Eclogae ex diversis homiliis

For when the servant asked whose daughter she was, she disclosed not only her father but also her father's father, and says: I am the daughter of Bethuel the son of Milcah, whom she bore to Nahor. And again, when the servant asked about the place, whether there was only room to lodge them, she says: Not only is there room, but we have plenty of straw and fodder as well. Did you see, at such an age, how great was the exactness of her chastity, the excess of her humility, and the intensity of her hospitality? Of how much wealth would this not be more precious? Than how many treasures would one consider these things preferable? This is the greatest dowry, this is the countless good things, this is the treasure that is never spent. When the servant heard these things and marveled at her abundant hospitality, and learned that he had not come to some strangers but to the house of Nahor, who was the brother of Abraham his master, delighted at what had been said by the girl, he worshiped the Lord, who through his goodwill toward the patriarch had shown such great care for him, having thus made everything prosper for him with ease; and he says, Blessed is the Lord God of my master Abraham, who has not forsaken his righteousness and his truth from my master Abraham. And thereafter he himself also makes known to the girl who he is, and through his thanksgiving to God he makes it clear to her that he has not come from a foreign house, but that the one who sent him is also a brother of Nahor. When the girl had learned these things, she ran with great joy and reported to her parents what she had heard from the servant.

And Laban ran out to the man at the spring, and seeing him standing with the camels, he said to him: Why do you stand outside? Come in; for I have beforehand prepared the house, and a place for the camels. Then when he had entered, he unloaded the camels; and he gave straw and fodder, and water to wash his feet, and the feet of the men who were with him, and he set bread before them to eat. But here observe for me the great understanding of the servant. For what does he say? I will not eat until I have told you the reason for which I have undertaken so great a journey, and for whose sake I have come here from the land of Canaan, and how I was guided to your house, so that having learned everything, you also may show your own goodwill toward my master. And beginning to recount, he says: I am the servant of Abraham; and the Lord has blessed my master exceedingly, and has given him sheep and calves, gold and silver, male servants and female servants, camels and donkeys. And Sarah, the wife of my master, bore one son to my master after he had grown old, and he gave him all that he had. And my master made me swear, saying: You shall not take a wife for my son

...my son Isaac from the daughters of the Canaanites, among whom I sojourn; but you shall go to the house of my father, and to my tribe, and you shall take a wife for my son from there. He gave these commands; but I, considering the difficulties and reckoning the hardship of the matter, asked my lord, "What if the woman is not willing to go with me?" And he said to me: "The Lord, before whom I have been well-pleasing, he himself will send his angel with you, and will prosper your way, and you shall take a wife for my son from my tribe and from my father's house." With these commands, and furnished with these prayers, he sent me out. And since the prayers made by him have come to pass, and all things have been so clearly ordered by God that I have reached you, henceforth you also show what is on your part, and if you are doing mercy toward my lord, tell me, so that I may know what I must do; but if not, that I may make my journey elsewhere. And the father of the girl and her brother say to him: "This word has come from the Lord; we shall not be able to speak against you either good or bad; nor is it possible for this to be done by us. Behold, you have the girl; take her and depart, and she shall be a wife for the son of your lord, as the Lord has spoken." When the servant heard these things from the father and the brother, he worshiped the Lord upon the earth; and bringing out vessels of gold and silver and clothing, he gave them to Rebekah; and henceforth he treats her with openness, as one already betrothed by these words to Isaac; and he honors with gifts both the brother and the mother.

And when he saw that the command of his master had come to fulfillment, then at last he takes his rest. For he says, I ate and drank, he and the men who were with him, and they slept. And rising early he said, Send me away, that I may go to my lord. But the brothers and the mother said, he says, Let the maiden remain with us about ten days, and after this you shall depart. But he said to them, For what reason do you postpone and put off, when God has granted me such ease in all things? But they said, Let us call the girl and ask her. And they called and said to her, Will you go with this man? And she said, I will go. And they sent away Rebekah and her possessions, and the servant of Abraham, and those with him. And they blessed Rebekah, and said to her, Become thousands of ten thousands, and let your seed inherit the gates of their adversaries. And Rebekah arose, and her maids, and they mounted the camels, and went with the man. Do you see what a bride the patriarch brings home, one who drew water, and carried the pitcher on her shoulders, and mounted the camels? Were there perhaps mules with necks gleaming with silver? Perhaps a swarm of servants, or the great luxury that exists now? Nowhere; but such was the courage of the women of old, that they even mounted the camels themselves, and so journeyed. Have you seen, from what was done by Abraham for his son, how in ancient times parents were eager to bring wives to their own children? How before wealth they sought nobility of soul?

Perhaps written contracts? Perhaps agreements, and the other ridiculous things that happen now? For nothing of that sort existed among them, but the girl's greatest and most secure document was her character. And you will know this when you see the girl brought back to the bridegroom. For he says, Isaac went out to meditate in the field; and looking up with his eyes, he saw the camels coming, on which Rebekah was riding. And Rebekah, seeing Isaac, leaped down from the camel and said to the servant: Who is that man walking in the field to meet us? And when she learned that he was the one who was to take her as his wife, she put on, it says, her veil. And the servant, having arrived, recounted everything to Isaac with precision. Consider how nowhere are these superfluous and useless things; nowhere a diabolical procession, nowhere cymbals and flutes and dances, and those satanic banquets, but all modesty, all wisdom, all gentleness. For Isaac entered, it says, into the house of his mother, and took Rebekah; and she became his wife, and he loved her. Let women imitate this, let men be zealous for this, and let them be eager that brides be led in this way, so that both the bridegroom's desire may increase and the girl's chastity may be intensified, and they may pass their life in pleasure, upheld by the favor of God. But if you wish to display an ambition at marriage that brings profit, call choirs of the poor. But you are ashamed and blush? And what could be worse than this irrationality? Dragging the devil into your house, you think you are doing nothing shameful—

Are you ashamed to bring Christ in? But no one in the city has done this, he says. But you, be eager to begin, and to become the leader of this noble custom, so that those after you may also refer it to you. And if someone emulates and imitates this deed, their descendants, and their descendants' descendants, will have something to say to those who inquire: that such-and-such a person first introduced this noble law, and the good accomplished by others will bring its reward to you, the first to plant those fruits. And just as when soft and mimetic dancers perform there, the devil revels in their midst; so too, when the poor enter in, Christ is present. And from that expenditure there is no profit, but great harm may even result; but from what is spent on these, you will quickly receive abundant fruit. And that this is true, learn from the girl in Joppa; for once, when she lay dead, the poor who were fed by her stood around her and wept and raised her up, and brought her back to life; in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be the glory and the power, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen. Homily 15. On Covetousness.

For what reason do you desire to be rich from greed, O man—so that gold and silver may be heaped up for others, but curses and accusations for you? And so that the one who was defrauded may be stung for want of necessary food and may wail, and may draw countless accusers against you? And—what is far more dreadful than this—when on that day, before the fearful judgment seat, the man who suffered wrong and lost all his possessions is brought into the midst, and you have no advocate, what will you say to the Judge? For now you are able to corrupt this human court, but that one you will no longer be able to corrupt—or rather, not even this one; for God sees what is done, and is near to those who are wronged even without being called upon. For the man who has suffered wrong, even if he himself is unworthy to obtain any vengeance, nevertheless, since what is done does not please God, he certainly has the One who will avenge him. And do not say to me, “How is so-and-so prosperous, though he is wicked?” For even if he prospers, it is not to the end. For do not be envious, it says, of those who do evil, for like grass they will quickly wither, and like green herbs they will quickly fall away. Greed is a kind of old leaven, and wherever it falls and into whatever house it enters, it makes that house unclean; even if you gain a little from injustice, it has leavened your whole substance. For this reason, often the few things brought in wickedly have cast out the many things that were stored up well. What then, he says, when many who are greedy do not suffer the same things? Most certainly they will suffer, even if they do not suffer immediately; but if they escape now, fear all the more then; for they are being kept for a greater punishment.

But even if they themselves escape, those who inherit their property will suffer the same things. And how is this just, someone says? It is entirely just. For the one who receives an inheritance full of injustice, even if he himself did not seize it, nevertheless knows precisely that he holds what belongs to others, and for this reason it was just that he suffer. The laws of outsiders also know these things, which, letting go the robbers and embezzlers, command that restitution be demanded from those with whom one finds all of one's own property lying. If, then, you know those who were wronged, repay with great addition, like Zacchaeus; but if you do not know, distribute these things to the needy, and so you will also alleviate the harm. For if we give all things from others, it is no profit to us. And Zacchaeus shows this, who then said he would propitiate God, giving fourfold of what had been taken. But we, seizing countless things and giving few, think we make God propitious. For if Cain, offering the second-fruits, and these not even having wronged another, paid the ultimate penalty, when we offer from robbery and greed, how will we not suffer worse things? Why do you insult the Master by bringing unclean gifts to him? Christ does not wish to be fed by greed, nor does he accept such food. Better to overlook him wasting away with hunger than to feed him from such things; better to give nothing at all than to give others' things to others. For tell me, if you saw two men, one naked and the other having a cloak, and then stripping the one who had the cloak you clothed the naked man, did you not wrong him? It is clear to everyone, surely. But if, giving to another all that you took, you wronged him and did not show mercy—

When you do not give even the smallest fraction of what you seize, and you call the thing almsgiving, what punishment will you not undergo? If Lazarus, though wronged in nothing by the rich man and having enjoyed none of his goods, stood as a bitter accuser, what defense will those obtain who, in addition to not showing mercy from their own means, also take what belongs to others? If those who did not feed the hungry Christ are condemned with the devil to the unquenchable fire, what punishment will those undergo who even hand him over to famine by what they seize, and strip the clothed man naked, and not only fail to take in the stranger but even drive him away, and not only fail to visit the sick but even crush him further, and not only fail to see the bound man but even arrange to throw the freed man into prison? If the one who loves those who love him will be no better off than the Gentiles, what forgiveness will the one who maltreats those who have done him no wrong have? If the one who does not share his own goods has as his accuser the one who was not shown mercy, what forgiveness will the one who also seizes what belongs to others obtain? For it is not only seizing what belongs to others, but also not sharing one's own with others—this too is seizure and greed and deprivation. If those who did not feed the hungry Christ drew so great a fire upon their own head, what consolation will those enjoy who seize what does not belong to them at all, and unjustly clothe themselves in others' goods, and overturn the houses of orphans and widows? Let us therefore shudder at the matter; let us flee from sin.

We shall escape if we consider those before us who did wrong, who grasped for more and departed this life—do not others enjoy their money and their labors, while they themselves are in punishment and retribution and incurable evils? How then is this not the utmost folly, to be beaten down and to suffer misery, so that both while living we are worn out by labors, and when we depart we endure unbearable punishments and retributions? What then could be more pitiable than the robber, when the things he gathered together, often his enemies and foes have divided among themselves; but the sins piled up for him from these things he takes and departs with, being required for these transgressions with great exactness? Is there anything then more grievous than the greedy? For they make their own life more grievous than any death, since anxiety and despondency and continual sleeplessness devour it and little by little consume it, and drive out from it every pleasure both of virtue and of vice. And in gaining, even if they encompass all things, they feel no pleasure, because they desire more; but in losing, even if they lose an obol, they think they have suffered the worst of all things, and suppose they have fallen out of life itself. And if such a man has a wife, if children, if friends, unless it is possible for him to gain from every side, these are to him as natural enemies.

They show themselves more hostile. For with good reason someone says that nothing is more savage than a lover of money. For such a person both gives himself over and goes about as a common enemy of the inhabited world, grieving that the earth does not bear gold instead of ears of grain, and the springs water instead of streams, and the mountains stones; resentful at the prosperity of others, withdrawn from the common goods, turning away from every pretext from which silver cannot be obtained; enduring everything from which one can collect even only two obols; hating all—the poor, the rich: the former, lest they come forward and ask; the latter, because he does not have their possessions. He thinks that all have acquired what is his, and as though wronged by all, so he is disposed toward all. And what a sword is to a madman, that wealth is to a lover of money—or rather, much more grievous. For the madman, having taken the sword and thrust it through himself, is released from his madness and receives no second blow; but the lover of money receives countless more grievous wounds each day, not releasing himself from the madness but intensifying it the more; and the more wounds he receives, the more he provides occasion for other, more grievous blows. What, then, could be more grievous than the covetous man? Because after destroying his own soul and stretching out his body with countless anxieties, he is deprived of luxury and pleasure and honor and all glory, for the sake of which especially people commit many sins.

And what is even more grievous, that though wronged in nothing, he rages and arms himself against those who have wronged no one, and casting away all noble things from his soul, he is at war with all. For those who are wronged hate him, inasmuch as they have suffered evil; and those who have not yet suffered, fearing lest they suffer, and grieving with those who have suffered, show the same warfare against him; and those who are greater and more powerful, being stung and indignant on behalf of the humbler, and moreover also envying, are likewise enemies and hate him. And why do I speak of men? For when he has God also at war with him, what hope or consolation will be left to him? Is this wealth, to do wrong, tell me? Is this not more grievous than a condemned man? The condemned man is bound in body, but this man is bound in soul. Do you see him a prisoner, and do you not pity him? Therefore, he says, I hate him, because he is bound not by necessity, but by choice, having drawn the chain upon himself. Again you against the rich; again you against those who are plundered. You are not satisfied with eating and biting the poor; and I am not satisfied with correcting you. You have always clung to the rich; you have always clung to the poor man. Depart from my sheep, depart from my flock; but if you ravage my flock, do you accuse me because I pursue you? I do not pursue you; I pursue a wolf. If you are not a wolf, I do not pursue you; but if I pursue you, blame yourself that you have become a wolf. If a king commands to abstain from the goods of another, and moreover even to give of one's own, we all bring it forward readily.

