Homilies on Ecclesiastes

^A For in all the other Scriptures, both histories and prophecies, the aim is directed toward certain other things that are not very useful to the Church. For what does it matter to the Church to learn with precision the calamities of wars, or who were the founders of nations and cities, or who were led away into colonies by some, or what kingdoms shall appear in the course of time, or how many marriages and procreations of children have been diligently recorded in writing, or whatever things can be learned in any Scripture; what have these contributed greatly to the aim of the Church’s piety? But the teaching of this book looks only to the ecclesiastical life, explaining those things through which one might order their life rightly and according to virtue. For the aim of what is said here is to raise the mind above sense, and to cause it to rest, leaving behind all things that appear great and brilliant among those that are visible, and to raise it up to those things that the comprehension of the senses cannot reach, and to conceive a desire for those things that the sense does not attain. ^B Perhaps, too, the inscription looks toward the leader of the Church. For who else could the true Ecclesiastes be, who gathers into one fullness those things that are scattered, and who gathers into one assembly those who have been led astray in many ways by various errors, if not the true King of Israel, the Son of God, to whom Nathanael said: "You are the Son of God; you are the King of Israel"? If, then, these are the words of the King of Israel, and he himself is also called the Son of God, as the Gospel says, then he is also called Ecclesiastes. Perhaps it is not without reason that we refer the meaning of the inscription to this sense, so that we may learn from this that the power of these words is referred to Him who established the Church through the Gospel. For He says: "The words of Ecclesiastes, son of David." Thus also Matthew, at the beginning of the Gospel, names him the son of David, calling the Lord so. ^C "Vanity of vanities," said Ecclesiastes, "all is vanity." That is understood to be vain which cannot subsist, which has its essence only in the utterance of words; for a thing that has substance does not appear along with the meaning of the name, but it is some idle and empty sound, which is uttered under the guise of some word by syllables, falling upon the ears without meaning, just as some people in play invent names that mean nothing. This, then, is one kind of vanity. But there is said to be another vanity, of those things which have no use, which are done with great zeal and effort with no goal proposed: such as the buildings of children in the sand, ^D and shooting arrows at the stars, and hunting the winds, and the contest of a runner against his own shadow, when someone strives to tread upon the top of his shadow, and if we find anything else of the sort among things done rashly, all of which are subjected to the word of vanity. And this too is often...

^A said, when someone looking at some goal, and pursuing as if it were something useful among those things which are proposed with vehement study, does each thing; then, when something contrary has happened, the labor has been in vain; and then, that nothing has correctly succeeded from that great labor, is signified by the word "vain." For it is customary to speak of such things thus: "In vain I have labored, and in vain I have hoped, and in vain I have undergone many toils." And that we may not go through each one in detail, among which the name of vanity is properly applied, let us grasp the sense of this word in a few points. Vanity is either a word that does not fall under thought and understanding, or a useless thing, or a counsel that cannot stand, or a pursuit that does not reach its end, or, to speak in summary, that which cannot exist in any useful thing.

If, therefore, we have understood the meaning of "vain," we must examine what is intended by the "vanity of vanities." But the sense that is sought will be better known to us if we examine the custom of Scripture in those things that are understood to be better and more excellent. The action of those things that are necessary and useful is called "work" by Scripture; but of those things upon which study is bestowed, whatever excels, and whatever looks toward the worship of God itself, are called "works of works," as history declares, showing, I suppose, by the argument, through a certain analogy, what is the most excellent of those things upon which study is bestowed. For whatever proportion the study bestowed upon works has to idleness in general, such a proportion has the operation which is directed to the higher and more excellent of those things upon which study is bestowed to the other works. ^B Thus also something is called "holy" by Scripture; and again "holy of holies," as if by an equal measure that which is holy excels that which is from the holy in holiness; and again of this, the "holy of holies," which is considered in sanctification by way of supereminence.

What, therefore, we have learned in the case of the better argument, by the custom of Scripture signifying the intensity of the underlying meaning by such a mode, this we shall also understand in the case of the "vanity of vanities," and we shall not err. For it does not say that those things which appear in existing things are absolutely vain, but that they are such in a certain supereminence of the signification of vanity; just as if someone were to say "more dead than the dead," and "more lifeless than the lifeless," even though a comparative intensity has no place in things of this sort; yet it is said by this word to declare the supereminence of that which is signified. Just as, therefore, we understand "works of works," and "holy of holies," whose supereminence is interpreted in that which is better: so also the "vanity of vanities" shows an insurmountable supereminence in vanity. ^C And let no one suppose that what is said is an accusation of creation; for indeed the accusation would pass over to Him who created all things, if the craftsman of these things were to appear to us, He who fashioned all things from things that were not, if all things were of vanity. But since the construction of man is twofold, with the soul meeting the body; and it is divided...

^A appropriately according to each of the elements observed in us, so too is the type of life. For one sort belongs to the soul, and another to the body; for the one is mortal and perishable, while the other is impassible and incorruptible. And the former looks only to what is present, while the goal of the latter extends into eternity. Since, therefore, there is a great difference between the mortal and the immortal, and the temporal and the eternal, the voice of Ecclesiastes tends toward this: that one ought not to look to this sensory life, which, if it be compared with the life that truly is, is nothing and cannot stand. But nevertheless, one might say that this statement is made not without blaming the Creator, since both soul and body are from Him. For if the life that is lived through the flesh is accused, and God is the creator of the flesh, this reproach must necessarily be referred back to Him.

