Eclogae ex diversis homiliis

For often many powerful men, breathing greed and thinking of nothing other than plunder and injustice, are shamed by certain people either to remit the pressing necessity for the poor man, or to concede something of the debt, or not to take vengeance on those who have grieved them, or on those thought to have grieved them. And he who comes to plead well before a powerful and wicked man does not begin straightway from the truth and say to him what he is, but adds to him the name of virtue: "You are," he says, "a good man; your name is everywhere proclaimed; all sing of your successes"; and he strings together many such things, so that he may be bent by the praise and flee from wickedness. See how evil is conquered by the praises of virtue. No wicked man wishes to be spoken of badly; for nature embraces what is its own, even if the will chooses the opposite. Let us not, then, say, "This man is good by nature, and this man is evil by nature"; for if he is good by nature, he will never be able to become evil; and if he is evil by nature, he will never become good. For if being wicked and good did not lie in our will, nor did the lover of mankind make our nature self-determining, it would have been necessary that all who share the same nature and are subject to the same passions be wicked, or that all be virtuous.

But when we see those of our own race, though troubled by the same passions, not enduring the same things as we do, but even with a strong reason charioteering nature, and prevailing over its disorderly leapings, and laughing to scorn all the prosperity of the present life, and eagerly longing for the true glory—is it not abundantly clear that they are able to accomplish these things by their own zeal, together with the grace from above? And do we, having used our own laziness, betray our salvation, making ourselves destitute of the goodwill from there? Let no one, then, blame some other person as hindering him from the labors of virtue, but let him ascribe the whole to his own faint-heartedness. And why do I speak of another? Let no one think that even the devil himself is able to hinder the road that leads to virtue; but he deceives and trips up the more lazy, yet he does not hinder and compel. And the very experience of things shows this: that whenever we wish to be sober-minded, we display such intensity that, even though there are many who urge us toward the road of vice, we do not endure their counsel, but become harder than any adamant, and block the ears of those who counsel base things. But when we are lazy, even though there is no one counseling or tripping us up, we rush of our own accord toward vice. Virtue is indeed admirable even by itself; but when, in the midst of those...

If someone obtains this [office] while others are preventing him, he makes it far more admirable. For it is not the place that makes virtue, but virtue is by nature what makes the place venerable. And many, even the wicked, share in the benefit of one man's virtue; but by the wickedness of many, even if there is one man among a great people who succeeds, he is not dragged down with them. And one man living rightly can snatch an entire people from the wrath of God; but an entire city that has been corrupted cannot draw the man who lives well to its own punishment and chastisement, nor bring him down. And this is clear from Noah: when all were perishing, he alone was saved. And it is evident from Moses: he alone was strong enough to turn aside [the wrath] from so great a people. But I have yet another demonstration of God's love for humanity to mention. For when he does not find living men who have boldness and are able to beg forgiveness for those who have sinned, he takes refuge in the dead, and for their sake, he says, he forgives the sins. As he says to Hezekiah: I will defend this city for my own sake and for the sake of David my servant, who has already died. Do you see how great is the virtue of the saints? For not only their words, but even their very garments are always worthy of reverence for the whole creation. The mantle of Elijah split the Jordan; the sandals of the three children trampled the fire; the wood of Elisha changed the waters and made iron to float above its surface; the rod of Moses split the Red Sea and broke the rock; the garments of Paul drove out demons; the shadows of Peter put death to flight.

The ashes of the holy martyrs drive away evil demons. For this reason they do all things with authority, just like Elijah. For he did not see only the diadem and the outward display of the king, but he saw also his soul clothed in rags, squalid, filthy, and in a condition more wretched than any condemned man; and seeing him a captive and a slave to his passions, he despised his rule; for it was as on a stage, not in truth, that he seemed to see a king. For what is the benefit of outward wealth, when the inner man is in such great poverty? And what is the harm of outward poverty, when so great a treasure is stored up within? Such a lion was the blessed Paul also; for entering the prison and merely crying out, he shook the foundations, he devoured the chains, not using teeth but words. Therefore they must be called not only lions, but something even greater than lions. For the lion, often falling into a net, is caught; but the saints, when bound, then become stronger; the lion roars, and puts all the wild beasts to flight; the saint speaks, and puts the demons to flight from every side. But what speech suffices for the achievements of Paul, or what tongue will be able to reach the praises of this man? For whether prophets displayed something noble, or patriarchs, or righteous men, or apostles, or martyrs, he has gathered all these together and possesses them with such surpassing greatness as none of those possessed the good that each one had.

When, therefore, a single soul has gathered to itself all the good things that exist among humans, and all of them in excess—not only the things of humans but also the things of angels—how shall we get the better of the greatness of these praises? Of how much condemnation would we not be worthy, when one man has gathered into himself all good things, and we do not even strive to imitate the smallest fraction of him? For the patriarch Abraham is admired for many other achievements as well, but especially for sacrificing his own son. And Isaac for his forbearance, because when driven from his own boundaries he did not retaliate, but yielded everywhere his own possessions, until he satisfied the unjust desire of those who vexed him. And Jacob for his endurance and patience, and David for his gentleness, and Elijah because he was zealous for his Master. But what could be equal to Paul, who has gathered all these things together in excess? For he did not sacrifice a son, but himself he put to death ten thousand times; and he was not only driven from his own boundaries, but over land and sea, both Greek and barbarian, and simply the whole earth that the sun looks upon, he went about as if winged, dragged, beaten, stoned, and dying every day; nor did he serve twice seven years, scorched by the heat of the day and the frost of the night, but spent his whole life in hunger and nakedness and chains and prisons and plots and dangers. And as for clemency and gentleness, who achieved them more, and who equally? Both of these the soul of Paul accomplished.

But if you look at his zeal, you will see that he surpasses Elijah as much as that one excelled the other prophets. But John ate locusts and wild honey; yet this man dwelt in the middle of the inhabited world just as that one did in the desert, not eating locusts and wild honey, but setting before himself a table far cheaper than that, and not even having an abundance of necessary food because of his zeal for the proclamation. It remains, then, to compare him to the angels. And let no one condemn the word as rash; for if the Scripture called John an angel, what is wonderful if we compare to those powers the one who is better than all? For what at last is man, and how great is the nobility of our nature, and of how great a virtue this creature is capable, Paul showed most of all men; and now he stands where he has been since he came to be, with bright voice defending the Master to all who find fault with our constitution, and showing that the middle between angels and humans is not great, if we are willing to attend to ourselves. For he did not receive a different nature, nor partake of another soul, nor inhabit another world, but having been reared in the same land and country and laws and customs, he surpassed all men who have been since men came to be; and as a dead man would be motionless toward a dead man, so with precision he calmed the leapings of nature, never suffering anything human toward anything. For just as in the case of money, the one who has gained two gold coins receives greater eagerness to collect and gather ten and twenty, so also it happens in the case of virtue.

The one who has done a good work and succeeded in it receives from the work itself a certain encouragement and exhortation, so as to undertake more others in like manner. And let no one say to me that many have succeeded; for this is not what is sought, but that all should. Do you not see this happening also in the body? For if we strike and injure only the nail, the whole body suffers pain together with the limb. Do not, then, say this, that a few certain ones were left who did not succeed; but consider that, that these few who did not correct themselves destroy many others. For there was one man who had committed fornication among the Corinthians, and yet Paul groaned over it as though the whole city had perished; and very reasonably, for he knew that if that man were not disciplined, the disease, advancing quickly on its way, would soon overrun all the others. For if we cut off the festering and incurable member from the limbs, fearing lest the rest of the body also receive the same corruption, and we do this not despising that member but rather wishing to preserve the rest—how much more is it necessary to do this in the case of those who associate with us for evil? For if we are able both to correct them and not be harmed ourselves, we must do everything; but if they remain uncorrected and harm us too, it is necessary to cut them off and cast them out. For if, having worthless sons, we disown them and do not even respect nature, much more must we flee from associates and acquaintances who are wicked. But, he says, they are scandalized and suspect evil. And what of that? Honor yourself, and no one will be able to insult you.

But if you dishonor yourself, even if everyone honors you, you will never be honored. For the one who is good and receives a reputation for wickedness is not harmed at all by this as regards being what he is; but the one who suspects rashly and in vain gives the ultimate penalty. But the wicked man, if he is suspected of the opposite, will gain nothing from this, but will even have a greater judgment, and will fall into greater negligence. For the one who is such and is suspected, even if he should be humbled, he would recognize his own sins; but when he goes unnoticed, he also falls into insensibility. For if, when all are accusing them, those who sin scarcely rouse themselves to compunction, when not only do some accuse them but even praise them, when will they be able to look up? So it is not possible for those who are in virtue to be well spoken of by all, nor is it possible for one who cultivates virtue not to have many enemies; for praise from all would be the greatest proof of not making much account of virtue. For how would such a man be praised by all, if he wished to snatch the wronged from the wrongdoers? Again, if he wished to correct those who sin and to praise those who do right, is it not likely that he would praise some and blame others? So it would be impossible for one who pursues virtue with exactness, and who receives praise only from God, to be praised and well spoken of by all men. For wickedness always displays great madness against virtue; but not only does it not harm it at all, but by warring against it, it makes it stronger.

For such is the power of virtue that it prevails over such things even in suffering, and in being warred against it is set above those who war against it. For consider Abel with me: was he not killed by Cain? But the one killed is from that time until now proclaimed and crowned, and so great a span of time has not withered his memory; while the one who killed and prevailed both then endured a life heavier than death, and from that time until now is held up to public infamy, and receives accusations from all. And these things in the present life; but the things in the age to come, what speech, what mind will be able to set them forth? But hear Christ also saying: The kingdom of heaven is like leaven, which a woman took and hid in three measures of flour. So the righteous have the power of leaven, in order to change the wicked to their own quality. But few are the righteous; for the leaven also is small; but that smallness changes the whole lump to itself through the power that is in it. So also the power of the righteous has its strength not in the quantity of their number, but in the grace of the Spirit; and how, hear. Twelve were the apostles; you saw how small the leaven? The whole inhabited world was in unbelief; you saw how great the lump? But those twelve turned the whole inhabited world to themselves. For both the leaven and the lump are of the same nature, but not of the same quality. And if you wish to know from another example how much more the boldness of a righteous man can do than tyrannical dominion, hear John saying to Herod: It is not lawful for you to have your brother's wife.

Herod, a king, had bodyguards, was clothed in wealth, and wielded royal power; John was poor, homeless, cityless, possessionless, foodless, eating locusts from the plants and wild honey. But this poor man, who walked in the deserts, commands with authority the ruler of populous cities: It is not lawful for you. Do you see how by nature ruling belongs to virtue over vice? But for these things the righteous man is cast into prison; that bitter banquet takes place, and the girl comes in dancing in the midst of the banquet, and she pleases Herod and those reclining with him, so that Herod swears, Ask whatever you wish, and I will give it to you, up to half of my kingdom. Do you see where he threw away his kingdom? Whatever you ask, I will give you, and up to half of my kingdom. Wretched and miserable man, were the eyes of your mind so corrupted beforehand? Do you judge the kingdom to be worth so much? The girl danced once, and half was being given away; but if she dances a second time, what will you do? Pray that she not dance again, or that having danced again she not be applauded; otherwise, begging is left to you. For those who

Gaping at the present things, even if they be rich ten thousand times over, even if they be clothed in great dominion, they are in the rank of slaves and man-servants to those who pursue virtue. For let there be some wicked king, and a good private citizen; let us see who is master of whom, and where the marks of lordship shine forth; and who is the ruler, and who the ruled. How then shall we know this? The king commands the private citizen to do something wicked and full of transgression; what then does the good and obedient private citizen do? Not only will he not yield nor obey, but he will even attempt to draw the one who commands him away from what lies before him, even if he must die. Who then is free? The one who does what he wishes, and does not even fear the king, or the one who is despised by his subject? For just as the captive, even if he has countless wealth, is for this very reason most easily captured by all, so too the one captured by the passions, even if he wears the diadem itself, is more worthless than any spider's web. What then could be more pitiable than those who pursue vice, when they are deprived even of the very title of being called human beings, and undergo punishment, because having received many starting points from nature, they have betrayed these, willingly dragged down and deserting to vice? For if the one who does not return what was given is wicked, because he did not double it, what will he hear who has even destroyed this? If that one was bound and carried off to where there is the gnashing of teeth, what shall we suffer, when ten thousand things drag us toward virtue, while we shrink back and hesitate? Do you not see the cheapness of life and the uncertainty of existence, and the toil in present things?

For is it possible to pursue virtue without toil, but vice without toils? If, then, there is toil both here and there, why did you not choose this one, which has great gain? Do not, then, if you see an unworthy priest, slander the priesthood; for one must not slander the thing itself, but the one who uses the good badly; since Judas also became a traitor, but this is not an accusation against the apostolate, but against that man's disposition; and many physicians have become executioners, and have given poisons instead of medicines; but I do not slander the art, but the one who used the art badly; and many sailors have sunk ships, but it is not seamanship, but their evil disposition. It is necessary that scandals come, he says; but woe to that man through whom the scandals come. What then? Does his foretelling bring the scandals? No, his foretelling does not, far from it, nor does it happen because he foretold it, but because it was altogether going to be, for this reason he foretold it; as, if those who bring them did not wish to do evil, they would not have come either; and if they were not going to come, it would not have been foretold either; but since those men did evil, and were incurably sick, they came, and he foretells what is going to be. And if those men were corrected, he says, and there were no one bringing the scandals, was this word going to be consumed as false? By no means; for it would not have been spoken; for if all were going to be corrected, he would not have said, "It is necessary that they come"; but since he foreknew that they would be incorrigible from within, for this reason he said that they will certainly come. And for whose sake did he not destroy them, he says? Because those who are harmed are not destroyed from that source, but from their own negligence.

But if destruction comes from stumbling blocks, then all would have had to perish. So if we stay sober, we reap no small profit from this—namely, to be continually watchful. For if, with enemies present and so many temptations pressing upon us, we sleep, what would we be while living in security? And, if you wish, consider the first man. For if, having lived in paradise only a short time—perhaps not even a whole day—and having enjoyed luxury, he drove himself to such a depth of wickedness as to imagine equality with God, to regard the deceiver as a benefactor, and to keep no commandment at all, if he had lived the life that followed, what would he not have done? For when a man, once freed from evils, is not disciplined, he will suffer things far worse than before. For he ought to have been disciplined by many things—by having suffered previously, by having been delivered, and by expecting to suffer worse if he did not change. But when he becomes better by none of these, how will he not suffer things far worse than his former evils? For Pharaoh, if he had been disciplined by the first plague, would not have experienced the later ones, nor would he afterward have been drowned together with his whole army. But he who becomes good by constraint will never be good; once released from necessity, he will return again. Therefore, let us not ask this and say, "He who has done neither evil nor good—what place will he receive?" For not to have done good is itself to have done evil.