But when God commands us not to plunder, we do not endure it, but we prefer men to God; and how is this not dreadful? For if, even when we honor man equally with God, we insult God, how much more when we prefer men? The saying is heavy and burdensome; I know it myself; but show that it is burdensome by fleeing the deed. But if you do not fear the deed, how can I believe you when you say, "We fear the words, and they are burdensome to us"? You burden yourselves by the deed, and no one says a word; but if I speak the words of which you do the deeds, you are indignant? And how is this not absurd? May what I say prove to be false. I would myself rather receive the reputation of abuse on that day, as having abused you idly and in vain, than see you accused for such things. For he who digs a pit for his neighbor will fall into it himself. And just as women in labor are cut through by their pains, so too the one who works deceit, before he wrongs his neighbor, is himself cut through and in pain, and not as it happens, but also

with great severity. For even if someone is wicked ten thousand times over, the judgment seat of conscience is not corrupted; for it is natural and was implanted in us by God from the beginning. And even if we strive ten thousand times, that conscience stands by, crying out, punishing, condemning; and there is no one among those living in wickedness who does not endure ten thousand pains, both when he plots evil and when he brings his plan to action. For what was more wicked than Ahab? Yet nevertheless, when he desired the vineyard, consider how much pain he had. For being a king and ruling over all, and having no one to contradict him, since he could not bear the verdict of conscience, he went in gloomy, looking down, confused, carrying great darkness on his face, proclaiming on his face the proof of the condemnation from conscience, and unable to overshadow the pain that arose in him from despondency. Do you wish to know clearly how wealth does not allow men to be men, but beasts and demons? A drought once seized our city, and one could see the sky become bronze, and death, harsher than all deaths, expected each day, and God being entreated to loose this fear; by whose love for mankind, beyond all hope, much and boundless rain poured down from above. When all were therefore in festival and celebration, as having ascended from the very gates of death, one of the rich, sullen, downcast, dead from despondency, went about;

And when many were asking the reason, he could not even hold it inside, but, pricked by the tyranny of this cruel passion, he brought the reason out into the open: "For though I possess countless measures of grain," he says, "I no longer have any way to dispose of them." What are you saying? Are you in pain because not all have perished, so that you might gather up gold? Have you not heard what Solomon says: "He who withholds grain is cursed by the people"? But you go about as a common enemy of the good things of the world, and an adversary of the Master's generosity, and a friend of mammon—or rather, a slave? For ought not that tongue to have been cut out? Ought not the heart that gave birth to these words to have been extinguished? For what could be more pitiable than this rich man, who grieves for this very reason—that he possesses countless things—and is vexed, thinking he has lost them, and each day prays that a famine may come, so that gold may accrue to him? Do you wish me to sketch for you the passions of the greedy and rapacious man? For what is more polluted than those hands? What is more shameless than those eyes, or more impudent and more dog-like? He does not see men as men, nor heaven as heaven, but thinks everything to be money. For the eyes of men are accustomed to see the poor worn down and to weep over them; but the rapacious see the poor and are all the more brutalized. The eyes of men do not covet what has been given to others, but even pour out their own upon others; but these men do not endure it unless, having taken the possessions of all, they make them their own. The eyes of men do not endure to see the body of their neighbor naked;

But these men, unless they strip everyone bare and devour all that everyone has at home, never take their fill; or rather, not even then are they satisfied. Therefore one might say that their hands are not only the hands of wild beasts, but far fiercer and more savage than even those. For bears and wolves, once they have had their fill of such food, withdraw; but these men have no fill. And yet for this reason God made us hands, that we might help others, not that we might plot against them; since if we were going to use them for this, it would be better for them to be cut off and to be without them. For when someone sees a sheep torn apart by a beast and grieves, and is bitten in his soul, yet when he does this very thing to one of his own kind, does he not think he is doing anything terrible? How could such a man be a human being, and not a beast, and worse than a beast? For beasts are such by nature; but the greedy, having gentleness by nature, force themselves against nature into the beastly. The mouths of such men are the mouths of beasts; or rather, fiercer even than those; for they utter words that send forth poison more than those teeth, working murder. And if one examines the mind of such men, he will no longer call them merely beasts, but even demons; for they are full of great cruelty and of hatred toward their fellow servant. For the demons have the men they plot against cooperating with them; so that if they did not cooperate, the greater part of their plots against us would be done away with; but these men attempt to prevail even when those they wrong contend against them.

And there is no desire for the kingdom there, nor fear of Gehenna, nor shame before men, nor mercy, nor compassion, but shamelessness and recklessness and contempt for all things to come, and the words of God seem to them to be a myth. Truly they are the most savage of beasts—that men who are not wronged by anyone should be the authors of wrongdoing; or rather, not even of beasts. For if you let those beasts graze in the desert and do not hem them in and force them into necessity, they will never do harm, nor approach, nor bite, but will go their own way. But you, being a rational man, honored with such great authority and honor and glory, do you not even imitate the beasts in your dealings with those of your own kind, but wrong your brother and devour him? And how will you be able to defend yourself? Do you not see the bee, whose work kings and commoners alike take for their health—how nothing keeps it from doing harm except that it dies, but it dies on its sting? Be taught by this not to grieve your neighbors; for we ourselves receive death first. For them we perhaps grieved for a little while, but we ourselves shall live no longer, just as neither does she. This is why money is called money, that we may use it for what is needed, not that we may guard it; for that is no longer to possess, but to be possessed. For if we are going to look to this—how we may make these things many—and not how we may enjoy them for what is needed, the order is overturned, and those things possess us rather than we them. For the lover of money will not only not love his enemies, but will even hate his friends. For such a man knows no kinship, does not remember acquaintances, does not respect age, does not have anyone as a friend.

But he will be hatefully disposed toward all, and before all others toward himself, not only by destroying his own soul, but also by stretching himself out in countless anxieties. And the one who despises wealth has set his desire at rest; but the one who wishes to be rich and to surround himself with possessions has kindled it the more, and never stands still, but even if he receives countless talents, he desires as many more; and if he obtains these, he again longs for twice as many others; and going on, he prays that the mountains and the earth and the sea and all things become gold for him, raging with a new and terrible madness, one that can never be quenched. For when, being commanded to give our own things to others, we snatch the things of others, what hope of salvation is there for us? If you did not feed the hungry, you are punished; if you also stripped the one who was clothed, what forgiveness will you obtain? Tell me, if someone led you to the land of Persia to see the things there and return, and then ordered you to build a house, would you not have condemned him for the utmost folly, as ordering you to spend lavishly at the wrong time? How then do you do this very thing on the earth, which you will leave a little later? But I will leave it to my children, he says. But they too leave it a little later after you, and often even before you. Is it for this reason, then, that you take advantage and snatch the things of others, so that the bridle of your horse may be smeared with much gold, and the roof of your house and the capitals of your columns?

And would not these things deserve how great a Gehenna, when your brother, who has been so honored by your Master, you cast into countless calamities so that you may adorn stones and pavement and the bodies of irrational animals that do not even perceive the world? And the dog is cared for with great attention, but the man—or rather, Christ—because of the dog and all that has been said, is shut up in extreme hunger. And if a throne must be constructed, or a footstool, everything is made of gold and silver; but the member of Christ, and for whose sake he has come down from heaven, does not even enjoy the necessary food, but Christ has become more dishonored by you than all things. And what is harsher than such lawlessness? How many rivers of fire will suffice for such a soul, when irrational animals love their own kind and are content with the kinship of nature for affection toward one another; but you, who along with nature have countless grounds for friendship, are shown to be wilder than they? Let us not provoke God from both sides, both gathering from where we should not, and scattering to where we ought not. For how great wrath would it not deserve, when you give to the prostitute while passing by the poor man? For even if you were providing from just labors, was the matter not a charge—to give wages for vice, and for those things for which one ought to punish, for these to honor? But when, stripping orphans and wronging widows, you feed debauchery, consider how great the fire will be for those who dare such things. Be afraid, all you who wrong the poor.

You have power and wealth and money and the goodwill of judges, but those others have a weapon stronger than all these: their groans and lamentations and the very fact of being wronged, which draws down the alliance from heaven. These weapons dig up houses, overturn foundations, destroy cities, sink whole nations. So great is the providence of God over those who are oppressed. For a mighty and strong weapon is the groan of wronged men. God respects their forbearance, when those who suffer evil utter no wicked word but only groan or bewail their own misfortunes; and he becomes merciful to them, but punishes those who oppress them. Let us therefore flee from doing wrong, that we may have God merciful, by the grace and love for mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the power unto the ages of ages. Amen. HOMILY 10. On Arrogance and Vainglory. When you wish to humble the puffed-up man, do not stir up long speeches, but merely remind him of his nature, and rebuke him sharply, speaking thus: Why is earth and ashes proud? But if he says these things are so only after death, humble him while he is alive, and teach him that he is earth and ashes; for now he does not know that this is what he is. He sees the comeliness of his body, he sees his dominion, the attendance of flatterers, the parasites following after him; he is wrapped in costly garments, he has put on the great bulk of office; the imagination deceives him and makes him forget his nature; he awaits only the proof that comes from the end; he does not come to the biers and coffins of his forebears;

He looks only at the present and gives no thought to any of the things to come. Teach him, then, from this very point, that he is earth and ashes, so that while still alive he may receive the remedy. For having said, "Why is earth and ashes proud?" he added, "Because even in his life his inward parts are brought to nothing," calling the inward parts the entrails—the belly that is full of refuse and much uncleanness and stench. See the cheapness and fragility of his substance. Do not wait for the day of your death to learn your weakness; while the man is still alive, search him out, and pass into his entrails with your reasoning, and you will see all our nothingness. But do not be cast down; for God made this not out of hatred for us but out of sparing us, providing us with great occasions for humility. For if man, being earth and ashes, dared to say, "I will ascend into heaven," had he not had the bridle of nature, where would he not have fallen away in his mind? When, then, you see someone puffed up, stretching out his neck, raising his eyebrows,

Carried on a chariot, threatening, casting into prison, insulting, handing over to death—say to him, "Why is earth and ashes proud? Because even in his life his inward parts are brought to nothing." These things are said not only about a private individual, but also about the one seated on the royal throne. For do not look at the purple robe, nor the diadem, nor the golden garments; but examine nature itself, and you will see that these things too have earth as their underlying substance. For all the glory of man is as the flower of grass. For what reason are you proud, O man, and why? Come down from your empty inflation, consider the cheapness of nature: you are earth and ashes, dust and powder, smoke and shadow, grass and the flower of grass. Living together with such a nature, are you proud, tell me? And what could be more ridiculous than this? But you rule over many men? And what is the benefit of this, when you rule over men but are a captive and slave of the passions? It is as if someone at home were being beaten by his own servants and receiving wounds, and then, going out into the marketplace, were proud over his rule over others. You are a slave of all the passions, and you are proud that you rule over those of the same nature as yourself? Would that you ruled over those passions, and were of equal honor with them. For if the one who boasts over truly good things is worthy of accusation, and loses the reward of all those things, how could the one who exalts himself over things that are nothing, and puffs himself up because of present glory, not be more ridiculous than all?

Wretched and miserable man, when your soul is being corrupted by a most grievous disease and you are impoverished with the ultimate poverty, do you think highly of yourself because you have so many and so many talents of gold? Because you have a multitude of slaves? But these things are not yours; and if you are not persuaded by my words, learn from the experience of those who have gone before. But if you are so drunk that you cannot even be instructed in these things from what happens to others, wait a little, and you will know through what happens to you that these things are of no benefit to you, that when your soul is being torn apart and you are master of not a single hour nor even a brief moment, you unwillingly pass these things on to those present, and often to those to whom you do not wish, but yielding by force to those to whom you did not even wish to look upon them before. For the substance of human affairs is nothing other than ashes and dust and smoke and shadow and what is even more insignificant than these. For what, tell me, do you consider great? What do you think is a great dignity? That of the consul? For most people think that nothing is greater than this dignity. Of him, then, who has been in such great splendor, who has been greatly admired, the one who is not consul has no less; both he and this one are in the same dignity; for both alike, after a little while, are not. When did it happen, tell me? How long? Two days? This also happens in dreams. But it is a dream, he says. And what of this? For are the things of the day not a dream, tell me? Why do we not rather call these a dream? For just as dreams are proven to be nothing when day overtakes them, so when night overtakes these things, they too are proven to be nothing.

And just as on a day no one who has been in the night rejoices in it, so too in the night it is impossible to enjoy the things of the day. Have you become consul? I too was in the night. But I am in the day, and you in the night. And what of this? Not even so do you have any advantage over me, unless perhaps being called "such-and-such a consul" for a time, and having the pleasure that comes from the words, makes one have more. How does it do so? If I say, "Such-and-such a man is consul," and gratify him with the word, was it not spoken and gone at the same moment? So too are the realities: at the same moment he appeared consul, and he is not. Let us posit even a year, and three, and four; where are those who were consuls for ten years? Nowhere. But Paul was not so; for while living he was always illustrious, not for one day, nor two, nor ten and twenty, nor for ten and twenty years, but he also died, and four hundred years have now passed, and still even now he is illustrious, and far more illustrious than when he was alive. And these things are on earth; but the splendor in the heavens—what account could even set it forth? And just as one can see the waves of the sea, now rising to an unutterable height

being lifted up, and then suddenly brought low again—in the same way we see those who pursue arrogance, now thinking great things of themselves and raising their brows and fluttering about the affairs of the present life, and then suddenly brought low and driven into the utmost poverty. The blessed David too, hinting at these, said: Do not fear when a man becomes rich, or when the glory of his house is multiplied. Well did he say, Do not fear. Let not, he says, the abundance of wealth and the splendor of glory throw you into confusion; for you will see him before long lying on the ground, inert, dead, cast out, become food for worms, stripped of all these things, and able to carry away nothing at all with himself (for these things do not depart together with those who remove from here), but leaving everything here, and clothed only in wickedness, and the burdens of sins gathered from it. With good reason, then, it was called vainglory by the ancients; for it is empty within, having nothing useful; but just as masks seem to be bright and lovely, yet are empty within—which is why, though they are more beautiful than bodily faces, they never persuaded anyone to look at them with desire—so, or rather more wretchedly, is the glory that comes from the many. For nothing so alienates from the love of God for mankind and delivers to the fire of Gehenna as the tyranny of pride. For when this is present in us, even if we practice chastity, or virginity, or fasting, or prayers, or almsgiving, or anything whatsoever, our whole life becomes unclean.

For every proud-hearted man is unclean before the Lord," it says. So great an evil is vainglory that it not only drives those caught by it toward vice, but it even stands alongside the virtues; and when it cannot cast us out from that side, it works great damage within virtue itself, forcing us to endure the labors but depriving us of the fruits. For it is not possible for one who desires both to obtain both; to obtain both is possible when we desire not both but the one—the one from the heavens; but for one who loves both, it is not possible to obtain both. For he who does some good work for the sake of hunting the glory that comes from men, whether he is able to enjoy it or not, has received sufficient recompense here, and he will receive no recompense there for this. Why? Because by forestalling it he deprived himself of the honor from the Judge, having preferred the glory from men to the verdict of the righteous Judge. But he who does some spiritual work for this reason alone—to please only that unsleeping eye—both keeps his treasure unplundered and the fruits of virtue intact, and the good hope from this already gives him great consolation; and along with that recompense being preserved for him in a safe treasury, the glory from men will also follow. For then we enjoy it more abundantly, when we look down on it, when we do not seek it, when we do not pursue it.

