Eclogae ex diversis homiliis

Let us consider our own nature, let us reckon up our sins, let us learn what we are—and this is enough to give us a foundation for all humility. For that man is most truly the one who knows himself, who thinks himself to be nothing. For nothing is so dear to God as for a man to count himself among the last. For come, he says, learn from me, that I am gentle and humble in heart. For if I were not gentle, being a king's son, would I have chosen a slave woman as my mother? If I were not gentle, I, the maker of both invisible and visible substance, would I have come down to you? If I were not gentle, would I have accepted the poverty of a manger, I who possess the wealth of the whole creation? If I were not gentle, would I have offered my back to the whip for the sake of captives? And what more? I do not mention the greater thing: if I were not gentle, when others owed the debt of suffering, I who owed nothing paid down the debt of death on their behalf. So gentle am I, that you sinned and I was scourged; so humble am I, that I am not ashamed to entreat my own servants, but I choose to plead, so that I may not be compelled to punish. When, then, you come to marvel at yourself for your humility, consider the

Where did your Master descend to, that you no longer marvel at yourself or praise yourself, but even laugh at yourself as having done nothing? You are humble, and more humble than all men—do not be proud because of this, nor reproach others, and you will not destroy your boast. You are humble-minded for this reason, that you may be delivered from folly; if, then, through it you fall into folly, it is better not to be humble-minded. But if someone should say that it is better to be lifted up while succeeding than to be brought low while falling, he is greatly ignorant of the harm of arrogance and the gain of humility. For know this clearly, that a man who succeeds with folly—if indeed this is at all to succeed—will quickly fall into the utmost destruction. And he who is permitted to slip, and learns moderation from his fall, will both rise and recover himself more quickly, if indeed he wishes; but he who seems to do well with arrogance, and suffers nothing terrible, will never even perceive his own transgression, but will also increase the evil, and will depart from here empty without knowing it. And why, he says, did those who walked uprightly before their trials often fall after the trials? Who, then, is the one who knows well those who walk uprightly, except the one who formed our hearts individually, and understands all our works? For many, often, of those who seem to us to be good, are worse than all. But to leave such people aside and come in our discourse to those who truly live rightly—who knows whether in other respects they have succeeded, but the chief of goods, humility, has been neglected?

And for this reason God left them, so that they might learn that they were not succeeding in those things by their own power, but by the grace of God. For meekness is spoken of not when someone who is wronged by those in authority bears it gently, but when one who is being insulted even by those considered to be his inferiors yields. For observe the philanthropy of God, and what kind of care he shows toward his own servants. For when Isaac was unjustly driven out from his own labors by the king of Gerar and the inhabitants of the land, he was not vexed, nor did he display any petty-mindedness, nor did he cry out to himself, nor did he say, "Am I not even master to enjoy wells? Have I perhaps become destitute of the help from above? Have I perhaps been deprived of the providence that comes from the Master?" He thought none of these things, he reckoned none of them, but bore all things with meekness. For this reason he also enjoyed greater honor and the alliance from above. For the Lord appeared to him on that night and said: I am the God of Abraham your father; do not fear, for I am with you and I will bless you. For wishing to restore the righteous man and to prepare him to be of good courage, he appears to him and says: I am the God who made your father glorious and established him in such great prominence, and made him, though a stranger to the inhabitants of the land, more splendid than they; I am the one who caused him to be increased thus. Do not fear, therefore, for I am with you, and I will multiply your seed through Abraham your father; for I owe him many recompenses for his obedience toward me. Having heard these things, the righteous man is henceforth in security.

For the one who said, "I am with you," and, "I will bless you and multiply your seed"—this same one also granted the distinction. See how great is the strength of humility; for those who yesterday were driving him out, now having come to the righteous man, not only defend themselves concerning what has already happened and ask forgiveness, but also proclaim him. For who could be stronger than this man, who has God with him? For having seen, they say, we have seen that the Lord is with you. But let us see how his son Jacob also makes his journey while being pursued; for from this too we shall reap no small benefit. For as he was journeying to Harran, the sun set, and he took from the stones of the place, and placed them at his head, and slept. Did you see the ineffable philosophy? Did you see how the ancients made their journeys? A man raised in a house, enjoying much attendance, took a stone and placed it at his head. See the boy's courage: he used the stone instead of a pillow, and slept on the ground; for this reason he is also deemed worthy of the Master's vision. And he says: "I am the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac your father; I have caused both the patriarch and your father to be increased to such great distinction. Do not therefore fear, but believe that I, who fulfilled the promises to them, will also deem you worthy of my providence. But even now I am with you, guarding you in the way, wherever you may go." Do not think, he says, that you make the journey alone; you will have me as a fellow traveler, you will have me as a guard in every way; for I am with you.

If, then, you wish to make your good deeds great, do not think that they are great, but confess that you are saved by grace, so that you may make God your debtor, not only for your good deeds but also for such gratitude as this. For when we do right, we have God as a debtor for our good deeds alone; but when we do not even consider that we have done anything right, we have him as a debtor for this very disposition, and more greatly than for those deeds. If, then, you wish to be humble-minded, display virtue not in words nor in outward bearing only, but also in deeds and in speech; and do not be humble toward this one but bold toward that one, but be humble toward all, whether he be friend or enemy, whether great or small; for this is humility of mind. For to be humble but sharp-tempered and prone to anger brings no benefit; for often, mastered by anger, a man has destroyed everything. For true humility of mind can especially be learned from this by those who pay attention. When Jesus came to Capernaum, those who collected the didrachma came to Peter and said, "Does your teacher not pay the didrachma?" And observe: they did not dare to approach Christ himself, but Peter; and not even him with great vehemence, but more gently. For they spoke not as accusing but as asking: "Does your teacher not pay the didrachma?" For they did not yet have the fitting opinion concerning him, but were disposed as toward a man; nevertheless they accorded him some reverence and honor because of the signs that had preceded. What then did Peter say? "Yes," he says. And to them he said that he pays, but to him he did not say it, perhaps being ashamed to speak with him about these things.

What then does God, who knows all things clearly, do? He anticipates him and says: "What do you think, Simon? From whom do the kings of the earth receive taxes or tribute? From their sons, or from strangers?" He said, "From strangers." Jesus says to him, "Then the sons are free." For lest Peter should think that he was speaking from what he had heard from those men, he anticipates him, both making this very thing clear and giving him boldness, since he was hesitating to speak first about these matters. And what he says is this: "I am free from giving the tribute; for if the kings of the earth do not receive it from their sons but from their subjects, much more must I be exempt from this demand, since I am a son and king not of an earthly king but of the King of the heavens." And having said these things, he says: "But lest we cause them to stumble, go to the sea, cast a hook, and take the first fish that comes up, and you will find in it a stater; take that and give it to them for me and you." See how he does not refuse the tax, nor does he simply command it to be given, but after first showing that he is not liable, then he gives it—partly so that those men might not be caused to stumble, and partly so that these might not be. For he does not give it as one who owes it, but as one correcting their weakness. And for what reason does he not command it to be given from stored funds? So that in this too he might show that he is God of all things, and that he rules the sea.

For it was no small thing to foretell from those depths that the fish that paid the tax would leap up first, and that, as it were casting a net into that abyss by his command, he would bring up the one carrying the stater, and make the sea thus bring gifts, and show its subjection from every side. If, then, you wish to show your great success, do not think highly of yourself, and then you have made it greater. For if, when we are sinners, should we think that this is what we are, we become righteous, just as the tax collector did; when, being righteous, we think ourselves to be sinners, how much more? For if you call yourself esteemed, you have become useless, even if you are esteemed; but if you name yourself useless, you have become useful, even if you are unesteemed. For as God knows how to oppose the proud, so he gives grace to the humble; for to him belongs glory and power, unto the ages of ages. Amen. Homily 9. On the soul. Those who pride themselves on good works and are ignorant of faith toward God resemble the remains of the dead, clothed in fine garments but without perception of the fine things. For what profit is it to a man to have a soul that is dead but clothed in good works? Works are done in hope of recompense and crowns; but if you do not know the judge of the contest, for what are you striving? For just as living comes before eating for humans, so the hope in Christ must come before our life, and we must be nourished also by good works. For one who is not nourished can often live; but one who is not living cannot be nourished.

Without faith, you cannot show that a worker of righteousness lived; but without works I can show that a believer both lived and was deemed worthy of the kingdom. No one lived without faith; but the robber was justified by believing alone. Do not tell me, "He had no time to live a virtuous life"; for if he had lived on in faith and neglected works, he would have fallen from salvation. Cornelius too was attested for his almsgiving and prayers, but he did not know Christ; and when the eye of truth, the great judge, saw that the works were good but dead, lacking faith, he sends an angel to award the prize to the works, so as to crown with faith the one who contended well, who says to him: "Cornelius, your prayers and your almsgivings have gone up as a memorial before God." If, then, his petition was heard and his almsgivings were accepted, what is lacking for me in regard to righteousness? But, he says, send to Joppa and summon Simon, who is called Peter, who when he comes will speak to you words by which you and your whole household will be saved. If, then, he and his household are saved by what Peter says, he did not yet have salvation from his works, until faith awarded it to his works. It is said that one of the pagan philosophers, entering a splendid house, brightly lit with much gold and flashing with the great beauty of its marbles and columns, when he saw the floor everywhere spread with carpets, spat in the face of the master of the house.

Then, when he was accused of saying it, because it was not permitted to do this anywhere else in the house, he was compelled to insult that man to his face. Do you see how ridiculous the man who adorns the outside is, and how easily despised by all who have understanding? And very reasonably so. For when you adorn the walls and the floor and all the other things, but neglect the soul, letting it go in rags, squalid, hungry, full of wounds, torn at by countless dogs, tell me, what punishment will you not undergo? For if you lose money, you can give money, and a house, and slaves, and any other of your possessions; but if you lose a soul, you cannot give another soul in its place, but even if you possess the whole world, even if you are king of the inhabited earth, you will not be able, by casting down all the things of the inhabited earth together with the inhabited earth itself, to buy one soul. For if in the case of the body, even if you are encircled with countless diadems, but have a body that is sickly by nature and incurably so, you will not be able, even if you give the whole kingdom, to restore this body, even if you add countless bodies and cities and

Money; how much more so in the case of the soul? God has given us all things double in our nature: two eyes, two ears, two hands, two feet, so that if one of these is harmed, we may relieve our need through the other. But he has given us one soul. If we lose this, with what shall we live? For a soul once captured by love of money will not easily or readily refrain from doing and saying anything that provokes God, since it has become the slave of another master, one who commands everything in opposition to God. A soul that has once despaired of its own salvation does not depart from its madness anywhere, but yielding the reins of its salvation to irrational desires, it is carried everywhere and is unbearable to those it meets, while all flee from it and no one dares to restrain it; rather, it overruns every region of wickedness, until, carrying itself to the very abysses of destruction, it hurls down its own salvation. A soul that has once made a treaty with sin and become insensible brings great increase to the disease. For just as a pig wallowing in mire delights in it, so too a soul buried by evil habit does not even perceive the stench of sins. And just as it is impossible for land that is not watered to bring forth ears of grain, even if one casts countless seeds upon it, so it is impossible for a soul not first enlightened by the divine Scriptures to show any fruit, even if one pours out countless words. And just as the earth, when it is neither sown nor planted, simply puts forth herbage—

So too the soul, when it has no necessary work to do, since it cannot be idle, and wholly desires to be doing something, gives itself over to evil deeds. For just as inflammation is in bodies, so is recklessness in the soul; then from recklessness the desire for things that are not fitting is accustomed to follow. And just as in bodies those who disregard wounds breed fevers and putrefactions and death, so too in souls those who overlook small sins introduce greater ones. For this reason God gave us the body from the earth, so that we might lead it too up to heaven, not so that through it we might drag the soul down to the earth. O the wonder! How all gape at the things of the present, and never take thought of the things to come; but they rush ceaselessly toward bodily pleasures, and let their souls waste away in hunger; and though they receive countless wounds each day, they never perceive the evils in which they are, but they procure for themselves the care of the body, while they overlook the soul as it is parched and filthy and troubled by countless evils. And what is yet more grievous, that after many sweats and toils they do not make even the mortal body stronger than death, but with the mortal they also subject the immortal to immortal punishments. For this reason, greatly lamenting the folly poured over the souls of men, and the thickness of the mist that lies upon them, I wished to find some high vantage point, showing me all the races of men.

I wished also to obtain a voice that would resound to all the ends of the earth and suffice for all who are on the earth, and to stand and cry out and proclaim that voice of David: Sons of men, how long will you be heavy of heart? For how is it not absurd that in the case of the body, even if some ordinary ailment overtakes it, we call physicians and spend money and show endurance, and do not desist from doing everything until we cast off what troubles us; but for the soul, though it is pierced every day, cast down, and destroying itself in every way, we do not give even a brief account? For one ought not simply to lament the one who has an ulcer, but the one who has it and lies neglected and does not obtain healing hands; but the one who is cut and cauterized, this one above all we would say is on the road to health, not looking at the pain from the cutting but at the health that comes from the pain. So also in the case of the soul one must be disposed, not lamenting those who are punished—for these are drawn toward health—but those who sin with impunity. For the one who is associated with good hopes and is confident about the things to come has already tasted of the kingdom from here on; for nothing is so accustomed to restore the soul and make it better as the good hope of things to come. For those who empty all their zeal into the adornment of their own house, being rich in things outside, neglect the things within, and overlook their own soul as desolate and parched and full of cobwebs.

But if, disregarding outward things, they spend all their zeal upon their own mind, adorning it from every side, the soul of such men will be a dwelling-place for Christ. And for the one who has Christ dwelling in him, what could be more blessed? What defense, then, shall we have, what excuse, when, if the body is sick—where one must also pay out money, and call in physicians, and endure much pain—we take such great forethought, but despise the soul? And this, when we are not going to pay out money, nor trouble others, nor submit to pains; but, apart from all these things, by merely choosing and willing, we are able to effect the correction of them all, and we know full well that, if we do not do this, we shall undergo the final judgment, and the inexorable punishments and torments? And just as those who dwell in prison are always in dejection and pains, but especially on that day on which they are about to be led out, and to be brought to the very doors of the judge, and stand before the railings, and hear the voice of the judge within, they are frozen with fear, and are in no better state than the dead; so too the soul is in pain and distress especially in the very season of sin, but far more when, torn away from here, it is about to be led away to the accounts there and to the fearful tribunal. For this reason it often shrinks back and goes down to the depth below, and fears and shudders, when it is about to fly away from the flesh.