For if you have a servant who does not steal, nor insult, nor talk back, but also restrains himself from drunkenness and all other such things, yet sits idle all day long and does nothing of what a servant owes his master, will you not whip him, will you not torture him, tell me? And yet he has done no evil—but this very thing is evil, namely, not to do good. Let us suppose a farmer too, and let him not damage any of our property, nor plot, nor steal, but only sit at home with his hands tied, neither sowing, nor cutting a furrow, nor tending a vine, nor laboring at any other of the tasks concerning the land—shall we not punish such a one? And yet he has done no wrong, nor do we have anything to accuse him of—but this very thing is what he has done wrong. And in the case of our own body, let the hand not strike the head, nor cut out the tongue, nor gouge out the eye, nor work any other such evil, but only remain idle and not fulfill its own service to the whole body—is it not worthy to be cut off, or to be carried around idle and doing damage to the whole body? What then, if the mouth does not eat the hand, nor bite the breast, but falls short in all its own functions—is it not better that it be stopped up instead? If, then, in these cases not only the doing of something evil, but also the lack of good things is a great injustice, much more so in spiritual matters. Would that it were possible for me to succeed on your behalf, and for you to receive the prizes of those successes—and I would not have troubled you so much.

For just as a mother, seeing her child burning with fever, standing by him as he is distressed and inflamed, has often said in lamentation, "Would that it were possible for me, my child, to take upon myself your fever and draw the flame onto myself"—so I too say, "Would that it were possible for me, by suffering on your behalf, to set all of you aright." But this is not possible, it is not. Therefore let the one who is able also to correct others associate with those who are about to receive healing, and let him make them better; but let the weaker man flee from the wicked, so as not to receive harm from them. For in this way he will both live out the present life in safety and attain the good things to come—may we all attain them, by the grace and love for mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom be glory to the Father together with the Holy Spirit, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen. Homily 27. On the upbringing of children. I entreat and implore, beloved, that we take great forethought for our own children, and that we seek everywhere the salvation of their soul. Imitate the blessed Job, who, fearing even for their sins committed in thought, offered sacrifices on their behalf and took great forethought for them; imitate Abraham; for he too was zealous not for money and possessions, but for the divine laws, so as to entrust their careful observance to his descendants.

And when David was nearing his end, calling his own son, he gave him these commands in place of a great inheritance, and said continually: If you wish, my child, to live according to the laws of God, none of unexpected things will fall upon you, but all your affairs will come to you with a favorable flow, and you will enjoy great security; but if you fall away from that help, your kingdom and this great power will be of no benefit to you. For when piety is absent, even the possessions that exist are destroyed with danger and the utmost shame; but when it is present, even things that do not exist are added. Parents must therefore take care, not that they make their children rich in silver and gold, but that they make them more abundantly supplied than all in reverence and philosophy and the possession of virtue; that they may need few things, that they may not be frantic over the things of life and youthful desires. And it is necessary to examine carefully their comings and goings, their places of resort, their associations, knowing that if these are neglected they will have no forgiveness before God. For if we are required to give account for the provision of others—for, it says, let each one seek not his own good, but the good of the other—how much more for that of children? But you do everything and contrive everything so that a fine horse may be theirs, and a splendid house, and a costly field; but for a beautiful soul and a pious disposition you have no concern. And yet possessions, even if they are many and costly, when there is no good man able to manage them with virtue, will all be destroyed and depart with him.

But if the soul becomes noble and philosophic, even if nothing is stored up within, it will be able to possess the goods of all with freedom from fear. But many fathers suffer something like this in regard to their children: not wishing to whip them nor to rebuke them with words, nor to grieve their own sons who live disorderly and lawlessly, they have often seen them caught in the most shameful acts, dragged off to court, cut down by executioners. For when you do not educate, when you do not discipline, he mixes himself with foul and corrupted men, and shares in their wickedness, is led under the common laws, and is punished while all look on; and with the calamity the shame becomes greater, as all point the finger at the father after that son's death, and make the marketplace untrodden for him. For with what eyes will he be able to look back at those who meet him after such disgrace and calamity of his child? What could be worse than this folly? Are you not ashamed and do you not blush, tell me, when the judge punishes your son, and makes him more temperate, and he begs for correction from outside, having lived with you so long a time from the beginning? Do you not cover yourself and sink down? Do you dare at all, tell me, still to be called a father, having thus betrayed your son, and not having brought in the necessary nurture for him, but overlooking his being corrupted by every evil? And if you see some runaway slave slapping the child, you are indignant and angry and displeased, and you leap upon the face of the one who struck him more fiercely than a wild beast.

But seeing the devil striking him every day, demons leading him into sins, do you sleep and not grow indignant nor be vexed, nor snatch your son from the most savage beast? And of what love for humanity will you obtain? For how is it not absurd that when your son is afflicted by a demon, you run to all the saints and trouble those on the peaks of the mountains, so as to deliver him from that madness; but when sin, which is more grievous than every demon, troubles him continually, you do nothing more? And yet to be troubled by a demon is nothing grievous; for the demon certainly cannot cast one into Gehenna; but if we are watchful, this trial will bring us bright and conspicuous crowns, whenever we bear such assaults with thanksgiving; but for one who lives with sin it is impossible ever to be saved, but it is altogether necessary both to be shameful here and, having departed there, to be punished again with deathless punishments. And what defense will you make for the rest? Did I not, he says, establish the child with you from the beginning? Did I not set you over him as teacher and protector and guardian and ruler? Did I not put all his authority into your hands? Did I not command you to mold and shape him while he was tender? What forgiveness then could you have, if you overlook him when he has run away? For what could you say? That

Is he stubborn and rough? But from the beginning, when he was pliable and quite young, you should have seen all these things, bridled him, accustomed him with strictness, regulated him toward what was needful, chastised the impulses of his soul, when the work was easier; then you should have cut out the thorns, when his age was softer and they were more easily plucked up; and his passions, if neglected and growing, would not have become hard to deal with. What defense, then, could we offer when God, whenever we are insulted by them, does not even spare their life? For he says, "He who speaks evil of father or mother, let him die the death"; but do we not even endure to be indignant with them when he is insulted by them? "I," he says, "do not even refuse to kill the one who insults you; but do you not endure even to grieve with a word the one who tramples on my laws?" And where are these things worthy of pardon? Let us not, then, neglect our children, knowing that when they are well disposed in the things of God, they will also be esteemed and distinguished in the present life. For everyone reveres and honors the one who lives with virtue and equity, even if he is poorer than all; just as they turn away from and hate the wicked man, even if he has acquired great wealth. For those who neglect their children, even if in other respects they are equitable and moderate, will undergo the ultimate penalty for this sin. But if you wish to know clearly that even if all our own affairs are well ordered, but we neglect the salvation of our children, we shall pay the ultimate penalty, attend carefully to what is said: There was a certain priest among the Jews, a moderate and equitable man; his name was Eli.

This man becomes the father of two children; and seeing them walking toward wickedness, he did not restrain them nor hinder them—or rather, he did restrain and hinder them, but he did not do this with all diligence. He did not impose punishment, but by words and exhortations he tried to lead them away from that wickedness, and he kept saying such words to them: "Do not, children, do not do so, for the report is not good which I hear about you." And yet these words were sufficient to restore them; but nevertheless, because he did not show the whole measure of what was required, he made God hostile both to himself and to them; and by sparing himself for his children's sake at the wrong time, he destroyed his own salvation together with his children. And yet, apart from his negligence toward his children, God had nothing else to charge against the elder. But if God so overturned an entire household because of the lesser one who sinned, will he leave unpunished those who have committed more grievous offenses? For if the priest, the elder, the renowned man, who presided over the nation of the Hebrews for twenty years without reproach, could plead none of these things to excuse himself, but because he did not care for his children with strictness he perished most piteously, and the sin of this negligence, like a wild and great wave, rose above all those things and concealed all his achievements—what judgment will take hold of us, who fall far short of his virtue, and who not only do not preside over our children but are disposed toward them more harshly than any barbarian? For just as in the case of one's own sins, one cannot flee to defense and pardon—

Thus parents are not responsible for the sins their children commit—and quite reasonably so. For if wickedness were present in humans by nature, one could reasonably resort to an excuse; but since we become both base and virtuous by choice, what plausible defense could a man offer who allows the one most desired of all to be corrupted and become wicked? Do not leave wealth to your children, so that you may leave them virtue. For it is the height of folly, while alive, not to make them masters of all that is yours, and at death to give their youth's ease great license. And yet while alive we can both demand an account and discipline and bridle those who misuse what they have; but at death, if along with our absence and their youth we also give them the power that comes from wealth, we will push those wretched and miserable ones into countless cliffs. Let us not, then, consider how we may leave them rich, but how we may leave them virtuous. For if they trust in wealth, they will take care of nothing else, since they have the means to overshadow the wickedness of their character with the abundance of their money; but if they see themselves destitute of that consolation, they will do everything so as to find great consolation in poverty through virtue. Let us not, then, touch private or public affairs before we have corrected our own soul. If you educate your own sons, they too will educate theirs, and again those will teach their own;

And thus this matter, advancing until the coming of Christ, will bring the whole reward to those who provided the root. For if you raise the child well, so too will that one raise his own son, and this one his son; and like a kind of chain and succession of the best conduct it will proceed forever, receiving its beginning and root from you, and bringing you the fruits of the care of your descendants. For fathers who neglect the orderliness and chastity of their children are child-killers, and more harshly so than those others, inasmuch as the destruction and death are of the soul. Just as, then, if you see a horse rushing down a precipice, you put a bridle in its mouth, and you rein it back with vehemence, and you whip it often—and yet this is punishment, but this punishment is the mother of salvation—so also do with your children when they sin: bind the one who has done wrong, until he propitiates God; do not leave him loose, lest he be bound more by the wrath of God. For if you bind him, God no longer binds him; but if you do not bind him, unbreakable bonds await him. But he has given sufficient time for punishment, he says. How much, tell me? A year and two and three years? But I do not seek a quantity of time, but the correction of the soul; show this, then, whether he has been pricked to the heart, whether he has changed, and the whole has been accomplished; for unless this be so, there is no further benefit of time. For we do not ask whether the wound has been bandaged many times, but whether the bandage has done any good. If, then, it has helped even in a short time, let it no longer be applied; but if it has done no good, let it still be applied even after ten years.

And let this be the boundary of the release of the one who is bound: the gain. For nothing so demonstrates the one who holds authority as the affection he shows toward those under his rule. For it is not begetting alone that makes a father, but also loving after begetting. And if where nature is, love is needed, how much more where grace is. And you, child, serve as a slave those who begot you. For what will you repay them, such as they have done for you? For you cannot beget them in return. But also when the father rebukes your brother, be angry with him as well, whether as caring for your brother, or as indignant together with your father. For if the one who has sinned sees that he was rebuked by the father but flattered by you, he becomes more slack. And the harm does not stop even there, but you bring punishment upon yourself as well. For the one who prevents the wound from being healed has no less a punishment than the one who made it, but even a greater one; for it is not the same to strike and to prevent the one struck from being healed; for the latter begets death altogether, but the former does not altogether. Let us not, then, despise those who begot us; for even if we despise them, fearing the rulers we shall certainly be more decent; and even if in sinning we spit upon them, we shall never be able to escape the rebuke of conscience; and even if we dishonor and thrust this aside, fearing the opinion of the many we shall be better; and even if we become shameless toward this too, the fear of the laws lying upon us will be able to bring us to our senses even against our will. For just as when the wicked are punished, others become better, so too when some do right, many are led to the same zeal.

For while the child is still led by some fearsome tutor, even if he is self-controlled and lives with gentleness, it is nothing wonderful; rather, everyone credits the young man's self-control to the fear of the tutor. But when, having set aside the constraint from that quarter, he remains in the same dignity, then everyone credits to him also the self-control of his former age. For this reason one must seek and long for teachers more than fathers; for through the latter comes living, but through the former comes living well. And do not pride yourself because you have a holy father; rather, this very thing will condemn you the more, when, having the example of noble birth from your own house, you show yourself unworthy of the virtue of your ancestors. It is a great good to have the hopes of salvation in one's own achievements; for no friend will ever stand by you there. For if here, he says to Jeremiah, do not plead for this people—here, where we are masters of changing—how much more there. At any rate, the praises of ancestors, when we share in them, are also ours; but when we do not, they have no strength, but rather condemn the more; and how, listen. Absalom was a son to David, young, dissolute, corrupted. He once rose up against his father, and having cast him out of the kingdom and the house and the homeland, he took possession of all things in place of him.

He who neither respected nature, nor upbringing, nor age, nor what had gone before, but was once and for all so savage and harsh, and more a beast than a man, that he burst through all these restraints and shamelessly rushed upon the very laws of nature, and filled everything with confusion and uproar. For if he was unwilling to respect him as a father, he ought to have respected him as an old man; if he disregarded his gray hairs, he ought to have been ashamed before him as a benefactor; if not even so, at least as one who had done him no wrong. But the love of power cast out all this reverence and made the man a beast. And this blessed man, who had begotten and raised him, wandered as a fugitive and exile in the desert, like some stranger in a foreign land, and was punished by the evils that came from there; while that one reveled in his father's goods. Since matters stood thus, and the armies were arrayed with him, and the cities were under the tyrant, a certain man, Chusi, a gentle man and a friend of David, remained preserving his friendship toward him in this change of circumstances, and seeing him suddenly wandering in the desert, he tore his tunic, sprinkled ashes on himself, groaned, and cried out bitterly and piteously; and since he could do nothing more, he offered the consolation that comes from tears. For he was not a friend of circumstances nor of power, but of virtue; therefore when the rule had changed, he did not change his friendship. So when David saw him doing these things, he says to him: These things are indeed those of a friend and one genuinely disposed toward us, but they profit us nothing.