For in the horse races, those who drive the horses, while the whole crowd applauds and pours out countless acclamations, do not turn back to them, nor do they reap any pleasure from their acclaim, but they look to one alone—the king seated in their midst—and attending to his nod they overlook the whole multitude, and then they think greatly of themselves when he crowns and glorifies them. What, then, could be more wretched than those who pursue virtue for the display of men, who destroy their faces with fastings and make their prayers in the streets, when they endure the labors but are deprived of every reward? What are you doing, man? You are about to give an account of your deeds to one, and you call another as witness of what is done? You have one as judge, and you seat another as spectator? Do you not see the charioteers, who, while the whole city sits above, in the contests of the horses run around the whole part of the stadium, and there strive to overturn the chariots of their rivals, where they see the king seated? And of so many eyes they consider one eye more trustworthy. But you, seeing the very King of the angels presiding over your races, do you leave him and flee to the eyes of your fellow servants? For this reason, after countless wrestlings, after many sweats, you depart uncrowned, and without prizes you go away to the Judge.

For how is it not absurd that a servant does everything he does for the sake of pleasing his master, and seeks nothing more than his master's regard, nor draws the eyes of others to his deed—even if those watching are great men—but looks to one thing only, that his master may observe it; while we, having such a Lord, seek other spectators, who can do us no good but can harm us by their watching, and empty out all our labor? And if one who is puffed up over a success has lost everything, he who does this while burdened with sins—of how great a punishment would he not be worthy? For it is far worse than sinning to be proud even while sinning. If boasting over things that are truly good is folly, how much more is boasting over things that are nothing? For nothing makes people so lawless and senseless as gaping after the opinion of the many; and nothing makes them so esteemed and adamantine as despising it. Therefore anyone who is to withstand such a rush and force of wind needs a very vigorous soul. For when one prospers, he sets himself before all others; but when he endures the opposite, he wishes to bury himself, sinking beneath the passion. And pay attention to what I say. King Uzziah once overstepped his own boundaries and leaped past the measure of kingship; he entered the sanctuary with presumption, wishing to offer incense. What then did the priest say? It is not permitted to you, O king, to offer incense; you are overstepping the boundaries; you seek what has not been given; therefore you will also lose what you received; this is not yours but mine. Did I seize your purple? Do not seize my priesthood.

But he did not endure it; instead, puffed up with folly, he entered the sanctuary and threw open the Holy of Holies, wishing to offer incense. Since, then, the priest was despised and the word of the priesthood was trampled underfoot, and there was nothing left that he could do except reprove and show boldness of speech—while the other was even setting weapons in motion and using his own wealth—the priest says: I have done what was mine; I can do nothing more. Help the priesthood, Lord, which is being trampled underfoot, whose laws are now being wronged and whose ordinances are being overturned. And see what happens: immediately leprosy blossomed forth on his forehead. Where there is shamelessness, there also is punishment. Did you see the loving-kindness of God's punishment? He did not let loose a thunderbolt, he did not shake the earth, he did not convulse the heaven, but the leprosy blossomed forth—and not in another place, but on the forehead, so that the letters might lie there as on a pillar, like a law set in some high place, saying: Do not do such things, lest you suffer such things. Why, then, do you stretch your neck up, tell me? Why do you walk on tiptoe? Why do you raise your eyebrows? Why do you puff out your chest? You cannot make a single hair white or black, and yet, as though you ruled all things, you walk on air. Perhaps you wished feathers to grow on you, so that you might not walk on the earth. What shall I call you, and how shall I bring down your folly? Shall I call you ashes and dust and smoke and powder? But I have not yet precisely grasped the image. You seem to me to resemble burnt tow; for that too, seeming to swell and stand up after the burning, if it endures a little touch of the hand, is all brought down and appears more worthless than any ashes.

And just as bubbles, when raised on high, are easily burst, so too those puffed up with vainglory are easily destroyed. For there is no evil equal to folly. For the devil, though he was not such before, thus became the devil; and the first man, puffed up by the devil with these hopes, was thrown headlong and became mortal; for having expected to be a god, he lost even what he had. Therefore God, reproaching him and mocking his folly, said: Behold, Adam has become as one of us. And in the case of blessed Job, if the devil, having received some small permission, tore up his house by the roots, mangled his body, wrought so great a tragedy, destroyed his substance, buried his children, pierced his flesh, set his wife upon him, and caused his friends, his enemies, and his servants to say such things—if he had not been held in countless bonds, how would he not have ruined all? For this beast is evil and insatiable; and if he were not continually bridled, he would overturn and confound all things. Therefore the Master, in his love for humanity, does not give him free scope against all; to whom be glory and power, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

Homily 17. On Envy. Nothing is so accustomed to divide and tear us apart from one another as envy and malice, that grievous disease, deprived of all forgiveness, and far more grievous than the root of evils, covetousness. For the covetous man rejoices when he himself receives; but the malicious man rejoices when another does not receive, reckoning the misfortune of others as a benefit to himself. What could be more insane than this? For neglecting his own evils, he wastes away at the good things of others, making heaven inaccessible to himself, and even before heaven, making the present life unlivable. For neither does the worm that sits in wood and wool and the grub devour them as the fever of malice consumes the very bones of the malicious and corrupts the chastity of the soul. One would not err in calling the malicious worse than both beasts and demons. For the beasts, either needing food or first provoked by us, are then armed against us; but these men, though often benefited, have inflicted the treatment of wrongdoers upon their benefactors. And the demons maintain an implacable enmity against us, but they do not plot against those of their own kind; but these men do not respect even the fellowship of nature, nor spare their own salvation, but before those whom they envy, they punish their own souls, filling them with all manner of turmoil and despondency, vainly and to no purpose. Such is malice, than which no wickedness could be worse. For the adulterer both reaps a certain pleasure, and in a brief time completes his own sin.

But the envious man punishes and avenges himself before the one who is envied, and he will never cease from the sin, but is continually in the act of committing it. For just as a pig delights in the mire, and a demon in our harm, so too does this man delight in his neighbor's evils; and whenever something unpleasant happens, then he rests and breathes easily, reckoning others' misfortunes as his own good cheer, and others' goods as his own evils. And just as dung-beetles feed on dung, so too do these feed on others' calamities, being certain common enemies and adversaries of nature. And other men pity even a dumb beast being slaughtered; but these, seeing a man being benefited, become savage and tremble and grow pale. And what could be worse than this madness? Why do you grow pale, tell me, and tremble, and stand in great fear? What terrible thing has happened? That your brother is illustrious and distinguished and well spoken of? Then you ought to be crowned and rejoice and glorify God, because you see your own member illustrious and distinguished. But you are grieved that God is glorified? See where the war tends. It is not this that grieves me, he says, but I wished God to be glorified through me. Then rejoice when your brother is well spoken of, and God is glorified through you again. For even if he were an enemy and at war with you, yet if God was being glorified through him, you ought to have made him a friend for this reason; but you make your friend an enemy, because God is glorified through that man's good repute. And how else could you have shown your war against Christ? For this reason, even if someone works signs, even if virginity, even if fasting, even if sleeping on the ground

he shows himself, and through this virtue reaches even to the angels, but the one who is subject to the passion of envy is more accursed than all. For if loving those who love us leaves us with nothing more than the Gentiles have, where will the one who envies those who love him stand? For envying is worse than waging war. For the one who wages war, once the cause for which the war arose is removed, has also dissolved the enmity; but the envious man could never become a friend. And the one displays his battle openly, the other in shadow; and the one often has a reasonable cause to state for the war, the other has nothing other than madness and a satanic mind. And just as the one who does wrong does not wrong but is wronged, so too the one who plots against his neighbor destroys himself. And just as, if we wrong our neighbors, we wrong ourselves, so by doing good to them, we do good to ourselves. For the one who hears false evil spoken of him is not only not wronged, but even has the greatest reward. For it is not the one who suffers but the one who does evil who is worthy of punishment, unless that man provides reasonable grounds for the slander. And just as it is impossible for the virtuous man to be well spoken of by all, so it is impossible for him to be evil spoken of by all, unless he himself provides many occasions for it from many quarters. But slanders made publicly often make men more reckless and more shameless. For as long as the many who sin see that it is possible for them to escape notice, they choose to return easily; but when they have lost the good opinion of the many, they fall into despair and slip into shamelessness. But you have been wronged by him in some matter;

Why then do you also wrong yourself? For the one who defends himself thrusts the sword into himself. If, then, you wish both to benefit yourself and to defend yourself against that man, speak well of the one who has wronged you; but if you speak ill, you will not be believed, since you receive the suspicion of enmity. For enmity, meeting the minds of the hearers first, does not allow what is said to enter their ears. Do not, then, speak ill, so that you do not defile yourself as well; nor weave mud together with clay and brickmaking, but weave crowns from roses and violets and the rest of the flowers; nor carry dung from your mouth, like the dung-beetles; for this is what slanderers do: they themselves are the first to enjoy the stench. For everyone turns away from the reviler, as from one reeking rotten, like some leech or dung-beetle feeding on dung, on the evils of others; but the one who has a well-speaking mouth they receive as a common song and as a genuine brother. For what wrong did Cain do to Abel? Did he not unwillingly send him the more quickly into the kingdom, while he pierced himself with countless evils? What harm did Esau do to Jacob? Did not the one grow rich and enjoy countless goods, while he himself fell out of his father's house and wandered in foreign lands after that plot? And what worse did the brothers do to Joseph, and that to the point of bloodshed? Did not these men endure famine and run the risk of the utmost extremities, while he became king of all Egypt? For by as much as you envy, by so much do you become the cause of greater goods for the one envied. For God is the one who oversees all things.

And when it sees the one who does no wrong being wronged, it lifts him up all the more and makes him illustrious, and in this way it punishes you. For if it does not let those who rejoice over their enemies go unpunished, how much more those who begrudge those who have done nothing wrong. For if the one who loves the one who loves him has nothing more than the tax collectors, the one who hates the one who does no wrong—what kind of loving-kindness will he obtain? For what reason, then, do you grieve, O man, at the good things of your neighbor? For if one must grieve, one ought to grieve over the evils we ourselves suffer, not over those in which we see others prospering. Or do you not know that this sin is deprived of all forgiveness? And reasonably so. For the fornicator can cite his desire, and the thief his poverty, and the murderer his anger—cold and irrational, yet they have some excuses to offer; but you, what cause will you give, tell me? None, except only an intensified wickedness. For if we are commanded to love enemies, when we hate even those who love us, what penalty will we pay? For if the one who loves those who love him will be no better off than the Gentiles, the one who maltreats those who have done nothing wrong—what forgiveness will he have? The demon envies, but humans, not any demon; and you, being a human, envy humans? And what forgiveness will you obtain? Envy is a terrible thing, terrible, and it persuades one to despise one's own salvation; for in this way Saul summoned an evil demon against his own soul; and having summoned it, he again begrudged the physician. For such is envy: he knew that he was saved, and he preferred to perish rather than to see the one who saved him prospering.

And, if you wish, I will tell you what benefactions David conferred on Saul, and how he repaid him afterwards. Once, when a most grievous war had overtaken the Jews, and all were terrified and afraid, and no one dared to step forward, but the whole city was in the utmost extremity, and each saw death before his eyes, and all expected to die every day, this man came in from the sheep to the battle line and took up the war on behalf of all, though he saw no necessity pressing upon him, but even had many who tried to prevent him (for his brother rebuked him, and the king, looking to the unripe age of his youth, held him back and ordered him to stay); yet, heated from within, he ran against the barbarians, and showed such solicitude for the king that even before the war and the victory, raising him up when he lay in his sight, he said: Let not the heart of my lord fall because of him; for your servant will go out and fight with this foreigner. Is this a small thing, tell me, for one who had no necessity to give up his own life, and for the benefit of those men to leap into the midst of the enemies, though he had never received any good from them? Ought he not, after these things, to be inscribed as their master, and proclaimed the common savior of the city, who preserved the life of all, after the grace of God? For what other benefaction was greater than this?

For he deposited the benefaction not in money, nor in glory and power, but in his very soul, and he called him back from the very gates of death, and through that man the king lived thereafter and enjoyed his rule. How, then, did he repay him after these things? For if one were to consider the greatness of his achievements, not even if he had taken the crown from his own head and placed it on David's, would he have yet rendered a worthy recompense, but would still owe more. For the one granted him both life and kingship; the other was going to yield to him only kingship. Nevertheless, let us see his repayments. When he had taken the barbarian's head and was returning with the spoils, the dancing women came out, it says, singing and saying, Saul struck down his thousands, and David his ten thousands. And Saul was angered, and from that day he eyed David with suspicion. For what reason, tell me? For if one must say something astonishing, those women did a favor to Saul rather than to David by saying these things; and he ought to have loved him, because at least they gave him the thousands. Why, then, is he vexed that they gave the ten thousands to that man? For if he had contributed anything to the war, and had brought in even some small part, these things would rightly have been said—that Saul was for thousands, and David for ten thousands. But if he himself sat inside in fear and trembling, expecting each day to die, while this man accomplished everything, how was it not absurd that the one who contributed nothing to the dangers was vexed that he did not receive the greater share of the acclaim?

For if it was necessary to be indignant, it was David who ought to have been indignant, because after he had set everything right, another shared in the praise. But such is envy: it does not patiently endure to see the prosperity of others, but considers the neighbor's well-being to be its own misfortune, and wastes away at the neighbor's good things—just as King Gerar also endured. For seeing Isaac's wealth increasing each day, he was afraid, and he compels the righteous man to depart from there. But it is worth hearing the very words of divine Scripture, so that through them we may behold God's goodwill, which he displays toward his own servants. "And Isaac," it says, "sowed in that land, and found a hundredfold harvest of barley in that year." Did you see the Master's generosity? Did you see the abundance of his beneficence? But let us also see the king's jealousy, what it became because of the righteous man's prosperity: "Depart from us," he says, "for you have become stronger than we are." And truly he was stronger, having the alliance from above in all things, and being guarded by God's right hand. Where, then, are you driving the righteous man away? Do you not know that wherever he happens to go, he must be in the care of his own Master? For even if you compel him to go into the desert itself, he has so resourceful a Master that, even when he is there, he will show him forth far more conspicuously. For it is especially through opposites that he often orders opposites. To him befit glory, might, honor, and worship, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever. Amen. Homily 18. On Hatred and Enmity.