For then, whether someone has seized by force, or defrauded, or wronged someone, or become someone's enemy unjustly, or done any other dreadful thing, the whole chorus of sins is renewed, and the bitter accuser of conscience stands visible before the eyes. For this reason our soul has become immortal, and the body also will be immortal, so that we may enjoy unending goods. But if you are nailed to the earth while heavenly things lie before you, consider how great the insult done to the Giver, when he offers you the things above, but you, making no great account of them, exchange the things of heaven for the earth. May it be that we all obtain these things, by the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the might unto the ages of ages. Amen. Homily 9. On not despising the Church of God and the holy mysteries. Few have come to us today. What then is the cause? We are celebrating the memorial of the martyrs, and no one has met with us. But the distance of the journey cast them into negligence; or rather, it was not the distance of the journey, but negligence that hindered them. For just as nothing can hinder the earnest and awakened in purpose, so everything can hinder the lazy and slack. The martyrs poured out their own blood for the truth; and can you not despise the distance of a short journey? They laid down their head for Christ; and do you not wish to come even a little way for the Master? The Master died for you, and do you hesitate for his sake? It is the memorial of the martyrs, and you are negligent and slack?

You ought to be present, and to see the devil defeated, and the martyr victorious, and God glorified, and the Church crowned. But I am a sinner, he says, and I cannot come. Because you are a sinner, come, so that you may become righteous. For who among men is without sin, tell me? Or do you not know that even those who sit at the altar are fastened to sins? For they are clothed in flesh and entangled with a body; and we ourselves who sit on the throne and teach are entangled in sins; but we do not despair of God's love for humanity, nor do we attribute inhumanity to him. For this reason God has arranged that even the priests themselves be enslaved to passion, so that from what they themselves suffer they may grant forgiveness to others. Of how much madness and irrationality would this not be, that if a lyre-player or a dancer or some other such person invites us, we all run with eagerness, and we are grateful to him for the invitation, and we spend half of an entire day attending to him alone; but when God speaks to us through prophets and apostles, we yawn, we scratch ourselves, and we grow dizzy; and at horse races, though no roof lies over them to keep off the rain, when many heavy showers pour down and the wind drives the water into their faces, most of them stand there raving, and they despise cold and rain and the length of the journey, and nothing keeps them at home, nor prevents them from crossing over there; but to go to the church, rain and mud become a hindrance to us.

If they are asked who Amos is, or Obadiah, or what is the number of the prophets or of the apostles, they cannot even open their mouths; but on behalf of horses and charioteers, and sophists and orators, they compose their defenses more cleverly. And how are these things tolerable, tell me? I have often exhorted you not to go up to the theaters. You heard, you were not persuaded; you went up to the theater, you disregarded my word; do not be ashamed to enter in again and to hear. I heard, and I did not keep it, he says; how can I enter in and hear? For the present, you know this very thing, that you did not keep it; for the present, you are ashamed, for the present, you blush, for the present, though no one is convicting you, you apply the bridle to yourself, for the present, you have my word rooted in you, for the present, even when I do not appear, my teaching casts you down. You did not keep it? Rather, enter in, so that having heard again you may keep it. If a medicine is applied to you, and does not cleanse you, do you not apply it again on the next day? Let someone be a woodcutter, O man, and let him wish to cut down an oak; he takes an axe, then he strikes the root; if he gives one blow, and the tree does not fall, does he not give another blow, not a fourth, not a fifth, not a tenth? So also do you. I say these things, not so that I may make you more lazy, but so that I may make you more earnest. You entered into the church, O man, you were deemed worthy of the encounter with Christ; if you are not dismissed, do not go out. For if you go out before the dismissal, you are held accountable as a runaway. You spend the whole day on bodily things, and do you not have leisure for two hours for spiritual things? You often go off to the theater, and you do not come down until the dismissal; and do you enter into the church, and go out before the divine mysteries?

Fear the one who said, "He who despises a thing will be despised by it." And when you stand before a king, you do not even permit yourself to smile casually; but standing before the Master of all things, do you not stand with fear and trembling, but laugh while he is often angry? Do you not consider that by this you provoke him more greatly than by your sins? For God is not so accustomed to turn away from those who sin, as from those who do not shrink back after their sin. What are you doing, man? Standing in the church, you scrutinize the beauties of women, and you do not shudder at thus insulting the temple of God? Does the church seem to you to be a brothel and more dishonorable than the marketplace? For in the marketplace you fear and are ashamed to be seen scrutinizing a woman; but in the temple of God, while he himself is speaking to you and threatening on account of these things, do you dare such things at the very moment when you hear that you should not do them, and you do not shudder nor are you beside yourself, making your heart and your eyes a workshop of lawlessness? Better for such people to be blind than to use their eyes for these things. Consider near whom you stand, in the sacred and dreadful mystery, man, and with whom you are about to call upon God.

with the Cherubim, with the Seraphim, and the other heavenly powers; consider your fellow choristers; this is enough for your sobriety, when you reflect that, clothed in a body and entangled with flesh, you have been deemed worthy, together with the incorporeal powers, to hymn the common Master of all. Do not, then, with slackened zeal partake of those sacred and mystical hymns; do not have worldly thoughts at that time; but banishing all earthly things from your mind, and transferring your whole self to heaven, as one standing near the very throne of glory and flying with the Seraphim, so offer the all-holy hymn to God. For this reason we are well commanded to stand at the time of the divine initiation, so that we may lift up the thoughts that are dragged along the ground, so that, casting out the slackness that comes to us from worldly affairs, we may be able to raise up our soul upright before God. For he is not speaking of the hands and knees of the body; for he is not conversing with runners or with pancratiasts; but the strength of the inner thoughts, cast down beforehand by temptations, he exhorts to raise up through these words. For at the time of the divine assembly, brothers, not only do men cry out that most awe-inspiring cry, but angels also fall down before the Master, and archangels entreat; for they have the occasion assisting them, and the offering helping them. And just as men, cutting branches of olive, wave them before kings, reminding them through the plant of mercy and love for humanity;

Thus also the angels then, instead of olive branches, holding forth the Master's own body, entreat the Master on behalf of human nature, almost saying: "It is for these that we plead, whom you yourself deigned so to love beforehand as to give your own soul; for these we pour out our supplications, for whom you yourself poured out your blood; for these we entreat, for whom you sacrificed this body." Let each one, then, reckon with himself: what defect he has corrected, what good work he has acquired, what sin he has washed away, in what respect he has become better. And if he finds that something more has come to him from the fast for this good commerce, and perceives in himself that he has taken great care of his wounds, let him draw near; but if he has remained neglected, having only the fast to show, and having set nothing else right, let him stay outside, and let him enter then, when he has cleansed all his sins. For it is reasonable that the one who does not fast should obtain forgiveness, pleading weakness of body; but it is impossible for the one who has not corrected his own transgressions to obtain a defense. For if God should demand an account of our slackness in the assemblies, what shall we do? For you surely know this, that often, while he is speaking to all of us through the prophet, we make many and long speeches to our neighbors about matters that do not concern us at all. If, then, passing over all other things, he should wish to exact from us the penalty for this sin, what hope of salvation will there be for us?

Do not think that the offense is small, but if you wish to see its magnitude, examine this very thing among human beings, and then you will see the greatness of the absurdity. Dare to speak to a ruler, or rather to some friend of yours who is a little more dignified, dismissing him to converse with your own servant, and then you will see how great a thing you dare to do against God. For if that one is among the more distinguished, he even has the right to demand satisfaction from you for the insult; but God, insulted so many times and more than these each day, not by one or two or three people, but by almost all of us, endures and is long-suffering. And when you wish to avert the anger of an earthly king, you all run together with your children and wives, and often you snatch the condemned man from the royal anger; but when you are about to make the heavenly King propitious and to snatch all the sinners throughout the world from his anger—not one or two or three or a hundred, but all—you sit outside, and you do not all run together in common, so that God, respecting your concord, may both forgive them their punishment and forgive you your sins? For if you happen to be in the marketplace at that time, if you are at home, if you are in unavoidable affairs, will you not, breaking all bonds more violently than any lion, desert to the common supplication? And what hope of salvation will you have? For what could be more powerful than the Church of God? Do not tell me of walls and weapons; walls grow old with time, but the Church never grows old.

Barbarians tear down walls, but not even demons prevail against the Church. And that these words are no boast, the facts bear witness. How many have warred against the Church, and those who warred have perished, while she has risen above the heaven? Such is the greatness of the Church: when warred against, she conquers; when plotted against, she prevails; when insulted, she becomes more glorious. You understood that day—how many weapons were stirred up against us, and a soldier's fury fiercer than fire, and we were led away to the imperial courts, and we became a spectacle to the whole world? But by the grace of God none of those things overwhelmed us. Why? Because none of the things present is terrible. For what is terrible? Death? But it is not terrible; for we depart quickly to the harbor. But confiscation of property? Naked I came out, and naked I shall depart. But exile? The earth is the Lord's, and the fullness thereof. But slander? Rejoice when they speak every evil word against you, for your reward is great in the heavens. For even if I was led away, still what was happening was not an insult to me; for there is only one insult—sin; and even if the whole world insults you, but you do not insult yourself, you have not been insulted. Betrayal is only that of the conscience; let not your conscience betray you, and no one betrays you. I was led away, and I saw the facts—or rather, I saw my words becoming facts, and my discourse through words being proclaimed in the marketplace through deeds. I wished, then, to know where those who despised the assembly and abandoned this sacred table are spending their time. Or rather, I know clearly:

For they either discuss absurd and ridiculous matters, or they are nailed to worldly cares; and the pursuit of both is deprived of forgiveness, and has the ultimate punishment. And concerning the former, there is no need even of words or of proof; but that those who put before us the affairs of the household, and speak of the unbearable necessity from there, cannot obtain forgiveness either, unless they prefer spiritual things to earthly things, is surely clear to everyone. For tell me, what servant, before he fulfills his master's service, will ever attend to the matters of his own household? How then is it not absurd, in the case of men where lordship is a mere name, to give such reverence and obedience to masters; but the true Master, not only of us but also of the powers above, we do not deem worthy of the same service as our fellow servants? Would that it were possible for me to show your eyes the soul of those people, and you would have seen it filthy, squalid, put to shame, brought low, and without boldness. For just as bodies that do not enjoy the baths are full of squalor and much filth, so also a soul that does not enjoy spiritual teaching has the stain of many sins wrapped around it. Would that it were possible to open the hearts of those who forsake the divine assembly; would that it were possible for you to enter into their conscience; and then you would have seen well how many wounds they are full of, how many thorns they have. For just as land that does not enjoy the hands of farmers becomes barren and overgrown with brushwood;

Thus also a soul that does not enjoy spiritual teaching sends forth thorns and thistles. For if we, who each day partake of the hearing of the prophets and apostles, and who chant continuous incantations from the divine Scriptures over our passions, scarcely restrain anger, scarcely bridle wrath, scarcely cast out the wasting of envy, scarcely put an end to desire, scarcely subdue the shameless beasts—those who never enjoy this healing, nor obey the divine teaching, what hope of salvation will they have? For just as the man who has left the harbor wanders everywhere, and he who has been deprived of light falls upon many things, so also he who has fallen into forgetfulness of the fear of God is delivered over continually to cares and anxieties and pains. And just as, when God holds fast and is with us, the things that grieve us are removed, so when He withdraws and is forgotten, the soul is cut off and the heart is pained, and those who grieve us trample upon us, so that the more careless, being bitten through all things, may return more earnestly to the place from which they fell. For your apostasy will instruct you, says the Scripture, and your wickedness will reprove you. So that even the abandonment by God is a form of providence. For when He who provides and cares is despised, He lets go a little and abandons, so that then, when carelessness has been cast out, the fainthearted may become more earnest. I think many of those who formerly left us and deserted to the theaters of lawlessness are present today.

And I wished that these people might know clearly, so as to cast them out from the sacred vestibules—not so that they might remain outside forever, but so that, once corrected, they might return again. For fathers also cast their erring children out of the house and keep them from the table, not so that they might fall away from these things forever, but so that, having become better through this admonition, they might return with fitting honor to the paternal inheritance. This is precisely what shepherds do as well: they keep the sheep full of scabies away from the healthy ones, so that, having laid aside their sickness, they might return again safely to the healthy ones, and so that, being sick, they might not fill the whole flock with that sickness. For this reason we too wished that these people might know; but even if we are unable to distinguish them with our eyes, the word will certainly recognize them, and laying hold of their conscience it will easily persuade them to withdraw of their own will, teaching that only that person is within who provides the disposition worthy of this sojourn here; so that one who, with a corrupted manner of life, partakes of this sacred assembly, even if he brings his body in here, has been cast out, and is more thoroughly driven away than those who are shut out and unable 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, and if they wish to correct their transgressions, through the Church from which they fell they will be able to return again with a clean 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—

Then, being shameless, they make the wound worse; for sinning is not so grievous as shamelessness after the sin. Many partake of the mysteries once a year, others twice, others many times. Which of these, then, shall we accept—those who partake once, or those who partake many times, or those who partake few times? Neither those who partake once, nor those who partake many times, nor those who partake few times, but those with a pure conscience, those with a clean heart, those with a blameless life. Let such people always draw near; but let those who are not such not even once; for they bring upon themselves judgment and condemnation. For just as food, being by nature nourishing, if it falls into a person with a bad digestion, destroys and corrupts everything, and becomes a source of disease, so too it is with the dread mysteries. Do you enjoy a spiritual table, a royal table, and then again defile your body with mire? Do you anoint yourself with myrrh, and then again fill yourself with foul odor? Partaking of communion after a year, do you think it suffices for you for the cleansing of the sins of the whole time, and then, when a week has passed, do you again give yourself over to your former ways? Tell me, then: if, having recovered your health, you

Forty days after a long illness, you again give yourself over to those things that cause illness—have you not also lost your former labor? If, then, natural things are changed, much more the things of the will. And if your mouth stinks, you do not even partake of common food; but when there is such foulness in your soul, do you dare to partake of the mysteries, tell me? And what forgiveness will you obtain? For the divine Apostle says: He who eats and drinks the cup of the Lord unworthily eats and drinks judgment to himself; that is, he will receive the same penalty, as much punishment as those who crucified Christ will undergo. Just as those murderers became guilty of the blood, so also these who partake of the mysteries unworthily. For just as if someone tears the royal purple, or defiles it with mire, he insults the king who wears it in like manner; so too here, both those who destroyed the Master's body and those who receive it with an unclean mind alike outrage the royal garment. The Jews tore it, then, by the cross, but he who receives it with an unclean soul also defiles it. So that even if the transgressions differ, the insults are equal. This has touched many, this has disturbed many, it has pricked the conscience of the hearers—or rather not of the hearers only, but also of me who speak, before you. For the teaching is common, the wounds are common; therefore I also apply common remedies.