^B But this will certainly be said by someone who has not yet become external to the flesh, and has not diligently and accurately looked toward the higher life. For he who is instructed in the divine mysteries does not at all ignore that the life which is conformed to the divine nature is appropriate and natural to human beings; while the sensory life, which is lived out through the action of the senses, is given to nature for this purpose: that the knowledge of things which fall under sight might be a guide for the soul to the recognition of things that are not visible, just as Wisdom says: "From the greatness of the beauty of the creatures, the Progenitor of all things is proportionately seen." ^C But human lack of counsel did not see, through the things that are seen, Him who is to be admired; rather, it admired the things it saw. Since, therefore, the operation of the senses is temporary and short-lived, we learn through this sublime voice that he who looks to these things looks at nothing. But he who is led through these things to the understanding of the Being, and has discerned the stable nature through passing things, and has come to the reflection of that which always exists in the same way, has seen what is truly good, and what he has seen, he possesses; for the knowledge of this good is its possession. "For what is," he says, "the profit remaining to man in all his labor with which he labors under the sun?" He called the life lived in the body a labor, seeking profit through no rightly done deed. ^D "For what profit," he says, "remains to man?" That is to say, what redounds to the soul through the life-sustaining labor for those who live looking to the visible? Or in what consists life? What among the goods that fall under sight remains the same? The sun performs its circuit, alternately shining and being obscured, illuminating the air above us when it shows itself to the lands, and drawing darkness after it through its setting. The earth, however, stands, and remains immovable in the fixed, and that which stands is not moved, and that which is moved does not stand. All things through themselves, in every interval of time, are shown to be nothing, being changed by the alteration toward that which is newer. The sea is a vessel for the waters flowing together from every side, and

^A neither does the confluence cease, nor is the sea increased. What is the scope of the path for the waters that are always filling what is being filled? For what reason does the sea receive the inflows of the waters, remaining without increase throughout due to this addition?

He says these things so that, from the very elements in which the life of men consists, he might interpret how minimally those things which we pursue with great zeal among us persist. For if this set course of the sun has no end, nor does the alternating succession of light and darkness admit of a standstill, and the earth, condemned to remain, continues stationary in its fixed position, while the rivers toil in vain, being consumed by the insatiable nature of the sea, and the sea receives the inflows of the waters to no purpose, taking into its gulfs nothing more than what is always being poured in from the very beginning; if these things are so, how is it reasonable for that of man, who also has his life in these things, to be otherwise? And why are we astonished if a generation goes and a generation comes, and this course does not desert its nature, with the incoming generation of men both pushing out that which entered before, and being pushed out by that which is entering? What then does the word of the Church cry out through these things? That you, O men, looking at the whole, should understand your own nature. What you see around the heavens and the earth, what you behold in the sun, what you observe in the sea, let these things also interpret your own nature to you. ^B For there is, according to the likeness of the sun, both a rising and a setting of our nature; there is one way for all, one circle of the course of life. When we have risen through generation, we are again drawn down to our kindred place. For when our life has suffered its setting, our light also descends under the earth, just as when our perception of light happens; and yet the earth is entirely resolved into that which is kindred, and this cycle is perpetually revolving in the same things. As in the case of the sun, he says, the course is that, rising in the upper part of the earth, it travels through the southern regions, while being under the earth it passes beneath the opposite, northern part; and in this way, always revolving, it circles its own course, and again wheeling round, it makes its way. "It turns about," he says, "in a circle"; so therefore does your spirit also move (naming the human spirit as a whole from a part), traversing this circular motion through similar things. "For the spirit goes," he says, "and the spirit returns to its own circles." He who has considered these things would not receive small benefit for his own life. What is more brilliant than light? What is clearer than rays? And yet, if the sun goes under the earth, the light is hidden, and the ray disappears.

Looking toward these things, let one spend his own life more modestly, despising the splendor here, having learned from the things that are seen that that which is bright and illustrious does not endure perpetually; but the successions of opposites are swift, ^C and nothing remains such as it is in the present, neither youth, nor beauty,

^A nor the splendor of powers and dominions. And these things are indeed for those who live in some prosperity. But for those to whom the life lived according to virtue seems laborious, let the soul be schooled by the example of the earth in enduring the things that are grievous. "The earth stands for ever." What is more laborious than this immovable firmness? And yet its station extends for ever; but to you, the time of the contest is short. Do not be more soulless than the earth; do not be more foolish than those things which lack sensation, you who have been allotted reason and are governed by intellect in life; but "continue," as the Apostle says, "in those things which you have learned and have been assured of," in a steady and immovable station. For this also is one of the divine commandments: "Be ye steadfast and immovable." Let temperance remain unshaken in you, faith firm, charity unchangeable, and the station in every good thing immovable, just as the earth that is in you stands for ever. ^B But if anyone is agape toward greed, and having spread the intemperance of desire like some sea, is insatiable for the profits flowing in from every side, let him look to the sea that is here and cure his disease. For just as that [sea] does not overstep its own measure amidst the myriad influxes of waters, but remains in the same fullness, just as if no addition were made to it from the waters, in the same way human nature, encompassed by its own measures in the enjoyment of what is at hand, cannot expand its greedy desire for enjoyment beyond the measure of nature through the multitude of revenues and gains, but what flows in ceases, while the power of enjoyment is kept within its own boundaries. If, therefore, the enjoyment cannot overflow beyond the measure of nature, why do we draw in the influxes of revenues, never pouring them out for the benefit of others as they arrive? Since, however, according to the definition of vanity given to us—that either a useless word or a useless thing pertains to vanity—he rightly begins his book from this point: so that ^C we may not regard anything that is done or anything that is said as subsisting, if we look toward the goal herein proposed. For all the labor of men, which is occupied with things pertaining to life, is plainly the play of children in the sand, in which the delight taken in the things that are done ceases as soon as the labor put into what has been done ends. For as soon as one has ceased from labor, at the same time the sand having collapsed leaves no trace of those things which were labored upon. ^D This is human life: sand is ambition, sand is power, sand is wealth, sand is each of those things which we enjoy with great labor through the flesh, in which, as things that are entirely unable to subsist, childish souls laboring in vain, and enduring many toils regarding each of these, if only they should leave behind the place of sand—I mean the life spent in the flesh—then they will recognize how vain in this matter...

