Contra theatra

On not attending theaters, and that it produces accomplished adulterers, and that it is a cause of despondency and of war, and on Abraham. 1. I think many of those who formerly abandoned us and deserted to the theaters of lawlessness are present today. And I would wish to know these clearly, so as to cast them out from the sacred precincts, not that they might remain outside perpetually, but that, having been corrected, they might return again. For fathers also often cast erring children out of the house and keep them from the table, not that they might be utterly deprived of these things forever, but that, having become better through this admonition, they might return to the paternal inheritance with due honor and esteem. Shepherds also do this: they separate sheep full of scab from the healthy ones, so that, having shed their sickness, they might return safely to the healthy ones again, and not, while sick, infect the whole flock with that disease. For this reason we too wished to know these people; but even if we cannot distinguish them with our physical eyes, reason will certainly recognize them, and, seizing hold of their conscience, will easily persuade them to withdraw willingly, teaching that only that person is within who provides a mind worthy of this gathering; while he who, with a corrupted way of life, partakes of this holy assembly, even if he brings his body in here, is cast out, and is more banished than those who are shut out and not yet able to partake of the sacred table.

For those who have been cast out according to the laws of God and remain outside still have good hopes for the time being; for even if they wish to correct their transgressions, through the Church from which they fell they will be able to return again with a clear conscience. But those who have defiled themselves, and have been commanded not to set foot inside until they are cleansed of the stain from their sins, and then act shamelessly, make their wound more grievous and their sore greater. For sinning is not so grievous as shamelessness after sin, and disobedience to the priests who give such commands. And what sin, he says, have these committed so great as to cast them out of these sacred precincts? And what greater sin than this do you seek, when they have made themselves complete adulterers, and shamelessly, like rabid dogs, rush upon the sacred table? And if you wish to learn also the manner of the adultery, I will tell you not my own word, but that of the one who is going to judge our whole life: For he who looks at a woman to lust after her, he says, has already committed adultery with her in his heart.

But if a woman met by chance in the marketplace, and dressed just as it happened, has often captured the one who looked curiously at her through the mere sight of her appearance, how will those who go up there not casually nor by chance, but with such zeal that they even overlook the Church, and for this reason go up there and spend the whole day, and are fastened upon the faces of those dishonored women—how will they be able to say that they did not look with desire, where there are also broken phrases, and harlot songs, and a voice that holds great pleasure, and outlines of the eyes, and smears on the cheek, and a costume curiously composed, and a bearing full of sorcery, and many other enchantments prepared for the deception and allurement of those who look, and the slackness of soul of the spectators, and great merriment, and the encouragement to licentiousness that comes from the place, and the things heard beforehand and the things heard afterward, the melody through pipes, through flutes, and the other such things, enchanting them and softening the firmness of the mind, and preparing the souls of those who sit there for the plots of the harlots, and making them easy to capture, having separated them from Christ by these things? For if here, where there are psalms, and prayers, and the hearing of divine oracles, and the fear of God, and great reverence, desire has often, like some wicked robber, slipped in unnoticed—how could those who sit in the theater, seeing and hearing nothing sound, but full of great shamefulness and great stupidity, and besieged on all sides, both through ears and through eyes, be able to become superior to that evil desire?

But if they are unable, how will they be able to be released from the charges of adultery? And those who have not been released from the charges of adultery, how will they be able to enter these holy forecourts without repentance, and to share in this noble assembly? Therefore I exhort and entreat you: first wash away the sin from the spectating there by confession and repentance and all the rest, and so listen to the divine oracles. For it is no ordinary offense that we have committed; and one may see this clearly from examples as well. For if a servant had put into a chest where his master's costly and gold-embroidered garments were laid up a slave's garment full of filth and many lice, would you have borne the insult gently, tell me? And what if someone had poured dung and mire into a golden vessel accustomed to hold perfume continually—would you not have laid blows on the one who did this wrong? Then shall we exercise such forethought for chests and vessels and garments and perfumes, but reckon our soul to be cheaper than all these? And where the spiritual perfume has been poured in, shall we throw in devilish processions and satanic songs and chants full of fornication? And how will God bear these things, tell me? And yet the distance between perfume and mire, and between master's garments and slaves', is not as great as the distance between spiritual grace and this evil activity.