But what need is there to deliberate and consider how the terrible things might be undone, and how I might find some way out of these calamities? Having said this, he suggests to him a plan of this sort: Go, he says, to my son, and having put on the mask of a friend, scatter his counsels for me, and make the counsel of Achitophel of no effect. For this Achitophel at that time also prevailed over the tyrant, having become intimate with him, and he was formidable in matters of war, and formidable also in commanding an army in war and battle; for which reason David feared him more than the tyrant; so formidable was the man in his counsels. Hushai, hearing these things, was persuaded, and reckoned nothing cowardly, nor unmanly, nor did he say, But what if I am caught? What if my mask is stripped off and exposed? What if the drama of my pretense is detected? Achitophel is formidable; perhaps he will also expose this and bring it to light, and I shall perish rashly and in vain. Having considered none of these things, he leaped into the camp, casting the whole upon God, and hurled himself into the midst of dangers. And when he stood at the city, seeing the tyrant riding up, he approached; and he, seeing him suddenly and drunk with the love of power, did not examine closely the circumstances concerning him, but mocking him and reproaching him, Go, he says, with your companion; not even enduring to speak the name of the father out of hatred and great enmity.

But Chusi, not at all disturbed or thrown into confusion, what does he say? "When God was with him, I thought his interests; but since he has now stood with you, it is fitting to serve yours." This lifted up the tyrant and puffed him up, and without examining anything carefully (for a light man believes every word, having been carried headlong into the opposite course), he immediately brings him in among the genuine friends and enrolls him among the first of his friends. But God was managing the whole affair, present and commanding the events. And then, when a council was set concerning war, and different men were proposing different things about whether they ought to attack immediately or after delaying a little, Achitophel, that formidable man at giving counsel and bringing forward an opinion, came forward and proposed this counsel: "Let us now," he says, "attack your father, who is now in distress and confusion, and not allow him even a little time, and so destroy him; for if we attack him now while he is unprepared, there will be no trouble for us." Having heard these things, the tyrant also summons Chusi, the one who had come over to him by pretense, and says: "Let us share the matter with this man too"—which was not in accordance with human sequence, to honor this man who had come suddenly in such a way and to consider him trustworthy, so as even to deem him worthy of counsel for the sake of such matters; but, as I said before, when God commands, even difficult things become easy. And Chusi is brought in, and the tyrant shares his confidence with him and deems him worthy to say what he thinks. What then does Chusi say? "Achitophel," he says, "has never yet erred so." Do you see the man's understanding? He does not immediately cast out his opinion, but with commendation.

For having first admired him as one who in former times gave timely counsel, he now censures the present opinion, saying almost in so many words, "I marvel how he has now missed the mark; for this reasoning does not seem to me to be advantageous. For if we attack now, your father, filled with rage like a bear maddened over her cubs, and having despaired of his own life, fighting in the full vigor of his anger, will make no account of his own safety, and will fall upon us with great vehemence; but if we yield a little, we shall attack with greater preparation and with greater security, and without toil and with every ease, as though we had caught him in a net, and so we shall return." Absalom praises this opinion, and said it was more profitable for him. But Chusi said these things wishing to give David time, so that he might stand a little and breathe and gather his troops. So then, having driven out Achitophel's opinion by sending certain men secretly, he reported everything to David, and that the tyrant had ratified his opinion, the one bringing victory to David. And so it came to pass. For when the tyrant's men had yielded a little, David, having made preparation, attacked and set up the trophy. Which Achitophel, perceiving from great understanding and cleverness, and learning the outcome from this already, that this opinion meant destruction for Absalom, not enduring the insult that followed, departed, tied a noose and hanged himself, and so ended his life. Concerning Achitophel, then, and Absalom it has been said, "His labor will return upon his own head.

For the punishment came down upon the head of both. For the one, having resorted to hanging, thus ended his life; but Abessalom did not hang himself, but was suspended unwillingly, and was not immediately put to death, but as in a court of justice he was first strung up and fastened to the wood, and with God bringing down the verdict from above, he hung for a long time, being scourged thereafter by his own conscience. And so that you may learn that what was happening was not of human zeal, but that the whole tribunal was divine, hairs and a tree bound him, and an irrational beast delivered him up; and instead of ropes the hair, and instead of wood the tree, and instead of a soldier the mule. And observe God's longsuffering; for he left him a long time, drawing him to repentance, and made him have a taste of the father's sweetness. For if he was not a beast, and had a heart of stone, all those things were sufficient to lead him away from his untimely madness: the table at which he shared salt with his father, the house, the assemblies, where the words were spoken to him; all the other things, where he was reconciled to him after having committed such a murder. Along with these there were other things sufficient to soften him. For he heard that he went about as a fugitive and a wanderer, that he suffered the utmost evils. And how did he not consider that even if he won, he would live a life more wretched than all, being polluted and unclean from the trophy? And these things, moreover, when the father was already old, and the expectation was at the doors, he did not wait even a little time longer. Where now are those who bewail poverty? How much harsher than this poverty, how much worse than this disease, how much worse than this pain?

This righteous man said nothing of the sort to himself, nor was he indignant nor did he lament, saying: "So this is the fine recompense I receive—I who meditated on his law day and night, I who became humbler than all in such a position of honor, I who spared my enemies, am delivered into the hands of a licentious child." Nothing of the sort did he say, nor did he think it; but he bore all things with philosophy, having only one consolation in what was happening—the conviction that these things happen with God's knowledge. And just as the three children in the furnace said: "And if not, be it known to you, O king, that we do not serve your gods, and we do not worship the golden image which you set up." But if someone had said to them, "And with what hope do you die? What do you expect, what do you hope for after death, after the fire?"—for there was not yet any expectation of the resurrection—they would have heard from them: "This is our greatest recompense, to die for God." So too this man considered this his greatest consolation—that God, knowing these things, did not prevent them. For if a lover would choose ten thousand times to be slaughtered for his beloved, though expecting nothing from her after death, how much more must we endure these things not for the expectation of a kingdom, nor for any other hope of the good things to come, but for God himself; because to him belongs glory unto the ages of ages. Amen.

HOMILY 28. On Oaths. Let us not be negligent of the virtue of the soul, beloved. For what pain is it, tell me, to forgive anger against the one who has grieved you? It is pain, rather, to bear malice and not to be reconciled. What toil is it to speak evil of no one? What difficulty is it to be rid of envy and strife and jealousy? What labor is it to love one's neighbor? What weariness is it not to swear? For often, overcome by rage and anger, we have sworn oaths never to be reconciled with those who have grieved us; then, when the anger has been quenched, wishing to be reconciled, held fast by the compulsion of our oaths as by some snare, we are unwilling to do it—so that we suffer one of two things: either, having been reconciled, we commit perjury, or, not having been reconciled, we make ourselves liable to the penalties of bearing malice. For how is it not absurd, when we have a garment better than others, not to endure to use it continually, but to drag the name of God everywhere carelessly and at random? For not every sin brings the same punishment, but those easily corrected bring upon us a greater penalty; for those who swear have no excuse to put forward, but only contempt. And I know that I seem henceforth burdensome and tiresome, appearing to annoy by the frequency of my exhortation; but nevertheless I do not desist, so that at least, ashamed of my shamelessness, you may desist from the wicked habit of oaths. For if that harsh and cruel judge, ashamed at the widow's importunity, changed his manner, much more will you do this.

And especially when the one exhorting you does this not for his own sake but for your salvation. Or rather, I would not even refuse to do this for my own sake; for I consider your good things to be my own successes. For if there were neither Gehenna nor punishment, and I came to you and asked this as a favor, would you not have nodded assent? Would you not have granted the request, so light a favor, to one asking in this way? But when it is God who asks it, for your sake who give, not for His own sake who receives, who is so ungrateful, who so wretched and miserable, as not to give a favor to God when He asks? I entreat you, therefore, take the head of John, cut off and still dripping with warm blood, and let each of you go home thus, and think that you see it before your eyes, uttering a voice and saying, "Hate my murderer, the oath." For often a craftsman has sworn to his apprentice not to let him eat and drink before he completes the whole task given him. A tutor has often done this too toward a youth, and a mistress toward a maidservant; and of necessity, when evening comes and the work is not finished, either those who have not completed it perish by hunger, or those who swore must altogether forswear themselves. Often too, when we are dining at home and one of the servants makes a mistake, the wife has sworn to flog him; the husband has sworn the opposite, and has risen up in contention and does not permit it. Here, whatever they do, perjury must altogether arise; for whatever happens, one of them will be caught in perjury—or rather, both of them altogether. And how, I will tell you.

For this is the paradoxical thing. He who swore to scourge his manservant or his maidservant, and was then prevented, has himself broken his oath by not doing what he swore, and has brought the charge of perjury upon the one who prevented him and long ago cut short his oath-keeping. For not only those who perjure themselves, but also those who impose this necessity on others, are liable to the same charges. For how is it not absurd that a servant does not dare to call his own master by name, nor simply and as it happens, while he carries the Master of the angels about everywhere simply and with great contempt? Do you wish to learn how it is possible to be rid of the evil habit of oaths? I will teach you a kind of method which, if you practice it, you will certainly overcome. For when you see yourself or certain others caught by this evil passion, and continually reminded and not corrected, command them to go to sleep without having dined; and impose this condemnation on both yourself and them—a condemnation that brings not loss but gain. For the tongue, thus continually tortured, even with no one reminding it, receives sufficient exhortation; and even if we are more insensible than all, being reminded every day by the greatness of this torture, we shall not need another's counsel and admonition. For just as, it says, a servant who is continually examined will not be cleansed from his bruises; so he who swears and names the name of God continually will not be cleansed from sin. Let us therefore persuade ourselves to flee the habit of oaths, and to make the change for the better.

For even if I spoke to you about this matter yesterday and the day before, I will not desist today either, nor tomorrow, nor the day after, giving you this counsel. And why do I speak of tomorrow and the day after? Until I see you have set things right, I will not hold back. For to remind continually about the same things is a charge against the speaker, not the hearers, since they need continuous teaching. For what is easier than not to swear? The accomplishment is a matter of habit only; it is not bodily toil. Let the one who has gone ahead and succeeded reproach the one who lags behind, so as to stir him up the more by his mockery; let the one who has fallen behind and has not yet succeeded look at the one who has gone ahead, and strive eagerly to reach him quickly. And let no one say to me: What then, if someone imposes an oath on us by necessity? What then, if he does not believe? Above all, then, where a law is being transgressed, one must not mention necessity; for there is one inexorable necessity, not to stumble against God. Nevertheless, for now I say this: let us cut off superfluous oaths, those made simply and without necessity, those at home, those among friends, those among household servants; and if you do away with these, you will no longer need me for those others; for the mouth itself, having practiced fearing and fleeing oaths, even if someone compels it ten thousand times, will no longer consent to fall into that habit. A certain one of the secular rhetoricians is said, from some irrational habit, to keep moving his right shoulder as he walked; but nevertheless he overcame the habit, and having sharpened a knife on both sides, he placed it on his shoulders, so that by the fear of being cut he might discipline the limb that was moving.

Do this yourself also with your tongue, and instead of a sword set upon it the fear of punishment, and you will certainly prevail. For it is impossible, impossible, for those who are careful and earnest and make this their work ever to be defeated. For what defense will we have left, what excuse, when after so much exhortation we persist in the evils of oaths? How then will we ask for release from the terrors that hold us, when we have not been able to fulfill a single commandment? How will we expect the good change? How will we pray? With what tongue will we call upon God? For how is it not absurd that, when a king commands, we bear even the most difficult things, but when God legislates nothing difficult or hard, we despise it and put forward a wicked habit? Do not, I beg you, do not let us despise our own salvation to such a degree. Let us fear God as we fear man. For it is absurd to keep royal laws with exactness, but to despise the divine laws, which have come down from heaven, irrationally. For why does God destroy with the sickle not only the one who swears but also his house? Because God wishes the punishments of the most grievous sins to remain perpetual, so that all who come after may be disciplined. For it is necessary that the perjurer, having died, be buried and delivered to the bosom of the earth. So then, lest the wickedness be buried together with his body, he made his house a mound of earth, so that all who pass by, seeing them and learning the cause of the destruction, might flee from the imitation of sin. This also happened in the case of Sodom.

For because they burned with desire for one another, the nature of the earth also burned, and the face of the earth, brighter than every voice, admonishes all generations after this, all but crying out and saying: Do not do such things, so that you do not suffer such things. What are you doing, man? You make someone swear upon the sacred table, and where Christ lies slain, there you slaughter your brother? Robbers indeed slay on the roads; but you, before the mother, slaughter the son, committing a murder more accursed than Cain's? For he slew his brother in the wilderness as regards the present death; but you slay your brother in the midst of the church as regards the death to come? For has the church come to be for this, that we might swear oaths? It has come to be for this, that we might pray. Has the sacred table been set here for this, that we might make oaths? It has been set here for this, that we might loose our sins, not that we might bind them. But you, if nothing else, at least reverence the very book which you hold out for an oath, and the Gospel, which you take in your hands and command others to swear by—open it and hear what Christ there enjoins concerning oaths, and shudder and draw back. What then does he say there concerning oaths? But I say to you, do not swear at all. And you make the very law that forbids swearing into an oath? O the outrage! O the lawlessness! For you do the same as if someone took the lawgiver who forbids murder as his ally and commanded him to become a slayer. Just as then, when a battle has occurred, we often bear insults nobly, and say to the one who insults us: What shall I do to you? So-and-so has grieved me, your patron.