is the pleasure of life. For when it has passed, they bring with them nothing but their own conscience. ^B This is why the great Ecclesiastes appears to me, as one who was already beyond these things and who, as a soul naked and separated, had transitioned into a life devoid of matter, to have uttered those things which it is reasonable to expect that we, too, shall utter when we have moved outside this coastal place, about which the sand is—that which is spewed out by the sea of this life—and we have been separated from all the waves that beat about us and roar around us. From the sea we here contemplate, carrying with us only the memory of those things upon which we have bestowed our labor, we say: "Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity; and what profit has a man in all his labor which he labors under the sun?" For in this way, according to my reasoning, this statement belongs to every soul when, having been stripped of the things here, it has migrated to the life that is hoped for. For whether one has accomplished something of the more sublime things in this life, it denounces that in which it once existed—when compared with what has been found, it holds in contempt that which has passed—or whether, having been strongly affected toward matter, it has seen those things which occurred beyond expectation, and by experience has learned how great is the folly in those things upon which effort is bestowed in this life: then, lamenting, it will utter this voice, just as we humans do out of repentance, recounting our own foolish choices in our lamentations and saying, "Vanity of vanities," and what follows. "All," he says, "are toilsome, and a man shall not be able to speak." And yet, nothing is considered easier or more readily available than speaking. For what labor is it for one who speaks what he wishes? The tongue is moist and versatile, and without effort it shapes itself to whatever type of utterance it desires; the intake of respiratory air is unhindered, by means of which it produces sounds; the operation of the cheeks is painless, and at the same time the cooperation of the lips toward the articulation of what is being said is effortless. What labor, then, does he perceive in a word? For we do not emit speech by digging earth, or rolling stones, or carrying burdens upon our shoulders, or performing any other toilsome tasks; but the thought that has taken form within us, having been revealed through the voice, becomes a word. ^C But since such a word has no labor, we must understand who are the "toilsome words" by which a man shall not be able to speak. "Let the presbyters," he says, "be counted worthy of double honor, especially those who labor in word." A presbyter, according to usage, is called one who has emerged from disorderly youth and has arrived at a state of old age; for if someone should be unstable in his reasoning and possess a life in disorder, such a one is not yet a presbyter—even if he should happen to appear gray-haired—but is still a man. Therefore, those words which are truly words—those that are turned toward what is soul-beneficial and useful for men—these are full of sweats and toils, and bring with them much effort in order that they may become words. "For the laboring farmer must be the first to partake of the fruits," says the craftsman of such words, implying that the "word" must not be understood as a mere utterance, but as that which resides in deeds.

being set forth for the instruction of life to those who see, instead of [mere] speech for those who are taught. ^A All such discourses are therefore laborious for those who expound virtue, in that they must first perform in themselves what they teach. For this is what it means to be the first to partake of the fruits, which we cultivate for ourselves through virtue before others, or perhaps the discourse also interprets the weakness of our rational nature.

For since the mind, having removed itself from the senses—which have been named "vanity"—penetrates in a way into the contemplation of invisible things and attempts to set forth to the discourse what it has conceived in the mind, then a great labor comes upon the discourse through this interpretative voice, which finds no mechanism for the clarification of things that cannot be uttered. ^B We see the heaven; we perceive with our senses the radiance of the luminaries; we have walked upon the earth; we draw air into our mouth; we use water for what nature seems to require; we admit fire into the communion of life; yet if we wish to ponder any of these things—what each of the things that appear is according to the principle of its being, from whence or how it has its existence—a man will not be able to speak [of it], even if he should surpass all others, since all knowledge of comprehension is weak when it comes to expressing things that it cannot attain.

But if the discourse concerning these things has a labor that surpasses the human power and nature of speech, what must one believe happens to the discourses concerning the Word Himself, or the Father of the Word? ^C Surely every elevation of speech and every loud proclamation is a certain kind of obscurity and silence, if it be judged by the true meaning of what is sought; to such an extent that this one word alone can be properly said of Him: that even if one should move all thoughts, and nothing should be lacking of divine concepts, if the voice is judged by the very dignity of the subject matter, that which it has spoken is not speech. For a man cannot speak [of Him]. For sight does not halt the contemplation that comes to the soul through the eyes concerning that which is seen, but we are always looking as if we had not yet seen, and we still have in ignorance that which is grasped through the sense. Sight cannot penetrate color; but it receives the measure of its own operation from that which appears on the surface of things that exist. Wherefore it says: "The eye shall not be satisfied with seeing, nor the ear be filled with hearing." ^D The auditory faculty, receiving the discourse about each thing, does not have the nature to be filled. For no discourse will be found that perfectly comprehends in itself that which is sought. How, then, will the ear be filled with the hearing of the things that are sought, since there is nothing that fills?

Then, after these words, he questions himself and answers himself. For having asked, "What is that which has been?" "It is," he says, "that which is to be."

^A What, then, is the intention of this question? Since, from our understanding of his previous reasoning, we might object to him and say: "If all these things are vanity, it is obvious that none of the things that did not subsist have 'been.' For what is vain can in no way exist. And what cannot exist, no one would count among things that have been. But if these things are not, tell us what it is that 'has been,' or how it remains in essence." His answer to the question is therefore brief: "Do you wish to know what that which 'has been' is? Consider what that which 'is to be' ^B is, and you will recognize what 'has been.'" And this is what he means: "Consider, O man, what sort of person you will become once you have elevated yourself through virtue, if you have fashioned your soul with all good qualities, if you have removed yourself from all stains of vice, if you have washed away from your own nature every filth of material pollution; consider, I say, what you will be when you are adorned in such a way, and what kind of form you will be clothed with." If you grasp this by reason, you have been taught what that which "has been" in the beginning is—namely, that which was made in the image and likeness of God. And where is that now—I will say to the one who teaches these ^C things, which at one time "was" and is hoped for again in the future, yet now "is not"? But he who teaches us the divine mysteries answers in the same way, that for this reason present things are named vanity, because those realities are not among the things that are present. "And what," he says, "is that which has been made? It is that which is to be made." Let no one of those who hear this think it a wordiness and a vain repetition of words regarding the difference between that which "has been" and that which "has been made." For the discourse displays through each of these terms the difference between the soul and the flesh. The soul "has been," and the body "has been made." ^D It is not because the emphasis of the words signifies one thing and another that the discourse makes use of this distinction of terms in each of the meanings, but so that it might grant you to reason about each, that the soul was in the beginning, and having been purified, will appear again later. That—the body—was "made," being fashioned by the hands of God, which the resurrection will show in the proper times. For whatever you shall see it to be after the resurrection, such it was entirely when it was first made. For the resurrection is nothing else than the restoration to the original state.

