On the Dead

had not things been obscured by a certain false phantasm of the good. ^A Therefore, before all else, let us understand by reason what is truly good, so that by an error concerning this, we may not at some point pursue the worse in place of the better. I say, then, that it is necessary, as if by a definition and character of the object sought, to presuppose a rule by which our apprehension of the good may become secure. What, then, is the character of true goodness? That it does not have the quality of being useful only toward some object, nor that it appear either beneficial or useless at certain times; nor that it be good for one person but not for another; but that which is good of itself according to its own nature, and for everyone, and at all times, the same—this, at least in my judgment, is the unerring and truthful character ^B of the determination of the good. For what is not good for all, nor at all times, nor in itself, apart from external circumstance, would not properly be judged to be in the nature of the good. For this reason, many of those who consider the things that exist without investigation have imagined that the good exists in the elements of the world; yet no one, upon examining them, would find any of these to be something good in itself, at all times, and for everyone. For the useful quality in each of these is mixed with an effect that is contrary to it. For example, water is life-sustaining to those nourished within it, but deadly to those who dwell on land if they should be submerged. Similarly, ^C air is beneficial to those whose nature it is to live in it, but it is found to be destructive and lethal to those whose life is in the water, should they happen to be submerged. Thus, too, fire, while providing some utility to us, is destructive to most things. And one might even find the sun itself to be neither for everyone, nor at all times, nor in all respects good for those who participate in it. For there are cases in which it becomes exceedingly harmful, when it burns beyond the proper measure, or dries up the underlying subject to an excessive degree, or frequently produces the causes of disease, or aggravates the ailment for those suffering from ophthalmia, or, through the putrefaction of fluids, generates harmful and ^D unpleasant things in the rotted moisture. Consequently, as has been said, we must regard as good, chosen from among all things, only that which is always and for all people alike seen in the nature of the good, being always such and not changing according to external circumstances. For as for other things which, by some rather irrational preconception, appear to men as good—I speak of things pertaining to the body and to external goods, such as strength and beauty and nobility of birth, riches and power and glory, and all such things—since they are self-evident to all, I think it best to pass over them in silence, lest I expend labor in vain, enumerating things that are clear in themselves. For who does not know how quickly the dignity of beauty withers away, how briefly the strength of the body is extinguished, how easily authorities change their masters, how fleeting and fragile is the splendor of glory, or how foolish and vain is the human obsession with hoarding money, by which, because of some empty and rare appearance, they think the good is situated in such base things? With these matters thus organized, we must consider the present life—I mean that which is lived through the flesh—whether it is such that, according to the char

characteristic of the good, it may be ^A properly evaluated, or whether it stands otherwise. For that which is found by the discourse concerning it will certainly guide the understanding of those who have investigated it, as to how one ought to regard the departure from here. The life of our body, therefore, is a repletion and an inanition, brought about by two means: one by meat and drink, the other by the inhalation and exhalation of air, without which the life according to the flesh has no constitution. For man ceases to live whenever the succession of these contraries no longer agitates the nature. For after this, such activity ceases altogether; nothing from without flows into those who have died, nor is anything drawn forth; but rather, when the body has been separated and dissolved into the constituent elements which composed it, the nature for the remainder remains at rest through tranquility, having let its kin and fellow-natured elements find repose, the earthy to the earth, ^B that which is proper to the air, what is suitable to the moist, and what is appropriate to the warm. For once that bulk, which was composed of heterogeneous things and was violently and constrainedly woven together, no longer endures, but every single part in us has returned to its proper home, the nature which was composed of it and held together the union of alien things by force, has its end. If any person should add to what has been said the phenomena of sleep and wakefulness to this form of life, he will not wander from the truth. For nature toils through these also, being constantly drawn toward contraries, being now dissolved by sleep, and again invigorated by wakefulness, by both of which it is prepared to be emptied and to be filled. If, therefore, repletion and inanition are the property of our life, it would be well to examine now against these properties of life the character ^C of the good that was previously proposed, so as to see whether this life is indeed the true good, or something else besides this. Now, that repletion of itself could not reasonably be judged to belong to the nature of the good is plain to all, from the fact that its contrary—I mean inanition—is also thought to be good. For among things that are naturally opposed to one another, it is not possible that the definition of the good should apply equally to the opposites; but if this be good according to its own nature, that which is opposed to it must necessarily be evil. And yet, in this case, nature derives its utility equally from each of these. Therefore, neither repletion nor inanition can possibly accept the definition of the good. Consequently, repletion is shown to be something other than the good itself. For it is not agreed by all to be desirable to everyone, or at all times, or in every form. For not only is it destructive ^D to be sated with harmful things, but even in the case of good and suitable things, to exceed the proper measure causes, for the most part, danger and destruction. And if, at a time when a state of repletion desires evacuation, some other repletion should impose a burden upon it, such a thing becomes a heap of evils, proceeding into incurable maladies. Therefore, repletion is not good for everyone or in every way, but its utility consists in relation to something, at some time, and according to quantity and quality.

^A It is evident, therefore, from what has been said, that the mark of the good does not correspond to this life which we live; from which it follows that departure from it is not a separation from any good. For that which we call truly, and properly, and primarily good, is neither repletion nor inanition—things which we have shown to be useful only at times, in relation to something, and in certain circumstances, and to which the mark of the truly good does not apply.

^B Since, therefore, the opposition between the truly good and that which is not truly good is such that there is no intermediary between these two, it is logical that for those who are being separated from that which is not the truly good, the transition should be toward that true good which is always, and for all, and altogether good; not good according to times, or in certain respects, or in some things, or for some reason, but always existing in the same way and in the same manner. Toward this, then, the human soul departs from the fleshy life, receiving a different state of life in place of the present one—a state which we, who are joined with flesh, cannot clearly behold, yet from a comparison with this present life, a certain conjecture about it can be formed.