Do you not fear, O man, when with the same eyes you look upon the bed on the stage, where the abominable dramas of adultery are performed, and upon this holy table, where the awesome mysteries are celebrated? With the same ears you hear a harlot speaking shamefully, and a Prophet and an Apostle initiating you into the mysteries; with the same heart you receive the poisonous drugs, and the awesome sacrifice? Is it not from this that the overturning of lives comes, and the corruption of marriages, and wars, and battles in the households? For when you have been melted by the spectacle there, and have become more slack and more licentious and an enemy of all chastity, and having returned you see your own wife, you will see her as altogether more unpleasant, whatever she may be. For set ablaze by the desire from the theaters, and captured by that strange spectacle which has bewitched you, you dishonor the modest and orderly woman and the partner of your whole life, you insult her, you surround her with countless reproaches, having nothing at all to accuse her of, but ashamed to speak of the passion and to show the wound which you received there and came back with, you weave other pretexts, seeking grounds for unreasonable hatred, and despising everything at home, and gaping after that foul and unclean desire, from which you received the wound; and having the echo of her voice settled in your soul, ringing in your ears, and her figure, and her look, and her movements, and all the images of fornication, you see nothing at home with pleasure. And why do I speak of your wife and your household? For you will see the church itself as more unpleasant, and you will hear its words about chastity and about dignity with distaste.

For it will no longer be instruction for you, but the things said will be accusation, and being drawn little by little into despair, you will completely tear yourself away from this teaching that benefits all. Therefore I exhort all of you both to flee the wicked pastimes in the theaters and to drag away from there those who have devoted themselves to them. For what happens there is not entertainment of the soul, but destruction, and punishment, and chastisement. For what is the benefit of this temporary pleasure, when from it unceasing pain is born, and day and night, stung by desire, you are disagreeable and unpleasant to all? Examine yourself, then: what you are when you depart from the church, and what you are when you depart from the theaters; and compare the days of each, and you will have no need of our words. For the comparison of each day will suffice to show the greatness both of the benefit from here and of the harm from there. These things I have already said to your love, and I will never stop saying them. For we will comfort those who are sick with such diseases, and we will make those who are healthy safer. For the word about these things is useful for both: for the one, that they may withdraw; for the other, that they may not fall in. But since those who reprove must also do this with measure, having stopped this exhortation at this point, we will give back to you what remains from the former subject, returning again to our father Abraham.

For it is a custom among painters, when they are about to produce a likeness of some image, to have those who are to be painted sit beside them for one and two and three days, so that by the continuity of observation they may preserve the exactness of the form without error. Since, then, it is now set before us also to paint, not the impression of a bodily form, but the beauty of the soul, and intelligible comeliness, and the flourishing conduct of the righteous man, and his gentleness, and meekness, and magnanimity, and all his other virtue besides, it is necessary to make the longer stay with him, so that by the continuity of the word's clear vision we may not miss the likeness of the archetype. For if images of the body bring some consolation to those who see them, much more do the images of the soul. For those cannot be seen everywhere, but there is a necessity to be set continually in one place; but this one, wherever you wish to carry it around, nothing prevents. For having laid it up in the treasuries of the mind, wherever you may be, you will be able continually to look at it, and to reap great benefit from it. And just as those who have diseased eyes, holding sponges and rags of blue-dyed garments, and continually looking at them, reap some relief from the disease from that color, so also you, if you keep the image of the patriarch Abraham before your own eyes, and continually gaze at him, even if anger or some other of the absurd things troubles you ten thousand times and confuses the eye of the mind, by looking at that character of virtue, you will receive complete health, and a pure philosophy.

For the rest, if it seems good, let us guide our discourse back to what lies before us. 2. The blessed Moses, beloved, who by works of piety was made familiar with God, who beyond all the prophets after him was deemed worthy of a more intimate converse with the Creator, so that God spoke with him mouth to mouth, in a form, and not through riddles, who was initiated into the contemplation of God by divine fire that knows how to enlighten only, not to burn, who by divine counsel was called to be a god to Pharaoh, and by participation in the venerable name was adorned beyond all those of that time especially, who was appointed as the most fearsome minister of the God-sent plagues that came upon Egypt, and appeared as the swiftest servant of God's active power, who by the torch-bearing of the Holy Spirit was enlightened in the noetic eye of the soul, and became a late interpreter of the ancient works of the Almighty—this blessed man, after the orderly and noble narration of the creation of the world, proceeded to the history of the men of old, treating the good separately and the wicked separately, and he recorded the end of the good as truly thrice-blessed, but that of their opposites as accursed, so that, having from the creation of the world the doctrines concerning piety to be taught, and from the lives of those who came before, both to hate wickedness and to honor virtue, we might easily pass through the God-loving and blessed life. Many indeed, then, of virtue and