If anyone has been wronged by his neighbor, let him call David to mind and take thought, so that, while the heart still lives, by the memory of this most gentle and forbearing man he may be able to dissolve the sea of wrath. For why is your brother your enemy? Has he insulted you? But he has done no wrong. But for the sake of money do you overlook him as he shows enmity? Do not, I beg you. Do not postpone cutting the cords of wrath; for delays give birth to hesitations. If you put it off today, you will be more ashamed; and if you add tomorrow, the shame is greater; and if the third day, you will be put to shame all the more as you prolong the delay. Grant me, I beg you, to say these things with zeal; make me hear that from this continuous teaching we have accomplished something: that someone went and immediately threw both arms around his enemy, embraced him, clung to him, kissed him, wept. For even if he is a beast, even if a stone, even if anything at all, softened by such kindness he will be tamed; and you will free yourself from the charges, and by drawing him to goodwill you will gain him. And do not tell me, "I have a foul enemy, wicked, depraved, incorrigible, and I cannot reconcile him." Whatever you say, he is not worse than Saul, who both once and twice and many times was saved by David, yet himself plotted countless times; and then, though benefited in return for these things, he continued preserving his own wickedness. For what do you have to say? That he cut off land, and did wrong in the field, and overstepped the boundaries of houses, and seized slaves, and insulted, and took advantage, and brought you to poverty?

But he did not strive to take his life—not twice or three times or many times, nor even after being so greatly benefited, nor after falling many times into your hands and being saved. And in this too, David again has the advantage, because, nurtured on more imperfect laws that demand nothing of the kind, he nevertheless reached the very summit that is in grace. And you, indeed, often, angered over past wrongs, bear a grudge; but he, fearing even for the future, and knowing precisely that the city would be uninhabitable for him and life unlivable if he saved his enemy, did not withdraw from caring for him, but did everything while feeding the enemy against himself. Tell me, what is it, then, that you hold against your enemy and refuse to be reconciled? For how greatly has he wronged you? Did he take your money? But if you bear the plundering nobly, you will receive as great a reward as if you had placed it in the hands of the poor. For both the one who has given to the poor and the one who has not plotted against or cursed the one who defrauded him for God's sake have done the same things. When, therefore, the ground of the expenditure is one, it is evident that the crown is also one. But did he plot against your life and attempt to destroy you? The testimony is yours—

He reckons this a great thing, if you count the plotter who carried his enmity to such a length among your benefactors, and continue praying for him, and beseeching God to be propitious to him. Let us not look at this, that God prevented David from being slaughtered by Saul when he was pursued, but that he put on a double and triple and quadruple crown of martyrdom from that man's plot. For he who for God's sake saved his enemy, who had once and twice and many times hurled the spear at his own head, and became master to destroy him, and then spared him, and knew this too, that after this sparing he would attack again—it is evident that he was slain ten thousand times in his intention, and having been slain ten thousand times for God's sake, he has many crowns of martyrdom. And what Paul said, this he also reckoned, and died daily for God's sake. For being able to destroy the plotter, for God's sake he did not wish it, but chose rather to be in danger each day than, having wrought a just slaughter, to be delivered from so many deaths. But if one must neither avenge oneself on nor hate the man who plots against one's very life, much more so the man who does wrong in any other of the things outside. Do you wish to learn that it is possible, if we are willing, to reconcile to ourselves every man who is hostilely disposed toward us, even if he be wicked and depraved and incorrigible? What is wilder than a lion? But nevertheless men tame this beast, and art constrains nature, and he becomes gentler and more tractable than any sheep—he who is wilder and more kingly than all beasts—and walks through the marketplace fearing no one, by his gentleness.

What defense, then, will we have, what excuse, when we tame wild beasts but say that men cannot ever be calmed, nor even feel kindly toward us? And yet gentleness is contrary to the nature of a beast, while savagery is contrary to the nature of a man. When, then, we overcome nature, what defense will we have in saying that the will cannot be corrected? But if he is sick with an incurable disease, the greater your toil, the greater also your reward for remaining and caring for the one who is incurably sick. But what great sin has the enemy committed, that you shrink back from reconciliation with him? Did he speak ill of you, and call you an adulterer and a fornicator? And what of it? If he speaks the truth, correct yourself; if he lies, laugh it off. If you are conscious in yourself of what was said, be chaste; if you are not conscious of it, despise it—or rather, do not merely laugh it off nor merely despise it, but rejoice and leap for joy, according to the word of the Lord. For when, he says, they reproach you and cast out your name as evil, lying for the sake of the Son of Man, rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because your reward is great in the heavens. But if he speaks the truth, and you bear his words with gentleness, and do not revile in return nor insult, but groan bitterly and condemn the sins that were committed, you will reap a reward no less than the former. For often the things that friends did not accomplish by praising and gratifying, enemies accomplished by speaking ill, even if they speak the truth. For the former, as is likely, by gratifying, or even flattering, inflate the disease to a greater swelling.

But those who were moved by hatred and reproached us for our sins forced us into the necessity of correction, and hatred became for us the occasion of the greatest benefit. Let us not, then, say, "So-and-so provoked me, and so-and-so led me on to speak shameful words"; we are the cause of these things everywhere. For if we are willing to practice philosophy, not only an enemy, but not even the devil himself will be able to stir us to anger. And this is clear from the story of David. For when he had said, "Behold, the edge of your cloak is in my hand," and all the other things with which he defended himself to Saul, that man says, "Is this your voice, my son David?" O how great was the sudden change that came over this man turned into a beast, through the gentleness of his words! For he who could not endure even to call him by his bare name at any time, but hated even his very appellation, was brought even to kinship with him, addressing him as son, and was warmed through at the very sound of his voice. And just as a father who hears the voice of a son returning from somewhere after a long time is stirred not only at the sight of him but also at the very voice itself, so too Saul, when David's words entered and cast out his hatred, recognized the holy man thereafter, and laying aside one passion, received another; for having cast out wrath, he received good cheer and compassion. What is more blessed and more exalted than David? Because he made the murderer a father, and the wolf a sheep, and filled the furnace of anger with abundant dew, and turned the waves into a calm, and quenched all the inflammation of wrath.

Let us not, then, my beloved, consider only this—how we may suffer no evil at the hands of our enemies—but how we may do nothing terrible to them; and we shall suffer no evil, even if we suffer countless terrible things. Just as David, though exiled, driven out, and plotted against even to his very life, suffered nothing terrible, but was more brilliant and more revered than his enemy, and more desired by all—not by men only, but by God himself. For how was that holy man wronged then, having suffered so much at the hands of Saul? Is he not sung of to this very day, brilliant on earth and brilliant in heaven? Do not the ineffable good things await him, and the kingdom of the heavens? But what did that wretched and miserable man gain by plotting so much? Did he not fall from the kingdom, and endure a pitiable death along with his son, and is he accused by all? And what is worse, he now awaits immortal punishments. When, therefore, you see your enemy, or even take him into your mind, do not say this: "I suffered such and such things, I heard such and such things," and thereby kindle your anger and raise the inflammation to greater swelling; but all the painful things you heard and suffered, forget them all. And if you do remember them, reckon them to the devil. But gather up whatever good thing he ever said or did to you, and you will quickly dissolve the enmity. And if you are going to accuse and argue with him, first cast out the passion and quench the anger, and then reprove him and demand an account, and you will be able easily to prevail. For when we are angry we shall be able to say or hear nothing sound.

Once we have been freed from the passion, we shall neither ourselves ever utter a harsh word, nor shall we listen in that way when others speak. For it is not so much the nature of what is said as the preconception of enmity that is accustomed to make us savage. For just as when night is present, we often do not recognize even a friend who is present, but when day comes and we see him from afar we recognize him, so also it is accustomed to happen with enmity: as long as we are ill-disposed toward one another, we both hear the voice of others and see their face with a corrupted judgment; but once we have put away our anger, the face that before was hostile and unpleasant appears desirable and gracious. And when your enemy reproaches you with a sin that you are conscious of in yourself, and you, on hearing it, do not insult him in return but groan bitterly and entreat God, you have straightway put away all your sin. And so that you may not think that we are merely entertaining you, we shall provide the testimony from the divine Scriptures. There was a certain Pharisee and a tax collector—the one had been driven to the utmost wickedness, the other was careful for righteousness—and both went up to the temple to pray. Then that one stood and said, "O God, I thank you that I am not like the rest of men, extortioners, greedy, or even like this tax collector." But the tax collector, standing far off, did not insult him in return, did not revile him in return, did not say any of those cold words that we say every day when we wash one another, but groaning bitterly and beating his breast, he said only this: "O God, be merciful to me, a sinner"—and he went down justified. Did you see the swiftness? He accepted reproach, and he washed away reproach.

He recognized his sins, and he put away his sins, and the accusation of sin became the removal of sin, and the enemy unwillingly is established as a benefactor. What, then, could be more blessed than this? And what is easier for deliverance from sins? For how much would the tax collector have had to toil—fasting, keeping vigil, sleeping on the ground, giving his possessions to those in need, sitting in ashes and sackcloth for a long time—in order to be able to put away those sins? And now, having done none of these things, through a mere word he put away all wickedness and its reproaches, and the insults of the one who seemed to revile him brought him a crown of righteousness without sweat and toil and long time. For this reason God also commanded us to pray for our enemies, so that we not only forgive them their debts, but also count them among the first of our friends. But if you are wronged in nothing, yet you turn away and do not look on pleasantly, and you have the wound still festering in your soul, you have not yet fulfilled the commandment that Christ gave. How, then, do you entreat God to be propitious to you, when you yourself have not yet become propitious to those who have trespassed against you? But if you wish to know that, even if we entreat on behalf of our enemies and those who have wronged us, God does not forgive if they are going to become worse through our forbearance, I will tell you an ancient story. Miriam once spoke against Moses; what then did God do? He inflicted leprosy on her and made her unclean, although in other respects she was gentle and modest.

Then, when Moses himself, though insulted, pleaded and begged that God would release his anger, God did not yield, but what did he say? If a man had a father, and he did it face to face, would he not have borne the rebuke? You, then, I accept for your gentleness and forbearance, but I must not yet release it from punishment. Remember, therefore, the fearful judgment, in which all things are naked and laid bare; consider that what is hidden now is uncovered then. If, then, you forgive your neighbor the sins that are going to be uncovered then, all these things are wiped away here, and you will depart dragging along nothing of the sins you have committed. So you receive greater things than you give. For often we have sinned in such ways as no one else has seen. Then, when we consider that on that day all our sins will lie before our eyes in the common theater of the world, shall we not grieve more painfully than punishment itself, choked and strangled by conscience? But such great shame of yours, so many sins, can be washed away through forgiveness toward your neighbor. And, if you wish, hear the power of this commandment: Though Moses and Samuel stand, he says, my soul is not toward them. But nevertheless, those whom Moses and Samuel could not snatch from the anger of God, this commandment can snatch away. For this reason he continually urged those to whom he said these things, saying: Let each not bear malice against his brother in your hearts; and, Do not reckon the evil of your neighbor. But if we are commanded to love enemies, when we also hate those who love us, what penalty shall we pay?

If one who loves the one who loves him has nothing more than the tax collectors, where will the one who hates the one who has done no wrong stand? And how will he escape Gehenna, having become worse than the Gentiles? If one who does not love his brother, even if he empties his wealth, even if he shines in martyrdom, accomplishes nothing more, consider how great a punishment the one who wages war against one who has done no wrong would be worthy of. If God does not forgive those who do not forgive the sins committed against themselves, what kind of forgiveness will he give to those who attempt to wrong those who have done no wrong? Why then do we fight against one another in vain, why do we wage war against one another, when we have been commanded to love even those who hate us? What do you say, man? You have an enemy and you are not ashamed? For the devil is not enough for us, that we also draw in those of the same race? Would that he had not wished to wage war against us, would that he were not even the devil. Do you not know how great the pleasure is after reconciliations? For what if it does not appear very strongly in enmity also? But if you say that you are inflamed by remembering the insult, remember whether any good has come to you from the one who caused you pain, and how many evils you have inflicted on others, and you will quickly put an end to the enmity. For you have not suffered anything so badly as the evil you will do to yourself by remembering wrongs. For how will you obtain forgiveness, which you do not share with others? The children of the Greeks [have done] nothing great

expecting, have often philosophized about forbearance; and you, for whom Christ gave his soul, and did not even refuse to be slain, though he was an enemy, and who are about to depart on such hopes—do you shrink back and hesitate to put an end to enmity? And what time accomplishes, are you unwilling to do before time for the sake of the law of God, but would rather have the passion extinguished without reward than with reward? For even if this comes about from time, it will be no advantage to you, but great indeed is the punishment, because what time accomplished, the law of God did not persuade you to do. For this very reason it provides you with an ineffable reward, that you may anticipate that day; since, if you are reconciled when entreated, the friendship is no longer of God's command, but of that one's zeal; therefore you also depart uncrowned, while he receives the prizes. Robbers who share meals with certain people are no longer robbers toward those with whom they share, but the table changes their manner, and makes those fiercer than wild beasts gentler than sheep; but we, who partake of such a table, who share such food, arm ourselves against one another? And how would we not be worse even than the wild beasts? For this very reason we become weaker, and the enemy of us all stronger each day. For we are not fenced together against him, but we stand with him against one another, and we use him as general for such battles. May we escape his generalship, by the grace of Christ, to whom befit glory, power, honor and worship, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, forever. Amen.

Homily 19. On grief and despondency. God has implanted despondency in our nature, not so that we should use it indiscriminately and inopportunely, even in circumstances that oppose it, nor so that we should destroy ourselves, but so that we might gain the greatest benefits from it. For the time for despondency is not when we suffer evil, but when we do evil. But we have reversed the order and exchanged the seasons: when we commit countless evils, we are not in the least restrained; but if we suffer some small thing at someone's hands, we collapse and grow dizzy and pray to be delivered from the present life, not knowing that afflictions and trials and the painful things that befall us no less display God's care for us than do good things. And why do I speak of afflictions here? For the threat of Gehenna no less than the kingdom of heaven sets forth his love for mankind; for if Gehenna had not been threatened, no one would quickly have attained the good things in heaven. For the promise of good things alone is not sufficient to urge us toward virtue, unless the fear of dreadful things also drives forward those who are more slackly disposed toward it. And besides, it is for this reason that grief and despondency have come to be—not so that we should feel pain over death, nor over loss of money, nor over any other such thing, but so that we should employ it for the removal of sins. For a soldier who fears death will never do anything noble. Therefore the one who grieves should grieve not over the things for which he is punished, but over the things by which, sinning, he provokes God. For this separates us from God and makes him an enemy—

But that especially reconciles him to us and prepares him to be near us. For this is why you were brought into the present life, O man—not so that you might be fed in idleness, nor so that you might suffer nothing terrible, but so that by suffering you might become more glorious. For it is not the mark of a noble man to seek ease and enjoy luxury; rather, that desire belongs to an irrational worm, or to one who has reason. And pray that you may not fall into temptation; but if ever you do enter it, do not be vexed, nor disturbed, nor troubled, but do everything so that you may become more glorious. Or do you not see the bravest of the soldiers, how when the trumpet calls they look to the trophies, to the victories, to those of their ancestors who have succeeded? You too, therefore, when the spiritual trumpet sounds, stand fiercer than a lion; step in, even if it be fire, even if it be iron. The elements themselves know how to respect those who are so brave; the wild beasts too know how to fear those who are so noble; even if by famine, even if by nature itself they are made savage, it forgets all things and masters the passion. The Christian, then, whenever he is grieved, ought to have only two grounds for despondency: either when he himself, or when his neighbor, has offended God. Therefore it is not those who are reviled who ought to be anxious and tremble, but those who revile; for it is not the former who are compelled to give an account for the things they heard evilly, but the latter for the things they spoke evilly; for upon these hangs the whole danger. So that those who have been evilly spoken of ought to be free from care; for they will not give reckoning for the things another has spoken evilly.