^C For there will no longer be any concrete corporeal density, nor any concurrent equality of opposing elements, whose equal and mutual struggle preserves our constitution and health. For if any one of them exceeds or fails, nature is perturbed and afflicted with disease. That life, however, neither labors from hunger, nor indigestion, nor does it feel cold, heat, or other injuries of the air; and it is conducted where we shall be free from all these necessary labors. For we shall not be exhausted by tilling the land or by seafaring; we shall not be stained by commerce or any trade; but void of the misery of building, weaving, and all menial arts, we shall lead a tranquil and quiet life, as Paul says, not engaging in war, not fighting at sea, not locking in combat through infantry lines, not occupied with the construction of weapons, not exacting tributes, not fortifying ourselves with trenches and walls; but being most remote from all such labors and annoyances, we shall have no business ourselves, nor shall we inflict it on another. ^D For there, neither servitude, nor lordship, nor poverty, nor riches, nor splendor of lineage, or obscurity, nor the humility of private station, nor the dignity of magistrates, nor any such difference of fortune, condition, and order has a place. For that life excludes the necessity of all such things—a life which, free from matter, is in need of nothing, in which the soul’s nature is not composed of dry and moist, but of the cognition of the divine nature, and in place of this aerial spirit, we do not doubt that it enjoys that true and holy Spirit.

^A Its enjoyment does not change through the likeness of the life here, coming to be through possession and privation, being admitted and then cast away, but is always being filled, and never delimits its fullness by satiety. For intellectual delight is weightless, and it is never sated, but is always overflowing insatiably for the desires of those who partake in it. For this reason that life is blessed and uncorrupted, no longer led astray in its judgment of the good by the pleasures of the senses. What then is grievous in the matter, so that we grieve at the departure of those who are dear to us? Unless, perhaps, one considers it a grievous thing that their departure is to a life that is free from passion and untroubled—a life which admits no pains from wounds, nor fears the threat of fire, nor the wounds of iron, nor the calamities of earthquakes and shipwrecks and captivities, nor the attacks of ravening beasts, nor the stings and bites of reptiles and venomous creatures. ^B In it no one is puffed up with pride, nor trodden down in lowliness, nor turned into a beast by audacity, nor struck down by cowardice, nor does anyone swell with anger, boiling and raging in fury, nor is anyone shaken by fear, unable to withstand the impulse of one who exerts power. In it there is no concern for things like the customs of kings: what the laws are, what kind of manners those who are set over the authorities have, what the decrees are, how great the annual tax is; nor whether there has been a great downpour of rain, flooding the crops in its excess, nor whether hail has ruined the hopes of the farmers, nor whether drought has prevailed and dried up everything that grows. But it also has total immunity from the other evils of this life. For the gloom of orphanhood does not grieve that life, and the evils of widowhood have no place there; the manifold infirmities of the body are idle, as are the envies against those who are prospering, and the scorns against those who are in misfortune; and all such things are banished from that life. ^C And a certain equality of speech and equality of law, through every peaceful liberty, dwells with the populace of souls—each one having that which he has prepared for himself through his own choice of will.

If, however, something worse is prepared for anyone by some lack of counsel in place of the better, death is not responsible for such things, for one chooses what seems best according to the authority of his own volition. Why, then, do those who lament the departed complain? And yet, if those who have put off pleasure and pain together with the body were entirely cleansed of every passionate disposition, they would more justly have lamented the survivors, who are affected in the same way as those who live in a prison, whose habituation to grievous things, and companionship with darkness, has made them think that the present state is pleasant and painless. ^D And perhaps even they feel sorry for those who are cast out of the prison, in their ignorance of the brightness that awaits those who have been released from the darkness. For if they had known the spectacles that are seen under the open sky, and the beauty of the clear air, and the heavenly height, and the rays of the luminaries, and the dance of the stars, and the solar circuits, and the lunar course, and the manifold

^A beautiful species of things which the earth brings forth, if they enjoyed the pleasant sight of the sea when it is not disturbed by any blasts of wind, but is gently rippled and glitters as if beautifully painted, and the buildings, both private and public, with which magnificent and splendid cities are adorned: if, I say, those who are held in prison had known these and similar things, they would not grieve for the lot of those who have been released from custody before them, as if they had departed from some good; on the contrary, they would rather commiserate the wretched life of those unfortunates who are shut up. In the same way, those who have been freed from the prison of this life, if it were possible for them to show their compassion for the miserable by grieving and weeping, would, it seems to me, lament and weep for the one who is drawn out in the pains of this life, because they do not see those beauties which are above the world and immaterial—thrones, principalities, dominions, the hosts of angels, the assemblies of the pious, and that supreme city, the most celebrated gathering above the heaven of those who are enrolled in it. For the beauty which excels these, which He who does not lie declared is to be seen by the pure in heart, is greater than can be conceived by any hope or conjecture. And those who have departed from here deem that this is not the only thing worthy of our groaning and grief, but much more this: since the life of mortals is filled with so many troubles and miseries, they are nevertheless so affected by the custom of enduring them, that they no longer consider the delay of life as something necessary to be endured, but contend with all eagerness and desire that it should be perpetual. For the desire for lordship, and wealth, and pleasures, and whatever else is pursued for which weapons are taken up, wars are waged, slaughters occur, all voluntary miseries happen, and frauds are committed—what are these but a certain heap of calamities, which the unhappy, by their own will, zeal, and lust, add to a life that is miserable in itself? Furthermore, neither the power of weeping nor any such affection is present ^B in those who have migrated from this life; and those who are separated from flesh and blood do not stand by mass, but by mind. Therefore, it is no longer their nature to be able to be seen by our eyes or to warn mortals, so that they might desist from the false opinion they hold concerning things. Wherefore, let our mind perform their duty, and let it warn us. Let us, as far as possible, withdraw in thought and soul from the bodies themselves, and divesting ourselves of that affection with which we embrace the flesh, let us thus urge ourselves: "O man, who art a participant of nature, as Moses commanded, attend to thyself, know thyself, and consider diligently with thy soul who thou truly art, and what those things are that are seen around thee, lest at some time, looking at the things which are outside thee, thou shouldst think thou art beholding thyself. ^C Learn from the great Paul, who examined nature with precision, who says that our outward man is perishing, but the inward is being renewed; do not, therefore, when looking at the one being destroyed, think that thou art looking at thyself." There shall be