He recorded the upright deeds of men of old, setting them forth like a far-shining model for later generations to imitate. So then, Abel teaches us to offer to God the firstfruits of the gifts that come from God without envy, before their use, and not to prefer an irrational passion of the belly to the honor of God. For this blessed Abel sacrificed the firstborn of his sheep to the eldest of all things, offering nothing of the last things for the service of the first, but glorifying the first Begetter with the firstfruits of what had come to be. After him, the wondrous Noah teaches us toward righteousness, who alone, while the whole world was transgressing, kept the balance of righteousness unwavering in good deeds. A great lesson of chastity is set before the young in the blessed Joseph, who in a young body blossomed the white old age of purity, and in the form of a slave was shown nobly to be master of the pleasures of the flesh. But these blessed men are perhaps particular images of good works; yet he made mention of one man, Abraham the forefather, raising up in one single person a pillar of all virtue for the whole world to imitate. Therefore all the righteous, all the holy, boast of the faithful Abraham as their father, and account kinship with him a most august glory. For through him the faithful have zeal for the faith; he is the teacher of hospitality to the hospitable, showing by deeds, not words, what must be done; the athletes of piety are crowned, having emulated his courage; all the magnanimous are likenesses resembling this archetype; the rivalry toward him has brought forth a multitude of so many righteous men.

From this root, which loves God, all who love Christ sprang forth. And why should I enumerate them one by one? For all, so to speak, whose light shines before men were kindled from the faithful torch of the forefather; so many good children did his manner of life in piety bear for him. For he is truthful who said, I have made you a father of many nations. O blessed soul, who contained so great a multitude of achievements under one! You are truly an all-bearing land, you are an all-fruitful plain of deeds of piety, you are a meadow blooming brightly, teeming with every kind of flower of righteousness, you are also a comely crown, having in its midst the pearl of faith shining forth. God commanded: Go out from your land; and you did not neglect it, but you were on the road before the command was fulfilled. He added to Go out from your land, also And from your kindred; and you were not softened by affection for your race, preferring the begetter of your race. God said, Go out from your land and from your kindred, and, heavier than these, And from your father's house; but you considered nothing that God commands to be heavy. No honor of a father, no longing for a mother, no affection of kinsmen checked the eagerness of your soul. You did not consider what sort of lament your aged mother would raise over you, how your old father would weep over you. For you did not think it right to be more humane than the one who was bringing the call. You had a father worthy of reverence, but not as the Father of all; you longed for a mother, but for the fear of God more. You despised your father's house, and your ancestral wealth.

For you alone knew in your soul the wealth that befits it—the wealth that comes through faith, the immortal possession, the inviolable treasure. O what a star you were, brighter than the morning star, you shone forth from the East into Palestine, and in the lightless life of polytheism you flashed forth the bright rays of piety! God placed you, a good sweetness of piety, into the bitter polity of the Canaanites. You, like salt of philanthropy, became a preservative against an evil life. You appeared as a calm harbor of hospitality in the midst of the surging sea of the misanthropy of the foreigners. 3. How shall I describe your philanthropic tent, blessed one? How shall I not marvel at the oak called Mamre, which you tamed by your good ways? The tent was a common dwelling for travelers, one generous hearth for all strangers, a free inn for the whole inhabited world, not set in some hidden corner so that the profit of rest might go unnoticed, but in the wilderness, yet in the middle of the road, and, so to speak, a common starting point for all Palestine. You spent the whole day lodging beneath the oak, appearing beforehand to travelers as a good angel of rest. Christ appeared to you, wondrous one, escorted by two angels, and through hospitality you became a fellow-dweller with both God and angels. O blessed tent, which received God together with angels by divine dispensation! Christ appeared to you in the form of a man, revealing to you the mysteries of his divine and saving visitation; yet the glory of the present did not escape you because of the servile form. For you had other eyes, by which the Master is recognized. You recognized, then, the mediator of God, the Son who was to be recognized in the midst of two living creatures. I marvel, blessed one, at your zeal concerning the things that appeared;

For you could have ordered a servant and fulfilled the need with a command, yet you, an old man, ran yourself to the herds, supporting an aged body with a vigorous desire. Your wife eagerly shared in the work with you, and crowned the table with an abundance of unleavened bread; for the zeal of hospitality did not wait for leaven. Everything done was with fear and reverence, not as one entertaining men, but as one offering a sacrifice to God. Beautiful, therefore, blessed one, is the fruit of your hospitality, and beautiful is the reward of your love for God. For beyond all hope the bonds of a barren womb are loosed, and the dead limbs of an old man bloom for the seed of a legitimate child, and you receive from the only-begotten God good tidings concerning an only-begotten son. For, he says, at this time I will come, and Sarah shall have a son. How shall I praise your faith as it deserves, all-blessed one? For you did not waver at the promise, nor did you limp concerning the promise, nor did you consider your own body as good as dead, being about a hundred years old, nor did you look at the barrenness of Sarah's womb, but you were strengthened in faith, knowing that what God has promised, he is able also to fulfill. For the Creator of nature does not serve the passions of nature, because God is not subject to the necessity of nature in what he works, being the Creator of all nature; rather, nature follows the free will of the Maker toward every kind of change. Therefore you were not disappointed in your hopes, blessed one, but you are named a father at an appointed time, in a dead age.