That man holds my hands; and this is sufficient for comfort. So also, whenever you are about to make someone swear an oath, restrain yourself and prevent it, and say to the one who is about to swear: What shall I do for you? For God has commanded not to swear, nor to administer oaths; that man holds me now. This is sufficient both for the honor of the Lawgiver, and for your own security, and for fear in the one who is about to swear. Give me, then, those who come from there to say that what is in Antioch, this one cannot see anywhere among the cities. For the people who inhabit that city would choose to have their tongue cut out first, rather than let an oath be uttered from their mouth. For if someone, having gained one or two, will receive so great a reward from God, those who instruct the whole inhabited world, how many recompenses will they not receive? But from habit the tongue often rushes to utter that evil word. But whenever it rushes, before bringing forth the word, bite it with your teeth from all sides violently; for it is better for it to bleed now, than then, desiring a drop of water, to be unable to obtain comfort. What are you doing, man, blaspheming the Benefactor and Savior and Protector and Guardian? Or do you not perceive that you are being carried down a precipice, and casting yourself into the abyss of final destruction? For do you think that if you blaspheme, you make the matter lighter? You intensify it, then, and make the pain more grievous. For this reason the devil brings in countless terrible things, so that he may lead you down into that abyss;

And if the devil sees you blaspheming, he readily increases the pain and makes it greater, so that, pricked to the quick, you may despair again; but if he sees you bearing it nobly, and the more the suffering is intensified, the more you give thanks to God, he immediately withdraws, since from then on he watches in vain and to no purpose. And just as a dog standing by a table, if it sees the man eating continually throwing it something of what lies on the table, stays there perpetually; but if it stands by once and a second time and goes away having received nothing, it withdraws thereafter, since it sits by in vain and to no purpose—so too the devil has continually gaped after us. If you throw him a blasphemous word as to a dog, having received it he will attack again; but if you remain giving thanks, you have choked him with hunger, and you have quickly driven him off and made him leap away. And that these things are so, I will tell you an ancient story. Once, when enemies came against the Jews, and Jonathan (this was the son of Saul) cut some down and put others to flight, Saul his father, wishing to rouse the army more greatly against those left behind, and to make them not withdraw before they should subdue them all, did the opposite of what he wished, swearing that no one should eat bread until his enemies were avenged. What then could be more foolish than this? For when he ought to have rested the soldiers who were worn out and cut down, and sent them fresher against the enemies, he made things harsher for them than the enemies themselves, handing them over to the most grievous hunger through the compulsion of the oath. It is dangerous, then, for one to swear about himself;

For we are often hindered by the pressure of circumstances; but to bind even the judgment of others by the compulsion of one's own oaths is far more dangerous—which Saul then did without due consideration. The army was passing by a thicket that had a honeycomb, and the honeycomb was in front of the people; and the people entered the thicket and went along speaking. Do you see what a pitfall it was? A table spread ready-made, so that the ease of the attempt, the sweetness of the food, and the hope of escaping notice might draw them to transgress the oaths. For Jonathan, not having heard his father when he adjured them, stretched out the tip of the scepter that was in his hand, and dipped it into the honeycomb, and brought his hand back to his mouth, and his eyes brightened. See whom the evil one drove to perjury: not one of the soldiers, but the very son of the king who had sworn. For he did not wish only to bring about perjury, but he was also contriving child-murder, and he was hastening to split nature itself against itself; and

What he once did in the case of Jephthah, he hoped to do again afterward. For Jephthah too, having promised God to slaughter the first one who met him after the victory in war, fell into child-murder; for he sacrificed his little daughter, who met him first. And why do I say child-murder? For the wicked one devised to find again a murder even more accursed than this. For if he had sinned knowingly and been slain, what happened would have been child-murder only; but as it was, having sinned through ignorance (for he did not hear the oaths), and then being put to death, he would have made his father's grief double. Then, it says, one of the soldiers saw and said: Your father solemnly adjured the people, saying, Cursed be the man who eats bread today; and the people were faint. And Jonathan said, My father has destroyed and ruined all. When the oath was transgressed, then, all were silent, and no one dared to bring the guilty man into the midst. And this too was becoming no small charge thereafter; for not only those who swear falsely, but also those who know and conceal it, share in the crimes. And the priest said, Let us draw near to God. And Saul inquired of God, If I go down after the Philistines, and will you deliver them into my hands? And the Lord did not answer him on that day. Observe the meekness and gentleness of the man-loving God; for he did not send a thunderbolt, nor shake the earth, but what friends do to friends when they have been insulted, this the Master did to his servant. And Saul said, Bring near the tribes of the people, and see in whom this sin has happened today.

As the Lord lives, who has saved Israel, even if the answer falls to Jonathan my son, he shall surely die.” And before the guilty one had even appeared, he had passed the sentence; without knowing who would be caught, he pronounced the verdict; the father became the executioner, and before the examination he brought forth the condemning vote. And why need I say much? He referred the matter to a lot. And Saul said, “Cast lots between me and Jonathan.” And Saul said to Jonathan, “Tell me now what you have done.” And Jonathan said, “I did but taste a little honey with the tip of the staff in my hand, and behold, I am dying.” Who would not have been bent by these words, who would not have been brought to compassion? Consider what a storm Saul then endured, his inward parts being torn asunder, and him being borne along on either side by a sheerest precipice. And not even so did he come to his senses, but what does he say? “May God do so to me, and more also, that you shall surely die today.” And the people said to Saul, “May God do so to us, and more also, if he shall be put to death by death—the one who wrought the great salvation for Israel. As the Lord lives, if a hair of his head shall fall to the ground, because he showed the mercy of God on this day.” Behold, the people also swore a second time, and swore against the king. It is necessary, then, that the oath be broken; for it is impossible for all these to keep their oaths. For if the king wished to stand against and proceed against the oath, the whole people stood against him, and it would have become a most grievous tyranny; and again, if the boy, sparing his own safety, wished to give himself over to the army, he would at once have become a patricide.

Do you see both tyranny and child-murder and parricide and civil war and battle and slaughters and bloodshed and countless dead brought about by a single oath? Did you see what a pit of destruction that oath prepared? So then, that we too may not suffer the like of those things, let us stand aloof from the wicked habit of oaths, so that having drawn down God's goodwill from this, we may both pass through the present life safely and attain the good things to come, by the grace and love for mankind of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the might, with the Father and the all-holy Spirit, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen. Homily 29. On guilelessness and forbearance and remembrance of wrongs. Whom ought we to bring forward into the midst, when we wish to speak about gentleness, beloved, other than the one who received testimony from above, and was especially admired for this? For I have found, it says, David the son of Jesse, a man after my heart, who not only fed and gave drink to his enemies, but also often snatched them from death when they were in danger. For Saul so hated and turned away from him, after countless benefactions, after the brilliant trophies, and the salvation wrought against Goliath, that he could not even endure to remember his name. For once, when a festival came, since he had woven some plot against him and stitched together a grievous scheme, and did not see him arrive, he says, Where is the son of Jesse? And having no wickedness to speak of, he brought forward the lowliness of his lineage, expecting by this to cast a shadow over his splendor.

But the one who found him sleeping inside the cave did not call him the son of Kish, but by the name of honor: "For I will not," he says, "lay my hand upon the Lord's anointed." So free from anger and all remembrance of wrongs was he. He calls the Lord's anointed the one who had wronged him so greatly, the one thirsting for his blood, the one who after countless benefits had often attempted to destroy him. For he did not consider what that man deserved to suffer, but he considered what it was fitting for him both to do and to say to him. What is this? As though having taken his enemy prisoner in a jail, held by a triple bond—both by the narrowness of the place, and by the desolation of those who might help, and by the compulsion of sleep—do you not exact justice or punishment from him? But, "I will not lay my hand," you say, "upon the Lord's anointed"? Yes, he says; for I do not now look at what this man is justly deserving to suffer, but at what it was proper for me to do. You, then, perhaps marvel at him because he remembered none of the past evils; but I am struck with amazement at him for another, far greater reason. What is this? That not even fear of what was to come drove him to make away with his enemy. For he knew clearly that, having escaped his hands, he would again stand against him; but he chose rather to risk danger himself by releasing the one who had wronged him, than, providing for his own safety, to make away with his adversary.

Neither the memory of past events, nor fear of what was to come, nor the general's urging, nor the desolation of the place, nor the ease of the slaughter, nor anything else roused him to murder; but just as if he were a benefactor and had done him great goods, so he spared his enemy and the one who had grieved him, and having cut off the fringe of his garment, and having taken away the water jar, he went off to a distance, and standing there he cried out, and showed these things to the one who had been saved; not doing it for display and vainglory, but wishing to persuade him by his deeds that he had suspected him as an enemy rashly and in vain, and hastening through this to draw him to friendship. For that one who was simply an enemy should not be repaid when he has been grieved—that is no wonder; but that a man who had been benefited with many and great benefits, and then in return for those benefits attempted once and twice and many times to destroy his benefactor, and having taken him in his hands and become his master, to destroy him—and yet to let him go and snatch him from another's plot, and that too when he was again about to set upon the same things—what excess of philosophy could he leave remaining? And what excess of wickedness could the things shown by Saul against David have? For when the enemies had just been driven off by him, and the city had recovered itself, and all were sacrificing victory offerings, he himself attempted to destroy his benefactor and savior and the cause of all those goods.

And the very occasion of his beneficence did not calm that raging and deranged man, but once and twice and many times he hurled his spear, wishing to destroy him, and such were the returns he gave in exchange for those dangers. For David, it says, sang with his hand, and the spear was in the hand of Saul, and Saul took up the spear and said, "If I strike David." And David turned aside from before him, and he struck the spear into the wall. What man, even among those who know well how to philosophize, would not these things have driven to anger? But this man chose rather to flee, and to be cast out of his ancestral house, and to be a wanderer and a fugitive, and while enduring hardship to procure the necessary food, than to become the cause of slaughter to the king. For he did not consider how he might avenge himself, but how he might rid that man of his passion. For this reason he withdrew himself from the eyes of his enemy, so as to draw off the swelling, and calm the inflammation, and assuage the envy. For it is better, he says, for me to endure hardship and suffer countless terrible things, than for this man to be judged by God for unjust slaughter. What then could equal that noble and adamantine soul, that he chose poverty instead of wealth, and desert instead of fatherland, and toils and dangers instead of luxury and security, in order to rid his enemy of the hatred against him? Whom would these things not have persuaded, though he were brutish and savage, to lay aside his enmity and be rid of his envy?

But none of these things persuaded that savage and inhuman man to be bent toward kindness, but he kept pursuing him and went about everywhere seeking the one who had wronged him in nothing but had been wronged in the extreme, and had done him countless good things in return for these. And no longer knowing where he was going, he fell into David's nets. For there was a cave there, it says, and Saul went in to relieve himself; but David and his men were sitting in the inner part of the cave. And David's men said to him, Behold, the day of which the Lord spoke: I give your enemy into your hands, and you shall do to him what is pleasing in your eyes. And David rose and secretly cut off the fringe of Saul's cloak. And after these things David's heart struck him, because he had cut off the fringe of the cloak; and he said to his men, Far be it from me, by the Lord, to do this thing to my lord, to lay my hand upon him, because he is the Lord's anointed; as if he were saying, May the Lord be propitious to me; for even if I myself wished it, may he never permit me to do this, nor allow me to come into this sin. What could be gentler than this soul? Shall we call this man, who displayed an angelic way of life in human nature, a man? But the divine laws would not endure it. For who, tell me, would quickly choose to offer such a prayer to God? And why do I say, to offer? Who would easily endure not to curse the one who had grieved him?

Did you see David’s nets spread out, the prey caught in them, and the hunter standing there, and all urging him to plunge the sword into the enemy’s chest? Now look at his philosophy, look at the wrestling, the victory, the crown. For that cave was a stadium, and a certain wondrous and paradoxical wrestling took place. For David wrestled, his anger boxed, Saul lay as the prize, and God was the judge of the contest. For his battle was not only against himself and his own desire, but also against the soldiers present. For even if he wished to philosophize and to spare the one who had done the wrong, it was likely that he also feared them, lest they cut him down in the cave, since he was a destroyer and a traitor to their own safety, and was preserving their common enemy. For it was likely that they, being vexed, would say these things: We have become wanderers and fugitives, and we have fallen out of our homes and fatherland and all other things, and we have shared with you in all hardships; and you, having taken into your hands the cause of these evils, intend to let him go, so that we may never breathe free of these evils? And while you are eager to preserve the enemy, are you betraying your friends? And where is this just? For if you despise your own safety, at least spare our soul. Does the past not grieve you, nor do you remember the evils you suffered at his hands? At least for the sake of the future, kill him, so that he may not [inflict] greater and more grievous

that we should submit to evils. But that righteous man did not reckon any of these things, but looked to one thing only, how he might be able to bind on the crown of forbearance. For it was not so wonderful that, being alone and by himself, he spared the one who had grieved him, as it is now paradoxical that he did this very thing when others were present—and companions who were not gentle and moderate men, but soldiers and men trained to make war, and who for the most part had despaired because of their toils, and desired to breathe freely for a little, and knew that the whole release from their evils then lay in the slaughter of the enemy; and not only release from evils, but also the acquisition of countless goods. For nothing prevented the kingdom from passing over to this man immediately once that one had been slain. Nevertheless, though there were so many things provoking them, that noble man prevailed to overcome all these and to persuade them to spare the enemy. Great indeed is it for a man to overcome his own passions; but far greater is it to be able also to persuade others to acquire the same resolve as himself. And yet many even of the enemies, and those who seem to practice philosophy, even if they themselves would not consent to destroy their enemies, would not choose to prevent them when they are about to be destroyed by others. But David did not do so; rather, as though he had received a certain deposit and was about to give an account of it, so not only did he himself not touch the enemy, but he also prevented his companions who wished to destroy him, becoming a bodyguard instead of an enemy and the best of spearmen. So that one would not err in saying that David then fell into greater danger than Saul.

For he endured no ordinary struggle, striving in every way to rescue him from their plot; nor did he fear so much that he himself was about to be slaughtered, as he feared that one of the soldiers, yielding to anger, might destroy the man. For this reason he also composed such a defense, and they were accusing, but the one sleeping was being accused, and the enemy was making his defense, and God was judging, and He ratified the verdict of David. For without God's inclination he would not have been able to prevail over those madmen; but it was the grace of God that sat upon his lips, giving a certain persuasiveness to those words. Would one not especially marvel at his greatness of soul from this very fact, that having taken the enemy into his hands while he slept, remaining motionless and able to do nothing, he not only did not kill him himself, but even prevented his companions who wished to? How then was it likely that they would attend to him thereafter, with what great goodwill would they be disposed toward him? For if they had ten thousand lives thereafter, would they not readily have given them all for the general, having learned by deed, in his care for the enemy, his goodwill toward his own? For if he was gentle and mild toward those who had grieved him, would he not much more be so disposed toward those who were well-disposed? Would one not fittingly demonstrate from this that David set up a greater trophy by sparing Saul than when he struck down Goliath and cut off the barbarian's head? For this victory is more brilliant than that one, and the trophy more glorious.