however, a time when even that shall be free from corruption, when in the regeneration the mortal and easily dissolved shall be transformed into the immortal and indissoluble. But as it is, that which appears on the outside of us flows away, falls apart, and is corrupted. We must not, therefore, look to this, just as it is not fitting to look at any other of the things that are seen. Since Paul has said this—that we are not to look at the things which are seen, for the things which are seen are temporal, but the things which are not seen are eternal—we must turn our contemplation to the invisible things within us, and believe that that which escapes sensory perception is truly what we are. ^B Let us therefore, according to the proverbial saying, become judges of ourselves. For to know oneself becomes a purification from the transgressions born of ignorance. But it is not easy for one who wishes to scrutinize himself to do so, unless some insight makes possible for us that which is impossible. For just as nature has brought it about regarding the bodily eyes, that while they see all other things, they remain unable to see themselves; in the same way, the soul, while exploring all other things and busily investigating and tracking down everything outside itself, is unable to see itself. Therefore, let the soul imitate that which happens with the eyes. For they, since they do not possess by nature the power to reverse their optic energy for their own contemplation and see themselves, having viewed the form and shape of their own sphere in a mirror, behold themselves through the image. So also must the soul look back toward its own image, and whatever it may see in the character by which it has been fashioned, it should behold this as its very own. ^C But it is necessary to depart slightly from the example, in order that the meaning may be suited to the discussion. For in the case of the form in a mirror, the image is fashioned after the archetype; but in the case of the soul's character, we have understood the reverse; for the form of the soul is depicted according to the divine beauty. Therefore, when the soul looks toward its own archetype, then it beholds itself with precision. What, then, is the Divine, to which the soul has been likened? It is no body, no shape, no form, no magnitude, no counter-impression, no weight, no place, no time, nor anything else of such a kind, through which material creation is known; but with all these and suchlike things removed, one must by all means understand that what remains is something intellectual, immaterial, intangible, incorporeal, and indivisible. If therefore the character of the archetype is understood in such a way, it is ^D strictly necessary that the soul, having been fashioned according to that form, be known through the same characters; so that it, too, is immaterial, invisible, intellectual, and incorporeal. Let us consider, therefore, when human nature approaches more closely to the archetypal beauty: when we are living in the flesh, or when we have become apart from it? But it is clear to everyone that such is the case, that just as the flesh

^A, being joined to this material life, is made familiar with it, so also the soul participates in the intellectual and immaterial life when it shakes off the matter that surrounds it. What, then, is there in these things worthy of lamentation? For if it were the case that the body was the true good, we ought to be distressed at the separation from the flesh, as we would be losing that good, and together with the body, the affinity toward the good would necessarily be cast away as well. But since the good which is beyond all conception, and according to whose image we were made, is intellectual and immaterial, it would be consistent to be persuaded that when we pass through death to the immaterial, we are drawing near to that nature which is removed from all corporeal density, and that, like a mask that has been laid aside, we are taking off the fleshy covering, returning to the proper beauty in which we were originally fashioned, having been made in the image of the archetype. This thought should be a cause of joy, not of grief, to those who are told that, having fulfilled this necessary ministry, man no longer lives in foreign parts, but having rendered to each of the elements what he had borrowed from them, he has returned to his own proper and natural home, that pure and heavenly dwelling. For this body is truly a guest-house and a foreign domicile for that nature which lacks matter, a body to which the mind in this life, being necessarily joined due to its own condition, which is utterly alien to it, is in conflict. For this mutual ^B conjunction of the elements is like unto a gathering of people using various languages and customs, who, having flowed together from different nations, form a kind of violent and dissenting society, since each is drawn away by its own nature toward its proper and kindred genus. But the mind, which is not composite, but consists of a simple and homogeneous nature, lives among these like a guest and a stranger, and cannot, so to speak, harmonize with the populace of the elements. For it, by a certain necessity, being forced from multiple and corporeal particles, constrains its own nature, and is coupled from contrary genera, and becomes one.

But when the elements naturally dissent and dissolve among themselves, and each strives toward its own proper ^C and kindred genus, the sense is necessarily vexed in that dissolution of the confluence, and together with the sense the soul itself is tormented; for although it is always affected with trouble by the body itself, yet it is inclined toward it due to the necessity of habit. Wherefore the soul ceases to be vexed and tormented when it has escaped from the battle which arises from the conjunction of contrary elements. For when either the cold is overcome by the prevailing heat, or vice versa the heat is fleeing the excess of cold, or the moisture has yielded to the power of the dry, or conversely the dry itself has been dissolved by the abundance of moisture, then, the war being finished through death, the soul enjoys peace, having left the field of battle, that is, the body itself, and having stepped outside the arrayed lines, it lives according to itself, having its powers, which were afflicted by the embrace of the body [next page begins: ...]

^A recovering its strength through rest. The mind converses with those living in the body about these and similar things, emitting almost a voice, saying: "You, O men, neither know exactly where you are, nor have you yet understood where you are to depart. For the reason has not yet been able to discover the nature of the present as it is by nature, but looks only to the habit of living, not being able to know: what is the nature of the body; what is the power of the senses; what is the structure of the organic members; what is the economy of the viscera; what is the self-moving activity of the nerves; how of those things within us, one part coalesces into the nature of bone, another into the luminous radiance of the eye; how from the same food and the same drink, one part is refined into hair, another spreads out into nails at the tips of the fingers; or how the fire in the heart is always burning, carried through the arteries to the whole body; or how what is drunk, when it comes to the liver, changes both the form and the quality through some alteration, being automatically turned into blood. The knowledge of all these things has up to the present been hidden, so that we are ignorant of the life in which we live. And those who live by sense are ^B altogether unable to behold the life separated from sense; for how could anyone see through sense what is outside of sense? Therefore, as both lives are equally unknown—this one because you look only at what appears, and that one because sense cannot reach it—what has happened to you, O men, that you embrace this one as good, although it is unknown? And yet you fear and tremble at that other one as burdensome and worthy of fear, for no other reason than this alone, that you do not know what it is? And yet we do not fear many other things, both those of the things appearing to us by sense and those which are unknown. For what is the nature of the things appearing in heaven, or what is that which moves the pole in a contrary motion, or what establishes the solidity of the earth; and how does the fluid nature of waters always ^C come from the earth, and yet the earth is not exhausted; and many other such things we have neither known, nor do we judge our ignorance of them to be worthy of fear. But even that nature which surpasses every mind, the divine and blessed and incomprehensible, that it exists we believe, but in what its being consists, no one has yet been found to understand by conjecture, and yet we love the unknown with all our heart and soul and strength, though it cannot be grasped by our rational faculties. Why, then, does this irrational fear arise regarding the laborious life that awaits us after this life, since we fear it for the sole reason that we do not know, just as happens with infants who are terrified by groundless suspicions? For he who wishes to look at the truth of existing things, first comes to an examination of the matter; then he calculates what it is by nature, ^D whether it is something useful and accessible, or something burdensome and appalling. But the thing which is altogether obscure and unknown, how could any one of those who possess a mind judge it to be burdensome, the habit