And first you see fruit from Sarah, and you marvel how the springs of milk flow beyond hope for the aged woman, and shortly after you lisp to the child, teaching the offspring to call you father, asking from the child that name which grace, having anticipated it through promise, had ratified. How shall I recount your subsequent achievements, wonderful man? How shall I proclaim your lofty and renowned faith? Your faith is beyond faith, your devotion to God beyond all hearing. For who would ever believe that a father genuinely offered his own child as a sacrifice to God? Perhaps only we believe it, who have not become fathers, who have not been taught affection for children by nature. Let divine Scripture also come as a witness to what has been said, crying out like a lofty herald the God-loving mind of the blessed man. After these things, it says, God tested Abraham. And he tested him, not in order to learn by experience what was unknown, making the outcomes witnesses of the man's mind; for God had never yet been ignorant of anything, himself always sufficing by his own contemplation for the knowledge of all things; but so that what he clearly foreknew, men, having learned by experience, might have a noble model for imitation of piety. And let us consider what the words of the testing were. Abraham, it says, Abraham. And he said, Behold, here I am. He said to him: Take your son, your beloved, whom you have loved, Isaac, and go to the high land, and offer him to me as a whole burnt offering. O how great a trial of the forefather's faith God wrought through the words thus spoken!

For it would have sufficed merely to say, "Take Isaac, and offer him up as a whole burnt offering," without saying "your son," and without stirring the father's heart by the mention of "the beloved." But since for those who are dissolved in present goods the sudden onset of evils brings a heavier pain, for this reason he says, "Take your son," and adds, "the beloved," and again, "whom you loved," so that having lifted up the child-loving old man by these good titles into hopes of favorable promises, and then suddenly bringing upon him the removal of the beloved, by commands contrary to expectation he might strike the heart of the father more heavily—not hating the righteous man, but wishing that his faith be shown more brightly to the world. Therefore, before he says, "Offer him up as a whole burnt offering," by the first words of good omen he causes many good things to appear to the righteous man. For when he heard God calling and saying, "Abraham, Abraham," the God-loving man immediately rejoiced at the call, was melted at the voice, considering, as is likely: "Does God again deem me worthy of his wondrous converse? Does he wish to sanctify me by his divine words? Or does he wish to remove me again to a better land? Or does he wish to destroy the wicked Canaanites, as the Sodomites, and does he not wish his own servant, as in the case of Sodom, to be ignorant of the will of the judgment? Does he aspire to grant me good tidings of a second child after Isaac, wishing to endow my old age with the eyes of two children?

When he heard "Take," before he heard "your son," he thought that God was going to speak to him about sacrifices, asking from him some honor of blessings in return for the giving of the child. But when he heard "your son," for a while he had Ishmael in mind, supposing that Sarah's jealousy had been dissolved, and that for this reason he was being restored by the merciful God to his ancestral home. But when he clearly heard "your beloved, whom you loved, Isaac," he burned at once in his heart, he rejoiced in his soul, thinking that God was arranging a marriage for him, fitting a woman for the young man, as God, for the increase of the race, fruitful for the bearing of children. But God calls him to the high land. Why? Either certainly so that from a distant and lofty place he might show him all the land as heir of the promise, or certainly he wishes to anoint him as patriarch, while I live, or to speak with him face to face, and to deliver by a living voice the laws of a God-loving life, by walking in which he will be well-pleasing to his Creator. These things and such as these the blessed man expected to hear from God; but what does God do? "Offer him up," he says, "as a whole burnt offering." The command is burdensome even to an ordinary man, let alone a father, and one who loves his child. But, O the unsurpassable faith! O the God-loving soul! God had not yet ceased speaking, and Abraham was ready for obedience, making the end of the command already the beginning of his journey. What other father, then, could have borne such a voice, and not immediately fallen to the ground, his limbs loosed by despondency? Or perhaps he was already destroyed by the command itself, set ablaze by his fatherly disposition?

Hear how the command admits no consolation. God did not simply ask for the young man for slaughter, so that the old man might have the remnant as a comfort for his suffering, sitting by the tomb; but for whole burnt offering, for burning, for complete destruction, so that he might not even have it to pour out the pain of his heart, weeping over the body. But nevertheless, even if the command was unbearable, and able to strike by the mere speaking of it, it did not drive the man out of his divine mind; for he knew that everything God commands is beneficial and good. Therefore he endures the command eagerly, and with unutterable pleasure performs the sacrifice, having reasoned these things, as is likely: I am childless from now on, but I become a child of God through obedience; I destroy the heir, but I inherit the things to come; I will not see my son, but I will see God; a child will not feed me in old age, but God will nourish my old age; I will be blamed by the foolish, but I will be accepted by the All-Wise; I will grieve Sarah, but I will please the Creator; I have much consolation; he grieves me by dying, but makes me a priest of the Most High; he leaves me childless, but makes me the father of the first martyr. For is he destroyed