Wherefore he adds to these what follows, saying that there is nothing outside of that which is from the beginning. "For there is nothing," he says, "new under the sun," as if he were to say: "If it is not according to that which is original, it is nothing at all, but only seems to be." For there is nothing, he says, "new under the sun," so that someone could speak and point out any of the things that happen as if this were new and truly existed. This is the sense of what has been said. The phrasing, however, is in this manner: "And there is nothing new under the sun that will speak and say, 'Behold, this is new.'" And he adds to the things that have been said by those things which follow, saying: "If anything, he says, has truly been, it is that which happened in the ages that were before us." For he indicates this meaning by these very words.

^A If, however, oblivion of things that have occurred has prevailed, do not be surprised; for even those things which now exist will be overtaken by oblivion. For when our nature inclined toward vice, we forgot the good; and when it turns toward the good, our dissolution follows, and again the evil will be covered over by oblivion. For I think this is the meaning in what has been said, where he says, "There is no remembrance of the first things, and indeed of the last things that have happened, there will be no remembrance." It is as if he were saying: The things that have come to pass in the latter days will blot out the memory of those things which occurred after the initial happiness, through which the human race was in evil. For there will be no memory of them with those who are to be in the last days. This means: the final state will utterly blot out the memory of the nature of evils, in Christ Jesus, to whom be glory and power for ever and ever. Amen.

HOMILY II

"I," he says, "the Ecclesiastes." ^B We have learned, however, who the Ecclesiastes is: he who gathers into one that which has gone astray and been dispersed, and makes all things one flock, so that there is nothing that does not hear the beautiful voice of the shepherd, which makes all things alive. "For the words," he says, "which I speak are spirit and are life." He calls himself Ecclesiastes as physician, and life, and resurrection, and light, and way, and door, and truth, and all names of humanity and benevolence toward men. ^C Just as, therefore, the voice of a physician is appropriate for the sick, so the Word of life is effective among the dead, who, when they hear the voice of the Son of man, no longer remain in their ancient mortality; but those who are in the graves seek the voice of the resurrection, and the word of light is suitable for those in darkness, and the way is smooth and level for those who have strayed, and the door is for those who need to enter: so, too, the Ecclesiastes speaks in every way with those who are in the Church.

Therefore, the Ecclesiastes speaks to us; and let us, who are the Church, hear his words. For just as the chorus looks to the coryphaeus, that is, its leader, and sailors to the helmsman, and the army to the general, so too do those ^D who are in the assembly of the Church look to the leader of the Church. What, then, does the Ecclesiastes say? "I, Ecclesiastes, was king over Israel in Jerusalem." When was this? Was it not entirely when he was appointed by Him upon Zion, His holy mountain, proclaiming the commandment of the Lord? To whom the Lord said, "You are my Son, today I have begotten you." For He said that He had begotten "today" Him who is the creator of the universe, the Father of the ages, so that by adding the temporal name to the time of generation, the Word might indicate not the essence which was before the ages, but that generation in time which took place in the flesh for the salvation of men.

^A The true Ecclesiastes pursues these things, teaching, I suppose, the great mystery of godliness, for the sake of which God was manifested in the flesh. "For I have given," he says, "my heart to seek and to investigate in wisdom concerning all things that have been made under heaven." This is the reason for the Lord’s sojourn among men in the flesh: to give His heart to the investigation, in His own wisdom, of all things that have come to pass under heaven. For the things above the heavens had no need of one to investigate them, just as there is no need of a physician for that which does not suffer from disease. Since, however, evils are upon the earth—for that creeping and violent beast, the serpent, which moves by sliding upon its breast and belly, consumes the earth, feeding on nothing heavenly, but crawling upon that which is trodden underfoot—it always looks toward that which is trodden, watching the heel of human footsteps, and injecting poison into those who have lost the power to trample upon serpents. For this reason He gave His heart to seek and to investigate concerning all things that have been made under heaven. For in the things above the heavens, the Prophet sees the divine magnificence as untroubled, saying, "For His magnificence has been exalted above the heavens," since the heavenly part also was humbled through vice. For thus says the Psalmist, that they were humbled because of their sins. ^B To investigate this, the Ecclesiastes came: to see what has happened under heaven that was not so before, how vanity entered in, how that which has no existence prevailed, and what is the dominion of that which does not exist. For evil is unsubstantial, because it derives its substance from that which is not; but that which is not from that which is, does not exist at all according to its own nature—yet, nevertheless, vanity holds sway over those who have been made like unto vanity.

He came, therefore, to investigate with His own wisdom what has happened under the sun, what is the confusion of the things here, how that which is has been enslaved to that which is not, how that which has no substance prevails against the Existing One. "And he knows that God has given a grievous distraction to the sons of men, to be distracted therein." ^C But it is not pious to think, as one might readily suppose, that God Himself gave this evil distraction to men; for then the cause of evils would be referred back to Him. For He who is by nature good is also utterly the provider of good things; because every good tree brings forth good fruit, and neither are grapes gathered from thorns, nor does a thorn grow from a vine. Therefore, that which is good by nature could not bring forth anything evil from its own treasures. For neither does a good man speak evil from the abundance of his heart, but he speaks things appropriate to his own nature; how much more then would the Fountain of good things not pour forth anything evil from His own nature? But the more pious understanding suggests that one should interpret this to mean that the good is the gift of God. And this is that which is ^D

^A indicated by the word "gave"—not that He Himself implanted evil into human life, but that man, on account of his lack of counsel, used the good things given by God as instruments of evil. It is customary for Holy Scripture to express such concepts in such words; for instance, "God gave them up to passions of dishonor," and ^B "God gave them up to a reprobate mind," and "He hardened the heart of Pharaoh," and that which says, "Why did You make us stray from Your way, O Lord, and hardened our hearts so as not to fear You?" and "He made them wander in a pathless way, not in a road," and "You deceived me, and I was deceived," and whatever else is similar to these. In these, a precise understanding does not establish that anything from God was innate in human nature, but it accuses the power and the freedom, which is indeed good and a gift of God given to nature; but it turned into evil on account of the falling toward the opposite.

