "Let him who thinks he stands beware lest he fall." Thus also David turned all these things over in himself; for, reckoning the benefactions of God, he said, "What is man, that he remembers him? Or a son of man, that he visits him? You have exalted him a little above the angels, you have crowned him with glory and honor." And he was so forgetful of his own achievements that after that vast philosophy he said,

Who am I, my Lord, my Lord, and what is the house of my father, that you have loved me to this extent? And these things are diminished before you, my Lord, and you have spoken concerning the house of your servant into the distance. But this is the law of man, my Lord, my Lord, toward you. And what more will David add to speak to you? And constantly contemplating the virtue of his ancestors, examining himself, he considered himself to be nothing in comparison to them. For after saying, "Our fathers hoped in you," speaking of himself he added, "But I am a worm, and not a man." And the uncertainty of the future was so before his eyes that he would say, "Enlighten my eyes, lest I fall asleep into death." And he considered himself to be liable for so many sins that he would say, "Be propitiated to my sin, for it is great." For you who are great, these things are sufficient; but for us, even with these remedies, there is a strong and sufficient necessity to bring down all pride and arrogance. What then is this? The multitude of sins, the evil conscience; which, when it seizes us, does not allow us, even willingly, to be raised to the height. Therefore I beseech and implore, by the very freedom which you have acquired through your righteous deeds toward God, to reach out a hand to us who continually beseech, so that we may be able to mourn the burden of such great evils worthily, and having mourned, to take hold of some dear path that leads us to heaven, lest, going down to Hades, where no one can confess, we suffer the fate of the dishonored, with no one to deliver us any longer.

For as long as we are here, we will be able to reap great benefits from you, and you will be able to bestow the greatest benefits upon us. But when we depart to that place where neither friend, nor brother, nor father will be able to help, nor stand by us when we are punished, then of necessity, in helplessness and deep darkness and great desolation of those who might comfort us, we must pay the inexorable penalty, becoming an unconsumable food for the all-devouring flame.