Isaac: the body is consumed by fire, he is released from the pleasures of the flesh, he will depart from this life, but he will come to dwell with the Lord. Having strengthened the natural affections with such reasonings, he hastens to the sacrifice, having saddled the donkey, sharpened the knife, prepared the wood and the fire, leading his son like a lamb, and he spoke the divine voice to no one, he did not share it with friends, nor even with her who was his partner in the begetting, not hating his wife, but fearing the serpent, lest under the pretext of love for his child he blunt the zeal of piety. O supreme faith! O wisdom beyond compare! The patriarch considered how many evils would come to pass when the divine command became known, how great would be the lamentation, how great the weeping, how many the tears. Therefore he keeps silent, quenching with silence the great flame of wailings. For what do you think Sarah would have done upon hearing of the slaying of the child? Would she not have immediately clung to Isaac, contriving to hide him again within her womb, if it were possible, saying, "You are destroying my dearest child; in sacrifices we are besieged"? Sooner, I think, would she have let go of her own life than betrayed the boy; and it would have been necessary for one of two things to happen: either the sacrifice not take place, or the mother be offered up together with the child. And she would have spoken to Abraham some such words as these: "Be sensible, O husband, be sensible, interpreter of a humane God. The divine voice commands nothing against man; an evil demon envies you your goodly children, and wishes to overturn the grace of God, bringing in a curse of child-slaying under the guise of piety. Do you not know the wondrous Melchizedek, the priest of God the Most High?

Learn from him the laws of sacrifices; learn with what sacrifices God delights, though long ago he initiated you into the priesthood as you were returning from the slaughter of the five kings. Were not bread and wine his offerings, holy, bloodless, and pure sacrifices? Not a calf? Not a sheep? Not a child? For he did not think that God was pleased with blood at all. Will God eat the flesh of bulls, or drink the blood of goats? Offer to God a sacrifice of praise, and pay your vows to the Most High. But if the one who appeared is truly God, understand, man, the will of the one who appeared. God is testing your disposition concerning the child; he wishes to know you, how you stand toward your offspring: whether you love your son, whether you feel as a father, whether you are overcome by the affections of nature, whether you have chosen to die in place of the child. He wishes you also to become a noble example of love for children to the Canaanites; therefore he does not wish you to obey, but rather to speak against the slaughter of the child, to see gray hairs torn, bitter tears flowing, and by these things to be shown a lover of children. I fear lest you incur reproaches of child-killing before the humane one merely because of your consent. Man, be persuaded by me: do not become righteous overmuch. God will praise this disobedience of yours. But if God truly wishes to reap Isaac, groan bitterly, supplicate, fall down, weep over your words of supplication. He is good who asks for the sacrifice, far more humane than the Father; he will change the vote, he will change the judgment. The race of men would never have perished in the flood, if those who transgressed had washed themselves with suppliant tears.

Sodom would still exist, if they had propitiated the judge with the groaning of their heart. If then he has mercy on the lawless, how much more on you, the righteous man. You once saved Lot from the fire sent by God, having prayed to the judge; save now too the child from the purifying fire, having besought God. You interceded for the Sodomites, unjust men, and often about to perish justly, and will you not intercede for a blameless child? Use your boldness again; say, By no means: he who judges all the earth, will you not do judgment? You will not destroy the righteous with the ungodly. Remember the former love of children which you had when you had no child. For before you received Isaac, these were your splendid promises from the Master: the possession of a sweet land, an abundance of money and possessions, such an increase of your race as to be numbered with the countless natures, the sand of the shore and the stars of heaven; but nevertheless, though there were so many good things in the promises, you considered what was said a mockery, and with boldness you cried out, lamenting your childlessness and saying: What will you give me, Lord? And I go childless. Having let go of that voice, you received a child. Become a father; let go of that voice now, so that you may save the child. Say again, What will you give me, Master, taking away my heir? Alas, perhaps you were a lover of children then, when you were not a father. When Sarah said these things, what should Abraham have done? Evidently, abandoning the divine command, to make arguments about piety, and to persuade Sarah that, if God takes this one, he gives you a better one. And how would he have persuaded a woman drunk with passion? But in fact he did persuade her.