This was a work of God's love for humanity, so that both the speaker and the hearers are subject to the same laws, share the same nature, and each alike is liable when he transgresses. Why? So that he may administer reproof with due measure; so that he may be forbearing toward those who sin; so that, remembering his own weakness, he may not make his rebuke unbearable. If, then, you see one of those who herd together with you committing fornication and yet approaching the mysteries, say to the one who administers their distribution: Such a one is unworthy of the mysteries; bar the profane man from the holy things. For if such a man is not even worthy to recount the statutes of God, consider where his punishment will advance when he also touches the sacred table—and not for him alone, but for you also who cast your shadow over him. For he did not say, And you committed adultery, but, You set your portion with the adulterer. Alas, how great an evil it is to cover over the putrid sores of others! For he says that you are a partaker of the punishment for the offense; and rightly so. For the one who has the passion can plead it, even if the excuse is unforgivable; but you cannot even plead this. For what reason, then, when you do not enjoy the pleasure, do you become a partaker and sharer of the punishment? Do not say to me that saying which is full of great insensibility: What is it to me? I attend to my own affairs. For then you will attend to your own affairs most of all, when you seek your own in your neighbor's advantage; just as Paul also said, Let no one seek his own, so that he may find his own.

For when the one who has sinned sees that all turn away from him, he will consider that he has done something great and evil; but if he sees them not only not indignant nor displeased, but even bearing it gently and joining in reproof, then the judgment-seat of conscience is corrupted, since the vote of the many cooperates with his corrupted opinion. Many, unable to bear the weight of the reproofs spoken to you, came forward after the departure and were displeased and indignant, saying, "Are you driving us away from the sacred table and driving us off from communion?" It was for this reason that I was compelled to say these things, so that you may learn that I do not drive away but rather gather together; nor do I drive off nor shut out, but I draw you in all the more through reproofs. For the fear of punishment, falling upon the conscience of sinners like fire upon wax, looses and melts away our transgressions, sitting continually upon them, and making the mind clean and shining, instills in us greater boldness. And just as one who gives bitter medicines to those with poor appetites, and purges out the evil humors, rouses the depressed appetite, and after

It prepares one to partake of the customary food with greater eagerness; so too the one who speaks bitter words, and purges the evil thoughts of the mind, and sets aside the heavy burden of sins, gives the conscience room to breathe, and prepares it to taste with great pleasure of the Master's body. With good reason, then, the blessed Paul said: Obey those who rule over you, and submit; for they watch over your souls, as those who will give an account. For you care for your own affairs; and even if you arrange these well, no account will be required of you for others; but the priest, even if he manages his own life well, yet does not carefully attend to yours, will go with the wicked into Gehenna; and often, though not betrayed by his own, he is destroyed by others'. But since we have attacked more vigorously those who partake unworthily of the divine mysteries, it is necessary now to speak also to you who minister, so that you distribute these gifts with great zeal; for it is no small punishment for you. For if, knowing that someone is guilty of wickedness, you permit him to share in this table, their blood will be required at your hands. And even if he is a general, even if a prefect, even if he is the very one wearing the diadem, yet approaches unworthily, prevent him; you have greater authority than he; do not provoke the Master by not cleansing his body. Do not give a sword instead of food; but even if he comes to partake because of weakness, do not fear to prevent him. Fear the Master God, not the man.

If you fear man, you will be laughed at by him and you will provoke the Master; but if you fear God, you will be respected by men and beloved by him. But if you yourself do not dare, bring them to me; I will not permit these things to be dared. I will depart from the soul sooner than impart the Master's blood unworthily, and I will pour out my own blood sooner than impart blood so aweful beyond what is fitting. For it is better to be deprived of life for God's sake than for the sake of life to [sin against] God himself. To whom be glory, power, now and unto the ages of ages. Amen. Homily 10. On Providence. For what reason did God not destroy the enemy who deceived from the beginning? If he ruled by force, he says, the question would have some basis; but if he has been deprived of this power and only persuades, and not being persuaded is up to us, for what reason do you remove the occasion of good repute and cut off the ground of crowns? And besides, if he let him go knowing that he would prevail over all, not even so is it worthy of perplexity; for it is from us that he prevails, when we willingly submit, not when we are compelled. But if many have already prevailed and many will again prevail, why do you deprive those who are going to earn good repute of such honor? But not all will prevail over him. But it is far more just that the noble receive occasions in which they will display their purpose, and that those who are not such be punished for their own negligence, rather than that those others be wronged on their account. For the base man, even if he has been wronged, is wronged not by his adversary but by his own sluggishness.

And the multitude of those who conquer shows this. But then, if the earnest were plotted against because of the wicked, they would have no place to use their courage. And so, if they should accuse the very fashioning of the mouth and of the eyes (for through these they desire what they ought not, and many fall into adultery; and through that one they blaspheme, and others bring forth the destructive things of doctrines), ought humans, then, for this reason to have come into being without tongue and eyes? Then we shall cut off the hands too, and the feet; for the former are full of blood, and the latter run to wickedness. In addition to these, the ears also, because they admit vain hearing and convey the corruption of doctrines to the soul; and if these, then also foods and drinks, and heaven and earth and sea, and the moon and the chorus of the stars. For where will these be useful, if the one for whose sake they came to be has been cut to pieces so piteously? Do you see the laughter and the absurdity into which the argument is compelled to turn? The devil is evil to himself, not to us; for we, if we wish, will reap many good things through him, unwilling and not wishing it; but the wonder is greater in this too, and the excess of God's love for humanity. For humans becoming better stings him and grieves him both in itself; but when this is brought about for us even through him, he will not be able to endure the affront. Some say that, if God had not permitted it, the devil would not have come near, nor would he have deceived man in the beginning. What then shall we say to these things?

For if this had not happened, Adam would not even have learned how great a good he had, nor would he ever have been brought down from that folly. For this man who deemed himself worthy of such greatness as even to expect to become a god—what would he not have dared if he had not been brought to his senses? But let us suppose that the devil had not even given any counsel; would he then have remained without stumbling if this had not happened? It is not possible to say. For the man who was so easily persuaded by a woman—he would quickly have fallen into sin of his own accord even without a devil. For the one who so easily received deception from another—he was already disposed to slackness and laxity even before the deception; for that one would not have had such strength if he had been conversing with a sober and watchful soul. And for what reason did God give such a command to Adam, knowing that he would sin? Because even to give the commandment is a matter of greater care than not to give it. For let Adam have a disposition so slack as the outcome demonstrated, but let him receive no commandment, and let him remain in luxury; would his weakness and slackness have advanced from this relaxation toward the worse, or toward the better? But it is clear to everyone that, being free from care, he would have fallen into the utmost wickedness. For the man who did not yet have confidence concerning immortality, but knew that this hope was still hanging in suspense, and was lifted to such a height of arrogance and folly as to hope to become a god—and that, seeing from nowhere that the one who promised these things was trustworthy—if he had possessed immortality securely, to what depth of folly would he not have reached? What would he not have sinned? When would he ever have obeyed God?

For the man who, after the giving of the commandment, so despised the one who gave him the commandment—if he had heard nothing at all from him, he would quickly have been ignorant of the fact that he was also under dominion. If no one at all here were punished among the wicked, nor honored among the good, many of those who disbelieve the word of the resurrection would flee virtue as the cause of evils, and would pursue wickedness as the procurer of good things. But if again here all received according to desert, they would have considered the word of judgment to be superfluous and false. In order, therefore, that this man may not be disbelieved, nor the great and common people become more worthless by despising, he visits many of those who sin even here, and repays some of those who do right—by not doing this to all, confirming the word of judgment; and by punishing some even before the judgment, awakening those who sleep a deep sleep. For from the punishment of the wicked many are roused by the fear of suffering the same things; and from the fact that not all receive according to desert here, they are compelled to reason that this is treasured up for some other time. For this reason God did not immediately put Cain to death when he sinned, so that through him all who followed might be disciplined, and become better through the rebuke given to that man. For it was not equal to hear that a certain Cain, having killed his brother, died, and to see the killer paying the penalty.

For at that time, even if this statement was disbelieved because of the excess of hatred, yet now, appearing and present, and making many witnesses of the punishment for a long time, he rendered the event manifest and credible both to those then and to those thereafter. Besides, if God had killed him immediately, he would not have given him any appointed time for repentance and improvement; but then, living with trembling and fear, unless he was exceedingly insensible and more a beast than a man, he would have gained much from this life. Apart from these things, through this punishment he was working out for him a lesser future chastisement. For the painful things or chastisements brought upon us by God in the present life cut off no small part of the torments there. For this reason God is accustomed not to punish all at once those who deserve the same punishments, so that those who remain may become better by their calamities; but he often punishes all together, as in the case of the flood, so that those men might be prevented from advancing further in wickedness, and those after them might gain more greatly from them, the leaven, as one might say, and the foundation of evils being removed from the midst together with those who dared them, and so that they might not have so many teachers of depravity. For if even without an example men could easily discover evils, what would they have done when there were many urging them on to wicked deeds? This alone, then, one must be persuaded of, that all things are administered for our benefit by God; but one must no longer inquire into the manner, nor, being ignorant, be vexed or disheartened.

For it is neither possible to know these things nor advantageous—the one because we are mortal, the other because we are quickly carried away into recklessness. For God wills that even those who do not believe him be saved by changing their ways, just as he himself says, "I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance." But when, having not enjoyed so great a care, they wish to become better and to recognize the truth, not even so does he abandon them; but since they have willingly deprived themselves of heavenly life, he supplies them with all things for the present life at least, causing his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sending rain on the just and the unjust, and providing all other things for the maintenance of the present life. But if he takes such forethought for enemies, how will he overlook those who believe in him and serve him according to their own ability? And for what reason has the devil not been removed from the midst? Let there be one adversary, and let there be two athletes about to wrestle against him; and of these two athletes, let the one be corrupted by gluttony, neglected, weakened, enervated; and the other diligent, in good condition, spending time in wrestling schools, in many gymnasiums, displaying all diligence for the contest. If, then, you remove the adversary, which of these have you harmed? Is it the lazy and negligent one, or the diligent one who has labored so much? It is clear that it is the diligent one. For the one has been wronged on account of the lazy man, since the adversary has been removed; but the lazy man, while he remains, is no longer wronged on account of the diligent man; for he has fallen from his own laziness.

Therefore the one who is weak in purpose, neglected, and slothful, even when the devil is not present, falls quickly and casts himself down into many pits of wickedness. For if we turn even to our own members, we shall find these too to be causes of destruction, if we do not pay attention—not because of their own nature, but because of our slothfulness. Consider: the eye was given so that, seeing creation, you might glorify the Creator and Master; but if you do not use the eye rightly, it becomes for you a procurer of adultery. The tongue was given so that you might hymn and praise the Maker; but if you do not pay attention rightly, it becomes for you a cause of blasphemy and foul speech. Hands were given so that you might raise them in prayer; but if you are not sober, you stretch them out for greed. Feet were given so that you might run to good works; but if you are negligent, through them you will have wicked deeds. Do you see that everything harms the weak man, and that even the very remedies of salvation plunge him into death—not because of their own nature, but because of his weakness? The vision of God alone is enough to destroy the wicked; for if the presence of saints

He makes the strength of the demons weak, and much more so the strength of God. When we see disorder and confusion in affairs, let us not blame God, nor think that present things are without providence; for the true disorder and confusion is not the movement of affairs, but the reasoning that is so disposed—which, even if it enjoys countless good orders, as long as it does not correct the disorder and confusion within itself, will have no advantage from the good order in affairs. But just as an eye that is diseased will see darkness even at brightest noon, and one thing in place of another, and will have no advantage from the ray of light; but when it is healthy and strong, it will be able even in the evening to guide the body safely—so too the eye of our mind, as long as it is strong, even if it sees things that seem disorderly, will see them as beautiful; but when it is corrupted, even if you bring heaven itself before it, it will condemn much disorder and confusion even in the things there. For this reason God does not require an account here from all, lest you despair of the resurrection and give up hope of the judgment, as though all were giving account here; nor does he let all go unpunished, lest you again think that all things are without providence. If anyone disbelieves the resurrection, let him consider how many things God made out of nothing, and let him accept the proof concerning that as well. For taking earth, he mixed it and made man—earth that did not exist before this. How then did the earth become man? How was it itself, not being, brought forth? What foundation does it have? And what is after the earth? And after that, again, what is after the earth?

How then were all the countless kinds of irrational creatures, of seeds, of plants, produced from it? For this is more puzzling than the resurrection. For it is not the same thing to rekindle a lamp that has been extinguished, and to show fire that in no way appears; nor to raise up a house that has been brought down, and to produce one that does not exist at all. For here, if nothing else, at least the material lay at hand; but there, not even the substance appeared. For this reason he made the harder thing first, so that from it he might demonstrate the easier. And in our own generation, is not a little seed, at first formless and shapeless, implanted into the womb that receives it? From where, then, comes such great formation of the living creature? And what of the wheat? Is it not cast into the earth as a bare grain? Does it not rot after being cast in? From where come the ear and the awns and the stalk and all the rest? Has not a small fig seed, often falling into the earth, brought forth both root and branches and fruit? Then you accept each of these and do not pry into them, but you demand an account from God alone, who transforms our body? And where are these things worthy of pardon? And for what reason did God leave the devil, being so wicked as to trip us up? So that, driven on by fear, and expecting the assault of the enemy, we might display great watchfulness and continual sobriety. And why do you marvel if God left the devil for this reason?