For there he needed a sling and stones and a battle line; but here everything was accomplished by reasoning, and the victory was won without weapons, and the trophy was set up without bloodshed. Since, then, he had won this noble and wondrous victory, Saul, the subject of the contests, arose thereafter from sleep and came out of the cave, knowing nothing of what had been done to him. And David came out after him, now looking toward heaven with free eyes; he came out not carrying a barbarian's head, but a rage put to death, and anger enervated, and having given the enemy countless wounds, and having preserved Saul, while piercing the true enemy, the devil, with many blows; he came out with his right hand crowned together with the head—that right hand which had the strength to bring the sword out clean and to show the blade to God without blood, and to withstand so great a rush of anger; he came out with as much splendor as the three youths from the furnace. For just as the fire did not burn them, so the pyre of anger did not set him ablaze; and for them the fire, assailing from outside, did nothing;

This man, having within him the coals burning, and the devil outside fanning the furnace—by the sight of the enemy, by the urging of the soldiers, by the ease of the slaughter, by the desolation of those who might help, by the memory of past evils, by the agony over things to come (for this also kindled a flame brighter than brushwood and pitch and tow and all things that ignite the Babylonian furnace)—was not set on fire, nor did he suffer anything of the sort that was to be expected, but he came out pure and untouched. When David, then, had come out behind Saul, he cried out, saying, My lord king. And Saul looked back after him, and David bowed on his face and did obeisance to him. Does this, then, bring less praise for saving the enemy? Because he himself, having saved him, himself does obeisance to the one saved, and calls him king, and names himself slave, and does everything so as to restrain that man's pride and inflation, and to soothe his anger, and to remove his envy. But let us hear also his defense itself. Why do you listen to the words of the people saying, Behold, David seeks your life? Behold, your eyes have seen today that the Lord delivered you into my hands in the cave, and I was not willing to kill you, and I spared you, and I said, I will not put my hand upon my lord, for he is the Lord's anointed; and behold, the edge of your cloak is in my hand, which I took away, and I did not kill you.

For he says, I would not have cut off the piece of my garment, had I not been near and stood close to your body. For had he not cut it off, he would have had no other means from anywhere to convince the enemy. For how could the man who warred against one who had done him no wrong, after so many benefactions, have suspected that another, having been wronged and having taken the wrongdoer into his hands, spared him? But as it is, he provided an indisputable proof of his own forethought, and he calls the enemy himself both judge and witness of his own care, speaking thus: Know and see today, that there is no transgression in my hand; and you bind my soul to take it. So free from arrogance was he and pure from all vainglory, and he looked to one thing only, the verdict of God. For he says, Let God judge between me and you; and he said this, not wishing the man to be punished, nor to receive vengeance from him, but to frighten him by the remembrance of the coming judgment; because he would not have dared to call upon the judge who cannot be deceived, and to bring the case before him, unless he had been thoroughly persuaded of himself, that he was pure and free from every plot. Who would not be struck with amazement, who would not marvel at that noble and adamantine soul, that having many and great benefactions to recount to Saul—

For he could have said, if he had wished, that when the barbarian war was about to sweep away the whole city like some flood, and you were cowering and afraid, expecting to die each day, I came forward—no one compelling me, but even you hindering and holding me back—and I did not endure it, but leaped forward before all others, and received the enemy, and cut off his head; and like the rush of some torrent I checked the advance of those barbarians and set the shaken city firm; and because of me you have your kingdom and your life, and all the rest have, along with their lives, the city and their homes and their children and their wives; and after that, again, the other wars which he waged successfully, no less than that one; and that when he attempted once and twice and many times to kill him, and hurled his spear at his own head, he did not bear a grudge; and many other things far more and greater than these. But none of these

he said, but he makes his defense from the events that happened on that day, saying only this: "Know and see today, that there is no evil or transgression in my hand; and you are binding my soul to take it." Whose heart would such words not break? For he did not wish to reproach him with his benefactions, but only to persuade him that he belonged to those who love and care for him, not to those who plot and wage war against him. And so you also, whenever you take your enemy into your hands, do not look to this—how you might send him away avenged and washed with countless insults—but how you might heal him, how you might lead him back to gentleness, and do not desist, doing and saying everything, until you prevail by your meekness over his savagery. This, then, is what David also did: seeing the enemy arming himself against his own safety, and setting everything in motion for this, he not only did not grow fierce, but came to greater compassion; and the greater the plots, the more he wept for him, and he did not desist, doing everything, until he had even brought him to make his defense with tears and lamentations. For when Saul heard him say, "My lord the king," he could not bear to hear that voice without tears, but wailed aloud, and let out a bitter cry, and lamented greatly, and said: "You are more righteous than I; for you have repaid me good in return for my plotting, in return for the slaughter, in return for those countless evils; but I have repaid you with evil; and not even so did I become better, but after those benefactions I remained in wickedness.

And you did not even change after this, but you remained keeping your own manner, and again you benefited us who were plotting against you. And you reported to me today the good things you did for me: how the Lord shut me up into your hands, and you did not kill me. What could be more blessed than David, who in a brief moment of time so transformed the enemy, and having taken a soul thirsting for blood and slaughter, cast it suddenly into lamentations and wailings? I do not admire Moses so much because he brought forth springs of water from a hard rock, as I admire this man, because he brought down springs of tears from such eyes. For that one conquered nature, but this one overcame the will; that one struck the stone with the rod, this one struck the heart with the word, not to grieve it, but to make it pure and gentle. As much, therefore, as I praise him for his own meekness, all the more do I admire him for the transformation of Saul. For to master one's own passions is far less than to overcome also the madness of others, and to calm a inflamed heart, and to produce so great a calm from so great a storm, and to fill with warm tears eyes that looked upon murder. And this is what is full of much amazement and wonder. For if Saul had been one of the gentle and moderate men, it would not be a great thing to lead him back to his own virtue; but to prepare a man become brutish and having slipped down to the utmost wickedness, and hastening to slaughter, in a brief moment of time to vomit out all that bitterness—who would not hide away among those ever celebrated for the teaching of philosophy?

For it is worthy of praise and the greatest wonder that he did not baptize the sword, nor cut off that hostile head; but that he even changed his own purpose, and made it better, and brought him over to his own gentleness—what excess of philosophy could anyone have beyond this? But most people not only keep themselves from converse with their enemies, but they cannot even endure to see their face, nor to hear their voice; but David did not act so, but he even saved his enemy, and was the first to honor him by addressing him, "My lord king." And not only this, but he also fell upon his face and did obeisance to him; and when he was honored by that man's saying, "Child David," he again honored him more greatly, saying, "Your servant, my lord king." Who could describe a forbearance greater than this? That man, having been benefited even to his very soul, brought his benefactor into kinship; this man, having benefited him, called the one he benefited master. "He called me child," he says, "and I love and cherish him, if only you hold me as a servant—only with laying aside your anger, only with suspecting nothing evil concerning me and not thinking me a plotter and enemy." And see how much profit he worked. For when he said this, that man could no longer hear this voice without tears, but he wailed bitterly, revealing through his tears the health in his soul and the philosophy which David had instilled.

Of how many crowns would David not be worthy, because by his own gentleness and clemency he so prevailed over Saul that he even persuaded him to condemn his own cruelty and to extol that man's virtue? "For if a man find his enemy," he says, "in distress, and send him on a good way, the Lord will repay him with good things, as you have done with me today. And behold, I know that you will surely reign as king, and the kingdom of Israel shall be established in your hand. And now swear to me by the Lord, that you will not destroy my seed after me, and that you will not blot out my name from my father's house." And how did you know this, tell me? With you are the camps, with you the treasures, the weapons, the cities, the horses, the soldiers, the whole strength of the royal provision; but this man is desolate and naked, cityless, houseless, hearthless. From where, then, do you say these things, tell me? From his very manner of life. For the naked and cityless and desolate man would not have prevailed over me, who am armed and clothed with so great a force, unless he had God with him; and he who has God with him is stronger than all. Do you see what philosophy Saul utters after the plot? Do you see how it is possible to spit out all wickedness and to change and to return to what is better? Of how many crowns, then, would David be worthy for each of these words? For even if Saul's mouth uttered them, it was David's wisdom that planted them in that man's soul.

For he says, "Swear to me by the Lord, that you will not destroy my seed after me, and that you will not blot out my name from the house of my father." The king now brings a supplication to the common man, and he who wears the diadem sets forth a petition, entreating the fugitive on behalf of his own children; and he demands an oath, not distrusting his character, but considering how many evils he had worked against him. "Swear to me, that you will not blot out my seed after me." He leaves the enemy as guardian of his own children, and places his offspring in that man's hands; almost taking hold of their right hand through his words, and bringing God in as mediator. What then does David do? Did he perhaps dissemble even a little in response to these things? By no means, but he immediately nodded assent, and gave the favor, and when Saul died, he not only did not kill them, but granted even more than he had agreed to. For he brought his grandson, who was lame and crippled in the leg, into his own house, and made him a table-companion, and deemed him worthy of the greatest honor; and he was not ashamed nor did he cover his face, nor did he think that he was disgracing the royal table by the boy's disability, but rather he adorned himself and took pride in it. For who of those dining with him, seeing the descendant of Saul, who had worked so many evils against David, enjoying such great honor from him, even if he were wilder than all beasts, would not have made peace with all his enemies out of shame and blushing? For even if elsewhere he appointed him food and set a fixed allowance, it was a very great thing.

But that he even brought him to his own table—this surpasses all philosophy. For most people not only defend themselves against enemies while they are alive, but even when the enemies have died they discharge their anger against them upon their children. David, however, was not like this; rather, he preserved the enemy while he was alive, and when that man had departed, he displayed his goodwill toward him in his children. What could be more blessed than this? For not only did he, seeing his enemy lying beneath his own feet, worse than a captive, spare him, but again after this deliverance, when the man attacked him and wished to destroy him, he took him in his hands, and though he was able to cut him down along with his whole army, he let him go safe and sound; and recognizing that he was incurably sick and would never cease from his enmity against him, he removed himself from that man's eyes and lived among the barbarians as a slave, dishonored, ashamed, procuring for himself the necessary food by toil and hardship. And this is not the only wonderful thing, but also that when he heard that he had fallen in the battle line, he tore his tunic and sprinkled ashes on himself and uttered a lament such as one would utter having lost an only and true-born child, continually calling back his name together with the child's, composing eulogies, and sending forth a bitter cry, and remaining without food until evening, and cursing the places that received the blood of Saul: "O mountains," he says, "of Gilboa, let neither dew nor rain fall upon you; mountains of death; for there the shield of the mighty was lifted up." "I hate even the place itself," he says, "because of the dead who fell there.

Do not, then, any longer be soaked by the rains from above; for you have once been badly soaked with the blood of my friends. And he continually turns their names over, speaking thus: “Saul, Saul, and Jonathan, the beloved and beautiful, not separated in their life, and in their death they were not separated.” For since he could not embrace their bodies while present, he entwines himself with their names, soothing his own grief as far as possible by these, and consoling the magnitude of the calamity. For it is not possible, he says, to say that the child lamented orphanhood, nor that the father bewailed childlessness; but what happened to no one happened, he says, to them: together and on one day they were torn from life, and the one not left behind did not consider life livable for himself by the separation of the other. Now let each one of you remember for me the enemy and the one who has grieved him, while the mind is still seething with mourning, and let him both guard this one while he lives, and mourn him when he has departed; and if it is necessary to suffer anything so as not to grieve the one who has wronged him, let him do and suffer all things, awaiting great recompenses from God. For truly nothing is so safe as sparing enemies, nor so precarious as wishing to avenge oneself and defend oneself. For the one who has destroyed will often also condemn himself, and will have a wicked conscience, pricked by that sin every day and hour; but the one who has spared and endured for a little time rejoices thereafter and lives in luxury, awaiting good hopes, and expecting from God the recompenses of forbearance.

And if ever he should fall into any terrible danger, with great boldness he will demand from God the recompense. And this can be seen from what happened in the cases of David and Saul. For the one who wished to destroy him, naked and unarmed and bereft of all, and delivered over as it were a captive, lay thus in the cave; while the other, yielding and giving way everywhere, and not even wishing to take vengeance justly, without engines and weapons and horses and soldiers, took the enemy into his hands; and, what was greater than all, he drew God to greater favor, and later received great and wonderful recompenses for his care concerning the enemy. What excuse, then, shall we have, when we remember past sins and take vengeance on those who have grieved us, since that blameless man, having suffered so many things and expecting even more and worse evils to befall him, is shown to have so spared the salvation of his enemy as to choose rather to risk himself and to live with fear and trembling than justly to slay the one who was going to furnish him countless troubles? For it is good not to do wrong, but much more is it the mark of a philosophic soul not to take vengeance when wronged. Such, then, was David. And yet the law at that time provided this measure: an eye for an eye

commanding, and to knock out tooth for tooth, and what was done was not a transgression; but David was so philosophical that he not only did not transgress the law, but even out of great abundance went beyond it and leaped over the boundaries. For he did not consider it sufficient for virtue if he did not also surpass the commandments. But we are required not only not to repay, but also to do good; for, he says, pray for those who despitefully use you; do good to those who hate you. What excuse then shall we have hereafter, or what defense after the coming of Christ, if we do not reach the measure of those who lived under the Old Covenant, and that too when much more is required of us? For unless your righteousness, he says, exceeds that of the scribes and Pharisees, you shall not enter the kingdom of heaven. For just as one who accomplishes the same things under the law is not equal to one before the law, so neither is one under grace equal to one before the law—or rather, to one under the law—but from the time there is a great difference. When I consider the goodness and compassion and tender love of our Lord Jesus Christ, I am dizzy and I tremble and I am overcome with amazement, how even on the very cross he prayed for those who were crucifying him; what could be equal to this? And both robbers at the beginning reviled him, but when the grateful one came to his senses and said, Remember me, Lord, he opened paradise to him before all others.

And he weeps for those who are about to kill him, and he is troubled and confounded at seeing the traitor—not because he was going to be crucified, but because that man was perishing. He was troubled, then, foreseeing the hanging, the punishment after the hanging, and knowing his wickedness, he tended him and shielded him to the very last hour. But he even kissed the traitor, the good Master giving us a type and pattern of goodness and longsuffering. For, he says, do you betray the Son of Man with a kiss? Whom would this voice not have softened, whom would it not have bent? What beast, what stony soul? But not that wretched man. For he did not say: O vile and utterly wicked and traitorous one, is this the recompense you give us for such great beneficence? But how? Judas—setting down the proper name, which was more the act of one lamenting and calling back, not of one angered. And he did not say, your teacher, your master, your benefactor; but, Do you betray the Son of Man with a kiss? For if he was not teacher nor master, do you betray this one who is so gently, so guilelessly disposed toward you as even to kiss you at the time of the betrayal? And toward the traitor he spoke thus, as has been said; but toward those who came with swords and clubs, how? And what could be gentler than the words spoken to them? For though he was able to make them all vanish at once, he did none of this, but speaks to them reprovingly, saying: Why did you come out as against a robber with swords and clubs?