Therefore, the Ecclesiastes saw all things done in the life that is under the sun, that all was vanity. "For there was no one who understood, there was no one who sought after God," since "all turned aside, together they became useless." ^C For this reason, when he had said, "And behold, all is vanity," he subjoined the cause, namely that God is not the cause of these things, but the disposition of the human impulse, which he called "spirit." And he accuses this spirit, not that it was such from the beginning—for it would be outside the reach of accusation if it had been created as such—but that it was twisted and estranged from the order of the cosmos. For "that which is twisted," he says, "will not be able to be adorned," that is, it is not possible for what is twisted to be appropriate for a creation adorned by God. ^D For just as an artisan, who by design crafts something for himself, directs with a rule and a plumb line the parts that complete the manufacture of a vessel through the skillful arrangement toward one another—if any of these is not directed according to the plumb line, the straight harmony does not at all admit of the twisting, but it must be that that part too is brought to the plumb line and becomes straight, if it is to be fitted together with that which is straight—so also the Ecclesiastes says that the nature which has been twisted by vice cannot be innate in a creation adorned by the right reason. "And a defect," he says, "cannot be numbered." That "to defect" means "to be in need," the custom of Scripture teaches us, and this can be proved from many.

^A For Paul, who is remembered in every place and among all, knows both to be in need and to abound; and he who had squandered his paternal substance by living prodigally, when famine seized him, began to be in need; and Paul, when recounting things concerning the saints, among the other bodily afflictions which they had suffered, adds this also: "being in need and afflicted." Therefore, here too, when the word spoke of a "defect," it indicated by that term that which is lacking; but that which is lacking cannot be numbered among things that exist. For the disciples, as long as their company was whole, were twelve in number; but after the son of perdition was lost, the number became maimed, because that which was lacking was not numbered among those who remained; for after Judas, there were and were named eleven. "A defect," therefore, he says, "will not be able to be numbered." What is the significance of this saying? That once we, too, were included in the number of all; for we also were counted in the holy hundred of rational sheep. But after one sheep, that is, our nature, had strayed from the mountain pastures, having been dragged by vice to this dry and parched place, no longer is that same number mentioned as the flock of those that have not wandered, but ninety-nine are named; for what is empty exists outside the number of those that subsist, because a defect will not be able to be numbered. He therefore came to seek and save that which was lost, and ^B having taken it up upon His shoulders, to restore to those that are that which was being lost in the vanity of things that do not exist, so that the number of God's creation might again be whole, when that which had been lost was saved with those that do not perish.

Who, then, is the return of that which had wandered, and what is the mode of the reversal from evils to good, we are taught in what follows. For He who was tempted in all things according to the likeness [of our nature] without sin, discourses with us from out of our own, He who took upon Himself our infirmities, [and] through those very infirmities of nature, points out the path that is outside of vice. For now, understand that Wisdom is discoursing through Solomon himself according to the flesh; and is discoursing of those things through which we might be most effectively led to despise those things by the pursuit of which men are held. For his discourse is not similar to the discourse of the many, who do not have in their power what is pleasing and dear to them, so that he is on that account unworthy of belief, as one who denounces things of which he is not experienced. ^C For we do not learn all things by our own experience, but only by thoughts do we come to know those things of which poverty forbids us to enjoy the experience of their pleasure. And if we should advise anyone to hold as nothing those things that are held in honor by men, there is a ready objection for the one who hears this: that we despise those things for this reason, because they are not known to us by experience. But in the one who discourses these things to us, all such contradiction ceases. For it is Solomon who says these things; and this Solomon was the third among the kings of ^D

^A Israel, after that Saul, and David who was chosen by God. Having received the rule from his father, and having already grown into the greatness of the dynasty, he is proclaimed king to the Israelites; he who, no longer wearing down his subjects through war and battle, but dwelling in peace under absolute power, did not set his efforts into acquiring those things he did not have, but into enjoying those things that were already his, inasmuch as there was no obstacle to him in any of the things he desired. For his wealth extended along with his desires, and his leisure for enjoyment was unconstrained, with nothing unwanted interrupting his conduct in those things that were pleasant; and since he was wise, and clever enough by his intelligence to devise whatever was for his pleasure, he said that he had devised such-and-such of the things sought after for enjoyment, and having done everything which he listed subsequently in his discourse, he said that he had learned by experience itself that the end of those things in which such effort is placed is vanity. ^B He applied such an order to the narrative, that first, in the earliest times of his life, he gave leisure to education, and his zeal was not softened by such labors; rather, he used the choice of the spirit, that is, the impulse of nature, for the increase of knowledge, even if the object of his zeal was attained only with labor; and having thus grown through wisdom, he did not consider by reason—which is occupied with the perturbations of the soul and is devoid of reason and consists in corporeal things—that pleasure is the deception of men, but that he also ^C knew by experience itself the vanity of those things in which such effort is placed. And this is indeed the scope of those things that have been examined. It is time, furthermore, to set forth the contemplation, following the context of the written words word for word.