^A of fearing it only as if it were some fire or the onset of a wild beast? Yet we are clearly taught throughout our life not to look always at habit, but rather to be always transferring our desires toward what is good. For life is not sustained in the fetus in the womb forever, but as long as they are in the bowels, nature makes the life in the womb pleasant and appropriate for them; nor even when they emerge do they remain forever at the breast, but only for as long as such a thing is good and appropriate for the incompleteness of their age. After this, they move on to another course of life, not persuaded by habit to remain clinging to the breast. Then, after the state of infancy, other pursuits befall the young and others those of more advanced years, man moving on ^B towards these without pain, changing his habits along with his ages.

Just as, therefore, if the fetus being nourished in the mother’s womb possessed some use of voice, it would have been indignant when it was being expelled from the bowels by birth, and would have cried out that it was suffering terrible things when torn away from its beloved way of life—which is precisely what it does do, for with its first breath at the moment of birth it lets out a cry, as if indignant and lamenting the separation from its usual life—so too it seems to me that those who grieve at the change of the present life act like those who are in the womb, in that they wish to reside forever in the narrow and dark places of this life immersed in matter. For since the labor pains of death act as a midwife for ^C humans toward another life, they themselves, when they have crossed over into that light and have drawn in that pure spirit, know by experience how much that life differs from this present one. But those who are left behind in the damp and rotting filth of this life, like fetuses in the womb and not like humans, lament the lot of him who has gone out before them from these, the straits that surround us, as if he were departing from some good thing, not knowing that, after the likeness of the child that is born, the eye is opened when it comes outside the present confinement (and one must understand the eye of the soul, by which it discerns the truth of things); and the auditory sense is opened, by which it hears ineffable ^D words, which are not allowed for a man to speak, as the Apostle says; and the mouth is opened, and it draws in the intelligible voice and the true Word, when it is mingled with the sound of those celebrating in the choir of the saints; and likewise it is deemed worthy of a divine sense of taste, by which it knows, according to the psalmody, that the Lord is good; and through the function of smell it perceives the fragrance of Christ; and it gains the tactile power, as the soul touches the truth and feels the Word itself, according to the testimony of John. If, then, these things and things like these are laid up for humans after the birth through death, what is the meaning of the mourning, and the gloom, and the sadness? Now, regarding us, the one for the things

answer us here: whether they think it better to be deceived in judging the good by bodily senses, or to behold the truth itself with the eyes of the soul? For here, if the soul does not discern the good itself, it is forced to ^A serve the judgment of another. For when the newly formed body, acting in a childish way, cannot receive the absolute power of the soul, yet the activity of the senses is born complete along with the infant, it follows that in judging the good, the senses anticipate the soul, and what appears to the senses to be good is also seen by the soul as such. Therefore, because of habits already established, the soul unthinkingly embraces as good that which sensory perception—measuring the good by color, sap, and other such frivolities—has ^B tested and approved by its own witness. But when these things are taken away after the release from the body, it is entirely necessary that what is truly good should appear to the soul, to which it is naturally kin. For the eyes will no longer be enticed toward beauty of color, as this eye no longer exists; nor will the balance of the will choose anything else of those things that delight the senses, all bodily sensation having been extinguished. But with only the intellectual activity remaining, and that too in an incorporeal manner, grasping the intelligible beauty, nature will unimpeded receive its own proper good—which is not color, nor shape, nor dimension, nor magnitude—but the one which surpasses ^C every conjectural image. Why, then, someone suffering from the misery of the present life might say, was the body made, or for what purpose was it given to us, if, as your argument shows, life separated from it is superior? We will answer this, that the gain from this is not small for those who are able to look upon the entire economy of nature. Truly blessed is that life of the angels, which requires none of the body's burden. Yet even this present life is not incomplete in that it is directed toward that one. For the present life becomes as a road leading us to what we hope for. As we see in trees: in ^D which, although the fruit has its beginning from the blossom, it progresses through the blossom itself toward becoming fruit, even if the blossom is not the fruit. And the crops themselves, which grow from seeds, do not show the ear immediately, but the shoot grows as grass first, then from this the stalk emerges as the grass decays; and thus in the top of the ear the grain is perfected. Yet the farmer does not complain about this necessary sequence and order, saying, "Why the blossom before the fruit? Or for what purpose is the grass that sprouts first from the seed, if even the blossom falls away and the grass dries up in vain, contributing nothing to human food?" For he who looks upon the wondrous craftsmanship of nature knows that the fruit could not otherwise be perfected from seeds and shoots, unless this technical sequence paved the way for its completion. For just because the grass that is first sent forth from the seeds is useless, as we do not eat it, it does not mean that what is happening is empty and superfluous. For he who needs food considers only his own utility; but nature, seeing the design of the artisan, knows the order and the sequence, and does not consider only the present utility of the grain, but makes way for the fruit through this sequence.