And having thrown them backward, since they remained insensible, he willingly handed himself over again, and he endured seeing them put bonds on his holy hands, though he was able to shake them all and throw them down. Who will speak of the mighty acts of the Lord, who will make all his praises heard? Let us also imitate, brothers, his forbearance, his gentleness, his humility. For learn from me, he says, that I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For this reason Paul also sets these things down and says: Bless those who persecute you—clearly, those who plot in whatever way. And he did not say, Do not bear a grudge, nor avenge yourselves, but he sought what is far greater than this, saying, Bless. For that—not bearing a grudge, nor avenging oneself—is the mark of a philosopher, but this of an angel. Then, having said, Bless, he added, And do not curse, so that we may not do both this and that, but only that; for those who persecute us are the cause of rewards for us. But if you are sober, and

You will prepare for yourself another reward together with that one; for he will give you the reward that comes from persecution, but you will give yourself the reward that comes from blessing him, carrying a very great sign of love for Christ. For this reason the spiritual teacher commanded us in every way to repay those who insult and persecute and harm us in deeds with the opposite, and above he ordered us to bless them, and going on he exhorts us to benefit them in deeds as well: Rejoice with those who rejoice, and weep with those who weep. For since it is possible to bless and not to curse, yet not to do this out of love, he wants us also to be warmed through with friendship. Therefore he added these things too, so that we might not only bless but also grieve with them and suffer with them, whenever we see them fallen into misfortune. For nothing gathers love together as much as when we share both joys and sorrows with one another. Hear what Peter says to Christ: How many times, if my brother sins against me, shall I forgive him? Up to seven times? At once he both asks and promises, and before he learns, he is ambitious. For knowing clearly the mind of the teacher, that he inclines more toward loving-kindness, wishing to please the teacher, he says: Up to seven times? Then, so that you may learn what man is, and what God is, and how the ambition of the disciple, wherever it may arrive, when compared with the abundance of the teacher, is more worthless than all poverty; and as much as a drop is to a boundless sea, so much is our goodness compared with his ineffable loving-kindness—when he had said this.

seven times, and when he thought he was being greatly honored and lavishly generous, Christ says: I do not say, until seven times, but until seventy times seven; which is four hundred and ninety. And do not think the command is difficult; for if you are prepared to disregard offenses against you that many times, trained by a first and second and third forgiveness, you will no longer have any toil from such philosophy, once you have thoroughly practiced yourself in the frequency of forgiveness, so as not even to be struck by the sins of your neighbor. But even if someone has suffered unjust plunder, for such injustice he will give thanks to God, and through that thanksgiving he will reap countless rewards. For nothing so gladdens God as not repaying evil for evil. But if someone should say: How could I have defended myself against the one who wronged me, being weaker? I would say this, that you could have acted by being vexed, by being indignant, by cursing the one who grieved you, by calling down countless curses on him, by slandering him to everyone; for these things lie within our power. Therefore the one who has not done these things will receive a reward even for not defending himself; for it is clear that, being master of that too, he would not have done it. When, then, you see your enemy fall into your hands, do not think that that time is for punishment, but for salvation. For then especially ought we to spare enemies, when we have become their masters; and if we thus manage our own affairs, and take up the salvation of our neighbors, we shall quickly be both desired and beloved by them, and, what is greater than all, we shall enjoy the good things laid up in store.

By the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the dominion, with the Father and the holy and life-giving Spirit, now and always and unto the endless ages of ages. Amen. Homily 30. An Encomium on the holy apostle Paul, composed by Theodore Magistros, from various homilies of our father among the saints John Chrysostom. We have already discharged the whole debt owed you concerning the title of the apostolic Acts. It followed, then, that we should also touch upon the beginning of the book, and say what it is: The first account I made concerning all things, O Theophilus, which Jesus began both to do and to teach. But Paul does not allow us to use this order of sequence, calling our tongue to himself and his own achievements. For I long to see him led into Damascus, bound—not in an iron chain, but by the Master's voice; I long to see this great fish caught, the one who made the whole sea boil, who stirred up countless waves against the Church; I long to see him caught, not with a hook, but by the Master's word. For just as a fisherman sitting on a high rock, raising his rod, lets the hook down from on high into the deep, so too our Master, who showed forth the spiritual fishing, sitting as it were on the high rock of the heavens, letting that voice down from above like a hook, and saying, Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?—thus did he catch this great fish.

For who could have endured that savage and inhuman man, the persecutor and blasphemer, who so ravaged the Church as even to go about from house to house dragging off men and women and throwing everything into confusion and disorder, had not our King suddenly called him and removed him and brought him back to himself? For even the disciples, wherever they saw him arrive, shuddered in fear and did not dare even to look him in the face; and when he had become their friend again, they showed the same fear. If, then, they feared him when he had been reconciled, when he was an enemy and an adversary, what would they not have done? But what am I to suffer? I must take to flight with great urgency, lest he seize me again and carry me away from my purpose. For you know that often, when I was walking and occupied elsewhere, he met me and stopped me in the middle of my discourse, and so captivated me that he persuaded me to undo and demolish the discourse itself. This blessed Paul, then, who enlightened the whole world, was once blinded at the time of his calling; but that blindness became the enlightenment of the world. For since he saw badly, God blinded him well, so that he might see profitably; and since he persecuted the Church beyond measure, and was so violent and unapproachable, he receives a more violent bridle, so that, carried along by the rush of that zeal, he might not disobey what was said, and so that he might learn whom he was fighting against—one whom he could not endure, not only when he punished, but not even when he bestowed benefits. For it was not darkness that blinded him, but an excess of light that darkened him. If a barbarian war had surrounded us, and in the battle line the enemies were causing us countless troubles,

Then the commander of the barbarians, who brought countless devices, and confounded all our affairs, and filled everything with great uproar and confusion, and threatened to raze the city itself and deliver it to fire, and held out slavery to us—suddenly bound by our King, he was led captive into the city. Would we not all, with women and children, have rushed out to that spectacle? And since even now war has arisen, with Jews making uproar and throwing everything into confusion, and bringing many devices against the security of the Church, and the chief of the enemies is Paul, who does and says things greater than all, who throws everything into uproar and confusion—but our Lord Jesus Christ, our King, has bound him, bound him and led him captive—shall we not all go out to this spectacle, so as to see him led captive? For even the angels, watching from the heavens as he was bound and led in, leaped for joy—not because they saw him bound, but because they considered how many people he was going to loose from their bonds; not because they beheld him led by the hand, but because they reckoned how many he was going to lead by the hand from the earth; not because they saw him blinded, but because they understood how many he was going to lead out of darkness. For this reason I too, leaving all the others behind, hasten to leap toward Paul. For Paul, and longing for Paul, has compelled us to leap

This leap. Who will proclaim your mighty acts, Lord, that you did not allow Paul to go unnoticed, that you showed such a man to the world? All the angels praised you with one accord when you made the stars, and when you made the sun, but not as they did when you showed Paul to the whole world. For this reason the earth has become brighter than heaven, since this man is brighter than the light of the sun. And this sun yields to the night, but that man prevailed over the devil; and the sun, carried from on high, sends its rays downward; but he, rising from below, did he not fill the space between heaven and earth with light? No, as soon as he opened his mouth, he filled the angels with great pleasure. For if there is joy in the heavens over one sinner who repents, and he from his very first public address hunted five thousand men, with how much joy does he not fill the powers above? And why do I say this? Simply for Paul to speak is enough for the heavens to leap and rejoice. For what is warmer than the heart of this man, who ran everywhere throughout the world, dragged about, stoned, in order to loose those who were bound and draw them to himself? For he did not accomplish these things as one fighting, but as one coming to a victory ready and at hand, so he set up his trophies, demolishing, tearing down, casting down the strongholds of the devil and the devices of the demons, and he did not even take a little breath, but leaping from these to those, and again from those to others, and like some excellent general setting up trophies every day, or rather every hour.

For entering the battle line with nothing but a tunic, he captured whole cities of the enemy with their men; and bows and spears and arrows and everything were the tongue of Paul. For he only spoke, and his words, falling upon the enemies more fiercely than any fire, drove out the demons and brought back to him the men who were possessed by them. For when he cast out that wicked demon, five thousand men of the sorcerers came together and burned the books of their magic, and turned to the truth. And just as in war, when a tower has fallen or a tyrant has been brought down, all those with him throw down their weapons and run to the general, so also it happened then: for when the demon had been cast out, all were besieged and threw down their books—or rather, destroyed them—and ran to the feet of Paul. And he, arrayed against the whole inhabited world as against a single army, stood nowhere still, but as though he had wings, he did everything: now he set right a lame man, now he raised a dead man, now he healed another—I mean the magician; and not even when shut up in prison did he keep quiet, but there too he won over the jailer to himself, working out this noble captivity. David is admired for bringing down Goliath with a single stone; but if one examines the achievements of Paul, that was the work of a child; and as great as the difference between a shepherd and a general, so great is the difference between the one and the other. For this man, without throwing a stone, brought down the spiritual Goliath, but by speaking only he destroyed the whole phalanx of the devil.

And like a roaring lion breathing flame from its tongue, so he was unbearable to all as he advanced; and everywhere he leapt continually, he ran to these, he came to those, he moved to these, he sprang away to others, advancing faster than the wind; and as though steering the whole inhabited world as one house or one ship, drawing up those being baptized, steadying those who were dizzy, exhorting the sailors, sitting at the necks, scanning the prow, stretching the ropes, plying the oar, hauling the sail, looking toward heaven, being everything himself—both sailor and pilot and lookout and sail and ship—and suffering all things so that he might loose the evils of others. And like some athlete, himself wrestling, running, boxing; or a soldier fighting at the walls, fighting on foot, fighting at sea; so he went through every form of battle; and he breathed fire, and was unapproachable to all, grasping the inhabited world with one body, and routing all with one tongue. Not so did the many trumpets fall upon the stones of the city of the Jerichoites and bring them down, as the voice of Paul resounding cast the devilish strongholds to the ground and turned the enemies to himself. And through a window he was lowered from the wall, so that from below he might send up those cast down to the ground. The famine, then, and thirst, and nakedness, and shipwrecks, and fears, and plots, and prisons, and beatings, and all the other things whatsoever the blessed Paul endured for the sake of the preaching, I think there is no need to speak of, each of which was sufficient to shake violently and break in pieces 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 more than anything gave him his unceasing and unbearable despondency. For if he himself burned for each one of those who stumbled, it was impossible for that burning to be quenched from his soul; for those who stumbled did not cease, nor did they cease providing fuel for the fire. But to see the Jews also unbelieving—what small relief, at least, of despondency and pain could he 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 for the sake of being able to win over all the Jews—it is evident that, not obtaining this, he lived a life heavier than those punished in Gehenna. O the burning love of charity! Paul, who braved fire, the adamantine, the firm, the unbending, the inflexible, who says, "Who shall separate us from Christ? Tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?"—he who braved land and sea, who laughed at the adamantine gates of death—this man, when he saw the tears of certain beloved ones, was so broken and crushed that he did not even hide his passion, but said at once: "What are you doing, weeping and crushing my heart?" O the wonder! The abyss of waters did not crush him, and a few tears crushed and broke him. "What are you doing, weeping and crushing my heart?

What are you saying? Tell me, did a tear have the strength to crush that adamantine soul? Yes, he says; for great is the strength of love; it prevails over me and holds me fast; for I withstand all things except love. Hear this, all you who do not even despise money for the sake of Christ—or rather, for your own sakes—and shudder as you take into your mind Paul's affection for Christ. For he did not love Christ for the sake of Christ's gifts, but for his own sake he loved the things that belong to him, and he feared only one thing: to fall away from love for him. For this was to him more terrible than Gehenna, just as remaining in it was more desirable than the kingdom. When, then, that man, out of his longing for Christ, accepts even to fall into Gehenna and to be cast out of the kingdom—if indeed both of these were set before him—while we do not even despise the present life, are we then worthy even of his sandals, so far removed are we from him in greatness of mind? For if someone caring for a single house, with servants and stewards and managers, often cannot even breathe because of his anxieties, though there is nothing troubling him—consider what he endured who had the care not of one house but of cities and peoples and nations and the whole inhabited world, and for matters so great, with so many assailing him, and being alone, and suffering so much, and caring so deeply as not even a father does for his children.

If anyone wishes to love genuinely and to know the power of love, let him run to its nursling, the blessed Paul, and he will teach him how great a contest it is to endure separation from one who is loved, and what greatness of soul it requires. For this man, this very man who had stripped off the flesh and laid aside the body, and who walked the inhabited world almost with his soul laid bare, and who banished every passion from his mind, and who imitated the impassibility of the incorporeal powers—all other things he bore easily, as though suffering in another's body: prisons and chains and dragings away and scourges and threats and death, and every form of punishment. But when he was separated from one soul that he loved, he was so confounded and disturbed that, in the city where he expected to see his beloved and did not find him, he immediately sprang away from the city. What is this, blessed Paul? Bound to a wooden stake, dwelling in a prison, with scourges laid upon you, your back streaming with blood, you were initiating and baptizing and offering sacrifice, and you did not despise a single one who was about to be saved. But when you came to Troas and found the field cleansed and ready to receive the seeds, did you throw so great a gain from your hands and spring away at once? Yes, he says; for I was held by the tyranny of great despondency, and the absence of Titus gripped my mind exceedingly, and so mastered and overcame me as to force me to do this. Do you see how great a contest it is to be able to endure gently the separation from one who is loved? How painful a thing and bitter? How it requires a lofty and vigorous soul?

For it is not enough for those who love to be bound together in soul, nor are they satisfied with this for consolation, but they also need bodily presence; and if this is not present, no small part of their gladness has been cut off. Do you wish to learn how great a weapon it is for drawing brothers to oneself, even if some are unbelievers—namely, to be gentle and mild and to present a sweet manner? Hear what Paul says as he enters before an unbelieving judge to be judged: I have considered myself blessed, being about to be judged before you. He said this not flattering him—far from it—but wishing to win him through mildness. Therefore he also won him in part, and the one who was formerly thought to be condemned captured the judge, and the one subdued himself confesses the victory with a brilliant voice in the presence of all, saying: In a little you persuade me to become a Christian. What then does Paul say? I would pray, indeed, that not only you, but also all those present, might become what I am. Many indeed, in many places, are the signs of Paul's wonders, but they are not so desirable as the marks; and I am not so gladdened in the Scriptures by his working wonders as by his suffering ill, being scourged, dragged, stoned. For having stoned him, it says, they dragged him outside the city; and again, Having beaten him, and laid many stripes on him, they threw him into prison. How great a boast, how great a pleasure, how great an honor, how great a splendor, to know that one has been bound for Christ! But see the marvelous thing: And the prison, it says, was shaken while Paul was bound, and all their chains were loosed. Did you see the nature of chains loosing chains?