For the woman was God-fearing, and the wife of a most faithful husband. At any rate, it was altogether fitting that she, having been persuaded, should send forth her son as he journeyed to the sacrifice, enduring the pain, perhaps, under compulsion because of what seemed good to God, but being led out unwillingly by her own nature into lamentation. How many servants there were, bitten by longing for the young man! How many maidservants suffering together with their mistress! How many Canaanites, acquaintances and neighbors, marveling at what had befallen him! There was great confusion from these, and wailing, and lamentation, and tears, as for a dead man being sent forth. And the mother, crying out aloud, would have said: Give me, child, a final embrace. I had hoped, child, to be sent forth by you, and that my death would be adorned by your tears; but since the decree of the Creator has overcome my hopes, and I lament this one by whom I expected to be lamented, I ask this one thing of you: as you step upon the fire of the sacrifice, intercede with God on my behalf, that I may depart from life before the priest of the sacrifice returns. For I cannot look upon a father's right hand stained with the blood of his child. So much from the mother. But who could have borne the taunts from the Canaanites, of those who had then rushed together to the spectacle? For one would have said: Oh, to what a bridal chamber the good father leads his son! And another: From what flock, then, is his victim? And another: Well does God wish to multiply his race for him, like the stars of heaven. Another: Oh, how many old men lament the wretched boy as a son, yet this foolish old man does not even weep for his own child! These things the Canaanites said; and of the servants, one, groaning aloud, said:

O wretched child, both late in coming and destroyed before your time! Your birth is wondrous, and wondrous is your end. Alone among all, from a barren womb; alone among all, hearing the lament over your burial. Alas, what an image of life its master erases! These things, then, each one would say; but all together, having returned home, they would say as with one voice: "Journey on now, old man, pondering this one thing only, that if you sacrifice this son, you will not have another son from Sarah." Foreseeing these things with a prudent mind, Abraham, the blessed one, considering these things, hid the command deep within, being so disposed as one who heard ineffable words, which it is not permitted for a man to speak. O hidden treasure of the Master's commands! O storehouse of secrets, storehouse of God's sacred words! These mysteries proclaimed you throughout the whole inhabited world. For this reason the father journeys in silence with Isaac, bringing along only two servants, and these not knowing the manner of the sacrifice; and he journeys a three days' road. But learn the testing of the forefather's resolve, and this from the distance of the journey. For God does not show him the altar nearby, lest by the heat of faith the affection of nature be stolen away; but so that, walking a long road and gazing upon his son for the longest time, playing familiarly, running to his arms, tested by the thought of what must be done, as gold in fire, by his longing over much time, he might display a resolve more brilliant than his obedience. O how many times during this three-day interval the father pictured to himself the slaughter of his son!

How often he placed the remains of his child on the pyre, so often was his heart struck, as often as he reckoned up the sacrifice! For the evil already done looks immediately toward forgetfulness, but the evil in hopes grieves as often as it is hoped for. Henceforth the blessed man sees from afar the place of the service, an ineffable voice having indicated it to him, and the father takes only his son, leaving the servants with the donkey; henceforth he journeys alone with Isaac alone, not as a father with a child, but as a priest with a victim. And he lays on Isaac the wood of the sacrifice, himself carrying the knife and the fire. He weighs down the young man with the burden, so that the boy, having sweated from the toil and been cleansed by the washings of nature, might become a more acceptable offering to God. And when the account had reached this point, seeing the type, I remembered the truth. For seeing how Isaac carries for himself the wood of the sacrifice, I glorify Christ, who for the salvation of men willed to carry his own cross. For I see here the shadow of the whole economy according to Christ coming beforehand. As a sheep he was led to the slaughter—Christ; of this Isaac, led to sacrifice, was a type. The slaughter is before the eyes, and Isaac does not disobey the one who begot him; for he was a type of Christ, who obeyed the Father unto death, death on a cross. Isaac was at once both child and victim. Likewise also Christ is Son of God, and the lamb who takes away the sin of the world. The father does not spare Isaac, but neither does God spare Christ. For as he did not spare his own Son, but delivered him up for us all.

Three days after the sacrifice, the mother sees Isaac alive; three days too, the Church sees the Savior incorrupt. But these things are about types, as it were in passing. Abraham, however, has now stood at the place of the liturgy, having entered into the contest itself, in which nature and free choice contend, and the will is crowned against nature, and love of God justly carries off the victory over love of children. The father came with the child, the priest alone with the victim alone. And the child was everything to the father: both a minister for service, and a victim for the sacred rite. 6. And I marvel at the young man's understanding, how reverently he approaches his father and says: "Father, behold the fire and the wood; where is the sheep?" He does not mock his father's forgetfulness—for he had seen the Canaanites enslaved because of Ham's laughter—but he asks, "Where?" correcting the error of forgetfulness by the manner of his question. "Father," he says, "behold the wood and the fire; where is the sheep?" What word will suffice to set forth the man's greatness of soul? The child's voice did not loosen him toward tears, he did not bewail the youth of the young man, insensible of his own slaughter, but he remained throughout unwounded and adamantine, forgetting his fatherly disposition. So he says to him steadily: "God will see to a sheep for himself, child." He does not announce beforehand to the young man the will of God concerning him, lest the young man, lamenting over himself with a tender mind, stain the sacrifice with tears. How, brothers, shall I recount to you what follows without tears? I have suffered something in the telling of these deeds, as a father does.