“I spoke in my heart, saying: Behold, I have been magnified.” Since I saw in myself that greatness which comes from power, and the splendor of the kingdom growing suddenly; but above all these, I valued the possession of wisdom, which can be acquired in no other way than by labors and sweats. Therefore, having said, “I spoke in my heart, saying: Behold, I have been magnified,” he subjoined, “And I added wisdom.” For the magnitude of power and dominion that had accrued to me automatically, I increased by the addition of wisdom; having said this to myself, ^D that it behooved me on this account to be shown superior to the kings who preceded me, and to have the advantage in wisdom. “For I added,” he says, “wisdom beyond all who were before me in Jerusalem, and I considered how these things might come to pass.” For who does not know that wisdom consists in those who willingly place labor and effort into the thought of those things which have been worked out by others before? “And therefore,” he says, “my heart saw many things, wisdom and knowledge,” inasmuch as the knowledge of these things cannot be acquired by chance. “But because,” he says, “I gave my heart to know wisdom and knowledge,” as if I would not have learned those things, had not labor and meditation preceded the knowledge of them. “But also parables,” he says,

and “knowledge I have known.” Just as the Lord, when teaching His hearers in the Gospel, brings the word concerning the kingdom before their eyes—or the pearl, or the treasure, or the wedding, or the grain, or the leaven, or ^A by recounting some one of these things, he does not say that these things are the kingdom; rather, by the comparison of those things signified in them, he shows parabolically to those who hear certain flashes and riddles of things that are beyond comprehension. “And for this purpose,” he says, “was the choice of my spirit, that there might be to me a multitude of wisdom, so that by becoming wise, I might not miss the knowledge of beings, nor be outside the finding of what is beneficial.” For knowledge consists of wisdom; and knowledge makes judgment easier for one who attends. Yet this does not naturally come to those who are diligent without labor, but he who has added knowledge to himself also inevitably adds labor to his learning. ^B Therefore he says, “He who adds knowledge, adds pain.” And having become such a one, he then condemns pleasure as vain.

For he says, “I said in my heart, Come now, I will test you in gladness, and behold, in good things. And this too is vanity.” For he did not immediately give himself to such a trial, nor did he fall into the participation of pleasant things without having tasted the more austere and dignified life; but having been exercised in those things, and having first exhibited himself in his character as one endowed with an unemotional and unyielding manner—by which especially the lessons of wisdom come to those who are diligent—he then descends to things thought pleasant to the senses, not being dragged toward them by passion, ^C but for the sake of examining whether the perception that has become involved in these things contributes at all to the knowledge of the truly good. For then, from the beginning, he declares enmity against laughter, and calls that passion a “whirling,” which in meaning is equal to distraction and madness. For if one were to call laughter by any other name properly, it is neither a word nor a deed accomplished for any purpose. But an indecorous relaxing of the face, and a convulsion of the spirit, and a quivering of the whole body, and a stretching of the cheeks, and an exposure of the teeth and gums, and contortions of the palate and neck, and a senseless breaking of the voice, which is interrupted together with the trembling of the spirit—what else, he says, ^D could this be but madness? Therefore he says, “To laughter I said, distraction,” as if he were saying to laughter, “You are insane and have gone out of your mind and do not remain within the bounds of a composed state, voluntarily acting indecorously, and perverting your form in that passion, working this perversion for no useful end.” “And I said to gladness: What is this you do?” which is equivalent to saying, “Towards pleasure I have held a contrary position, suspecting

and resisted it, holding its approach in suspicion, just as if some thief were secretly entering the inner chambers of the soul. I never permitted it to obtain mastery over the intellect. For if I merely perceived pleasure creeping toward my senses like some wild beast, I immediately resisted it and stood against it, saying to this servile and irrational joy: "What are you doing? Why do you effeminate the virtue of nature? Why do you soften the strength of the mind? Why do you unnerve the powers of the soul? Why do you bring ruin upon reason? Why do you cast the darkness of your own fog upon the purity of the serenity of my clear thoughts?"

Having done this, he says, and things of such a kind, ^B "I considered whether my heart would draw my flesh as wine." This means: how the concern for things that fall under the intellect might be more powerful than the impulses of the flesh, so that nature might not be at variance with itself, with the mind desiring one thing while the flesh drags it toward another; but rather that the intellect, endowed with the power of our soul, might render the spirit of our flesh obedient and subjugated, in that it is less attracted and consumed by that which abounds—just as it happens in the case of those who are thirsty. For wine does not remain in the cup if it is brought to a thirsty mouth, but is transferred to him who drinks, and it is clear that it is drawn inward with great force. When this had been done, the path to the knowledge of things that are was secured without error or any obstacle. "My heart," he says, ^C "has guided me in wisdom," through which I repressed the assaults of pleasures, and this instruction became the cause of my gaining mastery over joy. For this is how the sequence of the passage holds together.

Now that which was the object of his greatest zeal in his study was that life should not be occupied with any vain thing, but that he should find that good which, once a person has attained it, does not stray from the judgment of what is profitable—that which is perpetual and not temporary, and extends throughout the whole of life, so that it might be a hope for good for every age, the first, the middle, and the final age, and for the entire number of days. "Until," he says, "I see what is the good for the sons of men, which they shall do under the sun, for the number of the days of their life." For those things in which we place our zeal through the flesh, even if they entice the senses as much as possible for the present, have for only a moment that which cheers us. For there is nothing among things that happen in the body that can be enjoyed perpetually; ^D but the pleasure of drinking ends at the same time with satiety, and likewise in eating, fullness extinguishes the appetite; and if there is any other desire, it fades in the same way through the participation of that which was desired, and if it emerges again, it fades again. But nothing that is pleasant to the senses endures forever, nor does it remain in the same way. Added to these is the fact that one thing is good for infancy, another for youth, another for one who is of more advanced age, another for one who has passed the flower of his age, and again another for the old man who is already decrepit and truly a fossil. But I, he says, was seeking that good which is equally good for every age and every time of life; of which there is no hope of satiety, and no fullness is found; but it extends along with

participation, and desire increases along with enjoyment; and it is not circumscribed by the age of the one who desires. But by how much the more one delights in the good, by so much more does the desire extend along with the delights, and the delights are kindled along with the desire; and for the whole time of life it is always a good for those who pursue it, in no way changed by the instability of ages and times, a good which is the same for one who closes his eyes and for one who looks upon it, for one who is prospering and for one who is sorrowing, for one who passes the night and for one who passes the day, and, to speak once for all, for ^A all who are in this life. It is not rendered worse or better, nor is it diminished or increased by any of those things that befall one by circumstance. This is, at least according to my own account, that which is truly good, which Solomon was seeking to see—what men were doing under the sun according to all the number of the days of their life—which appears to me to be nothing else than the work of faith, whose operation is common to all, is equally proposed to those who desire it, is all-powerful, and is permanently enduring in life. This is the good work which may it also be brought about in us, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

HOMILY III

^A shame; and shame, on the contrary, as a relaxed reverence. ^B And the difference and communion of these passions is also shown by the color in the face. For reverence is indicated by a blush alone, the body sympathizing in a way with the soul according to a certain natural disposition, and the heat around the heart bubbling up to the surface of the countenance. But one who is ashamed at the revelation of his offense becomes livid and reddish, because fear has mixed bile with the blush. Such a passion, then, would be sufficient for those who have previously been caught in some absurdity, so that they may no longer engage in those things, the conviction of which they make for themselves through shame.