But when the jailer awoke and saw the doors of the prison opened, he drew his sword and was about to kill himself. What then did Paul do? He cried out with a loud voice, saying, "Do yourself no harm, for we are all here." Do you see his freedom from vainglory, his freedom from arrogance, and his tender affection? He did not say, "These things have happened for our sake," but as though he were one of the prisoners, he says, "For we are all here." For if he had kept silent and had not restrained that man's hands by his loud voice, he would have driven the sword through his throat. But he shouted because he had been thrown into the inner prison. You have done this to yourself, he says, by throwing into the inner prison those who were about to free you from danger. Did you see the love of humanity and the providential care of Paul? He chose rather to be bound and to be in danger himself than to see that man perishing. And just as a soldier, with the whole inhabited world warring against him and turning about in the midst of the ranks of the enemy, suffers nothing terrible, so too Paul, alone among barbarians, among Greeks, appearing everywhere on land, everywhere on sea. And as a spark falling upon stubble or grass, toward its own

Fire changes nature, and so too this man, advancing upon all, was changing all to the truth. Who would not be astonished at the power of the chains that encircled the blessed Paul? For he led those who had bound him at the feet of the one who was bound, and made them subject to him. For the jailer, it says, fell down before Paul; and the one who had been loosed was at the feet of the one who had been bound, and the one who had bound him was begging the one who had been bound to be loosed from fear. Was it not you who bound him, tell me? Was it not you who threw him into the inner prison? Was it not you who secured his feet in the stocks? Why do you tremble? Why are you in turmoil? Why do you weep? Why have you drawn your sword? I did not know, he says, that such was the power of the prisoners of Christ. What do you say? He received authority to open the heavens, and was he not going to open a prison? He was loosing those bound by demons, and was iron going to prevail over him? He who looses souls that are bound, then, would he not have been able to loose his own body? He who through his garments was loosing others from those chains and delivering them from demons, would he not have loosed himself by his own power? For this reason he was first bound, and then he loosed those who were bound, so that you might learn that the servants of Christ, when bound, have much greater strength than those who are loosed; for thus the strength of the saint is shown more brightly when even while bound he prevails over those who are loosed. When, then, the one who is bound looses not only himself but also those who are bound, what is the benefit of the walls? What more is gained by throwing him into the inner prison, when he has opened even the outer one? Do you wish to learn how great a thing is an iron chain worn for Christ's sake upon a servile body?

Hear the blessed Paul himself boasting of this very thing and saying: "I therefore beseech you, I the prisoner in the Lord." For it is a great dignity, and a mighty one, and greater than kingship and consulship and all things—to be bound for Christ. For nothing is so splendid as a prisoner for Christ, as the chains that encircle those holy hands; this is more splendid and more venerable by far than being an apostle, being a teacher, being an evangelist. If anyone loves Christ, he knows what is said; if anyone is mad and set ablaze for the Master, he knows the power of the chains; he would choose to be a prisoner for Christ rather than to dwell in the heavens. For this is more splendid even than sitting at his right hand, and more venerable and more blessed than sitting on twelve thrones. If anyone were to grant me all heaven, or that chain with which Paul's hands were bound, I would have preferred that chain; if anyone were to set me on high with the angels, or with Paul in bonds, I would have chosen the prison; if anyone were to make me one of those powers around the throne, or such a prisoner, I would have chosen to become such a prisoner; for nothing is better than to suffer ill for Christ. If anyone gave me now to raise the dead, I would not have chosen this, but the chain; for nothing is more blessed than that chain. I wished to be now in those places where those bonds remain, and to see the chains which demons fear and shudder at, and angels revere.

If I were free from the cares of the churches and had a body in good health, I would not have declined to make so great a journey, just to see the chains and the prison where Paul was bound. If someone offered me to see Paul looking down from heaven and uttering a voice, or from the prison—I would have chosen the prison; for those from heaven come to him when he is in the prison. O blessed chains, O blessed hands, which that chain adorned when it was placed around Paul! His hands were not so precious for having raised the lame man in Lystra, as for having worn the bonds. If I had been in those times, then most of all I would have embraced them and placed them on my own eyes; I would not have ceased kissing the hands that were deemed worthy to be bound for my Master's sake. I do not count him blessed so much because he was caught up into the third heaven and into paradise, as because he was cast into prison; I do not count him blessed so much because he heard ineffable words, as because he endured the bonds; for these are far greater than those. For it is more choiceworthy for me to suffer ill for Christ's sake than to be honored by Christ. Paul, thinking this, said, as is likely: If he himself, having become a slave for my sake and having emptied his glory, did not consider himself to be in glory so much as when he was being crucified for me, what ought I not to suffer? For hear him saying: Glorify me, Father. What are you saying? You are led to a cross with robbers and tomb-breakers, you undergo the death of the accursed, you are about to be spat upon and struck, and you call these glory?

Yes, he says; for I suffer these things for the sake of those I love, and reasonably I consider them glory. If, then, my Master, having loved the wretched and miserable, calls the matter glory, and prefers this to the glory on the Father's throne, much more ought I to consider these things glory. For nothing is more blessed than the soul of Paul. In what does he boast? In chains, in afflictions, in fetters, in marks. For I go, he says, to Jerusalem, bound in the Spirit, not knowing what will befall me there, except that the Spirit testifies to me in every city, saying that chains and afflictions await me. Why then do you go, if chains and afflictions await you? For this very reason, that I may be bound for Christ, that I may die for him; for I am ready not only to be bound, but also to die for the name of my Lord. What then is this? Are you not ashamed, do you not fear, going about the world as a prisoner? Are you not afraid lest someone condemn the weakness of your God? Lest someone for this reason fail to draw near? Not such are my chains, he says; they know how to shine even in palaces; so that my chains, he says, became manifest in the whole praetorium, and most of the brethren in the Lord, trusting in my chains, dared all the more to speak the word without fear. Do you see the power of chains greater than the resurrection of the dead? He was bound in Rome, and he drew most to himself; he was bound in Jerusalem, and speaking publicly while bound, he struck the king with amazement and brought the governor into fear; for becoming afraid, he released him. Bound, he sailed and loosed the shipwreck, and fettered the storm;

While he was in chains, that beast attacked him and fell away without doing any harm. And see this happening everywhere. He had been scourged, and scourged severely—for they laid many blows upon him, it says—and he had been bound, and this too severely; for they threw him into the inner prison, and with greater security. And being in such circumstances, at midnight, when even those who are utterly at ease are asleep, he sang and hymned the Lord. What could be more adamantine than this soul? He considered that the children also sang in the fire and in the furnace. Perhaps he reasoned: I have suffered nothing of the kind. But the account, doing well, brought us out again to other chains and another prison. What am I to suffer? I wish to be silent, but I cannot; I have found another prison, far more wondrous and astonishing than that one. But rouse yourselves as though I were now beginning the account, and come with minds at their peak. I wish to break off the account, and it does not allow it; I cannot stop, I cannot be silent—many things flow around me; I do not know which to say first, which second. Therefore I beg that no one demand order of me, for the kinship of the matters is great. Long has Paul's chain become, and for a long time it has held us; but I will not for this reason be silent. For if he himself was not silent in prison, nor under scourges, shall I be silent, sitting while it is day and speaking with great ease? And how would this be reasonable? For who would not be struck? Who would not marvel?

But rather, who could worthily be struck with amazement and marvel at that noble and heaven-reaching soul of Paul, because, though bound and imprisoned at so great a distance, he wrote to the Philippians? For you know how great is the distance between Macedonia and Rome; but neither the length of the journey, nor the abundance of time, nor the crowd of affairs, nor the danger and the successive calamities, nor anything else drove out his love and remembrance of the disciples, but he held them all in his mind, and his hands were not so bound by his chains as his soul was bound and fastened to the longing for his disciples. And just as a king, having ascended his throne at dawn and sat down in the royal palace, immediately receives countless letters from every direction, so too that man, sitting in the prison as though in a royal palace, both received far more and continually sent letters, while the nations from everywhere referred all their own affairs to his wisdom; and he administered so many more affairs than the king, inasmuch as he had been entrusted with a greater dominion. O the power of Paul! He wore a chain, and he struck Nero who wore the diadem; he wore squalid rags, as one dwelling in a prison, and more than the purple robe he turned all men toward the bonds that lay upon him; he stood on the earth, held fast and looking downward, and they, leaving the one on the golden chariot, gave heed to him—and rightly so. For it was a customary sight to see the king seated on a white yoke of horses;

But this is strange and paradoxical: to see a prisoner conversing with a king with such boldness as a king would with a wretched and miserable slave. A great crowd stood around, and all were slaves of the king; and they marveled not at their master, but at the one conquering their master. But indeed I have unwittingly praised the lion from a single claw, when it was fitting to praise him from his other deeds. From which deeds? How he will come with the King of the heavens in splendid array; how Nero will then stand downcast and sullen. For if the time of crowns is not yet, and the athlete has enjoyed so great honor, when the judge of the contest comes, how great an honor will he enjoy? He was among strangers, he was a stranger and a sojourner, and yet he is so admired; when he is among his own, what good will he not enjoy? Of what will he not partake? What will he not obtain? No one who became king of Rome enjoyed so great honor as Paul did; but the king lies cast out somewhere, while he occupies the middle of the city, as one reigning and living. And if here, where he was driven and where he was persecuted, he enjoyed so great honor, what will it be when he comes? If where he was a tentmaker he became so radiant, what will it be when he comes shining back with the sun's rays? If with such lowliness he prevailed with such magnificence, what will it be when he comes? Can these things not be escaped? Do you wish me to show that the tentmaker became more honored than the one more admired than all kings? What is more glorious than Alexander in the glory of the world? What is higher? Did he not accomplish many and great things while alive?

Did he not subdue nations and cities, and conquer many wars and battles, and set up trophies? Was he not reckoned to be a thirteenth god by the senate of the Romans? But to succeed in wars and victories while alive, being a king and having armies, is nothing wonderful; but to accomplish so many things after death and the grave, everywhere on earth and sea, each day—this is what is especially full of great amazement. For where, tell me, is the tomb of Alexander? Show me and tell me the day on which he died; but you could not. But of Paul one may see even the tomb, splendid, if he reaches the most royal Rome, and the day manifest, making a festival for the whole world. And the former's tomb even his own people do not know, but the latter's even the barbarians know; and the tomb of the slave of Christ is more splendid than royal courts. For even the one himself clothed in the purple robe goes to embrace that man's tomb, and laying aside his pomp, he stands entreating the dead man to stand by him before God; and the tentmaker and the fisherman and the dead man—the one who wears the diadem needs him as a patron. And one would see this not only in Rome, but also in

In Constantinople. For here too the child thought he was honoring Constantine the Great with great honor, if he laid him at the entrance of the fisherman. And what gatekeepers are to kings in palaces, that kings are to fishermen in the tomb; and the former hold the interior as masters of the place, while the latter were content that the outer door be assigned to them as sojourners and neighbors. And the former are attended by servants and ministers, while the latter, though ruled by kings, are clothed with the dignity of kings. But if here things beyond nature have happened, how much more in the age to come? Who now will grant me to be poured over the body of Paul, and to be nailed to his tomb, and to see the dust of that body, through which he ran everywhere throughout the inhabited world, who filled up what was lacking in Christ, who bore the marks, who sowed the proclamation everywhere? The dust of the mouth through which Christ spoke, and the light shone forth higher than all lightning, and a voice leaped out more fearful to demons than all thunder? For thunder is not so fearful to us as that voice was to demons; for if they shuddered at his garments, much more at his voice. I wished to see the dust of this mouth, through which Christ spoke the great and secret things, and greater than through himself; through which he uttered that blessed word, saying, "I could wish to be anathema for my brethren"; through which he spoke before kings and was not ashamed; through which demons fled, not only hearing him when he spoke, but even when he was far off.

Through whom he set right all things on earth, and ordered the things in the heavens as he wished, binding there whom he wished and loosing, according to the authority given to him. Who would show me the dust of Paul's heart, burning for each of those who perish, and in travail a second time over the children who are miscarried? This heart I longed to see, even dissolved as it was—the heart higher than the heavens, wider than the inhabited world, brighter than the sunbeam, hotter than fire, harder than adamant, the heart that lived a new life, or rather this our own life; for "I live no longer I," he says, "but Christ lives in me"—so that Paul's heart was that man's heart, and a tablet of the Holy Spirit, and a book of grace—the heart deemed worthy to love Christ as no other loved him; the heart that despised death and Gehenna, and was crushed by brotherly tears: "For what are you doing, weeping," he says, "and crushing my heart?" I longed to see the dust of Paul's hands, the hands that were in chains, through whose imposition the Spirit was supplied, through which the divine letters were written: "For see with how large letters I have written to you with my own hand"—those hands which the viper saw and fell into the fire. I longed to see the dust of those eyes, blinded well, which regained their sight for the salvation of the inhabited world, which were deemed worthy to see Christ even in the body; I longed to see also the dust of those feet, which ran around the inhabited world and did not grow weary, which were bound in the stocks when he shook the prison, which went around the world and left it uninhabited.

And why need I speak in detail? I wished to see that spiritual lion himself. For just as a lion, sending fire from his eyes against packs of foxes, so he fell upon the band of demons and philosophers, and like the stroke of a thunderbolt he was borne down upon the ranks of the devil. For the devil did not stand against him in battle array, but so feared and trembled that even if he saw his shadow and heard his voice from afar, he would flee at once. Consider and shudder at what a sight Rome will see—Paul suddenly rising from his tomb with Peter, and being lifted up to meet Christ; what a gift Rome will send to Christ, what crowns she wears, two of them, what golden chains she is girded with. Not so bright is the heaven when the sun lets loose its rays, as is the city of the Romans when it lets loose these two torches everywhere in the inhabited world. What word then will suffice for Paul's achievements, or what tongue will be able to reach the praises of this man? For whether prophets displayed something noble, or patriarchs, or righteous men, or apostles, or martyrs, he has gathered all these together, with such surpassing excellence as none of those had—whatever good each one possessed, he had it. When, then, one soul has gathered together all the good things among men, and all with surpassing excellence—not only the things of men, but also the things of angels—how shall we get the better of the greatness of his praises?