For it belonged, I think, to Abraham's tongue alone to narrate what happened without tears, and to display in words such greatness of soul as he displayed in deeds—that firmness. For this is the wonderful and precious thing about the man: what he did with composure, we cannot even endure to speak of without passion. Nevertheless, we must try, even if we do not quite attain to the virtue of the forefather, to share in his sacrifice by the law of love for God, having conquered our passions—in the part of the narrative. Having therefore kindled a bright fire upon the altar, the father arranges his son for the sacrifice, by the law of a victim—the beloved, the only-begotten—and placing him as if for worship upon his knees, he wraps him from behind about the back, putting the opposite posture upon the child; then, bracing him with his own knees from behind, and bending the hair back toward himself, stretching out his right hand, he dares to bring the slaughter down from on high upon the throat. O the tension of love for God! O the soul's invincible courage! He bound his son for slaughter, and the joints of nature were not loosened. The sword in his hands, and

His right hand did not grow numb. Who could have stood by and endured what was happening? Who would not have turned away? Who would not have fled, becoming more compassionate than the father? For this reason the wise old man does not take the servants with him, but commands them to wait far off, lest, feeling compassion for the slaughter of their master, they hinder the act of his God-loving resolve. For what thought do you suppose the servants would have conceived about their master as they stood by, seeing him simply and thus rushing to the slaughter of his beloved child? What words would they have spoken to one another? O this dreadful and abominable calamity! Our master perhaps is mad, and does not recognize his dearly loved son, but imagines he is holding one of the sacrificial animals, a calf or a sheep. Let us therefore come to him quickly; for the matter does not await delay; let us stay the sword for now, let us check his right hand, lest the blow outrun the admonition. For is it without danger to approach? How will he spare servants, who does not spare his own dearest son? But let us risk it all the same; our death will be glorious, if it happens; for it will be on behalf of a young master. Let us speak something beyond what is fitting, let us rebuke him as one who is mad, in case he might even come to his senses. The master is worthy of honor, but in the sobriety of reverence, not unto death. Having been insulted in his madness, once he has come to his senses he will be grateful, and will repay them as benefactors, as saviors of his child. Saying these things they would have run up at once, and first they would have snatched the sword from his right hand, and Isaac from death; then they would also have used words, some leading to soberness, others rather diverting the master's impulse to themselves, saying:

Consider, master, in your mind: you hold your son in your hands, the beloved, the child of the barren woman, the late gift from God, the fruit of hospitality, the calf in place of a calf, for whose sake alone you celebrated birthday festivals and offered saving sacrifices to the Most High, whom you raised in hope as a staff of old age, for whose sake you lived pleasantly, for whom you prayed that you might not see death, but leave him as heir and our master—this one you hold in your hands. See the child's form, master; recognize your own image. For such were you too once, when you were young. Isaac, speak something yourself to your father, so that by your voice he may recognize his offspring. This is he, master, not the sacrifice, but he for whom many sacrifices were made, for whom many petitions were made to God that he might come to manhood and take as a partner of life such a woman as his mother is in virtue—apart, however, from barrenness. For you longed to see his early fruits and to delight in them again, as with Isaac at the breast. But alas for the calamities not to be prayed against—into what days you have brought him! Instead of garlands, bonds; instead of a wife, a sword. You reveal also fire, not the fire with which one marries, but that with which one is buried. The young man stands by, not crowned for the bridal chamber, but bound to the altar, and wearing not a wedding garment but the garb of death. No father-in-law stood by for the marriage, joining those separated by family, but a father stood by, separating by slaughter those united by nature. Not even fathers of Canaanites would so resolve concerning children. Such victims did you offer to the Most High until now?

Were these the thank-offerings you brought for the salvation of your child? Did you not split rams and goats, irrational animals, propitiating the Master of rational and irrational beings? But what kind of victim is this now? O intolerable evils! The victim is like the priest, the propitiation is kin to the one propitiated; not from the flock, but from the very nature of the priest is the sacrifice. God does not accept such sacrifices; for being loving toward humanity, he does not receive a human being for sacrifice. What shall we call you from now on, master? A priest because of the sacrifice, or a child-killer because of the child? Truly this manner of sacrifice is strange, and not even expressible in speech. For all sacrifices are performed for salvation, but your son is destroyed by means of a sacrifice. And what shall we call the deed? Murder, or sacrifice? A curse, or an offering? A burning, or a whole burnt offering? For it is so contrary to custom, so contrary to law, that what is being done does not even have the name of an offering. O what things we hoped to see, and what things we now behold! We hoped that he would assist you in the sacrifices, minister in the sacred rites; but now, O intolerable evils! he does not stand by the priest holding a victim, but he himself lies bound in place of a victim; nor does he utter a sound, like a lamb, but he lies voiceless and speechless, and more innocent even than a sheep, looking only at the right hand which he often kissed as that of a loving father, and perhaps even now, seeing it held with the sword, he wishes to kiss it. You have many flocks of sheep, master, many herds of cattle; from these fulfill the sacrifice of victims, of the customary offerings, not of the unholy and uneaten.