If these things are so, and if the Discourse has aimed at the passion as it ought, as a natural disposition born within us for the guarding against sins, it is right to consider it a proper lesson of the Church to act rightly through the confession and enunciation of one's misdeeds. For through this, one is permitted to arm one’s soul with the weapons of shame. For just as if someone, due to immoderate gluttony, has collected within himself certain humors difficult to digest, and then suffers from inflammation, once the body has been cured by surgery and cautery, he has the disease—or rather, the scar of the cautery seen on the body—as a kind of pedagogue for avoiding unbridled living in the future; so too, one who has branded himself through the enunciation of his hidden deeds holds the memory of the passion that shame moved in him as a pedagogue for his future life.

^C These, then, are the things which the Church is taught through the reading which has now taken place, of what is written in Ecclesiastes. For it says with a free voice, bringing that matter into public view, and placing it in the sight of all men like a certain inscribed pillar, setting forth the enunciation of the things done by him, which are of such a kind that it would be more glorious to be ignorant of them and to cover them in silence than to speak them. But whether he says this because he had truly done them, or whether he is feigning them for our benefit, so as to carry the discourse through to the goal in an orderly fashion, I cannot say with precision. But nevertheless, he says things which one who keeps his eye on virtue would not willingly embrace.

But whether he pursues and rebukes things that were not done as if they were done out of a certain purpose, so that being experienced in them himself, we might avoid the desire for what is rebuked before we make trial of them; or whether he voluntarily lowered himself to the enjoyment of such things, so that he might even exercise his senses through their opposites, let it be left to the judgment of whoever wishes, so that he may direct his conjecture to whatever he pleases. But if someone should say that he ^D truly made trial of these things that are pleasant, we suppose as follows. For just as those who dive into the depth of the sea, and investigate in the bottom of the water, if perchance they might find some pearl, or something else that is born in the deep—to whom the affliction of being under the water brings no pleasure, but the hope of gain causes them to immerse themselves in the deep—so if Solomon has been conversant in these things,

^A in every way, like one of those who hunt for purple in the sea, he plunged himself into luxury; not that he might be filled with the salt of the sea (and by salt I mean pleasure), but that he might search for what is useful to the mind in such a deep. And that which is found through such things would be useful, in my estimation, either to blunt the impulses of the body, by presenting it with what it desires at its own discretion (for nature always has more vehement impulses toward what is prohibited), or so that the teacher might become worthy of belief in these matters, so that the thing despised by one taught by experience to be vain might no longer be thought desirable by men. For ^B they say that physicians also best practice their art in that area where they have learned the nature of the infirmity through their own bodies; and they become safer advisors and healers of such things, because they had knowledge through having been healed first, as they were taught beforehand by their own suffering.

Let us see, therefore, what is it that he who heals our life says he has suffered in his own life. “I have,” he says, “magnified my work, I have built houses.” The discourse begins immediately with a reproach. For he does not say “God’s work,” which I am, but “I have magnified my own.” My work is nothing else than that which brings pleasure to the senses. Now this work is indeed one in a general sense, but ^C in a subtle and minute division, it is necessarily dispersed into many parts for the needs of luxury. For it is absolutely necessary that one who has once entered the depths of this matter should cast his eye in every direction, from whence it might be possible for pleasure to spring forth. For just as water is led from one source in many directions through pipes—and yet it is none the less water, that which is divided from the source, even if it happens to be flowing in a myriad of spouts—so pleasure, being one in nature, flows by moving in other and different ways through the differences of human pursuits, attaching itself to the needs of life.

For example, life makes a dwelling necessary for nature, for the human constitution ^D is naturally too weak to endure the inequalities of heat and cold. Up to this point, a house has utility for sustaining life; but pleasure compels man to pass beyond the bounds of necessity. For, just as if he were not seeking what is useful for the body, but providing delight and luxuries for his eyes, he is almost pained that he has not made the sky itself his roof, nor is he able to fashion the sun’s rays into the ceiling. Therefore, he extends the size of his buildings on all sides, building the compass of his houses as if it were some other earth for himself. He extends the walls to the greatest height; he varies the inner rooms with decorations, providing a mutual variety in the arrangement of the interior living spaces from one to another. Then the Laconian, the Thessalian, and the Carystian stone is spread out, and the metals of the Nile and Numidia are sought out by iron for facings; and furthermore, the Phrygian stone is taken up in these same pursuits, which, by casting the purple dye upon the whiteness of the marble where it happens to fall, becomes a luxury for eyes that are more insatiable, with a certain manifold...