For out of care for our salvation, and to rouse our slothfulness, and to prepare an occasion for crowns, he established Gehenna itself for this reason, so that the fear of punishment and the unbearable nature of chastisement might drive us toward the kingdom. If, then, you do something good and do not receive its recompense here, do not be troubled; with increase, in the time to come, the reward for these things awaits you. And if you do something evil and do not pay the penalty, do not be confident; for there the punishment will await you, unless you change and become better. You are disturbed and distressed and fill everything with confusion, seeing many living in wickedness and prospering and enjoying present things, and you grieve at God's longsuffering. What are you doing? Tell me: how many lie in wait on the roads? How many break through walls? How many have destroyed many with poisonous drugs? Do we therefore bring charges against the judge on their account? By no means. For if, having taken them under his judgment, he released them, and punished the one who suffered wrong while honoring the one who did it, and sent him out crowned, he would be truly worthy of accusation and of the utmost charges; but when they have not yet been handed over, he himself

Do you demand an account, and do you condemn beforehand? Consider the life you have lived, O man; enter into your own conscience; and not only will you not approve your own verdict, but you will even change your mind, and you will accept the Lover of mankind for his long-suffering, and you will be grateful for his forbearance, marveling at his forbearance toward evil. For if each person were to be required to give an account for his transgressions right at the moment of his sins, our race would long ago have been snatched away and ceased to be. Let us not, then, brothers, fall away; for we do not care for our own salvation as much as the One who made us, nor does it concern us so much to suffer nothing terrible as it does God, who has graciously given us our soul. For God neither always abandons men in calamities, lest they grow weary, nor in ease, lest they become more slack; but by alternations he varies their salvation. For if a ship does not hold together without a pilot, but is easily sunk, how would the world have held together for so long a time, with no one piloting it? And, to say no more, consider the world to be a ship, the earth laid beneath as the keel, the heaven as the sail, men as the passengers, the deep spread out beneath as the sea; how then has shipwreck not occurred over so many years? Just leave a ship for a single day without a pilot and sailors, and you will see it sunk at once. But the world has suffered nothing of the kind, having already five thousand and far more years. And why do I speak of a ship?

Someone pitched a small hut in the vineyards, and when the fruit had been gathered in he left it deserted, and often it does not even last two days, but is quickly torn apart and falls down. Then, if a hut would not stand without someone caring for it, how could a creation so beautiful and wondrous as this have remained for so long a time without failing, apart from some providence? Consider for me the beauty of the sky, how long it has endured and has not grown dim; consider for me the power of the earth, how its womb has not grown weary, giving birth for so long a time; consider for me the springs, how they gush forth and have not failed since they came into being; consider for me the sea, how many rivers it receives and has not exceeded its measure. For each of the things said, it is fitting to say: How great are your works, O Lord! In wisdom you have made them all. For how is it not absurd, when we sit beside a carpenter and watch him splitting and sawing wood, not to demand an account or reckoning from him; and when a doctor cauterizes and cuts flesh, and shuts a man up in a room, and chokes the sick man with hunger, not to pry into it, but to keep quiet and be silent—yet to pry into and meddle with the ineffable wisdom, the ineffable love of humanity? And they would not easily choose to spend money to help the wronged who are poor; but they examine thoroughly why this man is poor, why this man is destitute, why this man is rich. Do you not bow down and condemn yourself, and put a bridle on your tongue, and restrain your mind, and, ceasing to meddle in these things, turn this busy curiosity upon your own life?

Look into what you have done, into the sea of your sins; and if you are curious and meddlesome, demand an account of yourself for your words and your deeds, for the things you have spoken badly and the things you have done badly. But now you leave yourself unexamined, and you sit in judgment on God, and you add sins to your sins. And how are these things not worthy of punishment? May it be that we all escape it, by the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the dominion unto the ages of ages. Amen. HOMILY 11. On wealth and poverty. When you see someone rich beyond his deserts, do not call him blessed, do not consider him enviable, do not condemn the providence of God, do not think that the things present are borne along in vain and at random; remember Lazarus and the rich man, how the one had reached the very height of wealth and luxury, being cruel and harsh and inhuman and wilder than all dogs—and yet people used to pity and tend the poor man, not shrinking from touching with their tongue the sores over his whole body; but he did not even share crumbs with him. And that poor man, the truly rich, the truly well-off, had fallen into the very extremity of poverty, and lacked even the necessary food, and wrestled with sickness and continual hunger. And the one had more than he needed; the other did not even enjoy a sufficiency; yet he did not grow embittered, he did not accuse God, he did not blame Providence. How then is it not absurd, when those who suffer evil themselves thus bless the Master in all things, that you, who stand outside the contests, blaspheme God on their account—on account of things which others bear with thanksgiving?

For the one who suffers terribly, even if he utters some burdensome and vexatious word, even if not of as great a kind as another, nevertheless he partakes of some forgiveness, though lesser. But the one standing outside of these terrors, and destroying his own soul on behalf of others, of what forgiveness would he be worthy, blaspheming God on behalf of those things for which the one who has suffered badly gives thanks, and does not cease from hymning him continually? For why, O man, does wealth seem to you to be earnestly sought after? Surely because of the pleasure from the tables, because of the honor and the bodyguard of those who serve you on account of it, because of being able to repel those who grieve you and to be feared by all. For you could not name other causes, but pleasure and flattery, and fear and punishment. For wealth is not accustomed to make one wiser or more temperate, nor does it introduce and plant into the soul anything good, or kindly, or humane, or any other part of virtue. Nor could you say, "Why is this earnestly sought after and desired by you for these reasons?" For it not only does not know how to plant or cultivate any of these good things, but even if it finds them stored up, it corrupts and hinders them, and some it even uproots and introduces the opposite of these. But let me not speak about these things; for those who have been captured by this disease would not endure to hear, being wholly of pleasure, and for this very reason having become slaves, while they are both accused and convicted.

Tell me, then, is it for this reason that wealth seems to you desirable and worth fighting over—because it nourishes the most grievous passions within you, driving anger into action, lifting the bubbles of vainglory to greater bulk, and stirring you to recklessness? It is for these reasons above all that one must flee it without turning back, because it settles certain wild and savage beasts in our mind, and through them deprives us of the honor that comes from all, while dyeing the opposite of that honor with its own colors, and thus bringing it before the deceived and persuading them that this is greater than that, though it is not so by nature but seems rather to be so in appearance. For just as the beauties of courtesans, composed of cosmetics and paint, are deprived of beauty, yet their shameful and ugly appearance seems beautiful and fair to the deceived, so too wealth shows honor to be rather dishonor. For do not look at the public praises that arise from fear and flattery, but unroll the conscience of each of those who flatter you in such matters, and you will see countless accusers crying out against you within, and turning away from you and hating you more than the bitterest enemies and foes. And whenever a change of circumstances comes and makes that mask composed of this fear disappear and exposes it—just as the sun, sending forth a warmer ray, does to those faces—then you will see clearly that in the former time you were in the utmost dishonor among those who served you, and you thought you were enjoying honor from those who hated you most, and in the utmost calamities

desiring to see. For just as man is a cheap creature, perishable, short-lived, so too is wealth—or rather, not even such, but even weaker. For it often dies not with the man but even before the man; and you all know that you have learned countless examples here of wealth cut off before its time. And the one who possesses it lives on, while the possession is lost; and would that it were lost only, and did not destroy the possessor along with it. So one would not err in calling wealth a senseless servant, a bloodthirsty and murderous servant, a servant that repays its master with slaughter; and what is worse, it does not surround him with dangers only when it leaves him, but even before it leaves, it confounds and troubles him. Who, then, became higher than Eutropius? Did he not surpass the whole inhabited world in wealth? Did he not ascend to the very summits of dignities? Did not all tremble before him and fear him? But behold, he has become more wretched than prisoners, more pitiable than slaves, more destitute than the poor who waste away with hunger, seeing every day swords sharpened, and the pit, and executioners, and the lead-away to death; and he does not know that he ever stood in that pleasure, nor does he even perceive its ray; but at high noon, as if surrounded in the thickest night, so have his eyes been blinded; or rather, however much we strive, we shall not be able by speech to set forth the suffering which he is likely to endure, expecting to be cut off every hour. For I see his face like boxwood, and in no better condition than that of a man now once dead.

There is a gnashing of teeth and a clatter and trembling of his whole body, and a broken voice, and a dissolving tongue, and such an appearance as it is likely a soul of stone would have. Did I not tell you continually that wealth is a runaway? But you did not endure us. Did I not say that it is an ungrateful servant? But you were unwilling to be persuaded. Behold, experience has shown by the facts that it is not only a runaway and ungrateful, but also a murderer of men; for this is what has now made you tremble and be afraid. Did I not tell you, when you kept rebuking me for speaking the truth, that I love you more than those who flatter? That I who reprove care more than those who gratify? Did I not add to these words, that the wounds of friends are more trustworthy than the willing kisses of enemies? If you had endured my wounds, those kisses of theirs would not have brought forth this death for you; for my wounds work health, but their kisses have prepared an incurable disease. From where, then, is this? From your not considering the changes of human affairs; for if you had feared change, you would not have undergone change; but since you became no better either from yourself or from others, for this reason you have undergone the trial that comes through words, through facts. I always say that wealth betrays those who use it badly, and the time has come showing the truth of facts. Why do you hold on to it when it does not help you in trial? If it has strength, when you fall into necessity, let it stand by you; but if it flees then, what need do you have of it? These things I say, and saying them I will not cease; and yet many bring accusations against us.

He says continually, "He clings to the rich." For they too cling continually to the poor. But I cling to the rich—or rather, not to the rich, but to those who use wealth badly. I say continually: I am not slandering the rich man, but the robber. One thing is a rich man, another a robber; distinguish the matters, do not confuse things that cannot be mixed. Are you rich? I do not forbid it. Are you robbing? I accuse you. Do you have what is your own? Enjoy it. Do you take what belongs to others? I will not keep silent. Do you want to stone me? I am ready even to pour out my blood, if only I may hinder your sin. I do not care about hatred, I do not care about war; one thing I care about—the progress of my hearers. Both the poor are my children, and the rich are my children; the same womb travailed for both, the same pangs gave birth to both. Let him who wishes stone me, let him who wishes hate me, let him who wishes plot against me; plots against me are for me a setting of crowns, and wounds a number of prizes. I do not fear a plot; one thing only I fear—sin. Let no one convict me of sinning, and let the whole world wage war against me. Did you see the cheapness of human affairs? Did you see the precariousness of power? Did you see wealth, which I always called a runaway—and not a runaway only, but also a murderer? For it does not merely abandon those who have it, but it also slays those who have it; when someone tends it, then most of all it betrays him. Why do you tend wealth that can never be held fast? Do you want to hold it fast? Do not bury it, but give it into the hands of the poor. Wealth is a wild beast: if it is held, it flees; if it is scattered, it remains. Scatter it, that it may remain.

Do not bury it, lest it flee. Where is wealth? I would gladly ask those who have departed: where is wealth? I say these things not to reproach—may it never be—nor to reopen wounds, but to build you a harbor from the shipwrecks of others. For the one who is rich today is poor tomorrow. Therefore I have often laughed while reading wills that say: "Let so-and-so have the ownership of the fields or the house, and another the use of them." For we all have the use, but no one has the ownership. For even if wealth remains throughout our whole life without undergoing any change, willingly or unwillingly at death we will yield it to others, having reaped only its use and not its ownership, but departing naked and destitute from this life. From this it is clear that those have ownership who have despised its use and laughed at its enjoyment. For the one who throws away what he has and distributes it to the poor has used what he has as he ought, and has departed having the ownership of it. So if anyone wishes to have both the possession and the use and the ownership of these things, let him rid himself of all that he has; since the one who does not do this will at death depart from all of it, and often even before death he will lose it amid countless terrors and dangers. And this is not the only terrible thing, that a change takes place and suddenly, but also that the rich man comes to the endurance of poverty untrained. For what reason, then, do you think wealth is to be envied, and call blessed and envy those who possess it? For in what does the rich man differ from the poor man?

Does it not clothe one body? Does it not feed one stomach? And why do you have many servants? For just as in clothing and at table one must pursue only need, so also in servants. For indeed one master ought to have made use of one servant alone; or rather, even two and three masters for one servant. But if this is burdensome, consider those who have no one, and enjoy easier service. For this reason God gave us hands and feet, so that we might not need servants. For the race of servants was not introduced for the sake of need, since a slave would have been formed along with Adam; but it is the penalty and punishment of sin and disobedience. But if it is also necessary to have a slave, one should have only one, or at most a second. For what do the multitudes of servants mean to you, and the swaggering in the marketplace? Surely you are not walking among wild beasts, that you drive away those who meet you? Do not be afraid; none of those who approach and walk near you bites. But do you consider it an insult to walk along with everyone? And how great is this madness, not to think that a horse following near brings insult, but to consider that a man, unless he is driven from ten thousand stades away, shames you? What is worse than this irrationality, to drive and chase men away so that the beast may pass through with ample room? For so great is the necessity of our need for one another, arranged by God in the way of household management, that even if someone is richer than all men, not even so is he freed from this connection and from needing the lesser.

For it is not only the poor who need the rich, but the rich also need the poor, and these more than those, or those than these. And so that you may see this more clearly, let us, if you please, make two cities, one of rich men only, and the other of poor; and let there be no poor man in the city of the wealthy, nor any rich man in the city of the poor; and let us see which of them will be better able to suffice for itself. In that city, then, the city of the well-off, there will be no craftsman, no builder, no carpenter, no shoemaker, no baker, no farmer, no bronze-smith, no rope-maker, nor any other of such trades. For who among the rich would ever choose to pursue these things, seeing that even those who practice them, whenever they become well-off, do not endure the hardship that comes from these works? How, then, will this city of ours stand? The rich, he says, will give money and buy these things from the poor. But how will they build houses, or will they buy this too? But this could not be so by nature. Therefore it is necessary to call the craftsmen there, and to destroy the law which we laid down at the beginning when we founded the city. Let us then also look at the city of the poor, whether this too will be similarly in want when deprived of the rich; first purging wealth by our argument, as it were gold, silver, precious stones, and silk and purple and gold-woven garments, and driving this out from there. What then? Will the affairs of this city be in want because of this, tell me? By no means.