^A Thus, at first, a manifold root is sent forth from the sown seed, by which nourishment is drawn from the moisture. Then the grass sprouts, which covers the root, so that it might not receive injury from the air; and although it is not itself the fruit, it nevertheless provides a way in a certain manner, and brings assistance by which the fruit is perfected. For when nature thus purges the power implanted in the seed, casting off the grass as the excrement of the fruit, it then protects the root and defends it from the injuries of the air, which arise from either cold or heat. But when the seed is more firmly fortified at its base in the roots, the grass is then neglected, because the root no longer needs the covering, and all power is given over to raising up and perfecting the stalk. ^B For nature, with a certain artificial wisdom, fashions a lofty structure, by which the growing shoot is marked out in a circle by mutual layers: in which, at the beginning, the stalk must be moist and tender, and, that it might be safer, it is fortified in the middle by joints as if with bonds; but when it ascends to a suitable height, it sends forth the fruit, so that the outermost layer produces the ear from itself, which, distinguished by a rampart of beards as if by hair, covers the fruit, and is nourished in the lowest receptacles of the beards. ^C Since, therefore, the farmer is not indignant neither at the fibers of the shoots, nor at the grass, nor at the beards of the ears, which indeed all come from the seed, but perceives in each of these a certain necessary use, by which nature, proceeding artificially and casting off what is useless, perfects and completes the fruit; so too, you must not bear it with an unfair mind that our nature, pursuing necessary ways, arrives at its own proper end. But as you perceive in the example of the seeds, you must judge that what is present is altogether referred and directed to something useful and necessary, and is not that for whose sake we were born. For our Creator did not form the fetus so that we would remain in the mother’s womb; nor does He bring us forth from there so that we might linger in infancy, or in those ages which successively follow, as nature always puts on one form after another and changes the shape of the body; nor so that the body itself might be dissolved by the approach of death, but so that through these things and others of the same kind, which are like parts of that way along which we walk, we might arrive at our pristine state, that is, at the likeness of God. ^D And just as we have shown that the grass is necessary for the perfecting of the ear according to the plan of nature; and yet agriculture is not instituted for the sake of the grass itself, nor for the layers, or the beards, or the stalk, but for the sake of the fruit adapted for nourishment, for the perfection of which nature proceeds through those things: so also is the expected end of this life blessedness. But the things which now happen to the body, such as death, old age, youth, infancy, the formation of the fetus in the womb, like the grasses, and the beards, and the stalks, are as it were ways through which we strive toward the hoped-for perfection. Which you yourself forward to

if you are wise, you will neither be resentful toward these things, nor so passionately and desirously disposed as to be grieved at being separated from them, or to rush headlong toward death. ^B And if it is necessary to add this to the discourse—though it may seem outside the sequence—it is perhaps not useless [to note] that nature is always practicing death, and that death is naturally and entirely joined to life as it proceeds through time. For since life is always moving toward the future and never turns back toward the past, what else is death but that which always follows in the wake of vital action? For in the time that has passed, every vital movement and action ceases. Since, therefore, it is the property of death to be inactive and motionless, and since this always follows in the wake of vital action, it is not far from the truth to say that death is intertwined with this life. Moreover, one might find this thought confirmed for us by the truth, as experience itself testifies to the doctrine: that the human being of today is not the same as the one of yesterday according to the underlying material, but something of him is always dying, stinking, decaying, and being cast off, just as a house—I mean the structure of the body—brings forth the deathly stench of nature and commits to the earth what has already passed outside the vital power.

Therefore, according to the voice of the great Paul, we die daily, not remaining the same through all time in the same housing of the body, but becoming different from one moment to the next through addition and subtraction, ^C as we are constantly changed into a new body. What, then, is this strangeness we feel when we hear of death, when it has been demonstrated that the life we live in the flesh is nothing other than a continuous practice and study of death? Or if you speak of sleep and waking, what else do you describe but another entanglement of death with life, since sensation forsakes us in those who sleep as if we were extinguished, and again, upon waking, it reminds us of the anticipated resurrection? But this digression having led us to consider other things, we have not yet explained what we proposed. ^D Let us, then, return to the proposition, and show that the nature of the body is not useless for the hoped-for expectation of good things. For if we had remained as we were at the beginning, when the likeness of the Divine was shining within us, we would not have had any need for the tunic of skin. For the divine characteristic that appeared in us at the beginning did not consist in any property of shape or color; rather, the human being was adorned with those marks by which the beauty of God is perceived, imitating the archetypal grace through freedom from passion, blessedness, and incorruptibility. But after, through the deceit of the enemy of our life, the human being willingly inclined toward the bestial and the irrational, he had the impulse—not unwillingly—to withdraw from...

^A a worse state, and to be forcibly turned toward the better; to those who do not examine the matter deeply, this seems useful. But to the Creator of our nature, it appeared useless and unjust to inflict upon nature the damage of the greatest of all goods by means of such an arrangement. For since the human being was made like God and was blessed, being honored with free will (for to be self-governing and not subject to any authority is proper to the divine blessedness), for him to be moved toward something by necessity and by force would be a stripping away of his dignity. For if those who, by their own free will and movement of the will, have rushed toward something that is not appropriate, were to be compelled by force to desist from what they had chosen for themselves, the good which they previously possessed—namely, the honor of possessing a will equal to the divine—would be taken away from them. ^B Therefore, in order that the dignity of free will might be left to human nature, and yet the evil itself might be removed, the wisdom of God devised this plan: to allow the human being to remain in that state in which he chose to be, so that, having tasted the evils he had craved, and having learned by experience what he had exchanged for what, he might voluntarily turn back through desire toward the original blessedness, having cast off all that is passionate and irrational like some burden upon his nature—either in the present life, being purified through prayer and philosophy, or after departing from here, being refined through the furnace of purgatorial fire.

For just as if someone, being a physician and highly skilled in the science of both life-giving and poisonous things, were to advise a youth on what is necessary, but could not convince the immature one—by reason of his age and lack of judgment—to refrain from some fruit or herb that is destructive, yet, having at hand every kind of remedy, were to allow his child to partake of what is harmful, so that, affected by the distress of the disease or some pain, and having by the very experience recognized the usefulness of his father's advice, and ^C having become desirous of health, he might again, through the antidotes, lead the child back to that state of well-being from which he had fallen through the irrational desire for the poisons: so also the sweet and good Father of our nature, who knows both how we are saved and what we are saved from, made known to the human being the poison and advised him not to partake of it; but when desire for the worse had prevailed, He did not lack the good antidotes through which He might lead the human being back to the original state of well-being.