But those who have said this are in agony and trembling, inasmuch as they are about to be dragged before the fearful judgment seat for these things. Therefore let us not grieve at being spoken of badly, but at being spoken of badly justly; for if we live in wickedness, even if no one is slandering us, we are more wretched than all; but if we take care for virtue, even if the whole inhabited world speaks ill of us, then we shall be more enviable than all. For if our mind is well ordered, even if ten thousand storms are stirred up from every side, we shall sit in calm and in a harbor continually. Just as, then, when it is not well, even if everything comes to us with favoring winds, we shall be in no better state than those in shipwrecks. This one may see also in the case of foods. For when the body of our stomach is strong and vigorous, whatever it receives, even if it be hard, even if it be quite unworked, it transforms it into a pure humor, the natural temperament overcoming the badness in the food; but when its tone is relaxed and flabby, even if you bring it the most succulent of all dishes, it changes and corrupts it into the worst, the weakness damaging its virtue. For it is not possible for a soul that is in pain and held by a cloud of despondency to be able either to hear anything of what is said profitably with eagerness, or to speak. For the souls of those in pain do not wish to stretch out long speeches, but as a certain thick cloud comes into being and runs beneath the sun's ray, it turns the whole of it back again;

Thus also a cloud of despondency, whenever it stands before our soul, does not allow the passage of the word to become easy for it, but chokes it and holds it within with much constraint. And this happens not only with those who speak, but also with those who hear. For just as it does not allow the word to leap out easily from the soul of the speaker, so it does not permit it to fall into the mind of the hearers with its own proper force. For indeed the friends of Job, having come to him and seen the tragedy of that house, and the righteous man sitting on that dunghill and covered with sores, tore their garments and wailed, and sat by him in silence, showing that nothing is so fitting for those in pain at the beginning as quiet and silence. Learn, then, that the one who permitted the trial to come to pass himself also knows the time of the trial's release. For God is able to loose all dreadful things, but until he sees that turning has taken place, he does not destroy the affliction. And marvel at those who are tried and who bravely endure the trials, just as the three children, whom no one would have marveled at had they not been burned, if they had been far from the Babylonian furnace. For this is what amazed everyone, that after conversing with the fire for so long a time, they came out more free from pain than those who had not conversed with it. Thus also in the case of the saints it can be said that if no trial had been brought upon them, we would not have marveled at them as rejoicing continually. For although encircled by countless waves on every side, they were in a better condition than those enjoying clear calm.

For if there were nothing causing them grief, it would not be a great thing for them to be able to rejoice continually; but when many things press upon them and cast them into despondency, to be above them all, and to rejoice in the midst of sorrowful circumstances—this is the paradoxical thing. For does not death seem to be more unbearable than anything? Yet the expectation of it not only does not grieve them, but even makes them rejoice more greatly. For they know that the presence of death is a release from labors, and that it is the custom of the philanthropic God to honor his servants, and often to grant them even the salvation of others; just as he also did in the case of the holy Paul, the teacher of the world, who sent forth everywhere the rays of his own teaching. For when he was being brought up to Rome, a great storm arising at sea, and all those in the ship fearing for their very safety, and having no good hope because of the greatness of the surge, he called them all together and said: Be of good cheer, men; for there will be no loss of life among you, except of the ship. For there stood by me this night an angel of God, whose I am and whom I serve, saying: Do not fear, Paul; for God has granted you all those who sail with you. Let us continually remember this. For nothing benefits us so much as continually remembering the benefactions of God, both those common to all and those private. For if, when we recall a friend's benefactions, or hear a kind word or deed, we are warmed through, how much more, when we see how many dangers we have fallen into and how God has delivered us from them all, shall we be more eager for virtue.

Just as also Paul—concerning whom, his hunger and thirst, his nakedness, his shipwrecks, his fears, his plots, his prisons, his beatings, and all the other things that the blessed Paul endured for the sake of the preaching, I think there is no need to speak. For each of these alone was enough to shake violently and break down that holy soul. But when he says, "Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to stumble, and I do not burn?"—this is what most of all gave him continual and unbearable despondency. For if he burned for each one of those who were made to stumble, that burning could not be quenched from his soul; for those who were made to stumble did not cease, providing fuel for the fire. And to see the Jews also unbelieving—what small relief of despondency and pain could he possibly have? "For I could wish," he says, "to be accursed from Christ for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh, who are Israelites." What he means is this: It was more desirable to me to fall into Gehenna than to see the Israelites unbelieving. But he who chose the punishment in Gehenna in order to be able to win over all the Jews—it is evident that, not obtaining this, he lived a life heavier than those punished in Gehenna. To him it was also said, "My grace is sufficient for you; for my power is perfected in weakness"—that is, It is sufficient for you that you raise the dead, that you heal the blind, that you cleanse lepers, that you work other wonders; do not seek also to preach without danger and without fear and without troubles.

But are you in pain and disheartened? Do not think that this is a sign of my weakness—that many are plotting against you and beating you and driving you and scourging you; rather, this very thing demonstrates my power (for he says, My power is made perfect in weakness), when, being persecuted, you prevail over those who persecute you; when, being driven, you master those who drive you; when, being bound, you put to flight those who bind you. But it is indeed a terrible thing to be spoken ill of by anyone; but when the one doing this is one of those who have been benefited, and he reproaches and throws in his face the benefits done to him, then, then the insolence becomes unbearable, and it brings with it so much anger along with the despondency as to be able even to suffocate the one who is insulted. Or does the one who has suffered ill at the hands of some great man have no small ground for pride—the superiority of the one who did it? But the one who suffers at the hands of a worthless and cast-off person has greater vexation, and reckons the affliction unbearable. But do not look at this—whether some are mocking us—but whether rightly and justly; and if justly, even if they do not laugh, let us weep; but if unjustly, even if all laugh, let us count ourselves blessed, but lament them, as being more wretched than all, and no different from madmen—even if nothing is more unbearable to those in pain than a word able to bite the soul. Say these things both to yourselves and to one another each day, as you find opportunity.

For if one who is about to ask a favor, even if he is going to make a reasonable request, waits for the fitness of the occasion, so that he may approach in a calm and well-disposed manner the one who is about to grant the petition, and having taken the alliance that comes from the occasion may obtain the favor—how much more must the speaker seek a fitting occasion. For in this way we ought to care for one another as for ourselves, and to spare our neighbors, just as indeed God also spares us. For no one spares himself as God spares all of us, who far more than we ourselves desires that we suffer nothing terrible; to whom befit glory, power, honor, and worship, now and unto the ages of ages. Amen. HOMILY 20. On anger and wrath. Do you wish to learn how great an evil anger is? Stand by those who are fighting in the marketplace; for you cannot easily see the disgrace in yourself, darkened and drunk as you are, but when you have been cleansed of the passion, then you will rather observe your own condition. For when wrath, boiling around the chest, is stirred up and grows savage, the mouth breathes fire, the eyes send forth fire, the face swells from every side, the hands are stretched out disorderly, and the feet leap and jump ridiculously against those who hold one back, and they are no different from madmen—no, not even from wild asses—kicking and biting; so a wrathful man is not comely. But, he says, the heart swells and is bitten by the insults. I know it too; for this reason I admire those who master it. For if we are willing, it is possible to drive away the passion. For why is it that when rulers insult us, we do not suffer this? Because fear stands as a counterweight to our passion.

Why is it that even slaves, though insulted by you ten thousand times, bear everything in silence? Because they too have the same bond laid upon them. But now, for the sake of men we bear even intolerable things, and we say to those who insult us: "So-and-so insulted me, not you"; yet in the case of God shall we not have even this reverence? Let us say also to our own soul: "God is insulting us now, who commands us to be silent; let us not prance about, nor let God be more dishonored than men." When, then, someone grieves you, consider your sins against God, and that by your gentleness toward him you will make the tribunal of future accounts more gentle toward you. For, he says, Forgive, and it shall be forgiven you. In addition to these things, consider that also: whether at any time, carried away into savagery, you restrained yourself, and whether at any time you were dragged along by passion, and compare both occasions. When did you praise yourself? When you were defeated, or when you restrained yourself? Is it not that then we often curse ourselves, and much regret comes upon us, both for words and for deeds? But when we prevail, we revel, we exult as having conquered. For victory over anger is not to defend oneself with equal blows—for that is the ultimate defeat—but to bear gently when one has suffered badly and heard badly. Nor resist those who advise you to be silent, saying: "I will not endure it, so that so-and-so may go away having laughed at me"; for he will not laugh then, but when you retaliate; and if he laughs even then, he will suffer this too as a fool. But do not seek to win the testimony of fools, but consider sufficient that of the wise.

Rather, look up to God, and he will praise you; and the one who is admired by him ought not to seek honor from men. And if someone has much money and possessions, let him use them as a sojourner who will shortly depart from them, both willingly and unwillingly. And if someone has been wronged by anyone, let him not be angry immortally, or rather not even for a time; for "let not the sun," it says, "go down upon your wrath." For this passion has overturned whole households, dissolved ancient friendships, and produced inconsolable tragedies. When, then, someone mistreats you, do not look to him, but to the demon who stirs him up, and pour out all your anger against that one; but pity the man himself who is stirred by him. For if lying is from the devil, being angry without cause is much more from there. Now it is not possible to be angry when there is no one provoking; but to desire is necessary, even when the sight that moves to this does not appear. When someone insults you, consider the punishment with which he is punished; and not only will you not have anger, but you will even shed tears. For no one is provoked against a man with a fever, nor against one who is inflamed, but one pities all such people and weeps. But if you wish to defend yourself, be silent, and you have struck him a fatal blow; but if, stung, you insult back, you compel what is said to be thought true. For why does the rich man laugh when he hears that he is poor? Because he is not conscious of poverty in himself. If, then, we are going to laugh at insults, we will provide the greatest proof that we are not conscious of what is said. Did someone insult you?

Entreat God that he may quickly become propitious to him; he is your brother, he is your member. But he tramples on me more, he says. Therefore on this account your reward is greater. For this reason especially it is right to let go of anger, since the devil has wounded him. Do not therefore rebuke him yourself, nor throw yourself down along with him. For as long as you stand, you can save that one too; but if you also throw yourself down by returning the insult, who will raise you both up thereafter? He who was wounded? But lying down he will not be able. But you who have fallen along with him? And how will you, who were not sufficient for yourself, extend a hand to another? The devil has wounded him; do not wound him yourself, but rather cast out the former weapon. For if we speak to one another in this way, we shall all quickly be healed; but if we arm ourselves against one another, there is no need even of the devil for our destruction. But you suffered badly first? Yet it is not suffering badly that is wretched, but doing badly. For do not say: It is nothing, if I insult so-and-so. For this very reason it is a great evil, because it seems to be nothing; for things that seem to be nothing are easily despised, and things despised also grow, and things that grow also become incurable. Do you therefore think you are doing nothing terrible when you accuse your brother? How then do you call him brother? And if he is not a brother, how do you say, Our Father? For the word our is significant of many persons. For the one who has a beastly and inhuman disposition cannot call the philanthropic God Father.

For he does not preserve the marks of the goodness that is in the heavenly Father, but has transformed himself into the beastly form and has fallen away from the divine nobility. For when a man leaps like a bull, kicks like a donkey, bears grudges like a camel, is gluttonous like a bear, snatches like a wolf, strikes like a scorpion, is crafty like a fox, and neighs after women like a lustful stallion, how can such a one send up the voice befitting a son and call God his Father? What, then, should such a one be called? A beast? But beasts are held by one of these defects; this man, however, having gathered all of them in himself, has become more irrational than their irrationality. For beasts, though wild by nature, having enjoyed human skill, often become tame; but this man, being a man and changing the wildness of those beasts, which is according to nature, into tameness that is against nature, what defense will he have, bringing his own gentleness, which is according to nature, out into wildness that is against nature, and making the wild by nature tame, but making himself, who is tame by nature, wild, and taming a lion and making it docile,

But who makes his own temper fiercer than a lion? For he tames the lion and makes it a man, yet he allows himself to become a lion instead of a man; and to the lion he grants what is beyond nature, but for himself he does not even procure what is according to nature. If nothing makes a man so like God as for the one who is wronged to be forgiving to those who wrong him, of how great a punishment would they not be worthy who, after all this, not only do not forgive themselves, but even call upon God for vengeance against their enemies and petition against them? What hope of salvation will they have left, when even at the very time they need to propitiate him, they then provoke him, wearing the guise of a suppliant but uttering the cries of a beast, and hurling the arrows of the evil one against themselves? For if, when you have need of mercy, you do not even then let go of your anger, but remember it exceedingly, and that too knowing that you thrust the sword against yourself, when will you be able to become humane? You have suffered badly, and you wish to avenge yourself on the one who treated you badly? Do him good, and I am avenged. For if you exact punishment, all will blame both you and him alike; but if you bear it, they will applaud and marvel at you, and will speak ill of him. But what greater and bitterer evil could befall an enemy than to see the enemy admired and applauded by all, while he himself is insulted by all in the sight of his enemy? Anger is a beast that easily leaps out; and for this reason we need countless fences and barriers in order to overcome it and hold it in check.