For if there is need to build, or to forge iron, or to weave a garment, it is not gold and silver and pearls that are needed, but skill and hands. What then? If there is need to farm and dig the earth, is there need of the rich or of the poor? It is clear to everyone, surely, that it is of the poor. Where then shall we need the rich any longer, except when there is need to tear down this city? When therefore you see someone shining outwardly from his garments and his great bodyguard, unfold his conscience, and you will find much dust. Think of Paul, think of Peter; think of John, think of Elijah, or rather of the very Son of God himself, who had nowhere to lay his head; become a zealot for him and for his servants, and picture to yourself their ineffable wealth. But if, having glimpsed it a little, you are darkened again by this, as in some shipwreck when a squall comes on, hear the verdict of Christ saying that it is impossible for a rich man to enter the kingdom of heaven; and against this verdict set the mountains and the earth and the sea, and, if you wish, by your account make everything to be gold, and you will see nothing equal to the loss that comes to you from there. For if each of you who are rich possessed the whole world, and each of them had as many men as there now are everywhere on earth and sea and the inhabited world, and each possessed land and sea and buildings everywhere and cities and nations, and from every side gold flowed in to him instead of water, instead of springs, I would say that those who are thus rich, and have fallen from the kingdom, are not worth three obols.

For if now, desiring perishing wealth, they are tormented when they fail to obtain it, if they should gain a perception of those good things, what will be left that suffices for their consolation? Tell me, then, if someone led you into a palace, and with everyone present arranged for the king to converse with you, and made you a table-companion and a companion of his daily life, would you not say that you were more blessed than all? But when you are about to ascend into heaven, and to stand beside the King of all himself, and to shine forth in rivalry with the angels, and to enjoy that unapproachable glory, do you hesitate whether you ought to give up money—when you ought, even if it were necessary to strip off your very life, to leap and exult and take wing with pleasure? But you, in order to obtain an office that provides you with occasions for theft (for I do not call such a thing a profit), both cast out your possessions and, having borrowed from others' goods, if it were necessary, you do not shrink from putting up even your wife and children as security; but when the kingdom of the heavens lies before you, a rule that has no successor, do you hesitate and draw back and gape after money? But alas for the great insensibility! that of such things

of the good things we hope for, we still gape at the things present, and we do not consider the devil's malice, who through small things takes away great things from us; and he gives us mud, in order to snatch heaven away, and shows us a shadow, in order to cast us out from the truth, and presents illusions in dreams (for this is what present wealth is), in order that, when day comes, he may show us poorer than all. For who has ever been so relentless and insatiable an enemy as wealth, which while we are alive destroys the soul, and when we are dead outrages even the body, so as not even to allow it to be hidden in the earth, which is the common lot even of the condemned? For when the lawgivers have exacted from those men the penalty of death, they busy themselves no further; but wealth exacts a most bitter penalty from those who have possessed it even after death, exposing them naked and unburied, a dreadful and pitiable sight. For indeed these suffer worse things than those who suffer this by sentence of law and judicial anger. For those men, having remained unburied for the first day and the second, are handed over to the earth; but these, when they have been handed over to the earth, are then stripped and outraged by tomb robbers. And if they do not depart having received even a coffin, there is no longer any thanks for wealth, but for poverty even here; since if we had entrusted this too to wealth, and, leaving off building it from stone, had forged it from gold, we would have lost this as well.

What, then, could be more wretched than the rich man, when not even death provides him security, but that miserable body of his, even when deprived of life, has not been released from the evils of life, being plundered and despoiled because of his love of money by evildoers and tomb-robbers, who hasten to make war on dust and ashes, and far more cruelly than when he was alive? For then, entering the treasury, they would empty the chests but keep away from the body, and they would not take so much as to strip the body itself naked; but now they do not even keep away from this, but they move it and turn it about, and with great cruelty they insult it. For after it has been handed over to the earth, they make it naked both of its covering there and of that from its garments, and thus they leave it to be cast out in great desolation. And nature then reconciles even enemies to him; but wealth makes war even on those who have nothing to accuse him of, and so it stirs up and rouses the madness of the inhuman against the dead and motionless body, so that they would not have kept their hands even from his very flesh, if his limbs had been of any use to them. Let us not, then, consider wealth to be a great good; for the great good is not the possessing of money, but the possessing of the fear of God. Behold now, if there were any righteous man, even one having great boldness before God, even if he were poorer than all, he would suffice to loose the present terrors; for it would suffice only to stretch out his hands to heaven and call upon God, and this cloud would have passed away; but so much gold lies stored up, and it is more useless than all mud for the loosing of the evils that lie upon us.

Not in this danger alone, but even if disease should overtake him, or death, or any other such thing, the power of wealth is exposed, having no consolation of its own to show for what has happened. Where now are those who are rich, who count interest upon interest, who take from all and are never satisfied? You have heard the voice of Peter, which demonstrates that poverty is the mother of wealth—the poverty that has nothing and is yet more resourceful than those who wear diadems. For she who had nothing raised the dead, set the lame right, drove out demons, and bestowed such gifts as those who are clothed in purple and lead great and fearsome armies were never able to accomplish. What, then, does he say? Silver and gold I do not have. What is more venerable than this voice? What more blessed and more resourceful? Others indeed exult in the opposite, saying: I have so many and so many talents of gold, and countless acres of land, and houses and slaves; but this man exults in being naked of all things, and not

He sinks into poverty and does not cover it up, but even adorns himself with it. Thus it is possible for one who has nothing to possess the things of all; thus it is possible to have acquired the things of all. But if we acquire the things of all, we have been deprived of all. Therefore the one who reckons his possessions as common and not his own will use not only his own things but also the things of others as his own; but the one who separates himself and makes himself master of his own things alone will not even be master of these. For the one who has acquired nothing at all—neither a house, nor a table, nor a spare cloak—but for God's sake has been deprived of all things, uses common things as his own, and from all he will receive whatever he wishes, and thus the one who has nothing possesses the things of all. But the one who has something will not even be master of these; for no one will give to the one who possesses, and his possessions will belong to robbers and thieves and informers and changes of circumstances, and to all men rather than to him. And, if you wish, let me bring forward into the midst the very one who said and did these things—the tentmaker, the Cilician, the one whose fatherland not even is clear. At any rate, this man traversed the whole inhabited world in hunger and thirst and nakedness, carrying nothing at all, going to no friend, to no acquaintances; for at first he was a common enemy to all; yet nevertheless he had all things after he entered in. But Ananias and Sapphira, in order to acquire a little of their own, fell from all things, along with life itself. Depart then from your own things, so that you may use the things of others as your own. For just as the one who is conscious of evil in himself, even if he is clothed with the money of all, is more wretched than all—

Thus also the one who has a conscience purified, even if he is wrapped in rags and wrestling with famine, is more cheerful than those who live in great luxury. For this reason you have money, that you may loose poverty, not that you may traffic in poverty; but you, under the pretext of comfort, make the calamity greater, and you sell your philanthropy for money. Sell it—I do not forbid it—but for the kingdom of heaven. Do not take a small price for so great an achievement, a hundredfold interest, but that immortal life. Why are you poor and needy and petty, selling great things for little, when money perishes? Why do you forsake God and gain human profits? Why do you pass by the one who makes rich and trouble the one who has nothing, and leaving the one who repays, do business with the ungrateful? He desires to repay, but this one is even vexed in repaying; this one scarcely repays a hundredfold, but that one a hundred times over, and eternal life; this one with insults and abuse, that one with praises and acclamation; this one stirs up envy against you, but that one even weaves crowns for you; this one scarcely here, but that one both there and here. Is this not, then, the utmost folly, not even to know how to gain? Money must be possessed in the rank of masters and not of slaves, so as to rule them and not be ruled by them. For it is called money for this reason, that we may use it for the necessary services, not that we may lay it up for safekeeping; for it is the part of a slave to keep, but of a master to spend, and one who has great authority. So that nothing is more foolish than a slave of money; he seems to rule, while being ruled; he seems to be a master, while being a slave.

and wrapping himself in chains, he exults as though he were master of all; and working the beast against himself more grievously, he rejoices and leaps, becoming a captive; and seeing the dog raving and leaping upon his soul, instead of binding it and starving it to death, he provides it abundant food, so that it may leap upon him more violently and be more fearsome. Do not, then, suppose that any pleasure comes to you from being wrapped in many things, but from not wishing to be rich. For if you desire to be rich, you will never cease being scourged; for this is an insatiable love, and the further you advance, the farther you are from the end, and the more you desire other things, the more the torment is intensified; since we too restore ourselves when thirsty only when we drink as much as we wish; but as long as we are thirsty, even if we drain all the springs, our torment becomes greater. And just as, when you see a prisoner bound in iron on his back and on his hands, and often also on his feet, you pity him especially for this reason, so also when you behold the rich man wrapped in countless things, do not for these things consider him rich, but for these very things consider him wretched; for along with these chains he has a harsh jailer, the wicked love of money, which does not allow him to pass beyond this prison, but prepares for him countless fetters and guards and doors and bars, and casting him into the inner prison, persuades him even to take pleasure in these chains, so that he may find not even any hope of release from the evils that lie upon him.

For a poor man does not desire necessities as much as the rich man desires superfluities; nor again does poverty have as much strength to employ wickedness as this man has power. If, then, he both wishes more and is able, it is evident that he will do more and greater things. God made you rich so that you might help those in need, so that you might loose your own sins through the salvation of others. He gave you money, not so that you might shut it up to your own destruction, but so that you might pour it out for your own salvation. For this reason he made the possession of it uncertain and not permanent, so that in this too he might break the intensity of your madness for it. For if now those who possess it cannot feel confident about it, but see many plots arising from the matter, and yet are so inflamed with longing for it—if this also belonged to wealth, namely security and freedom from failure, what would they spare, from what would they refrain? For who, tell me, was poorer than Elijah? But for this reason he conquered all the rich, because he was poor, and he chose poverty itself from a rich mind, and he considered the whole wealth of money to be less than his own magnanimity, and not worthy of his philosophy. For if he had considered his present possessions great, he would not have acquired only a sheepskin. For he so condemned the vanity of the present, that he saw gold as thrown mud. For this reason the king was in need of the poor man, and the one who had so much gold gaped at the mouth of the one who had nothing more than a sheepskin. Thus the sheepskin was more splendid than the purple, and the cave of the righteous man more than the royal courts.

For this reason, when he ascended into heaven, he left nothing else to his disciple but the sheepskin. "With this," he says, "I wrestled with the devil; take it and arm yourself likewise against him." For poverty is a strong weapon and an invincible dwelling. And Elisha received the sheepskin as the greatest inheritance; for it was truly the greatest inheritance, and more precious than all gold. And that man was a double Elijah, and Elijah was above and Elijah below. I know that you bless that righteous man, and each of you wishes to be him. What then, if I show you that we have all received something far greater than he? For Elijah left a sheepskin to his disciple; but the Son of Man, when he ascended, left us his own flesh. When, therefore, we hear of the loss of money, let us not be disturbed, but let us say, "Blessed is God," and we shall find wealth far greater. For you will not reap as much wealth by spending it on the needy, going about and seeking out the poor, and scattering your possessions to the hungry, as you will gain through this word. Since I do not admire Job opening his house to the needy as much as I am struck with awe and proclaim him when he bears the plundering of his money with thanksgiving. For such a man, if he is able to calm the waves of his nature and say Job's words without tears—"The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away"—will stand with Abraham, will be proclaimed with Job because of this one word alone.

When, therefore, the devil takes your gold from you, whether through robbers or through some other pretext, glorify the Master, and you will have gained all the more, and you will deal the enemy a double blow: both because you were not embittered and because you gave thanks. For if he sees that the loss of your money humbles you and persuades you to be embittered against the Master, he will never cease doing this; but if he beholds that you not only do not blaspheme the God who made you, but even give thanks to him the more for each of the terrible things that happen, he will withdraw, bringing trials no longer, knowing that the experience of terrible things becomes for you an occasion of thanksgiving and produces for you brighter crowns—which is exactly what happened in the case of Job. For when he had taken away his possessions and struck his body, since he saw him becoming more thankful, he no longer dared to approach, but departed having suffered a shameful and unforgivable defeat, having made God's athlete more illustrious. And Job, after crowning himself with all the crowns of endurance and courage, received back double all that he had lost; but you will receive back not double and triple, but a hundredfold all things, if you bear up nobly, and you will inherit eternal life; may it be granted to us all to obtain this, by the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the power unto the ages of ages. Amen. Discourse 12. On gluttony and drunkenness. Do you wish us to see what pleasure wealth has, and what honor?