For since the human being had preferred this material pleasure to the joy of the soul, it seemed that God in a certain way permitted him to be carried along by that impulse through the garment of skins, which He clothed him with on account of his propensity toward the worse, through which the properties of the irrational nature were mixed with the human being—properties which the wisdom of Him who manages things for the better by means of their opposites had prepared as a garment for a nature gifted with reason. For the garment of skins, bearing within itself all the properties contained in the irrational nature—pleasure, and anger, and gluttony, and greed, and the like—becomes food for the human faculty of choice, ^D becoming material for either virtue or vice depending on the inclination of each person. For living through his life in this world, the human being...

if he distinguishes that which is proper to him from the irrational, and looks toward himself through a more cultured life, will make his present life a cleansing of the corruption that has been mixed into him, mastering the irrationality through reason. But if he is inclined toward the irrational impulse of the passions, having used the hide of irrational animals as an assistant for his passions, he will afterward have to deliberate in a different way concerning the better path, knowing—after his departure from the body—the difference between virtue and vice, in that he cannot partake of divinity unless the cleansing fire has purged away the filth that was mixed into the soul. ^B

These are the reasons why he made the need for the body necessary for us, through which both free will is preserved and the return to the good is not obstructed. Rather, by this periodic sequence, through the voluntary act, the inclination toward the better comes about for us: for some, indeed, from that time onward while they live here, by establishing a spiritual life in dispassion—such as we hear the patriarchs and prophets were, and those who along with them and after them, through virtue and the study of wisdom, have returned to perfection (I mean the disciples, the apostles, and the martyrs, and all who have valued a virtuous life above a life immersed in matter)—who, even if they are fewer in number than the multitude of those drifting toward the worse, nonetheless bear witness that it is possible to achieve virtue in the flesh. For others, however, who after this life purge the blemishes of matter and the propensity toward evil in the cleansing fire, and who return voluntarily through the desire for good things to the grace granted to nature in the beginning. ^C For the desire for foreign things does not perpetually cling to nature; because that which is not proper to nature, and which had no fellowship with it in the beginning, brings satiety and disgust to everyone, and only that which is akin and similar to it is left as something always to be desired and loved by it. But if by the vice of a depraved will it has somehow degenerated, then the desire for external things is born in it, in the enjoyment of which not nature itself, but the affection of nature, finds pleasure; and when that affection is driven away, the desire for external things departs as well, and that which is its own and proper to it becomes again lovable and desirable. This is that which is pure and immaterial and bodiless, which if one were to say is proper to the divinity that is above all, he will not be wrong. For just as when some sharper distillation has clouded the visual spirit to the eyes of the body, the darkness becomes more welcome because of the kinship of the thickness with the darkness, but if that which troubled the visual spirit should be exhausted by some treatment, the light becomes once again proper and suitable, being mingled with the pure and ray-like nature of the pupil; in the same way, since vice flowed into the visual faculty of the soul like some discharge through the deception of the Enemy, the mind was voluntarily inclined toward the dark life, having become familiarized with the darkness through the passion. For everyone

^A who does evil hates the light, as the divine voice declares. But when the evil has been consumed and has passed away again into non-being, nature, having repelled that which dimmed the eyes of the soul, once more looks toward the light with pleasure. It has been shown, therefore, by what has been said, that to be hostile toward the nature of the flesh is foolish. For the cause of evils does not depend upon it; since if it did, it would have the same power over all who have been allotted a bodily life.

But since those whom we mentioned lived by virtue in such a way that, while they were in the flesh, they still did not bind themselves to any vices, it is obvious from this that ^B the body is not the cause of the passions, but rather the individual will which stains itself with vices. For the body moves in a manner consistent with its own nature, and is impelled and drawn by its own instinct toward those things by which it protects and preserves its own state. For instance, it has need of food and drink, so that what is wasted away may be restored, and thus it desires food and drink. Again, the nature of the body, which is mortal, is rendered immortal through the succession of procreation: for this reason, the desire for procreation is implanted within it as is fitting. Furthermore, since our bodies are not protected by a suitable covering of hair, we have need of clothing added from without; and since we are unable to endure the force of heat, cold, and rain, we build houses and roofs for ourselves. He who prudently considers necessity, having regard for it, provides these and other things of this sort without anxiety, and sets a limit for his appetite, namely, necessary use: he therefore provides a house, clothing, marriage, and food for nature, so that it may be sustained by necessary things. But he who is a slave to pleasures opens an entrance for vices through necessary uses, and in place of food seeks delicacies; for clothing, he pursues the elegance of ornaments; for the use of houses, he cultivates the most spacious and magnificent palaces; ^C instead of the legitimate procreation of children, he looks toward unlawful and forbidden pleasures. For these reasons, avarice, effeminacy, idleness, pride, ostentation, and manifold luxury have entered into human life through wide gates. These and similar vices have sprouted forth, like certain suckers or useless branches, beyond the necessary uses of life, while the appetite oversteps the boundaries of necessity, and men do not care to be broadened by honorable pursuits. For what does silver plate, adorned with gold and gems like flowers, profit the feeding of the body? What use do robes afford, woven with gold and purple threads, and worked with varied pictures, by which battles, hunts, and other things of this sort are depicted by craftsmen upon tunics and garments? This luxury indeed always has avarice as its companion. For that they may provide themselves with the resources and power for these things, they seek the materials of their desires from avarice. But

avarice provides the matter: and this same avarice opens an entrance to infidelity; for it is, as Solomon says, a leaking jar, which those who try to fill labor in vain, and find empty. Therefore, the body does not bring about the causes of evils, but the will itself, which turns the necessary use toward absurd and useless desires. Let not the body therefore be maligned by the thoughtless; the body, by which the soul will afterwards, having been transformed by regeneration into a more divine state, be adorned, once death has purged away the superfluous and useless elements with respect to the enjoyment of the future life. For those things which are suitable for it now will not be the same ones used in the life hereafter, but our body’s constitution will be adapted and suited to the enjoyment of that life, having been disposed in a manner appropriate to the partaking of good things. ^B What do I mean by this? (For it is better to clarify the meaning with a familiar example.) A mass of iron is useful to the smith’s art, serving as an anvil for the craftsman. But when it is necessary to craft the iron into something more delicate and elaborate, then, through the care of the one who purifies the mass with fire, all the earthy and useless material is cast away—which the craftsmen of this trade call dross; and thus what was once an anvil becomes, when refined, a breastplate or some other fine piece of work, having been purified of such waste through the smelting process—which, as long as it was an anvil, was not thought of as waste for the purpose at that time. For even the dross, when mixed into the mass, contributed something to the bulk of the iron. We have already understood the example; we must now transfer to the proposed meaning the insight glimpsed in this example. What, then, is this? It is this: the nature of the body has now many dross-like qualities, which in the present life contribute to some useful end, but are altogether useless and alien to the blessedness expected hereafter. Therefore, just as with the fire and the iron, ^C where the smelting process rejects everything useless, this is accomplished for the body through death, as every superfluity is cast off through the dissolution occurring in deadness. It is, of course, evident to those who have investigated what these things are, from which the body is later purified—things which, if they were not present in this current life, would cause harm to this life. Nevertheless, for the sake of clarity, they shall be recounted by us briefly.