For this reason especially God built this part for us, as it were, out of certain stones—the bones—setting it as a support for it, so that it would never rupture or sever and easily destroy the whole living creature. For it is fire, he says, and a great tempest; and no other part of the whole body could endure this violence. A lion cannot tear our entrails apart as rage does, seated forever with iron claws, destroying everything. For it does not harm the body only, but corrupts the very health of the soul. So when someone comes and says to you, "So-and-so has insulted you and continues speaking evil of you to everyone," praise the insulter before those present; and even if they are very foolish, they will praise and marvel at you, but they will hate him as more savage than any wild beast, because he, though wronged in nothing, caused pain, while you, though treated badly, repaid with the opposite. In addition to this, you will be able to show that all the things said are stale. For the one who is bitten provides proof that the words are true by the very fact that he feels pain; but the one who laughed it off, by this very thing, has freed himself from all suspicion before those present. And if you also desire to take revenge on him, this too will follow in abundance, both as God punishes him for what he has said, and even before that punishment, your philosophy becomes for him a timely blow. For nothing is so accustomed to punish those who insult us as our laughing at the insults when we are insulted.

But when you return insult for insult, you have been defeated—not by a man, but, what is more shameful, moved by the illiberal passion of anger. But if you keep silent, you have both conquered and set up the trophy without toil, and you will have countless people to crown you and to condemn the falsehood of the abuse. For the one who talks back seems to retort as one who is stung; but the one who is stung gives the suspicion that he is conscious of what is said. But if you laugh it off, you have both dissolved the verdict against yourself by your laughter, and you have made the one who insulted you suffer more from this. For he is not so pleased at not being insulted as he is pained at not being able to get at you. When, therefore, you deprive him most of all of that which he most desires, you have deprived him of everything, having made him contemptible and shown him worthy of disdain. For kings are not made illustrious by conquering enemies as much as by conquering anger and rage; for there the success belongs to weapons and soldiers, but here your trophy is bare; and there you have others to share the victory, but here

You alone have set up the trophy. When, therefore, someone insults you, bear it nobly; for he has insulted himself, not you. If he strikes your right hand, do not resist; for it is he who is being struck—striking you with his hand, but himself with his anger, and receiving a bad reputation from all. But if these things seem difficult to you, consider: if some madman tore your cloak, whom would you say was suffering harm—you who suffered it, or he who did it? It is clear: he. Then where a cloak is torn, the one who did it has suffered worse than the one who suffered it; but where a heart is torn (for anger does this), will you not judge that he has suffered greater evils than you, who suffered nothing at all? If one must not return evil for evil, much more must one not return evil for good, and return evil when no evil preceded. But so-and-so, he says, is wicked, and he grieved me and wronged me greatly. Do you wish to avenge yourself? Do not repay; leave him unpunished; give thanks. For this is truly vengeance, bringing harm to him and benefit to you; for from this joy is born. For when we have such a soul as to avenge no one but to benefit all, tell me, from where will the sting of grief be able to steal in? For he who rejoices in suffering evil so much as to repay with kindness the one who did evil, how will he be able to be distressed any longer? For tell me, what evil have you suffered? Has sickness fallen upon you? But nothing strange; for our body is mortal and subject to suffering. But poverty of money? But these things too are possessions and dispossessions, and remain here. But plots and slanders?

But we are not the ones wronged in these matters—rather, those who have done the wrong. For the soul that sins, it says, is the one that shall die; and the one who sinned was not the one who suffered evil, but the one who did evil. Let us therefore be eager for nothing so much, beloved, as to be free from anger and to reconcile those who are ill-disposed toward us, knowing that neither prayer, nor almsgiving, nor fasting, nor participation in the mysteries, nor any other such thing, if we harbor resentment, will be able to stand by us on that day. So one would not be wrong to declare this more grievous than every sin. For God hates and turns away from nothing so much as a resentful man who keeps his anger. For how do you wish the Master to be gentle and mild toward you, when you yourself are harsh and unforgiving toward your fellow servant? But your fellow servant insulted you? You too often insult God. And where is the equality between a fellow servant and a Master? And he insulted you perhaps from passion and because he had been wronged, and provoked; but you insult God, not wronged nor abused, but benefited by him every day. And what defense or pardon shall we have? Consider, then, that if God wished to examine strictly the things done against him, we would not live a single day. For if you should watch for iniquities, it says, O Lord, O Lord, who shall stand? For yours is the glory unto the ages of ages. Amen. Homily 21. On rule and authority and glory.

Blessed Constantine is spoken of: when his image had once been stoned, and many were provoking him to proceed against those who had offered the outrage and to exact punishment, saying that they had wounded his whole face by hurling stones at it, he felt his own face with his hand, and smiling gently, said, "I see no wound anywhere on my forehead; but my head is sound, and my whole face is sound." And he made those men, reddening and ashamed, withdraw from that unjust counsel. But if among men he enjoyed so great glory because of that saying, how many good things will he enjoy with the humane God? For this man is truly a king, who rules anger and envy and pleasure, and brings all things under the laws of God, and keeps his mind free, and does not allow the dominion of pleasures to prevail over his soul. Such a man I would gladly see ruling over earth and sea, and cities and peoples and armies. For he who has set reason over the passions of the soul would easily preside over men as well, together with the divine laws, so as to be in the place of a father to those he rules, conversing with the cities with all gentleness. But he who seems to rule over men, yet is a slave to anger and love of rule and pleasures, would first appear ridiculous to those he rules, because he wears a crown studded with stones and of gold, but is not crowned with self-control; and his whole body shines with purple, but he has his soul unadorned.

Then he will not even know how to manage authority; for the one who has not been able to rule himself, how could he be able to direct others by the laws? And let us not consider this—how we may be in honors and positions of power—but how we may be in virtue and philosophy. For positions of power persuade people to do many things that do not seem good to God, and a very youthful soul is needed, so as to use the given honor and glory and authority as is fitting. The one deprived of glory practices philosophy even unwillingly; but the one who enjoys it suffers something like this: as if someone living with a beautiful and fair maiden should accept laws never to look at her licentiously. For such is authority. Therefore it has cast many even unwillingly into insolence and stirred up anger, and removed the bridle of the tongue, and thrown open the door of the mouth, as if fanning the soul up by a wind, and sinking the vessel into the last depth of evils. For greatness of honor is an addition of punishment for those who choose to live unworthily of the honor. For to be well esteemed and to advance among the people, the more splendid it makes one, the greater the dangers and the cares it has; for such a person cannot at all breathe or stand still, having so bitter and heavy a master. And why do I say stand still and breathe? Even if such a person has countless successes, he enters the kingdom with difficulty. For nothing is so accustomed to make one break one's neck, as the glory that comes from the many. For to bear dishonor is great and noble; but to partake of glory requires a youthful and very great soul, so that one enjoying glory may not break one's neck.

But if you wish to receive glory, spurn glory; but if you pursue glory, you will fall from glory. For this glory is a shadow of glory. No one, upon seeing a painted loaf, even if he is held by hunger ten thousand times over, will touch the painting. Those, therefore, who say that they have received the whole in the present, make themselves completely desolate for the future. Thus also Adam, in hope of greater honor, fell even from that which he had. And many often, desiring greater things, lost also the present things, and those who expected to have the whole of things here fell even from the part. For human affairs, the more they are exalted and shine, the greater the fall they produce—not only those of the ruled, but also those of the kings themselves. For one would not find a private house filled with as many calamities as the palaces are full of evils. For this reason, then, tell me, do you envy your neighbor because you see him enjoying honor and great glory? Then do you not consider the fragility of these things, and how great the evil that is born from them? For the most grievous of these things is that the evils from them remain immortal, while the pleasure has not yet appeared and has flown away. But he has great authority with the ruler, and drives and carries all things wherever he wishes, and grieves his enemies, and benefits his flatterers, and has great power? What then is he able to do that is terrible? Will he depose him from his rank? And what is this? For if justly, it also benefits; for nothing so provokes God as to be honored beyond one's worth; but if unjustly, the charge again goes against that one, not against this one.

For the one who has suffered something unjustly and borne it nobly has obtained greater boldness before God. For the one who submits to rulers does not submit to rulers, but obeys God who legislated these things; and the one who does not obey them makes war on God. For there is no authority, it says, except from God. For the very existence of principalities, and that some rule and others are ruled, and that all things are not simply carried along in disorder, with the peoples whirled this way and that like waves, is the work of God's wisdom. Therefore he is also a fierce avenger when these are despised. For he will not exact from you an ordinary penalty for disobeying, but a very great one indeed; and nothing will rescue you when you argue back, but you will also suffer the most grievous punishment at the hands of men, and you will provoke God all the more. For just as, if you remove the pilot from a ship, you have sunk the vessel; and if you lead a general away from the army, you have handed the soldiers over bound to the enemy; so if you destroy the rulers of cities, we will live a life more irrational than irrational beasts. For what the wooden props are in houses, rulers are in cities. When, then, a ruler is blameless in all respects, then he will be able, with as much authority as he wishes, both to punish and to pardon all those ranked under him. For to fail to punish those who are liable, and to grant pardon to those who have sinned unpardonably, is scarcely the act of one man or a second, and especially when it is a king who is being insulted; and to subject a city by fear is easy—

But to make everyone lovers of him and to persuade them to be favorably disposed toward his rule is hard to accomplish, even if one spends countless sums of money, even if one sets countless armies in motion, even if one does anything at all, he will not easily be able to draw to himself the disposition of so many men. For nothing so demonstrates the one who holds authority as affection toward those under his rule. For it is not only begetting that makes a father, but also loving after begetting. And if where nature is, love is needed, much more where grace is. Truly the office of the priesthood is greater than the office of the king, and greater by as much as the king is entrusted with bodies, while the priest is entrusted with souls. And the one remits debts of money, the other debts of sins; and the one compels, the other exhorts; the one has perceptible weapons, the other spiritual weapons; the one wages war against barbarians, the other against demons. For this reason even in the Old Testament priests anointed kings, and now God places the head under the hands of the priest, teaching us that this ruler is greater than that one; for the lesser is blessed by the greater. For once King Uzziah entered the temple of the Lord wishing to burn incense, and Azariah the priest entered after him; for not as one about to drive out a king, but as one about to drive out a runaway and an insolent servant, he came in after him with such vehemence, like a noble watchdog rushing in upon an unclean beast, so as to drive it out of its Master's house. He did not look at the bulk of his authority, he did not listen to Solomon saying, The threat of a king is like the wrath of a lion;

But looking to the true King of the heavens, and having fortified himself with fear of him, he thus leaped upon the tyrant. But let us also enter in, if it seems good, so that we may see what he says to the king. "It is not permitted to you, Oziah," he says, "to burn incense to the Lord." He did not call him king, since he himself had first cast himself out of that honor; for the one who commits sin is a slave, even if he has countless crowns upon his head; but the one who works righteousness, even if he is the last of all, is more kingly than the king himself. And pay attention to what I say: At one time the Jews needed a king to be made, since the one who had been made before was unworthy. So Samuel is sent to Jesse, and he says: "God has sent me to make a king from among your sons." Jesse, having heard "a king," thinking him suitable for the office, brings his first son. "Send him away," he says, "God has not been well pleased in him." He brings the second; not even this one; he brings the third; not even this one; the fourth, the fifth, the sixth; not even this one. And the chorus of the sons was used up, and the one being sought was not found. He says to him: "Do you have another son?" The father was ashamed. "I have one," he says, "small, of little account, a shepherd." What then? Do you seek to make a king, and do you consider the lesser better than the better? Man despises man, but God crowns—

For God does not see as man sees; man looks at the face, but God looks at the heart. For do we seek bulk of flesh? We desire nobility of soul. And why did God not say by name: Go, anoint David for me as king, but rather "one of the sons of Jesse"? So that David might not suffer what Joseph suffered. For just as those men, having learned who their king was to be, plotted against him, so there was a fear that these too might do the same. Thus ignorance became the mother of safety for David. So David came, and was anointed with oil, and departed having the kingdom, not clad in breastplate, nor shield, nor spears, but in the vote of God, which is mightier than all things. And when war called, he went out to see the battle line, and found the barbarian challenging to single combat, and no one dared to leap forward or go out against him. He stood and said: Who is this uncircumcised man, who has reproached the battle line of the living God? And they say to him: Whence comes this madness of yours? But he said: It is not madness but faith; I am armed not with a breastplate but with piety toward God; I do not consider his size, but the desolation of his mind; I do not see that the ship is great, but that it has no pilot. What then do the brothers do? Again envy, again malice. To whom did you leave those little sheep? We know the arrogance of your heart and your wickedness, that you came down for the sake of seeing the war. But he, cutting off the wound, withdrew from them, and coming to the other part of the war, he says: What will be done for the man who takes up his head?

They bring him in to the king. So he saw the king fallen down, afraid and trembling, and he says to him: Why has the face of my lord fallen? And in prosperity he acknowledges his servitude. Who is this? Shall I not go and take off his head? What then does the king say? And how can you, being a little boy, while he has been a warrior from his youth? The king disbelieves; David is compelled to recount his achievements: I, he says, was a little boy, shepherding the sheep of my father; and when a lion or a bear came and took a sheep from my flock, I went out after them and snatched it from their mouth, and I struck the lion and the bear; and this one shall be as one of those beasts, because he has reproached the battle line of the living God. And Saul said to David: Go, and the Lord be with you. And the king gave him his own armor, and he could not bear it. Why? God did not permit this, so that the armor might not share in the victory of his achievements; so that the king might not say, My armor won. He throws off the armor and puts on faith; he lets go the clod; the foreigner fell. For not by the nature of the body, but by the power of the Spirit, did he carry off the victory. He ran and took his sword and cut off his head; and what was written was fulfilled: In the works of his hands the sinner was caught. If, then, you long for glory and honor, adorn and tend not the house nor the horse, but the soul.

As things are now, nothing would be more contemptible than you, since you have a soul destitute, and you put forward the beauty of your house and your horse. But those things and these things come to pass, he says. What do you say? Do you not fear when you utter these things, and count Christ along with horses and stones? Do you not know that he himself fashioned the body, and bestowed the soul, and apportioned the whole world? And do you not repay him even a small recompense? If you rent out a little house, you demand the rent with great exactness; but enjoying all his creation, and dwelling in so great a world, do you not endure to pay back even a little rent? And of what defense would you be worthy? For just as one who hurls a stone upward will not be able to cut through the body of heaven, nor reach that height, but receives the blow on his own head, the stone returning upon the thrower; so indeed also the one who blasphemes that blessed essence of God will never harm it at all, since it is much greater and higher than to receive any harm, but he sharpens the sword against his own head, having become ungrateful toward his benefactor. Let those hear who pry into the blessed essence of the Godhead, and say that that incomprehensible nature is comprehensible, so that they may know that it is not possible for a man to see even the essence of an angel with impunity. The holy prophet Daniel, the friend of God, who had great boldness toward him, fasted three weeks of days, and he did not eat the bread of desires, nor did wine and meat enter into his mouth, nor did he anoint himself with ointment.