Let us examine the tables of the rich and of the poor, and let us ask those who are feasting, who are the ones who most truly enjoy a pure and genuine pleasure: those who recline on couches for a measured portion of the day, and join dinners to their finest meals, and burst their bellies, and fill their senses, and sink the ship with the excessive cargo of their delicacies, and make the vessel swamped, sinking it as in a shipwreck of the body, and devise fetters and handcuffs and tongue-cuffs, and bind the whole body with a bond harsher than an iron chain—the bond of drunkenness and luxury—and neither choose genuine and pure sleep, nor are free from fearful dreams, and are more wretched than madmen, and bring a self-chosen demon upon the soul? And they are exposed to laughter on the stage of their servants, and know no one of those present, nor are able either to speak or to hear, but are carried from the couches to the bed; or those who are sober and wakeful and set the measure by need, and have hunger and thirst as their greatest seasoning. For nothing produces pleasure and health so much as to touch what is set before one while hungry and thirsty, and to know satiety only as need, and not to lay upon the body a burden greater than its strength. But if you do not believe my word, consider the bodies of both, and the soul of each: are not the bodies of those who feast in moderation strong, and their senses fulfilling their proper need with great ease?

but those [pleasures] are flaccid and softer than any wax, and besieged by a swarm of diseases? For gout swiftly swoops down upon them, and untimely trembling, and premature old age, and headaches and distensions and fillings of the stomach and destructions of appetites, and they need physicians continually, and constant medicines, and daily treatment. Are these things, then, [works] of pleasure, tell me? And who among those who know what pleasure ever is would say so? For pleasure comes to be then, when, with desire leading the way, there is enjoyment; since, if there is enjoyment but desire appears nowhere, the things of pleasure are altogether gone and have vanished. And just as a ship that has taken on a cargo greater than its own proper measure, weighed down by the bulk of its freight, becomes submerged; so too the soul and the nature of our body, having received foods beyond its own capacity, becomes flooded over, and, unable to hold up under the weight of what has been loaded upon it, is sunk into the sea of destruction, and destroys together with all the sailors and the pilot and the bow-officer and the passengers and the cargo itself. Just as, then, in the case of ships in such a condition, [there is] no calm of the sea,

Neither the skill of a pilot, nor a multitude of sailors, nor the fitness of the vessel's equipment, nor a favorable season of the year, nor anything else benefits a ship so storm-tossed; so too it is with those who live in luxury: neither teaching nor exhortation, nor admonition and counsel, nor fear of things to come, nor shame, nor the condemnation of things present, nor anything else can rescue a soul so storm-tossed. But such a man becomes useless even for the present life, and unfit for every good work; from this, not from anything else, those who live in continual luxury are caught by harsh and incurable diseases, and for this reason think they were brought into this life in order that, having lived in luxury, and burst their belly, and fattened their body, they might depart thus, preparing a more abundant table for the worm from their own flesh. For they become liable to tremblings and palsy and decay and catarrhs and gout and many other things which the sons of physicians speak of. For such tables are in no better condition than poisonous drugs; or rather, if one must speak the truth, far worse. For those [drugs] at once carry off the one who takes them, and bring on death without sensation, so as not even by this very thing to grieve the one who has died; but these bring upon those who value them highly a life more grievous than ten thousand deaths. And the other passions have many who grieve with them; but all that has come from luxury and drunkenness does not permit even those who see it, though they wish it, to grieve together with those subdued by them.

But the excess of the evil bends one toward pity, while the nature of the disease provokes the one who knows. For they were not harmed by nature as those others were, nor were they plotted against by men, but they themselves became the makers of these diseases for themselves, willingly hurling themselves into the pit of evils. A scorpion or a serpent lodged in our inward parts does not ravage us everywhere as much as the desire for luxury overturns and destroys all things. For against those beasts the plot extends only as far as the body; but this desire, once it is lodged within, destroys the soul along with the body. If, then, the matter is the ruin of all and the utmost mockery, spare yourselves the health of your body. I do not say to bring yourselves to austerity, if you do not wish it; let us do away with excess, let us cut off what is beyond need. For what excuse do we have, when others, though able, do not even enjoy what is necessary, while we luxuriate beyond need? For whom should we say lives in luxury more—the one fed on vegetables and healthy, having nothing unpleasant, or the one setting before himself a Sybaritic table and full of countless diseases? It is clear that it is the former. Therefore let us seek nothing more than need, but let the one who is able to be content with pulses and to be healthy seek nothing more; and let the weaker one, who needs the treatment that comes through vegetables, not be hindered. And if someone should be weaker even than this one, and should need the moderate help that comes from meats, we will not exclude even this one.

For we do not give this advice in order to destroy men and corrupt them, but in order to cut off what is superfluous; and superfluous is whatever is more than need. For when we are able to live healthfully and decently even without this, that thing, when added, is altogether superfluous. Do you not see against whom our wrestling is? Against the incorporeal powers. How then, being flesh, shall we prevail over them? For if one who wrestles against men needs to eat temperately, much more one who wrestles against demons; but when we are bound fast both to much flesh and to wealth, how shall we overcome our adversaries? For just as with the lyre, when the notes are soft and slack and not well stretched, the excellence of the art is cut short, being compelled to serve the badness of the strings; so too with the body, when it enjoys much care from us, the soul endures a bitter slavery. Let us not, then, make the body sleek, nor render it faded and flabby by luxury. Not

I say to afflict yourselves, nor to practice harsh discipline, but to eat only so much as has pleasure—the true pleasure—and can nourish the body and render it well-ordered and harmonious for the energies of the soul, well compacted and fitted together. For when it becomes over-flooded with luxury, it cannot, as one might say, hold together its very joints and harmonies, compacted as they are, under the flood; for the flood, coming in, dissolves and disperses everything. For sufficiency is both nourishment and pleasure and health; but excess is injury and disgust and disease. And what is worse, it destroys the soul itself together with the body. And just as land that is exceedingly wet breeds worms, so also the innate desire of the body, soaked with food, breeds pleasures; and when the body becomes softer, the soul must necessarily share in the injury as well. For if those who drink wine that has been filtered are blamed, what should we say of those who undertake sea voyages for the sake of wine, and set everything in motion so that no kind of vine may escape them, as though they were about to give an account, or to be condemned for the utmost, unless they have gorged themselves on every kind of wine? Truly nothing is so dear to the demon as luxury and gluttony. For what evil does luxury not work? It makes pigs out of men, and worse than pigs. For the pig wallows in the mire and feeds on dung; but this man eats a table more abominable than that, devising unlawful unions and lawless loves. Such a man differs in no way from one possessed by a demon.

And while we may pity the demon-possessed man, this one we turn away from and hate. Why ever so? Because he draws madness upon himself by his own choice, and makes his mouth and eyes and nostrils, and simply all his members, channels of sin. And if you look at what is within, you will see the soul too, as it were frozen and benumbed in a kind of storm and frost, unable even to help the hull because of the excess of the storm. For those enslaved to drunkenness and gluttony neither obtain sleep that is genuine and pure, nor are they freed from fearful dreams. How then is it not absurd that irrational animals seek nothing beyond need, but men, rational and honored with the image of God, become more irrational than they, overstepping the bounds of due measure? For how much better than men so disposed is the donkey! How much better the dog! For when they must eat or drink, they know self-sufficiency as their limit, and do not go beyond need; and even if there are countless ones often compelling them, they will not endure to go out into excess; but these men have judged themselves to be more dishonored than these beasts. And they do not compel the irrational creatures to enjoy food beyond measure; and if someone asks, Why? they will say, So that they not be harmed; but for themselves they do not provide even this forethought; thus they think themselves cheaper than those beasts too, and overlook themselves being storm-tossed continually. For not only on the day of drunkenness do they undergo the harm from the drunkenness, but also after that day; and just as when a fever has passed, the damage from the fever remains;

Thus also, when the drunkenness has passed, the dizziness of the drunkenness turns round both in the soul and in the body; and the wretched body lies paralyzed, like a ship from a shipwreck; but the soul, more miserable than it, even when this has been dissolved, stirs up the storm and kindles the desire more violently. Now the evils that come upon men from drunkenness I am ashamed to speak of, but I leave them to their own conscience, which knows these things more accurately. For what is more shameful than the drunkard, simply carried about and enduring that grievous shipwreck, and causing the gifts of God to be blasphemed by fools? For I hear many saying, whenever these passions occur: Let there be no wine. O the folly! O the madness! When others sin, do you bring accusation against the gifts of God? For did wine do this evil, O man? Not wine, but the licentiousness of those who use it badly. Say then: Let there be no drunkenness, let there be no luxury. But if you say, Let there be no wine, you will say, proceeding little by little, Let there be no iron, because of the murderers; Let there be no night, because of the thieves; Let there be no light, because of the informers; Let there be no woman, because of the fornications; and you will simply abolish all things. Do not therefore slander wine, but drunkenness, and the one who uses the good badly; and taking this man himself while sober, describe his shamefulness, and say to him: Wine was given that we might be glad, not that we might be shameful; that we might laugh, not that we might be laughed at; that we might be healthy, not that we might be sick; that we might correct weakness of body, not that we might cast down the strength of the soul. God honored you with the gift;

Why do you insult yourself by your excess? For if that holy Timothy, though held by illness and enduring successive infirmities, did not partake of wine until his teacher permitted it, what excuse would we have, who get drunk while in good health? For to him he said, "Use a little wine for your stomach's sake and your frequent illnesses"; but to each of us he will say, "Use a little wine because of your fornications, because of your frequent foul language, and the other evil desires that drunkenness is accustomed to give birth to." Wine was given for gladness—for "Wine," he says, "gladdens the heart of man"—but you even corrupt this virtue of it. For what gladness is it to not be in yourselves, and to have countless pains, and to see everything spinning around, and to be held by dreadful darkness, and like those in fever to need people pouring oil on your heads, and to make days into nights, and light into darkness, and with your eyes open not to see what is at your feet, and to pierce yourselves through with so many and such great evils? For those who live in drunkenness and debauchery, the day is turned into the darkness of night—not because the sun is extinguished, but because their mind is darkened by drunkenness. Those who give themselves over to drunkenness, the more they pour unmixed wine into themselves, the more they are inflamed toward thirst, and the drinking is always kindling for the thirst; and the pleasures of it are henceforth dimmed, while the thirst, having become unceasing, leads down to the very precipice of drunkenness those who have been made captives by it.

From this, especially, one might be struck by the senselessness of those who are nailed to drunkenness, because they do not wish to show toward themselves as much restraint as others have toward their wineskins. For the sellers of wine do not allow those wineskins to receive more than is proper, so that they may not burst; but these men do not deem their wretched stomach worthy even of this forethought, but when they have filled it and burst it, they fill everything up to the ears, up to the nose, up to the very throat itself, thereby creating great distress for the spirit, for the power that governs the living being. For was your throat made for this, that when the wine has rotted as far up as your mouth you should fill it with that and with the rest of its corruption? Not for this, but that you might send up holy prayers to God, and read the divine laws, and counsel your neighbors in what is beneficial. For the violent currents of rivers are not so accustomed to gnaw away their banks and make them subside, as luxury and prodigality easily drag away all the supports of our health. For the passing through of foods with vehemence scrapes away the strength of the body, and drags down and enervates the courage of the soul. And this is not the only terrible thing for the luxurious man, that he is torn apart, and bursts his own stomach, and cuts off the health of body and soul; but that it flows past and runs by more quickly, and he is not able to retain until a single day the provision that comes to him from these things, but when that has been dissipated, he is compelled to throw in others again.

Eating, then, is not evil—may it never be!—but gluttony is, and filling oneself beyond need and bursting the belly. Just as, then, partaking of moderate wine is not wicked either, but giving oneself over to drunkenness and perverting the judgment of one's reason through excess. For the Master has woven us together with such a body, which cannot hold together otherwise unless it partake of this; only let the things of excess be cut off. For this contributes the greatest things to its health and good condition. Or do you not see every day, from luxurious tables and from immoderate gluttony, countless diseases being brought on? From where come gout, from where heaviness of the head, from where the excess of corrupted humors, from where the other countless diseases? Is it not from excess and from pouring out for themselves unmixed wine more than is fitting? For just as a ship that has become waterlogged is quickly sunk and goes under, so too a man, when he gives himself over to gluttony and drunkenness, goes over cliffs and makes his reason sink beneath the waves, and lies thereafter like a living corpse, able often to work at evils, but toward all good things disposed no better than the dead. So terrible is drunkenness that it can even cripple the senses, and it binds the rational man, the one who has received dominion over all things, as it were a dead and inactive man with certain unbreakable bonds, and makes him lie there; or rather, worse than a dead man. For the one is inactive toward both noble and base things, but this man is set forth as a common laughingstock to all.

For friends, reckoning the shame their own, cover it up and are ashamed; but enemies rejoice and mock and curse, all but saying these very words: "Must this man live at all? Must this man breathe the air—this fodder, this pig?" And they utter things even harsher than these. Fleeing these things, beloved, with all our strength let us strive to eat only so much as has pleasure—the pleasure that is truly pleasure—and can nourish the body and render it orderly and well-fitted for the activities of the commandments of Christ, so that we may both pass through the present life with ease and attain to the good things to come, by the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power unto the ages of ages. Amen. Homily 13. On Sickness and Physicians. When you fall into sickness, O man, remember the body of Job, and that holy flesh of his; for it was holy and pure, and had such wounds as these. For who ever was so sick? Who received so great a blow, or saw another receiving one? There is no one, there is not. Little by little his body was consumed, and a spring of worms gushed forth from his limbs on every side, and this flow was continual, and the stench was great from every part, and the body, being gradually divided and melting away with such putrefaction, made his food distasteful. And his hunger was strange and paradoxical; for though food was given, he could not enjoy it: "For I see," he says, "my food as a stench." But he had sufficient consolation and comfort, he says, in knowing that God was bringing these things upon him.

This, then, troubled and disturbed him most of all—that he thought the righteous God, who had been served by him in every way, was at war with him, and he could find no plausible pretext for what was happening. But if you think this suffices for consolation, you too can certainly have this same comfort. For even if you suffer some of these terrible things not on account of God, but from the malice of men, yet give thanks and do not blaspheme the one who was able to prevent them but allowed them for the sake of your testing—just as those who suffer for God's sake are crowned, so you too will obtain the same rewards, because you bore nobly the calamities brought upon you by men, and you gave thanks to the one who was able to prevent them but was not willing. For neither is anyone good without sin, nor is anyone evil without righteousness; and for both there is a recompense and a requital. If someone is righteous and does some base thing, and falls sick, and is handed over to punishment, do not be disturbed, but say, that This man

The righteous man has never done even a small evil, and he receives his due here, so that he may not be punished there. Again, if you see a sinner seizing, grasping for more, prospering, doing countless evils, do not be disturbed even so, but say: This sinner who does countless evils once did some good, and he receives his good things here, so that he may not demand his reward there. This can be seen also in the case of Lazarus. Since it happened that he too had certain sins, and the rich man again had some good, hear what Abraham says: You received your good things there, and Lazarus his evil things. Of what sort? Did you do some good? You received in return for that wealth, health, luxury, power, honor, and nothing is owed to you. What then of Lazarus? Did he not sin at all? Yes; therefore he says, And Lazarus his evil things; for when you were receiving your good things, then Lazarus was receiving his evil things. So when you see a righteous man being punished, call him blessed and say: This righteous man has some sin, and he receives it, and he departs there clean; but if he is punished beyond his sins, it is reckoned to him as an addition of righteousness. And pay attention to what I say: Job was righteous, blameless, true, God-fearing; and his body was punished here, so that he might demand his reward there. For God says to him: Do you think I have dealt with you otherwise than that you might appear righteous? Did the counsel of his wife, then, pervert that holy Job? On the contrary, it rather made him more fervent, so that he even rebuked his wife.