Let us posit, by way of illustration, that the desire which is naturally active in all is the mass, and that the dross is that toward which desire is now impelled and drawn: pleasures, wealth, ambitions, powers, angers, pride, and such like. Of all these and such things, death becomes an exact purifier; once desire is stripped and cleansed of all these, it will transfer its energy toward that which alone is to be sought, desired, and loved, not extinguishing

^A the impulses naturally inherent in us toward such things, but transforming them toward the immaterial participation in good things. For there is the love of true beauty, which never fails; there is the laudable greed for the treasures of wisdom, and the beautiful and good ambition which is perfected in the fellowship of the kingdom of God, and the noble passion of insatiability, which is never cut off from the desire for the Good by any satiety of things above. Therefore, having learned ^B that at the appropriate time the Artificer of all will transform the mass and bulk of the body into a weapon of approval—a breastplate of righteousness, as the Apostle says, and a sword of the Spirit, and a helmet of hope—and having fashioned the whole armor of God, one loves one’s own body according to the law of the Apostle, who says, "No one ever hated his own flesh." It is the purified body, however, that should be loved, not the sordid dross which is rejected and cast away. For it is true, as the divine voice says, that if our earthly ^C house of this tabernacle is destroyed, then we shall find it a building made by God, a house not made with hands, eternal in the heavens, worthy to be the dwelling-place of God in the Spirit. And let no one describe to me the form, shape, and appearance of that unmade house according to the likeness of those characters which now appear to us and distinguish us from one another by their properties. For since not only the resurrection is proclaimed to us by the divine oracles, but also that those who are renewed through the resurrection must be changed—a fact which the divine ^D Scripture guarantees—it is absolutely necessary that what we shall be changed into remains entirely hidden and unknown, because we see no example of what is hoped for in this present life. For now, everything thick and solid has by nature a downward tendency. But then the transformation of the body will be toward an upward movement, as the Word says, that after nature has been changed in all those recalled to life through the resurrection, "We shall be caught up in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air; and thus we shall always be with the Lord." If, therefore, in those who are changed the weight does not remain in the body, but they are raised up together with the incorporeal nature, having been transposed into a more divine state, it is certainly consistent that the color, figure, outline, and the remaining properties of the body ^B are in some way divinely changed. For this reason, although we see that there is no necessity for there to appear in those who will be changed by the resurrection any such degree of difference as nature now necessarily possesses on account of the order of those who succeed one another, nevertheless we cannot explain what they will be like in that change. We do not doubt that there will be one genus for all, and that all will be the one body of Christ, and that one form will be impressed upon all, with the divine image shining equally in all. What will come to us in exchange for such properties in the change of nature is better ^C than any conjectural thought we might express. And so that we might not be entirely untrained...

^A in our discourse concerning this, we say that since there will be no use in nature for the difference between male and female, save for the procreation of children, perhaps one might take up some conjecture worthy of the promise of the blessings of God in this discourse—namely, that the generative power of nature will pass over into the service of that birth of which the great Isaiah partook when he said, "From your fear, O Lord, we have conceived, and we have travailed and brought forth, and we have made the spirit of your salvation upon the earth." For if such a birth is good and the procreation of children is a cause of salvation, as the Apostle says, he who has once acquired for himself through such a birth a multitude of blessings will never cease from begetting the spirit of salvation. But even if one should say that the character in which we are fashioned will be with us again at the resurrection, our mind is not readily disposed to assume that it must be so or otherwise. For if one were to say that the resurrection will be in the same form, the argument will fall into much difficulty, because a human being does not always remain the same to himself in ^B the form of his character, but rather, by reason of age and the passions, is transformed into one appearance after another. For the infant and the youth are fashioned in one way; the child, the man, the middle-aged, the elderly, and the old man in another. None of these stands toward the other in the same state; indeed, even he who is wasted by jaundice, and he who is swollen with dropsy, and he who is withered by consumption, and he who has become corpulent from some dyscrasia—the jaundiced, the sanguine, the phlegmatic—since each of these is formed according to the prevailing dyscrasia, it is not well to think that these remain after the resurrection, for the change will prepare everything for the more divine. Nor is it easy for us to calculate how that form will blossom forth for us, since the blessings proposed to us in hope are believed to be beyond eye, and ear, and intellect. Or perhaps ^C one would not be entirely astray if he were to say that the distinctive form of each is the specific quality of their character. For just as now the alteration in the elements within us works out the differences of characters in each person, according to the excess or deficiency of that which corresponds—as it is shaped and colored according to the property of the form—so it seems to me that the things which will then characterize the form of each will not be these elements, but rather the qualities of vice or virtue, the mixture of which one with another—in this way or that—causes the species to be characterized. This is almost exactly what happens in the present life, when the external disposition of the face indicates the disposition in the hidden parts of the soul; whence we easily recognize the one who is overcome by grief, the one who is carried away by anger, and the one who is melting in desire; and, on the contrary, the cheerful one, the one free from wrath, and the one who is adorned ^D with the dignified character of self-control.