And when his soul was more fit to receive the vision of such a sight, having become lighter and more spiritual through fasting, then he saw the angel, and he says: My inward parts were turned within me in my vision, and no breath was left in me, nor strength; and my glory was turned into corruption. For since the young man was comely, the fear of the angel's presence disposed him like those who are breathing their last, pouring over him great pallor, and consuming the flower of his youth, and wasting away all the fair color of his countenance; for this reason he says: My glory was turned into corruption. So the angel raised him up, and he arose trembling; and when the angel began to speak with him, again he fell to the ground; and just as those who have been loosened by fear, when roused and come back to themselves and looking about, while we hold them and sprinkle their face with cold streams, often grow faint in our very hands, so also the prophet suffered. For his soul, having been frightened, and not bearing the sight of the fellow servant's presence, nor able to endure that light, was troubled, as if hastening to break itself free from the bond of the flesh as from some chain; but he held him fast. And if Daniel, whom the eyes of lions reverenced, Daniel who in a human body was able to do things beyond man, who was witnessed to in wisdom and righteousness and in many other achievements—if he did not endure the presence of a fellow servant, but lay breathless;

Those who have fallen so far short of the virtue of the righteous man, and who pry into the Master of the angels, and promise that they know with all exactness the very essence—the highest and first essence, which brought forth these myriads of angels, one of whom Daniel could not look upon—what will they suffer? For just as the blind man does not know the inaccessibility of the sun's rays in the same way as the one who sees, so too we do not know the incomprehensibility of God in the same way as the powers of the angels, insofar as they are purer and wiser and more clear-sighted than human nature. For as great as the difference between a blind man and one who sees, so great is the difference between us and them; so that even if you hear the prophet saying, I saw the Lord, do not suspect that he saw that essence, but rather the condescension—and that too more dimly than the powers above. This is also clear from the apostles. For Jesus, it says, went up into the mountain, and was transfigured before them. What is "was transfigured"? He opened a little of his divinity, and showed them the God who dwells within. And his face shone as the sun, and his garments became white as the light. The evangelist wished to show his radiance, and says, "It shone." It shone—how? It shone intensely. Tell me, and how? As the sun. You say, "As the sun"? Yes. Why? I have no other star bright and white. He was white as snow; I have no other substance whiter. For that it did not shine in this way is shown by what follows: And the disciples fell to the ground. But if it had shone as the sun, the disciples would not have fallen.

For they used to see the sun every day and did not fall; but since he shone brighter than the sun and whiter than snow, for this reason, unable to bear the radiance, they fell. But what am I to suffer? I am a man and I converse with men; I possess a tongue of clay; I ask forgiveness from the Master; for I have not used these words out of recklessness, but because of the poverty of my weakness and of the nature of our tongue. Be merciful, Master; for it is not in recklessness that I speak these words, but I have no others; yet I do not stand still in the meanness of the wording, but I rise on the wing of the thought. It is for this reason that we have said these things also, and have read to you the story concerning the blessed Daniel, and have continually shown him growing pale, trembling, gasping for breath, his soul pressing on to burst the bond of the flesh; so that from the abundance of this you may know, you who say that God is comprehensible, that not only the manifestation of God, but not even that of an angel, is bearable to behold. For just as a tame and gentle dove dwelling in some little house, whenever it perceives some fear, startled, flies up to the roof and seeks some way out through the windows, longing to be delivered from its distress; so too the soul of that blessed man at that time hastened to ascend from the body and rushed toward what was outside. And it would have gone out and flown away and left the body desolate, had not the angel quickly anticipated it and released it from its distress and led it back again to its own dwelling-place. But if that righteous man, who had such boldness, seeing an angel, did not endure it:

Those who have fallen so far from him, and who pry into not an angel but the very Master of the angels himself—what will they suffer? He tamed the fury of lions; but we cannot prevail even over foxes. He tore a dragon in two; but we fear even mere reptiles. And if such a man, so great, when he saw an angel coming to him, was seized by a grievous dizziness of darkness, what defense will they have, who attempt to trespass upon that blessed nature? For this reason Paul, struck with amazement, said, O the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God! How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past tracing out! He did not say, incomprehensible, but, unsearchable. But if it cannot be searched out, much more is it impossible to be comprehended. And his ways past tracing out. His ways are past tracing out, and he himself is comprehensible, tell me? What do you say? His judgments are unsearchable, his ways past tracing out, the things he has prepared for those who love him have not entered into the heart of man, his majesty has no limit, his understanding has no number—all things are incomprehensible, and he alone is comprehensible? And what excess of madness could this not involve? And who would not lament for you your derangement and this final folly? Let us strive to cast it off, beloved, as much as we can, always seeming to set Paul before our eyes, crying out with amazement and saying: How unsearchable are his judgments, and his ways past tracing out! To him be the glory forever. Amen. Homily 22. On endurance and long-suffering.

If you wish, beloved, let us set before you, for your encouragement to endurance, the valiant deeds of the righteous Job. For this man, this man who enjoyed such great glory, and was escorted by all, and was everywhere proclaimed with great splendor, when he was suddenly brought down into dishonor and contempt, struggled against poverty and disease and the loss of his children and the uprising of enemies and the heartlessness of friends and famine and bodily pains and insults and slanders; and what is even harder, these things fell upon him though he was untrained. For the man born of poor parents and raised in such a household, having been trained and practiced, would easily bear the burden of poverty; but the man who was flooded with so much wealth and prided himself on so great riches, then suddenly changed to the opposite, would not easily endure such a change. And again, the man who has lost children, even if he loses them all, yet not at one time, has the remaining ones as a consolation for those who have gone; and when the grief of the former deaths has ceased, if that of the second comes after a time, by this very fact the suffering becomes more bearable to him. For not

It assails one who is young with the wound, but one already asleep and gone; which cuts off no small part of the pain. But this man saw his whole chorus snatched away in a single moment of time, and by the most bitter manner of death, and at the hour of a banquet, and in a house that was open to strangers, and the house became a tomb for them. And who could describe that famine, that strange one and one that cannot be interpreted, the voluntary one, the involuntary one? For I do not know how to call it. Voluntary? But he wished to taste of what was set before him. But involuntary? But the food was present, and there was no one to prevent him, but even when the table was set before him he held back, and though the foods were seen he did not touch them. For the foul odor of the wounds about his body, meeting him beforehand, dissolved his desire, and filled the very table with its offensiveness. For, he says, I see my food as a stench. And the necessity of hunger compelled him to touch what was set before him, but the excess of the foul odor arising from his flesh conquered the force of hunger. How could I describe the pains, the springs of worms, the ichor flowing down, the reproaches of friends, the contempt of servants? For, he says, my servants did not spare me because of the spittings on my face; and those whom I did not consider worthy to be my wandering dogs, these now have fallen upon me, and the least instruct me. Do these things not seem to be all grievous? For they are indeed grievous and unbearable.

But nevertheless, when the loving-kind God deigned to tell him the reason for these struggles—that it was so that you might be shown to be righteous, and these things were permitted—he breathed again, so as to seem to have suffered none of those griefs. For just as in the arena the athlete must contend with sweat and dust and great heat and toils and hardships, so also the righteous man here must endure many things and bear all things nobly, if indeed he is to receive those bright crowns there. For if we call that body blessed which can bear cold and heat without pain, and famine and want and journeying and other hardships, much more must we call that soul blessed which can steadfastly and nobly bear all the assaults of troubles and keep its resolve unenslaved at all times. Just as, then, the soul that enjoys idleness and ease is easily captured by the passions, so too the soul that has devoted itself continually to the struggles for piety does not even have leisure ever to think of these things, since the care for its wrestlings leads it away from all those things. For not only to do some good thing, but also to suffer evil, has many recompenses; and Job shows this, having been approved more by his sufferings than by his successes. For he was not so glorious when he possessed his wealth and opened his house to the poor and gave out what he had, as when, on hearing that it had fallen, he did not resent it; he was not so glorious when from the shearing of his sheep he clothed the naked, as he was glorious and approved when, on hearing that fire had fallen and consumed everything, he gave thanks.

Then he was a lover of humanity; now he has become a lover of wisdom. Then he had pity on the poor; now he gives thanks to the Master. And he did not say to himself: What is this? The flocks have been destroyed, from which countless poor were fed; and even if I was unworthy to enjoy prosperity, at least for the sake of those who have nothing, they should have been spared. But he said nothing of the kind, nor did he think it; rather, he knew that God orders all things for what is beneficial. And so that you may learn that afterward he dealt a greater blow to the devil when, having been stripped, he gave thanks, than when, possessing them, he showed pity, hear this: When he possessed them, the devil could at least have had some suspicion to say, Does Job fear you for nothing? But when he had taken everything and stripped him of all, and he preserved the same goodwill toward God, then at last his shameless mouth was stopped, and he no longer had anything to say; for the righteous man was more illustrious than from his former state. For to do almsgiving while living in wealth is one thing; to bear nobly having everything snatched away and with...

of thanksgiving is far greater. For to give thanks to God when things are borne along by a fair wind is nothing wonderful; but when the surge is great, and the vessel is overturned and in danger, then is the great proof of endurance and of gratitude. For if those who are conscious of countless evils in themselves, when they lose a little gold—and often possessing it from robbery—think life not worth living, of how many crowns would Job not be worthy, who saw the things gathered from righteous labors simply and as it happened being snatched away, and after all those things endured countless showers of trials, and through all remained unmoved, and rendered the fitting thanksgiving for these things to the Master? For if no one else had said any of the other things, the words of his wife alone were enough to shake even a rock. For if women have often persuaded many, even when they were in good cheer and suffering nothing, to do what was displeasing; consider how manly was the soul that repelled her with so many weapons. For when it is a woman, and she speaks pitiable words and has the occasion cooperating, and the wounds and the bruises and countless waves of thoughts—how would one not justly declare that soul harder than any adamant, which suffered nothing under so great a storm? Give me leave to say boldly that that blessed man was, if not greater, then not less than the apostles. For to them it was a comfort that they suffered these things for Christ; but he was deprived even of this comfort.

And what is greater still, having been raised in great luxury, not from fishermen and tax collectors and those who had lived modestly, but having enjoyed such great honor, he suffered all things. And what seemed most burdensome in the case of the apostles, he himself endured—being reproached and hated by friends and household members and those who had been well treated by him, not by enemies. And that these things are so, come now, let us make a comparison of achievements and sufferings, so that you may learn clearly that recompenses are appointed not only for achievements but also for sufferings, and recompenses very great, and not less than those for achievements. And let us bring in, if it seems good, this very man, the great athlete of endurance, Job, who shone on both sides in these things, and let us see by comparison when he was more radiant—when he opened his house to all who came, or when, after it was brought down, he uttered no bitter word but praised God? When was he more cheerful, tell me—when he offered sacrifice on behalf of his children and led them to concord, or when, after they were buried and had ended their lives by the most bitter manner of death, he bore what happened with great philosophy? When did he shine forth more—when from the shearing of his lambs the shoulders of the naked were warmed, or when, on hearing that fire fell from heaven and consumed the flock together with the shepherds, he was not disturbed or troubled, but bore the calamity gently? When was he greater—when he used the health of his body for the protection of those who were wronged, crushing the molars of the unjust and snatching plunder from the midst of their teeth—

Or when he saw this very body, the weapon of the wronged, being devoured by worms, and sitting on the dung heap he himself scraped it, taking a potsherd? For I melt clods of earth, scraping away the ichor, it says. And yet those things were all successes, while these were sufferings; nevertheless these showed him more brilliant than those. For when those were happening, even though he was very shameless and audacious, the devil nevertheless spoke against him, saying, Does Job worship God for nothing? But when these things happened, he covered himself and withdrew, turning his back, and not even having so much as a shadow of shameless contradiction to put forward. Therefore, whenever you see a righteous man accomplishing great things and suffering countless terrible things, do not marvel; for on the contrary, one ought to marvel if the devil, receiving many blows, was going to keep quiet and bear his wounds gently. For neither, if a snake, being continually pricked, should grow savage and leap upon the one pricking it, ought one to marvel; and the man returning from war and victory and slaughter must also be bloodied, and often have wounds. When, therefore, you see someone giving alms and doing countless other good things, and by this breaking the devil's power, and then falling into temptations and dangers, do not be disturbed because of this; for it was because of this that he fell into temptations, since he struck the devil very hard. And how did God permit it, he says? So that he might be crowned the more; so that that one might receive a greater blow. For it is a great thing, even when affairs are borne with a fair wind, both to show mercy and to hold fast to virtue;

Much greater is this: that one who suffers terrible things should hold fast to the labors of virtue without turning away and with greater eagerness. For just as in the case of sinners, those who suffer no terrible thing here undergo a greater punishment there; so too in the case of the upright, those who suffer many terrible things here will enjoy much honor there. And just as when there are two sinners, if one is punished here and the other is not punished, the one who is punished is more blessed than the one who is not punished; so also when there are two righteous men here, if one endures more afflictions and the other fewer, the one who endures more is more blessed. But those who do not bear God's discipline with thanksgiving, but are resentful, besides gaining no fruit from it, also wrap themselves in the utmost calamities. But do you live in poverty and hunger and countless dangers? Then learn from the poor to give thanks to the Master; for they, spending their whole life in begging, do not blaspheme, do not complain, nor are they vexed, but bear it with thanksgiving. For what such thing have you suffered as he did? Was your eye cut out? But he lost both. Did you suffer a long illness? But his was even incurable. Did you lose your children? But he also lost the health of his own body. Were you deprived of a great sum? But you have not yet come to the point of needing others. But are these not enough? Consider for me Job, the unshakeable tower of endurance. For who has become poorer than he, who was poorer than those thrown into the baths, and those who sleep in the ash of the furnace, and simply than all men?

For these men, at least, have a garment, even if torn; but that man sat naked, and the only garment he had from nature—the covering of the flesh—even this the devil destroyed with a grievous rot. And the poor, at least, are under a roof, even if it be the porch of a bathhouse, even if they are covered with reeds; but that man continued always spending the night in the open air, not even having the comfort of a bare roof. And what is greater: these men are conscious in themselves of many terrible deeds (and this is no small comfort in misfortune—to be conscious that one is justly punished); but that man was deprived even of this comfort, and though he had displayed a manner of life full of virtue, he endured the things of those who have dared the worst. And these men have practiced misfortune from the beginning and from the start; but that man endured poverty unpracticed, receiving the change from wealth all at once. Did you see him come to the last extremity of poverty, beyond which one cannot find another? For what could be poorer than the naked man who has not even a roof, who does not even enjoy the ground itself? For he sat not on the ground, but on the dung heap. Therefore whenever you see yourself come into poverty, consider the suffering of the righteous man, and immediately you will rise up and drive away every thought of despondency. But if you wish also to hear of the war from nature that was brought against this noble man with great excess, attend to what I say: He lost ten children, ten all at once, in the very flower of their age, ten who had displayed great virtue, and not by the common law of nature, but by a violent and pitiable death.