For he chose rather to be in pain and misery and to suffer countless terrible things than to find, through blasphemy, any release from such great evils. But most people, whenever they fall into some illness, immediately blaspheme, and they endure the pain of the disease, but through their lack of endurance they are deprived of the profit that comes from it. What are you doing, man? Do you blaspheme your benefactor and savior and protector and guardian? Do you not perceive that you are being carried toward a cliff and casting yourself into the pit of final destruction? For this reason the devil brings countless terrible things upon you, so that he may drag you down into that pit; and if he sees you blaspheming, he easily increases the pain and makes it greater, so that, being stung, you may again despair; but if he sees you bearing it nobly, and the more the suffering is intensified, the more you give thanks to God, he withdraws immediately, since he now attends you in vain and to no purpose. For what reason, man, are you vexed and blaspheming, even if you should fall into some unexpected thing? For if you blaspheme, do you make the suffering lighter? No, you intensify it and make the pain especially more severe. But you cannot be silent, being stung by the pain? Then instead of blasphemy, give thanks, speak well, glorify God. For if you blaspheme, you have both driven away God's alliance and made the devil more violent against you; but if you give thanks, you have both driven away the plots of the wicked demon and drawn to yourself the care of God your guardian. But does the tongue often rush, from habit, to utter that wicked word?

But when it rushes on, before the word is uttered, bite it all over fiercely with your teeth. Better that it bleed now than that on that day, longing for a drop, it be unable to obtain relief, as in the case of the rich man; better to endure temporary pain now than to be roasted then with unending and immortal fire. When, therefore, you fall into a grievous illness, and many come pressing you—some urging incantations, others amulets, others some other means of alleviating the evil—but you, out of the fear of God, bear the pain of the illness nobly and without wavering, and choose rather to suffer anything than to do any such thing, this brings you the crown of martyrdom. And do not doubt it; for just as that man bears the pains of tortures nobly, so as not to worship the idol, so too do you bear the pains of illness, so as to need nothing from him, nor to do what he commands. But are those pains more violent? Yet these are longer; so it comes to the same, and often even more violent. For when a burning fever troubles you within and inflames you, and when others advise you, you shake off the incantation—have you not been crowned with the crown of martyrdom? For when you drive the sorcerers out of the house with great contempt, all who hear it will praise and marvel, and will say to one another: "Such a one, being ill, when countless people were urging and advising and counseling him to use certain magical incantations, did not accept it, but said: 'Better to die thus than to betray piety.'

If here there are such great praises, consider how great the crowns you will receive there, when, with the angels present and the archangels, Christ comes forward and, taking you by the hand, leads you into the midst of that theater, and with all listening, says: This man was once seized by a fever; when countless people urged him to be rid of the fever, for the sake of my name and the fear of me, so that he might not stumble in anything, he thrust aside and dishonored those who promised to cure him in this way, and chose rather to die in the disease than to betray his goodwill toward me. For if he brings into the midst those who gave him drink and fed him and clothed him, much more those who for his sake chose to endure fever. For it is not equal to give bread and a garment and to endure a long illness, but this is much greater than that; so also the crown will be more radiant. Let us meditate on these things even when we are healthy, and say them to one another. Remember the blessed Timothy, that he never recovered from his sickness, but it was a constant companion to his body. But if that righteous and holy man, who had been entrusted with the care of the whole world, and raised the dead, and drove out demons, and corrected countless diseases in others, suffered such terrible things, what defense will you have, you who are disturbed and vexed at temporary illnesses? And sons are often commanded to endure fathers who do not even punish them as they should; but will you not endure God disciplining you, who loves you more than fathers do, and orders all things for your benefit?

But if even a slight illness comes, do you immediately leap away from his lordship and run to the demons? And what forgiveness will you obtain? How will you defend yourself to Christ? How will you call upon him in your prayers? With what conscience will you thereafter set foot in the church? With what eyes will you look upon the priest? With what hand will you touch the sacred table? With what ears will you hear the Scriptures read there, when you commit such transgressions against yourself? And how will you be able to entreat God again? Or rather, not even another man, even if he had the boldness of Moses, will be able to intercede for you. Or do you not hear what he says to Jeremiah concerning the Jews? Do not pray for this people; for even if Moses and Samuel stand before me, I will not listen to them. And just as slave-dealers, often offering cakes and sweetmeats and other such things to little children and luring them, deprive them of freedom and of life itself, so too the sorcerers, promising healing of a limb, sink the whole salvation of the soul. And many of those who have fallen into the utmost irrationality not only ask wealth and power and all such things from the God of all, but also curse their enemies and implore that some punishment be brought upon them; and the one whom they pray to be gentle and humane toward themselves, they wish to become savage and inhuman toward their enemies.

Those who sail do not give the pilot orders to hold the helm this way and steer the ship, but sitting on the decks they submit to his skill, not only when the ship is carried by a fair wind, but even when it threatens the utmost danger; yet they do not submit to yielding to God alone, who orders precisely what is beneficial for us, resembling a sick man who begs the physician to give him not what cures the disease but what feeds the matter that is the mother of the disease. But the physician will not yield to the sick man's supplication, but even if he sees him weeping and wailing, he follows the law of his art rather than being bent by his tears; and we call his disobedience not inhumanity but philanthropy; for by obeying the sick man and gratifying him with things for pleasure, he works the enemy's purposes against him; but by resisting and fighting against his desire, he employs mercy and philanthropy. But also affectionate fathers, when their very little children ask for knives or coals of fire, in no way endure to hand them over; for they know clearly that the giving of these is harmful to them. So also God does not endure to give to those who ask destructive things as though they were beneficial, knowing that they will be for their harm. I think that the ancient physicians also did not simply or irrationally ordain that the display of various instruments be made public, but in order to safeguard the healthy, showing them beforehand how many things they will need if they are disorderly. Christ, then, must be to us more fearful than Gehenna, and more desirable than the kingdom;

Even if we fall sick, it is better to remain in weakness than through release from sickness to fall into impiety. For even if a sorcerer heals, he has harmed more than he helped; for he has often helped the body, which will certainly die a little later and is destined to rot, but he has harmed the immortal soul. For it is better not even to have the medicines of one who is not a physician; the one who does not have them neither saves nor destroys, but the one who has them destroys, not knowing how to use them, since salvation lies not only in the nature of the medicines but also in the skill of the one administering them. Therefore having the name of physician is not the same as being a physician. You have heard the account of Lazarus, how he struggled all his time with hunger and disease and desolation, so as even to end his life at the rich man's gate, despised, starving, thrown out as food for the dogs. For his body was so weakened that he could not even drive away the dogs attacking him and licking his wounds; yet nevertheless he did not seek a charmer, he did not hang amulets on himself, he did not resort to sorceries, he did not call sorcerers to himself, he did not do any other of the forbidden things; but he chose rather to die amid those evils than to betray even a small part of piety. What excuse, then, shall we have, when that man suffered such terrible things and endured, if because of a fever or wounds we call medicine-men and sorcerers into our own houses? For many often fall ill, but have an abundance of necessary food; others live with the utmost poverty, but enjoy health.

But Lazarus was so weakened that he could not even drive away the dogs, but lay a living corpse, watching them come at him yet unable to defend himself; so were his limbs relaxed, so had he been pickled by sickness, so had he been consumed by the trial. But if each of these things is unbearable and dreadful by itself, when they are woven together at once, how was he not some adamant, the man who endured these things? For if he had been lying in the desert and the uninhabited place and suffered these things, and was overlooked, he would not have grieved so much; for the fact that no one was present persuaded him to bear what happened even against his will. But to lie in the midst of so many people who were prospering and to receive from no one even the slightest care made the perception of his pains sharper. Consider what it was likely he was like, seeing parasites, flatterers, coming down, going up, going out, coming in, making a din, getting drunk. For we, even if we suffer countless dreadful things, yet when we look to that man we have sufficient consolation; for to find others who share one's own troubles brings great consolation to those in pain. But he had no other man to look at who had suffered the same things as he, but even for the present life he thought that present affairs were shut in; for he was one of those before the grace. But if now in our own time, after such knowledge of God, and the good things of

the hopes of resurrection and the good things prepared for those who live rightly, some are so fainthearted that they are not even corrected by these expectations. What was it likely that man suffered? Let us emulate Lazarus, both rich and poor. For not one, two, or three contests of virtue only did he endure, but far more: poverty, the desolation of having no one to protect him, weakness, and that not for two or three days but through his whole life, and seeing himself in these circumstances and the rich man in the opposite; that he had no other Lazarus to look to, that he could not philosophize at all about the resurrection, and that along with the evils mentioned he also had a bad reputation among the many because of those misfortunes. What defense, then, shall we have, if he bore all these terrible things together with such courage, while we do not bear even half of them? For you cannot, you cannot show or name any other who has suffered so many and such great evils. For this reason Christ set him forth in the midst, so that wherever we fall into troubles, seeing that the excess lies with him, we might receive sufficient consolation and comfort from his philosophy. For he is set before us as a common teacher of the world, allowing all who suffer any terrible thing to look to him, and conquering all by the excess of his own evils.

For even the wise among physicians, when they are about to cut away putrid limbs, or to draw out stones lodged in the passages, or to correct some other defect of nature, do not take the patient aside into a corner and do this, but set him forth in the middle of the marketplaces and, having gathered a theater of spectators from those passing by, thus apply the knife. And they do this, not wishing to make a public spectacle of human misfortunes, but teaching those who see, in the bodies of others, to take great forethought for their own health. When, therefore, you see a righteous man hemmed in, afflicted, and departing this present life in sickness and countless other terrors, say to yourself that if there were no resurrection and judgment, God would not have allowed him, who has suffered so many evils on his account and enjoyed no good, to depart from here. From this it is clear that He has prepared for them another life, sweeter than the present and far more tolerable. For how would it be reasonable that He allowed many of the wicked to live in luxury in this present life, while He lets many of the righteous depart in countless evils, He who is just and is called just, and who knows how to render to each justly according to his worth? To whom be glory, power, honor, and worship, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

Homily 14. On Women and Beauty. Those who are about to take wives should first read the laws laid down by Paul concerning marriage, and from there learn what they must do when a wife happens to be wicked and abusive and full of madness, or has any other such fault. If, then, you see that he gives you the authority, upon finding one of these defects, to put her away and bring in another, then take courage as one who has escaped every danger. But if he does not permit this, but commands you to cherish her even though she has all the other defects except fornication, then secure yourself on this basis, as one who is going to bear all her wickedness. But if this is burdensome and oppressive, do everything and take every pains so as to take a wife who is good and gentle and obedient. For if, when we are about to buy houses and slaves, we make careful inquiry and busy ourselves, asking both the sellers and those who owned them before—in the case of the former, about the construction, and in the case of the latter, about the condition of the body and the disposition of the soul—how much more ought those who are about to take wives to show such forethought, and far greater. For it is possible to sell a house again if it proves bad, and a slave who turns out to be clumsy

To give back to the one who sold is again possible; but for a man who takes a wife, to give her back again to those who gave her is not possible. It is a fearful thing, then, to take a poorer wife, and a fearful thing to take a richer one; for the one harms a man in his property, the other in his authority and in his illiberality, and many of those who have attached themselves to prostitutes have from that source undergone not only eternal and immortal death, but here also have perished miserably in misery, suffering the meddling of the women who fornicate. For those women, striving to bind completely to their own love the man who attends to them, have set in motion sorceries, and prepared love-potions, and stitched together many enchantments. Then, having thus cast him into a grievous sickness, and delivered him over to corruption and long wasting, and surrounded him with countless evils, they have carried him off from the present life. If, then, you do not fear Gehenna, O man, at least fear their enchantments. For when by this licentiousness you make yourself destitute of God's alliance, and strip yourself of help from above, the prostitute, taking you with impunity, and calling her own demons, and writing her tablets, and working her plots with great ease, prevails over your salvation, having made you a reproach and a laughingstock of all who dwell in the city. If, then, you wish to be entertained, do not walk to theaters, but to paradises, to a flowing river and lakes; study gardens, listen to cicadas singing, frequent the shrines of the martyrs, where there is health of body and profit of soul, and no harm. Do you have a wife? Do you have children? What is equal to this pleasure? Do you have a house? Do you have friends?

These things are very delightful, providing gain together with chastity. For tell me, what is sweeter than children? What is sweeter than a wife to one who wishes to be chaste? Indeed, barbarians are said once to have spoken a saying full of philosophy. For when they heard about these unlawful theaters and the destructive pleasure, they said, "The Romans, having no children and no wives, thus devised such pleasures for themselves." When, therefore, you see a beautiful woman, having a shining eye, radiant and gleaming from her countenance, bearing some indescribable bloom upon her face, inflaming your reason and increasing your desire, consider that what is admired is earth, that what inflames you is ash, and the raging soul will be stopped. Uncover the skin of her face, and then you will see all the cheapness of her beauty. Do not stop at the surface, but pass further inward with your reason, and you will find nothing else but bones and sinews and veins. But are these things not enough? Consider for me this woman changing, growing old, growing weak, her eyes sinking, her cheeks hollowing, all that flower of her beauty flowing away. Consider what you are admiring, and be ashamed of your judgment. You are admiring mud and ash, and dust and cinders inflame you. For the substance of the beauty that is seen is nothing other than phlegm and rheum and blood and the juice of masticated food. For by these things both the eyes and the cheeks and all the rest are irrigated.