^A Just as, therefore, in this present life, the mood of the heart becomes a kind of form, expressed in the face and eyes, by which the manner in which a person feels within is declared, so it seems to me that, once our nature has put on a more divine state, man is fashioned by his character; he is not one thing and appearing as another, but is known to be exactly what he is: the temperate person, the just, the gentle, the pure, the loving, the God-fearing. And again among these, either the one who possesses all good things, or the one adorned with but one or a few, or the one who is found to have more, or the one who is lacking in this regard but finds abundance in another. For out of these and similar qualities, which are judged according to what is better or the opposite, people are distinguished from one another into various types ^B until, as the Apostle says, the last enemy is destroyed, and wickedness is utterly removed and banished from all existence, and the God-like beauty begins to shine forth upon all, according to the pattern in which we were formed in the beginning. This is light, and purity, and immortality, and life, and truth, and things of such a kind. For it is not unfitting that the children of day and light should both be and appear as such. Of light, and purity, and immortality, no change or difference will be found in that same state; but one grace will shine forth upon all, when they have become children of light and shall shine as the sun, according to the truthful word of the Lord. And furthermore, that all will be perfected into the one, according to the promise of God the Word, holds to the same understanding: that one and the same grace will appear to all, so that each one bestows the same joy upon his neighbor. ^C Through this, each one both rejoices in seeing the beauty of the other, and rejoices in turn, with no evil distorting that form into a hideous character. This is what our mind has discussed for us regarding those who have departed from this life, interpreting their voices to us as much as possible. But let us conclude our counsel to those who dwell in squalor and mourning by using the words of the great Paul: "But I would not have you to be ignorant, brethren, concerning them which are asleep, that ye sorrow not, even as others which have no hope" (I Thess. iv, 12).

If, therefore, we have learned anything worthy of study concerning those who have fallen asleep, through which the discourse has philosophized for us regarding these matters, let us no longer accept this ignoble and servile sorrow. ^D But if one must sorrow, let us choose that sorrow which is praiseworthy and virtuous. For just as one kind of pleasure is beastly and irrational, while another is pure and immaterial, so too is that which is contrary to pleasure divided between vice and virtue. There is, therefore, a kind of mourning that is called blessed, and is not to be cast aside in the cultivation and attainment of virtue, which is far different from this irrational and servile dejection. For he who is caught in the latter will afterward repent of himself, as having been moved out of his settled state when he became overcome by the passion. But the blessed mourning has a gloom that is unregretted and unashamed, for those who, through it, successfully accomplish a virtuous life.

^A For he who has truly attained to the realization of those good things from which he has fallen—by comparing this perishable and sordid life with that deathless beatitude, which he possessed before he abused his power for evil—truly he is a mourner from his soul. And by how much more his mourning increases in this life for such a condition, by so much more he hastens for himself the acquisition of the desired good things. For the realization of the loss of the good becomes a fuel for the eagerness regarding what is desired. Therefore, since there is also a saving mourning, as the discourse has indicated, listen, you who are easily carried away toward the passion of grief, that we do not forbid grief, but instead of the condemned sort, we advise the good sort. Do not, therefore, grieve with the grief of the world, which works death, as says the Apostle, but with that according to God, the end of which is the salvation of the soul. For the tear that is shed in vain and to no purpose for those who have fallen asleep perhaps becomes a cause of condemnation for him who makes bad use of what is useful. For if He who made all things in wisdom fashioned this sorrowful disposition ^B in our nature for this purpose—that it might be a purgative of the evil that has taken hold, and a provision for the participation of the hoped-for good things—then perhaps he who sheds his tear in vain and unprofitably will be censured before his own Master, according to the word of the Gospel, as a bad steward who uselessly dissipates the wealth entrusted to him. For everything that is useful for the good is wealth, counted among the precious treasures. I do not wish you, therefore, brothers, to be ignorant of those things concerning those who have fallen asleep, which we have learned—and whatever other lesson is revealed by the Holy Spirit to the more perfect among you in addition to these—so that you may not grieve as the rest who have no hope. For it belongs only to the unbelievers to limit the hopes of living to the present life, and for this reason they count death as a disaster, because what is believed by us is not hoped for by them. But we, having trusted in the great surety of the resurrection from the dead, in the Master Himself of all creation, who for this reason also died and rose, so that by the very deed He might confirm the word concerning the resurrection, have ^C beyond doubt the hope of the good things, in the presence of which grief for those who have departed will have no place. May our God and Lord Jesus Christ, who comforts the humble, comfort your hearts and strengthen you in His own love through His mercies, for to Him is the glory to the ages of the ages. Amen.

[This is the first page of the chain.]

BY THE SAME GREGORY: EXHORTATION TO REPENTANCE.

BY THE SAME: DISCOURSE ON THE BEGINNING OF THE FASTS.

BY THE SAME: ON THE CHIEF APOSTLES PETER AND PAUL.

BY THE SAME ORATION AGAINST THE MANICHAEANS

Consisting of twelve syllogisms, by which it is proven that evil is corruptible and created and non-subsistent, and that its father, the devil, is not unbegotten.

^A If any thing is evil, it must be punished; but nothing which is punished is incorruptible. Therefore, no evil is incorruptible.

Nothing corruptible is unbegotten; but evil is corruptible. Therefore, evil is not unbegotten.

Nothing is evil by essence, because evil is a quality. But no quality is an essence. Therefore, evil is not an essence.

All opposites are corruptible by one another; but those things which are unbegotten are not corruptible. Therefore, opposites are not incorruptible.

Nothing unbegotten is mutable; but the good is mutated when it is overcome by evil. Therefore, the good is not unbegotten.

That which is unbegotten has no appetite for destruction, nor can it cause destruction; but evil has an appetite for destruction. ^B Therefore, evil is not unbegotten.

The divine Scriptures testify that not only other evil ones, but the devil himself is delivered to punishments; but everything delivered to punishment is mutable; and nothing mutable is unbegotten. Therefore, none of the evils are unbegotten.

Of things which are wholly contrary to one another, there is nothing in common. So that it is of absolute necessity that, as the good exists, that which is evil does not exist.

Everyone who naturally seeks to have their own desire fulfilled and perfected, sees it insofar as they seek it naturally; but since malice is held in the desire for corruptible things, it will be destroyed. But if it is destroyed, it is not unbegotten.

If evil were unbegotten according to nature, its being evil would belong to it by nature. But no one who acts according to nature commits sin; therefore, that which is unbegotten does not sin. That which does not sin is not subject to blame; but Satan is subject to blame. Therefore, he is not unbegotten. ^C