Sacrifice all the herds together, if you wish; we do not object, for the generosity of this sacrifice is lawful. But what is now being done is war rather than sacrifice, a siege rather than an offering. For we endure in our prayers the very things we pray never to see in war, and in our sacrifices we suffer such things as we pray we may never suffer. The present deed is more destructive even than war. For perhaps even an enemy would have spared him, taking pity on the youth's beauty and his age. How will you still dwell in the land of the Canaanites, having thus conquered even the cruelty of beasts? Perhaps all the children of the Canaanites will set upon you, saying, "Let us destroy the child-killer, lest he become an evil example of child-murder for our fathers." Do you too cut down the hospitable oak, the kindly tent; burn it, as you did the child. For no traveler will any longer dare to approach you, since you are suspect to them—you who did not spare your own son. How then will wretched Sarah, our mistress, your wife and this child's mother, look upon you, expecting her son back from the sacrifice in a holier state? For what do you think she will suffer when she sees the father bereft of the child? Will she not fall to the ground, dissolved in despair? Will she not be in danger of falling on the spot? Will you not destroy the wife together with the son? How then, master, will you cultivate another Isaac, when the land has been petrified by death? Would that Sarah's barrenness had never been loosed in the first place, so that you had been called neither father nor child-killer. What age is so long that it could cover what is being done with forgetfulness?

The passage of time has not been able to erase the hatred of fratricide; even now Cain is condemned for not recognizing nature, and although his whole race was destroyed root and branch by the flood, the memory of fratricide was not washed away even by so great a mass of waters. And child-murder is far heavier than fratricide, by as much as a father is closer than a brother. Why then, master, do you bring everlasting shame upon a godly and wondrous life, shame that cannot be erased by time or by waters? Come now, then, hear us, and release your son from his bonds as a free man; throw down the sword, let us quench the fire, let us tear down the altar itself; leave no trace at all of the impious daring upon the earth. But if you disobey after so much exhortation, and strive to serve an evil demon, this alone we beg: kill us first, and we gladly accept the slaughter. For it is better for us to fall here than to be called slaves of a child-killing master. How then, when slaves speak and do such things out of folly, was the forefather consecrated by the command of the Master? How would a good deed of love for God have shone so throughout the whole world? How would a lofty pillar of faith have been set upright? How would the world have learned by deeds that the fear of God is more honorable than the desire for a child? For this reason he comes alone to the sacrifice, offering the only-begotten through the Only-Begotten to the only God. You have learned, beloved, from what has been said, the forefather's love for God; learn from what follows also the ineffable love for humanity of God.

Learn how those who for God's sake have despised the present things both advance in virtue and do not sin in matters of temporary concern. Isaac, then, lay bound, offering his bare throat to his father for slaughter, and the hand of the priest was raised high, hastening the blow, and immediately a voice of mercy is borne from heaven, as it were a hand restraining the hand, and by a most swift command checking the priest's eagerness. For do not, it says, lay your hand upon the boy. I am satisfied with the eagerness, even if the deed be absent. I did not wish your child to be slaughtered, but I wished your faith to be made manifest in the whole world. For since you did not spare your beloved son for my sake, but, as far as your part goes, Isaac has perished, as far as depends on you Sarah has been bereaved of children, and you are no longer named father, from now on, because of your love for me, receive your son back safe, long-lived and of many years. For the deed has been accomplished by me, who see the dispositions of thoughts. And I will recompense you besides these things, servant, with a gift entirely fitting, and I will honor you with a suitable title: everyone holy will call you father. This deed will beget for you many righteous children; you will be called the father of all who believe in me. I will raise up children for you, by special favor, from stones. You despised one son; from now on you will have countless ones; for I have made you the father of many nations. Such, then, are the things from God.

But we all, beloved, using our forefather Abraham as a model of love for God, let us consider nothing of temporary goods more honorable than faith in God—not fatherland, not family, not wealth, not glory, not a beloved child, even if he happens to be an only one—so that by likeness of faith becoming children of our forefather Abraham, we may rest with Isaac in his bright bosom, by the grace and love for mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.