Of how much condemnation, then, would we not be worthy, when one man has embraced in himself all good things together, and we do not even make it our aim to imitate the smallest fraction of him? For the patriarch Abraham is admired for many achievements, but especially for sacrificing his own son; and Isaac for his forbearance, because, being driven from his own borders, he did not press his claims, but yielded everywhere his own possessions, until he satisfied the unjust desire of those who were troubling him; and Jacob for his endurance and patience; and David for his gentleness; and Elijah because he was zealous for the Master. But what could be equal to Paul, who has gathered all these things together, and in excess? For he did not sacrifice a son, but sacrificed himself ten thousand times; and he was not only driven from his own borders, but he went around land and sea, Greece and barbarian lands, and simply the whole earth that the sun looks upon, as if winged, being dragged, beaten, stoned, dying every day. Nor did he serve twice seven years, scorched by the heat of the day and the frost of the night, but spent his whole life in hunger and nakedness, in chains and prison, in plots and dangers. And as for equity and gentleness, who achieved both these things more, or equally with the soul of Paul? And if you look at his zeal, you will see it surpassing Elijah's as much as that one surpassed the other prophets. But John ate locusts and wild honey.

But this man spent his time in the middle of the inhabited world, just as that man did in the wilderness, not eating locusts and wild honey, but setting before himself a table far cheaper than that, and not even having an abundance of necessary food because of his zeal for the preaching. It remains, then, to compare him to the angels. And let no one condemn the boldness of the argument. For if the Scripture called John an angel, why do you marvel if we compare to those powers the man who is better than all? For what man is, and how great is the nobility of our nature, and of how great virtue this living creature is capable, Paul showed more than all men. And now he has stood from the time he came to be, with a bright voice defending the Master against all who find fault with our constitution, and showing that there is not a great distance between angels and men, if we are willing to attend to them. For he did not receive a different nature, nor share in another soul, nor inhabit another world, but having been raised in the same land and place and laws and customs, he surpassed all men who have come to be since men came to be; and as a dead man would be motionless toward a dead man, so with exactness he calmed the impulses of nature, and never suffered anything toward anything human. If, then, Paul, who prided himself on so many achievements and appeared like an angel on earth, was eager each day to gain, and to array himself against dangers for the truth, and to gather for himself the spiritual merchandise, and never to stand still—

What defense shall we have, we who are not only destitute of all right actions, but are also subject to so many failings, of which even one alone, if present in us, is enough to drag us down into the very pit of destruction, and who make no earnest effort even to correct these things, let alone to lay hold of the works of virtue? Was not that blessed man of the same nature as we are? For I am inflamed with longing for the man, and for this reason I do not cease continually turning him over in my mind; and as if looking into some archetypal image, gazing upon his soul, I consider his contempt for the passions, the excess of his manliness, the fervor of his love toward God, and I am struck with amazement, how one man, by his own will, accomplished the whole gathering of the virtues, while each of us does not even wish to accomplish the least thing. Who then will rescue us from the inexorable punishment, when Paul displayed such great virtue, he who shared the same nature as we do, who was subject to the same passions, who lived in such difficulty of times, and who was, so to speak, dragged about every day, torn asunder, and publicly hauled away by those who warred against the preaching? And so that you may not hear from our own tongue the right actions of this blessed man, and the manliness which he displayed every day on behalf of the preaching of piety, it is necessary to hear him speaking himself: In whatever anyone dares, I speak in foolishness, I also dare. Observe a soul that loves God: he calls the matter not only daring, but also foolishness.

Training us not to parade the things done by us simply without necessity and with no one compelling us—if indeed some among us should be found to have done some good thing. Are they Hebrews? So am I. Are they Israelites? So am I. Are they the seed of Abraham? So am I. In these things, he says, do they take great pride? Let them not think that we fall short; for we too share in the same. Then he added: Are they ministers of Christ? I speak as one beside himself, I more so. Observe here the virtue of this blessed man's soul; for since he called what had been done by him both boldness and folly, although he had been brought into such great necessity, not even so was he satisfied with what had been said, but when he was about to show himself surpassing those men by a great measure, so that no one might think he spoke these things from self-love, he again calls what is said by him folly—almost saying: Do I not know that I am doing a thing that appears strange to many, and is not fitting for me? But the great necessity, having constrained me to this, forces me on; therefore forgive me, he says, for uttering words of folly. Let us imitate even the shadow of this man—we who have so many burdens of sins lying upon us, and who often accomplish one small thing, and do not even endure to keep this in the storehouses of the mind, but because we hunt for the glory that comes from men, we parade it abroad and set it in the midst, and by this untimely babbling deprive ourselves of the reward from God. But this blessed man suffered no such thing; rather, having said, I more so, he then enumerates the achievements of his manliness, and says:

In labors more abundantly, in stripes above measure, in deaths often. What are you saying? What you say is strange and paradoxical. Is it possible to undergo death often? Yes, he says—if not in experience, yet in resolve; teaching us that he continually gave himself over to such dangers for the sake of the proclamation, dangers that give birth to death for him. But the grace of God preserved the athlete in the very midst of the dangers, so that the great benefit from him might come to those who were being taught. And what follows next again, so to speak, conceals all that has been said: For who is weak, he says, and I am not weak? Who is caused to stumble, and I do not burn? Alas, how great is this man's affection, how great his vigilance, how great his care! What mother is so torn in her inmost parts when her child is feverish and lying on the bed, as this blessed man? He was weak on behalf of the weak in every place, and burned on behalf of those who were caused to stumble. For consider with me the force of the expression: he did not say, "Who is caused to stumble, and I am not grieved?" but, "I burn," he says, making clear to us the intensity of his pain, and almost showing himself set on fire and burning within on behalf of those who endure stumbling blocks. I know that into much

I have stretched out the discourse at length; but I do not know how, having fallen into the wealth of the achievements of this holy man, I was carried away in tongue as if by the most violent rush of waters. Therefore, having stopped the discourse here, I beseech your love to carry this man continually in your mind, and to reason constantly that, partaking of the same nature as we and subject to the same passions, and having a lowly and contemptible trade, stitching leathers and standing at a workshop, since he wished and willed to give himself over to the labors of virtue and to make himself worthy of the reception of the Holy Spirit, he enjoyed more abundantly the generosity from above; may it be granted to us all to obtain it, by the grace and love for humanity of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be the glory and the might, with the Father and the Holy Spirit, now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen. Homily 31. On Death. Many things our mind is eager to learn and grasp already, beloved, and especially the time of the end. For this reason Paul, restraining those who are sick with this untimely meddlesomeness, says: But concerning the times and the seasons, brothers, you have no need to be written to. For what, tell me, is the gain? Let us suppose the end is after twenty years, after thirty years, after a hundred; what is that to us? Is not the end for each one the limit of his own life? Why do you meddle and travail over the common end?

But just as in other matters we set aside our own concerns and care for the common good, and take thought for all rather than for our own affairs, so too here, each of us setting aside the care of his own end, let us desire to be taught the common dissolution. And if you wish to learn why our death has been hidden from us, and why it comes like a thief in the night, I will say what seems to me to be well. No one would ever have cultivated virtue throughout his whole life, if he knew his end; but knowing his last day, after having first done countless terrible things, and then approaching repentance at that time, he would thus depart. For if now, when the fear of uncertainty shakes the souls of all, all who have consumed their entire former life in wickedness give themselves over to repentance at their last breaths—if they had thoroughly persuaded themselves of this, who would ever have cultivated virtue? Besides, if each man knew that tomorrow he would certainly die, he would shrink from daring nothing before that day, but he would even slaughter whomever he wished, and he would avenge himself, defending against his enemies, and having first given rest to his soul, he would thus receive his end. In addition to this, not even the noble men themselves would have a reward for braving dangers, since they have their confidence from the fact that the end is not yet present; and the most sluggish man would enter fire, if he found some trustworthy guarantor of safety. For he who expects from each danger that he will die, and knows that he will live if he does not act against counsel, but will die if he dares such things—he has brought forth the greatest proof of his own zeal and of his contempt for this life here.

For the one who truly philosophizes and is set upright by the hopes of things to come will not consider death to be death; but seeing a dead man lying before his eyes, he will not suffer what the many do, as he reckons up the crowns. And just as the farmer who sees the grain being dissolved does not fall down nor become downcast, so too the righteous man, adorned with right deeds and expecting the kingdom each day, when he sees death lying before his eyes, is not distressed as the many are, is not thrown into confusion and troubled; for he knows that death, for those who have lived rightly, is a migration to better things, and a journey abroad to better things, and a race toward the crowns. For this reason tombs are before the cities, tombs before the fields, and everywhere the school of our humility lies open before us, so that we may be continually reminded of our own weakness. Someone hastens to enter a city that is royal and adorned with wealth and powers and the other dignities, and before he sees what he imagines, he first sees what he becomes; and we are taught first what we end in, and then to see the visions within. And not only this, but also a man, often when he wishes to take a wife, dictates to the law, writes the dowry terms, and there is not yet a union, and death is straightway written down; he has not yet seen the woman, and the verdict of death is set down beforehand against himself and against her, and he writes such things as: If the husband die before the wife; if the wife before the husband, such and such is prescribed. And not only concerning things that exist and are living are the verdicts of death set down, but also against those not yet born.

For what does he say? "But if the child that is born dies." The fruit is not yet, and the verdict has already run its course. Then in his documents he recognizes nature; but if he suffers any of the human passions, or his wife dies, he forgets what he wrote, and brings forth other words of tragedy. And these things, he says, I had to suffer? These things did I expect to suffer, and to be deprived of my marriage? What are you saying, man? You were outside the events, and you recognized the boundaries of nature; when you fell into the passions, did you forget the laws of nature? When, therefore, you see one of your kindred depart from here, do not be vexed; return to yourself, and examine your conscience; consider that a little later this end awaits you too. But the one who has died rots, he says, and becomes dust and ashes. For this very reason, then, one must especially rejoice. For when a man intends to build a house that has become decayed and old, he first casts out those who dwell in it, and so demolishes the house and rebuilds it more splendid. And the casting out does not grieve those who are cast out, but rather gladdens them the more; for they do not attend to the demolition that is seen, but they picture the future building that is not seen. So indeed God also does: intending to demolish our body, he first leads out the soul that dwells in it, as from a house, so that having rebuilt it more splendid, he may bring it in again with greater glory. For even Adam, when he was being formed, did not see that he rose from the earth; for God did not make the soul older than the body, lest he see the creation.

For this reason he was also ignorant of its cheapness; but when it is raised in the resurrection, he knows that he rises having put off the dust. For even if the dead man does not see himself, yet he sees the one before him dissolved into dust, and through what he sees he is instructed. Did you not see bold and arrogant men, how subdued they are in the face of deaths? A death is announced, and the heart of all cowers. And we philosophize around the tombs about what we become, and we babble; we have come out of the graves, and we have forgotten the lowliness. In the tomb each one speaks to his neighbor somewhat like this: Alas for our misery, alas for our pitiable life; what then do we become? And do we altogether speak, and seize, and bear grudges? And each one philosophizes simply in this way, as though about to renounce all wickedness at once; and inwardly he philosophizes with words, but outwardly he fights against God with deeds. But let us return to what lies before us. Tell me, for what reason do you weep so for the one who has departed? Because he was wicked? Then for this very reason one must give thanks, that the things of his wickedness were cut short. But was he good and gentle? Then for this very reason one must rejoice, that he was snatched away quickly, before wickedness could change his understanding. But was he young? Then for this very reason give thanks, and glorify the one who took him. For just as many escort those who are called to office with acclamation, so also must one escort the departed among the saints with much acclamation, inasmuch as they have been called to a greater honor. For I do not say that you should not grieve for the departed, but that you should not do this without measure. For if we consider that the one who departed was mortal, and that God took him, not the

we shall receive the consolation that falls to us. For to be indignant at these things is the mark of those seeking something greater than nature. You were born a man and mortal; why then do you grieve that what is according to nature has come to pass? Do you not grieve that you are nourished by eating? Do you not seek to live without food? So also with death: do not for the present seek immortality, having been born mortal; for this was once for all defined and established by law. But when God calls and wishes to receive something from us, let us not, like the ungrateful among servants, withhold what belongs to the master. For even if he takes money, even if honor and glory, even if the body, even if the soul itself, he has taken what is his own; even if he takes your son, he has not taken your son, but his own servant. If, then, we are not our own, how are the things that are his ours? For if your soul is not yours, how are your possessions yours? And if they are not yours, how do you spend on what is in no need things that are not yours? Do not then say, "I spend what is my own, and I live in luxury from what is my own"; for it is not from your own, but from what belongs to another—and I say "another's" because you wish it so; since God wishes the things entrusted to you for the sake of the poor to be yours. And what is another's becomes yours if you spend it on them; but if you spend it on yourself, what is yours has become another's. Do you not see that in our bodies the hands minister, and the mouth smooths, and the stomach receives? Let not the stomach say, "Because I have received, I ought to keep the whole"; and again, since the eye receives all the light, let it not for this reason keep it alone, but does it not rather illuminate the whole body?

And the feet, since they alone walk, do they move only themselves, and do they not move the whole body as well? And each of those who pursue a necessary trade, if he wished not to share the benefit of his craft with another, destroys not only others but himself besides. For even the poor, if they had emulated your wickedness—you who take advantage and are rich—would quickly have made you poor, had they not been willing to share their own goods with those in need. But I have lost a child, he says, an only child, reared in great wealth, showing forth good hopes, who was about to succeed me and inherit my estate. And what of this? Do not groan, but give thanks to God, and glorify the one who has taken him, and in this you will be no worse than Abraham. For just as he gave to God when commanded, so you too, when he took, did not groan. For if, seeing your son at the point of death, you give thanks to the God who loves mankind, you will receive no less a reward than he who brought his son and sacrificed him; and if you dispel the wailings and lamentations, and rouse all to glorification, you will receive countless prizes from above and below, with men marveling at you, angels applauding, and God crowning you. And how is it possible, he says, not to mourn for him, since I am no longer called a father? What do you say? Did you cast away the child? Did you lose the son? Rather, you have gained him and hold him more securely. For you have not lost the being called a father, but you have gained the being called so in a greater way; for from now on you will be called the father not of a mortal child, but of an immortal one.