Who could describe such a calamity? What man of iron, what adamant, would have endured such dreadful things? There is no one, there is no one. For if each of these things is unbearable by itself, consider how great a tumult all of them coming together raised. When, then, you lose a son and a daughter together, run back to that righteous man and you will surely find great consolation for yourself; remember his words at the calamity of his children, words which crowned that holy head more than ten thousand crowns; reckon the magnitude of the calamity and that strange shipwreck, and that foreign and paradoxical tragedy. For you perhaps lost one, or a second, or a third, but he lost so many sons and so many daughters, and the man of many children suddenly became childless; and his inward parts were not consumed little by little, but the whole harvest was snatched away at once, and not even with him present, nor sitting by his side, so that at least by hearing his last words he might have some consolation for so bitter an end, but beyond all hope, and each of the two sorrows exceeded the other. For it was not only untimely death, but also that all were in their prime, that they were virtuous and affectionate, that all were together, that they were of both sexes, that it was not by the common law of nature, that it came after so great a loss, that he was conscious of no evil in himself nor that they suffered these things. For each of these is sufficient by itself to disturb; but when they are seen running together at once, consider how great is the height of the waves, how great the excess of the storm and the surge. These things are indeed wonderful even when simply heard;

But if you examine these things carefully, then you will see the wonder more greatly. For consider that the devil did not take half and leave half, nor did he take the greater part and leave the lesser, but he plucked the whole fruit and did not cast down the tree; he brought the whole sea with its waves and did not sink the ship; he emptied all his power and did not shake the tower, but it stood assailed from every side and remained unshaken; and showers of arrows were borne against it, and it was not struck—or rather, they were sent but did not wound. Consider how great a thing it is that so many children should have perished. For what was not enough to bite? Was it not that all were snatched away? Was it not that all at once and in a single day? Was it not in the very flower of their age? Was it not that they displayed great virtue, and that they ended their life by such a manner of punishment? Was it not that after so many blows this last one was brought upon him? Was it not that the one who begot them was affectionate? Was it not that those who departed were beloved? For when someone casts off wicked children, he is bitten by the suffering, yet not with such intensity; for the wickedness of those who departed does not allow the grief to become sharper. But when they are also virtuous, the wound becomes lasting, showing not only the longing that comes from nature but also that from piety. Again, when they are snatched away one by one, the suffering has some consolation; for those who are left overshadow the despondency over those who have departed. But when the whole chorus has departed, toward whom will the man of many children be able to look, who has suddenly become childless?

For if, when certain people have departed within three or five days, the women and all the relatives lament this above all else—that the deceased was snatched swiftly and suddenly from their sight—how much more would this man have grieved, having thus lost them all not in three days, or two, or one, but in a single hour. For a dread that has been rehearsed over time, even if it is utterly unbearable, would easily become light through expectation; but what happens contrary to hope and suddenly, even if it is by nature light, becomes unbearable because it happens contrary to hope and suddenly. When, then, something is both grievous in itself and receives the addition that comes from happening contrary to hope, consider how unbearable it becomes and surpasses all account. For he did not see them breathing their last and giving up the ghost on a bed, but all buried in the house. Consider, then, who it was that was digging up that mound, now pulling up a stone, now a limb of a child, and seeing a hand still holding a cup, and another right hand laid out on the tablet, and the very form of the body corrupted, the nose crushed,

When the head had been shattered, the eyes destroyed, the brain scattered, and, simply put, the whole form corrupted, and the variety of wounds did not allow the father to recognize the imprint of the beloved faces. Were you disturbed hearing these things and do you weep? Consider, then, who that man was who saw these things. For if we, after so much time, cannot bear to hear that tragedy without tears—and that too when we are hearing of another's misfortune—who was that man of adamant, taking these things in at the sight, philosophizing not amid another's evils but his own? For he did not grow indignant, nor did he say, "What ever is this? Is this the recompense for my kindness? For this did I open my house to strangers, that I might see it become a tomb of my children? For this did I show every virtue toward them, that they should endure such a death?" He said none of these things, he did not think them, but bore all things nobly, even after such care for them was he deprived of them. Was it then only these terrible things that happened to him? But what of the abandonment and betrayal of friends, the mockeries and insults, the jeering and laughter, being ridiculed by all—are these things bearable and worthy of consolation? These things are not even bearable to hear, let alone to endure through the deeds themselves. For the nature of misfortunes is not so accustomed to bite our soul as are those who reproach us in the midst of our misfortunes. And from this point observe for me the gentleness and love of God of that noble and adamantine soul.

For seeing himself in the last extremities, while wicked men and sorcerers were prospering, he said nothing of the kind that some of the weaker sort might say: "For these things I raised my children, and trained them with all strictness; for these things I opened my house to those who passed by, so that after those many courses of running for the sake of the needy, for the sake of the naked, for the sake of the orphans, I might receive these recompenses." But instead of these things he brought forth words better than every sacrifice, saying: "The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away." And if he tore his garments and cut off his hair, do not marvel; for he was a father, and a loving father, and it was necessary that both the sympathy of nature and the philosophy of his mind be shown. For if he had not done this either, perhaps someone might have considered this philosophy to be insensibility. And you, therefore, whenever you lose your money, do not be vexed, but having borne it nobly, give thanks to God, and utter the words of Job: "The Lord gave, the Lord has taken away," and you have made the loss a gain through these words. What do you say? "The Lord has taken away"? The thief has taken it away, and how shall I be able to say, "The Lord has taken away"? Do not marvel; for Job also said of the things the devil took, "The Lord has taken away." And how do you not say of the things the thief took, "The Lord has taken away"? For do not say: "I have no gratitude; the matter was not of my will; the robber took it without my knowing or willing; what reward shall I have?" For neither did these things happen to Job with his knowing or willing; for how could they?

Nevertheless, he who did not give then has no less than those who gave alms. And if some urge you to go to a diviner, but you, out of fear of God, since it has been forbidden, choose rather not to receive the money than to disobey God, you have a reward equal to those who gave it to the poor, because having lost it you gave thanks, and being able to go to diviners, you endured rather not to receive it than to receive it that way. For just as that man, out of fear of God, poured it out upon the needy, so you too, out of fear of God, when they seized it, did not take it back. Did he deprive you of money? Do not deprive yourself of salvation; for by grieving over the wrongs you suffered from others, you yourself surround yourself with greater evils. He perhaps encompassed you with poverty, but you wickedly harm yourself in the things that matter; he deprived you of your external possessions, which later would leap away even against your will; but you deprive yourself of eternal wealth. Did the devil grieve you by taking away your money? Grieve him in return by giving thanks, and do not gladden him. If you go to diviners, you have gladdened him; if you give thanks to God, you have dealt him a fatal blow. And see what happens: you will not find it either, by going to the diviners; for it is not in their power to know; and if perhaps they should speak by chance, you both destroy your soul besides, and you will be laughed at by your own brothers, and again you will lose it badly. For the demon, knowing that you cannot bear the loss, but on account of these things you even deny your God, gives money again, so that he may have an occasion to deceive you again and lead you away.

And just as we deal with our enemies in those matters by which we grieve them: if we see that they are not pained, we withdraw thereafter, as having no way to bite them; so also the devil, if he sees you laughing at and despising his attempt, will depart from such a course, approaching no more. It is possible, then, for you, by enduring these things, to receive as great a reward as if you had thrown them away willingly. And with good reason we admire this man more, the one who bears insults thankfully, than the one who gives willingly. Why ever so? Because the latter is nourished by praises and by his conscience, and has good hopes, and having first nobly endured the deprivation of his money, then threw it away; but the former, still bound to them, was deprived by force. And it is not equal, having first been persuaded to depart from money, thus to empty oneself of it, and, while still longing for it, to be deprived of it; nor again to have practiced despising money over a long time, and to endure a loss that came suddenly. For the one still prepared for terrible things would more easily bear their onset; but the one who has reclined and released his thoughts from cares, if something such as happened before should happen again, is disturbed twofold and becomes easy to capture, both by the unexpectedness and by all his zeal and his preparation for those things having been dissolved. And it is no small ground for pain, but even more unbearable than all, when someone, thinking he has been delivered and has come to the very end, and having laid aside all care and anxiety, finds again from the beginning another start of troubles. For why did the devil not destroy Job's wife along with his children?

Since he knew that this would greatly contribute to his plot against him. For if, he says, through it I cast Adam out of paradise, much more shall I be able to trip up Job on the dung-heap. And behold the villainy: for he did not bring this device to bear when the oxen were being destroyed, nor the donkeys, nor the camels, nor when the house was brought down, nor when the servants were buried, but for a time he is silent and lets him be at rest, seeing the athlete; but when the spring of worms gushed forth, and the skin was rotting and falling away, and the flesh was being consumed, producing ichor full of great stench, and the hand of the devil was consuming him more painfully than frying-pans and furnaces and every flame, gnawing and devouring his body from every side more cruelly than any wild beast, and much time passed in such calamity, and because of these things he saw him thirsting for release and longing to die, as not even having the strength to breathe (For if I could, he says, lay hands on myself, or beg another, and he would do this for me)—then he brings her forward, and says: How long will you endure, saying, Behold, I wait yet a little time, awaiting the hope of my salvation? For he too, ever consoling and fending off the one who was troubling him, used to say such things: Wait yet a little, and quickly there will be an end of these things. Therefore she reproaches him, saying: Will you say the same even now? For much time has already passed by, and no end of these things has appeared.

Your memorial has perished from the earth—your sons and your daughters, the pangs and labors of my womb, which I toiled over in vain with hardships, and I, a wanderer and a servant, going from place to place and from house to house. For I do not merely beg, but I also wander about, and I serve a strange and new servitude, going everywhere and carrying about the tokens of my calamity, and teaching everyone my evils. And what is more pitiable than all, I wait for the sun, when it will set, and I shall rest from my labors and from the pains that surround me, which now hold me fast. But say a word to the Lord, and die. What then does this blessed man, harder than adamant, do? He looked at her bitterly—O prudent and measured mind! Even before his voice, by his look he drove back her devices. For she expected to stir up fountains of tears; but he became fiercer than a lion, filled with wrath and indignation, and says: Why have you spoken as one of the foolish women? If we received good things from the Lord, shall we not endure evil things? For in return for what did God give us those things? What recompense was he exacting? None; but from goodness alone and love of mankind. For naked I came out from my mother's womb, and naked shall I depart, he says. Then trace for yourselves also this athlete, and imagine that you see that dung-heap, and him sitting in the midst of the dung-heap, the golden statue, the one adorned with gems, the—how shall I say it? I do not know. For I cannot find any material so precious as to be able to compare with that bloodied body.

Thus the nature of that flesh, from its great abundance, was shown to be brighter than all precious material, and its wounds more radiant than the sun's rays. For the sun's rays illumine the eyes of the body, but those wounds illuminate the eyes of our mind. Who has seen, who has heard of such wondrous contests? For the boxers of the outside games, when they have battered the heads of their opponents, then they win and are crowned; but this one, when he battered the body of the righteous man, then he was defeated and withdrew. What has happened, O devil? For what reason do you withdraw? Did not everything happen that you wished? Did you not destroy his flocks, his herds, his droves of horses and mules? Did you not also destroy the chorus of his children, and batter all his flesh? For what reason did you withdraw? Because, he says, everything happened that I wished; but that which I most desired to happen, and for the sake of which I did everything—this did not happen; for he did not blaspheme. For it was for this, he says, that I did all those things, so that this might come out; and since this did not happen, I gained nothing more from the loss of his goods, and the destruction of his children, and the striking of his body; but on the contrary, the very thing I wished for turned out the opposite—I made the enemy brighter, I rendered the adversary more radiant. Do you perceive how great was the gain of his affliction? For his body was beautiful and healthy; but it has become far more venerable, cut through by those wounds. Since wool too is beautiful even before dyeing, but when it becomes purple, it takes on an indescribable beauty and great comeliness.

For if he had not stripped him, he would not have known the good condition of the crowned one; if he had not pierced his body with wounds, the rays would not have shone forth from within; if he had not seated him on the dung heap, we would not have known his wealth. For not so splendid is a king seated on a throne as that man then was distinguished and conspicuous, seated on the dung heap. For after the royal throne comes death; but after that dung heap, the kingdom of heaven. For this reason the devil plundered his substance, not to make him poor, but to force him to utter some blasphemous word; and he cut his body, not to cast him into weakness, but to trip up the virtue of his soul. But nevertheless, having set in motion all his devices, and having made him poor instead of rich—this very thing that seems to all of us most dreadful—and childless instead of having many children, and having scraped his whole body more cruelly than the executioners in the courts (for the claws of those men do not dig into the sides of those who fall into their hands as the mouths of worms scraped his whole body), and not only having cast him out of the city, nor of the house, and having moved him to another

a city, but made for him a dung heap and a house and a city, he not only did him no harm, but even showed him more radiant through the very things he plotted against him. So you too, if someone takes your money and you bear it nobly, you will receive the same reward as those who have spent everything on the poor. For just as when we are earnest, we gain even from things that grieve us, so when we are slack, we do not become better even from things that profit us. For if Job, having suffered so much, was in no way wronged—and he suffered not at the hands of a man, but at the hands of the demon more wicked than all wicked men—what defense will those have left who say, "So-and-so wronged me and harmed me"? For if the devil, full of such great malice, having stirred up all his instruments and let loose all his arrows, and having emptied out with great excess all the evils that were among men against both the house of the righteous man and his body, did him no harm but even benefited him more, how will some be able to blame so-and-so and so-and-so, as though they had been wronged by them and not by themselves? Do you marvel at the three children? Indeed I do too, that they dared the furnace, that they stood up against the tyrant, saying, "We do not serve your gods, and we do not worship the golden image which you have set up." But this was their greatest consolation, to know clearly that for God's sake they suffer whatever they suffer. But that blessed man did not know that what he suffered was a contest and a wrestling; for if he had known, he would not have felt what was happening at all. At any rate, when he heard, "Do you think I have dealt with you otherwise than that you might be shown righteous?