And if it does not receive that irrigation each day, rising up from the stomach and the liver, since the skin subsides beyond what is proper, and the eyes become hollow, immediately all the beauty of the face flies away. So that if you consider what of the fair features lies hidden within the eyes, what within the straight nose, what within the mouth and the cheeks, you will say that the beauty of the body is nothing other than a whitewashed tomb; so full is it of uncleanness within. Then, if you see a rag having something of that sort on it, such as phlegm or spittle, you do not even endure to touch it with the tips of your fingers, nor can you bear to look at it; and are you enamored of their inner chambers and storehouses? Therefore the lover of the body, who is enamored of a beautiful girl, if he wished to learn by reason the hideousness of her substance, he will know it through the very appearance. For many of the beloved's peers, and often even more radiant ones, having died, after one and a second day provided a foul odor and ichor and

a putrefaction of worms. Consider, then, what kind of beauty you love, O man, and for what sort of comeliness you are inflamed. For what is the virtue of eyes? Is it to be moist and quick-turning and round and dark-blue, or to be sharp and keen-sighted? And what is the virtue of a lamp? Is it to shine brightly and illumine the whole house, or to be well fashioned? For beauty is not characterized by the molding of the form, but by the manners and the modesty. For this reason Christ punished the man who looks lewdly at a woman, so that he might free us from the greater toil. For the toil of not seeing beautiful women is not as great as that of restraining oneself while seeing them. For the one who has not seen the beautiful face will also be clean from the desire that comes from it; but the one who has desired to see it, having first cast down his reason and defiled it ten thousand times, then expels the stain that comes from the desire—if indeed he expels it. When, then, that toil is less for the licentious and the gain is greater, why do we hasten to fall into the sea of those ten thousand evils? When, therefore, you see a beautiful woman and suffer something toward her, see her no more, and you are delivered. And how shall I be able to see her no more, he says, when I am dragged by desire? If you consider that what is seen is nothing other than phlegm and blood and the juice of digested food. But the bloom of the countenance is radiant, he says. But nothing among the flowers on the earth is more radiant, yet these too rot and wither. Do not, then, pay attention to the bloom here either, but pass further within with your thought, and having stripped off that fair skin with your reason, examine closely the things that lie beneath it.

For the body of those suffering from dropsy also shines brightly, and its surface has nothing base about it, but struck by the thought of the humor lying within, we cannot love such people. But when a man wishes to cast out his wife, or a woman to dismiss her husband, let her remember this saying, and let her think that Paul is present, and pursuing her with his cry and saying: A wife is bound by law for as long as her husband lives. Making this clear, at any rate, he did not add, "But if her husband dies, she is free," but, "But if he falls asleep," almost consoling her in widowhood, and persuading her to remain with the first husband, and not to bring in a second bridegroom. Your husband, he says, has not died, but sleeps; and who does not wait for one who sleeps? But by saying that she has become free after her husband's death, he showed that before this she was a slave while he was alive; and being a slave and subject to the law, even if she receives a bill of divorce ten thousand times according to the laws established by outsiders, she is caught by the law of adultery. For God will not judge you according to these laws on that day, but according to those which he himself established. And the laws of outsiders did not establish this without reason, but they too punish the matter, and are displeased with this sin. For from whatever source the pretext for the dissolution arises, they punish with the loss of property, casting him out from there naked and stripped of money.

One of the pagan philosophers, it is said, had a wife who was wicked, a gossip, and a drunkard. When people asked him why he put up with having such a woman, he said, "So that she may be a gymnasium and a wrestling school in my own house; for I shall be gentler toward everyone else," he says, "being trained by her every single day." So this philosopher, it is said, kept a wicked wife for this reason and did not cast her out; and some say he even married her for this reason. When, then, the Greeks are more philosophical than we are, what defense shall we have, insulting this woman, on whose account God commanded us to leave even our own parents? And what account will be able to convey such shame, when wailings and lamentations are carried through the narrow streets, and there is a running to the house of the man who commits these disgraceful acts, by neighbors and passersby alike, as though some wild beast were ravaging what is inside? It would be better for the man who raves in this way for the earth to open and swallow him, than for him to be seen in the marketplace any longer. Let us then obey the law of God, and neither our own wives

Let us cast them out, and let us not receive those who have been cast out by others. For with what face will you look at the woman's husband? With what eyes will you look at his friends, his servants? For if, when someone has died, a man takes that man's wife, and then, seeing only the portrait of the deceased set up, he feels something and is distressed—he who sees the husband of the woman living with him, what kind of life will he live? How will he enter his house? With what disposition, with what eyes will he look at that man's wife, his own? Or rather, such a woman could rightly be called neither that man's nor his own; for an adulteress is no one's wife. For she has trampled on the agreements made with that man, and she did not come to you according to the laws that are proper. Of how great a folly would it not be to bring such a great matter, full of evils, into one's house? For is there a scarcity of women, that you drag such destruction upon your own head? For the woman who was content with her first husband showed that she would not even have chosen this one in the first place, if she had known the experience of the matter well; but she who brought in a second bridegroom to the bed of the first has produced no small proof of her great love for the world and her sympathy for earthly things. And that woman, while her husband was alive, was not excited toward any other; but this woman, even if she did not sin against others while he was alive, nevertheless admired many others more than him, and held neither the first nor the second in the order of her own flesh.

For the first husband has been cast out by the second, and the second by that one, and she could not properly remember the former while she attends to the other after him, nor will she look upon this one with the affection that is fitting, since her mind is shaped toward the one who has departed. For just as we are accustomed to persist in matters especially then, when we have experienced good beginnings; but when from the start, and from the very line, so to speak, we perceive things harsh and difficult, we quickly recoil, our resolve being quenched; so too women who endure untimely widowhood would reasonably abstain from second marriage. For the woman who has consorted with matters for a long time and been well filled, as though she will obtain the same things, will touch the same city, so to speak; but she who has not experienced even harsh beginnings, with what resolve and hope will she come to the trial of harsh things? For if we all marvel at and approve women who abstain from their husbands while they are still living, those who display the same goodwill toward them even when they have departed, how must we not be astonished and praise them? We do not, then, cast out second marriage, but we advise, if anyone is able to be chaste, to remain with the first. For second marriage has often become the beginning and pretext of battles and daily wars. For often a man sitting at the table, reminded of his first wife, wept gently before the second; and she immediately grew savage, and like a wild beast leaped upon him, demanding from him justice for his affection toward that one.

And if she wishes to praise the one who has departed, the subject of the eulogies becomes a pretext for war and battle. With enemies who have departed we make peace, and after their life we put an end to the enmity against them; but in the case of women everything is the opposite. For the one she has not seen, whose voice she has not heard, from whom she has suffered no harm, this woman she hates and turns away from, and not even death extinguishes the hatred. Who has seen, who has heard of dust being an object of jealousy, and ashes being warred against? But the evil does not stop there: even if children are born from the second wife, or if they are not born, there is war and battle again. For when no children are born, she grieves the more, and she looks upon the children of the former wife as enemies and as those who have done her the greatest wrong, since through their life she receives a clearer perception of her own childlessness. But if children are born, again the evil is no less. For the husband, often disposed with affection toward the departed, clings to them, loving and at the same time pitying them for their orphanhood; but she, in every way, prefers her own to be preferred

Listen, men, listen, women, to the affection of spouses, which they showed toward one another even to the point of their own dangers. For after Abraham had settled in Gerara, he said of Sarah his wife, "She is my sister"; for he was afraid to say, "She is my wife," lest the men of the city kill him on her account. And Abimelech the king of Gerara sent and took Sarah. Consider with me the storm of thoughts that the righteous man endured, seeing his wife being led away and able to do nothing to help. For he bore all things in silence, knowing that the Master would not overlook him, but would provide swift assistance. And one may marvel at the great affection of Sarah too, which she displayed in order to snatch the righteous man from danger. For it was possible for her to uncover the matter and escape the acknowledged outrage; but she endured all things nobly, in order to secure salvation for the righteous man; and that saying was fulfilled, that the two shall be one flesh. For just as being one flesh, so they cared for each other's salvation, and they displayed such great harmony as being one body and one soul. Let men hear these things, let women hear them, so that these women may display as great affection toward their husbands, and these men may have as great goodwill toward them, and as having acquired one soul and being one body, so may they accomplish all things. And God came to Abimelech in the night and said, "Behold, you are dying because of the woman whom you have taken; but she is one who has lived with a husband." See the love of God for mankind.

When he saw that the righteous man had borne the taking away of Sarah bravely because of the fear of death, and that the king was leading her away as though she were the sister of the righteous man, then God displayed his own providence, at once showing the righteous man more illustrious, and freeing Sarah from outrage, and delivering the king from lawlessness. But Abimelech, it says, did not touch her, but he even makes a defense for his daring deed, and says: Lord, will you destroy a righteous and ignorant nation? For was it knowing that she was his wife that I did this? Was it wishing to wrong the stranger? Was it as a wife that I was taking her away? It was as a sister that I was about to receive her that I did this, thinking that in this way I would also honor him. Did he not himself tell me, "She is my sister"? And did she not herself tell me, "He is my brother"? What then does the loving-kindness of the Master say? I also knew that you did this in a pure heart, that they themselves contrived this drama, and that being deceived by the things said by them, you did this; and for this reason, so that you might not sin because of their deception, I spared you from sinning against me. Do not then treat the man casually, as one of the ordinary sort, but learn that he is among those who are greatly esteemed by me, and among those who have great kinship with me. Give the woman back to the man, then, for he is a prophet, and he will pray for you, and you shall live. For he, fearing death from you, prepared this drama, and all but cooperated toward the outrage of Sarah; but know that his prayers will provide you with life. But if you do not give her back, know that you shall die, you and all that is yours.

For not only will you yourself bear the punishment of disobedience, but all that is yours as well. And Abimelech rose up and called his servants, and spoke all these words in their ears; then he also called Abraham. Consider with me with how great a distinction the righteous man is now brought before the king, he who a little before was thought contemptible, and knew nothing of these things. He was learning now from the king himself the things that had been done by God on his account to that king; for he said to him, What is this you have done to us? What did we sin against you, that you brought upon me and upon my kingdom a great sin? For surely, he says, the matters of punishment were not to stop at me; my whole kingdom was about to be utterly destroyed by the deception that came from you. What then did you see and do this? For what reason? With what in mind? What then did Abraham say? I was in an agony, he says, lest perhaps because you were still held in error, you should take no thought for the righteous man, and having learned that she had become my wife, you should attempt to kill me because of your desire for her. Do not therefore think that even in this I lied. For she is my sister by my father, but not by my mother; and she became my wife. Do not therefore condemn me. For even if the fear of death brought me into this necessity, and the dread lest perhaps because of her you kill me but keep her for yourselves, nevertheless not even so is what I have said a lie. Having said these things, the righteous man both softened the anger of the king, and uncovered his own virtue, and implanted in them a sufficient teaching of piety.

Therefore the king, respecting the great forbearance of the righteous man, repays the patriarch with his own generosity. For he took, it says, Abimelech a thousand drachmas, and sheep, and calves, and male and female servants, and he restored to him Sarah his wife. Did you see the resourceful wisdom of God? For he who had feared concerning death, and was doing everything so as to be able to escape it, not only escaped death, but was also deemed worthy of such great confidence, and suddenly becomes illustrious. For such are the things that come from God: he not only frees from sorrows those who strive to hold out nobly against the temptations that assail them, but he also grants them such great gladness in the very midst of their sorrows that we have a complete forgetting of them, and come to be in the great abundance of good things—as indeed happened in the case of this righteous man. For he not only honors him with such great gifts, but also gives him the authority to dwell in his land. For behold, it says, my land is before you; dwell wherever it may please you. For since he had learned that it was on account of him and his prayers that life had been granted to him, he hastens henceforth to treat the stranger, the wanderer, the man known from nowhere, as a benefactor and guardian. And it came to pass, when Abraham had reached extreme old age, wishing to free Isaac from kinship with the Canaanites, so that he might not take a wife from there, he called the most loyal of his servants and gave him instructions about this, and says:

Put your hand under my thigh, and I will make you swear by the Lord, the God of heaven and of the earth, that you will not take a wife for my son Isaac from the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I dwell, but you shall go to my land, where I was born, and to my tribe, and take a wife for my son from there. Do you see the patriarch's command given to his servant? Consider how in ancient times they made haste, not seeking an abundance of money, nor great wealth and slaves and so many acres of land, nor the comeliness of outward beauty, but they sought the beauty of the soul and nobility of character. But the patriarch, caring for the virtue of the soul and fleeing the wickedness of the inhabitants of the land, does this; whereas all people now would never endure to think of such a thing, but even if one were filled with countless evils, they seek only one thing, the abundance of money, and all else is reckoned secondary to them; not knowing that when the mind is corrupted, even if unspeakable wealth flows in, one will quickly return to the utmost poverty, and there will be no benefit from the abundance, since the soul that is to manage it properly is not present. So the servant, taking the camels and some of all the good things of his master, arose and went to Mesopotamia, to the city of Nahor, the brother of Abraham, and he rested the camels outside the city by the well of water; and he said, O Lord, the God of my master Abraham, prosper my way before me today, and show mercy to my master Abraham.

And behold, I stand at the spring of water, and the daughters of those who dwell here come out to draw water; and it shall be that the virgin to whom I say, Incline your water-jar that I may drink, and who says to me, Drink, and I will water your camels too, until all have finished drinking—her you have prepared for your servant Isaac, and by this I shall know that you have shown mercy to my lord Abraham. See the servant's understanding. For since he knew the patriarch's love of hospitality, and that the girl about to be taken from there ought to be of like character with the righteous man, he seeks no other proof, but wishes to characterize her hospitality from her disposition; and he says: If, when I ask her for water, she inclines the water-jar to me, and not only does what was asked but also displays the servitude of her own disposition and says, And I will water your camels too—she has provided sufficient evidence of the gentleness of her character through the supplying of water. Then, when he saw through her deeds the fulfillment of the patriarch's prayers, and obtained the girl just as he desired, and saw her exceeding hospitality (for she hurried and emptied the water-jar into the cup, and ran again to the well to draw, and having drawn water she gave drink to all his camels, and neither shrank back as from a stranger nor, on the pretext of modesty, refused the request), he then learned and carefully investigated everything about her, and asked: Whose daughter are you? and, Is there a place with your father for us to lodge? And observe the girl's answer.