^A distribution of color painted upon the white surface. How much zeal is expended upon these things! How many shapes! How many mechanical devices! Some use water and iron to saw the materials, while others persist day and night with human hands, laboring at the work of carving. Nor do even these things suffice for those who bestow their labor upon a vain world; but even the purity of glass is defiled with dyes, being stained in various ways, so that even from this some additional element might be gathered for the luxury of their aesthetic tastes. How could one describe the elaborate works of the ceilings, on which wood made from cedar is again transformed by the artifice of the craft, so that it is thought to be living trees, putting forth branches, leaves, and fruits in the carvings? I pass over the gold, which is beaten thin into airy membranes and gilded everywhere upon these things, so as to turn the gluttony of the eyes toward itself. And what need one say of the importation of ivory for the superfluous decoration of entrances, or the gold ^B applied to their carvings, or the silver fastened on with nails, and everything else of this kind? Or the floors of the houses glowing with the varied colors of the stones, so that even the feet of those who walk upon them luxuriate in the splendor of the stones? And what of the excessive, ambitious magnificence in the multitude of such houses, whose construction is not made necessary by the use of life, but by a desire that, progressing through things that are useless, finds in them an unseasonable persistence? For of the houses, some must be prepared for running, others for walking, some for entrance, others for a vestibule, and others are placed above the gates. For they do not think that gates and vestibules and the ample space within the gates are sufficient for display, unless something of this sort immediately confronts those entering, such as, upon seeing it, could at once strike the entrant with amazement. In addition to these, there are baths that provide utility along with magnificence, irrigating with a ^C flow of fountains as if with whole rivers, and in front of these are gymnasia, constructed with splendor and artful skill for decoration with various marbles, and on all sides around the dwellings are porticoes supported by Numidian, Thessalian, or Aeginetan columns; and the bronze in the statues, which is fashioned into a thousand forms, according to whatever the desire for curiosity pours the material into, as well as the images from the marbles and the inscriptions on the panels, through which they also commit adultery with their eyes—artifice laying bare through imitation things that cannot be seen, and whatever things of this kind exist to be seen, fashioned for astonishment and beauty. How could one treat in speech, item by item, those things in which such effort is expended, which is a reproach and an indictment of negligence regarding the things that come first? For the greater the magnificence in the structure of the buildings, in both quantity and the cost of materials, the more it convicts ^D the soul of being unadorned. For he who looks toward himself, and truly adorns his own dwelling so as to one day receive God to dwell within, has other materials from which beauty for such

a habitation is gathered. I know of gold that glitters in such works, which is mined from the meanings of the Scripture; I know of silver, the divine oracles purified by fire, whose splendor shines forth, beaming through the truth. If you understand the varied glows of stones—with which the walls of such a temple are adorned, and the flooring of the structure—as the varied dispositions of virtues, you will not miss the beauty that is fitting for the house. Let the floor be spread with self-control, through which the dust of the earthly intellect will not trouble the one dwelling within. Let the hope of heaven brighten the ceiling, toward which one looks with the eye of the soul, seeing not simulacra of beauty formed by chisel and carving, but the archetypal beauty itself, not embellished with any gold or silver, but which is far ^B more precious than gold and much-valued stone. If it is necessary to describe the ornament from the sides by means of words, let incorruptibility and impassibility inlay the house; thence let justice and the state of being free from anger decorate the dwelling. On another side, let humility and gentleness shine forth, and on yet another, piety toward God; and let the master craftsman, love, fitly join all these things together. And if you desire baths, if you wish, you have also an indoor bath and private fountains through which it is possible to wash away the stains of the soul, which the great David also used, delighting in such a bath at night. As for the columns supporting the porch of the soul, do not look for Phrygian ones or porphyry, but let stability and immobility in every good thing ^C be far more precious than these material ornaments. This dwelling does not admit any kind of images—whether in paintings or sculptures—which men craft through deception for the imitation of the truth, for it is filled with the statues of the truth itself. If you desire courses and promenades, you have the way of life found in the commandments. For thus Wisdom says, *I walk in the ways of justice, and I move in the midst of the paths of righteousness* [Prov. VIII, 20]. How beautiful it is for the soul to be active and exercised in these things, and, having traversed the place of the commandment with such movement, to return to the same—that is to say, having fulfilled the command for which he strives, again for a second and third time let the correction of character and honesty of life ^D be adorned. He who exercises his building in this way at the cost of beauty will care little for earthly matter; he will not expend effort in digging for metals, he will not cross the Indian seas to trade for the bones of elephants, nor will he hire the laborious curiosity of craftsmen whose art is merely applied to the material; rather, he possesses within the wealth that supplies the materials for such structures. For those among the sons who were more kindly disposed thought that which was unseemly to be worthy of pity; but to the foolish and unlearned, the spectacle of drunkenness became an occasion for laughter. The confession concerning the planting of vineyards includes a great catalog of sufferings. As for...

^A what and of what sort the affections are that are produced by wine, discourse embraces them all with its power. For who among all people is ignorant that wine, when it passes beyond use into intemperance, is a kindling for licentiousness, a source of pleasures, the ruin of youth, the disgrace of old age, the dishonor of women, a medicine for madness, a provision for brawling, a poison for the soul, the destruction of the mind, and an alienation from virtue? From it comes laughter without any occasion, grief without cause, spontaneous tears, boasting that cannot stand, impudence in lying, the desire for things that cannot exist, the hope for things that can by no means happen, overly swollen threats, groundless fear, failure to perceive things that are truly to be feared, rash suspicion, kindness that is by no means consistent with reason, and promises of things that cannot be done; to say nothing of other things: the unbecoming drowsiness, the loose surfeit weighing down the head, the shame arising from excessive repletion, the dissolution of the joints, and the twisting of the neck, which can no longer support itself upon the shoulders, because the moisture from the wine dissolves the ligament of the neck. What nefarious crime did the intercourse with his daughter commit? What harmed the mind of Lot in the things that were happening, so that he both committed the crime and was ignorant of what he had committed? What is it that invented the strange designation of those children, as if in a riddle? How did the mothers of the wicked fruit become the sisters of their own children? How did the children have the same person as both father and grandfather? What is it that confounded nature in a nefarious crime? Was it not wine, extending beyond its bounds, that brought in this tragedy which is hard to believe? Did not drunkenness attach to history such a fable, which in its excess even surpasses true myths? For they gave their own father, he says, wine to drink. And so, his mind having been unsettled ^B by wine, as if he were deranged by some magic, he left this tragic narrative to the world, since at the time the crime was committed, his senses had been stolen away by drunkenness. Oh, how evilly those women carried the wine with them from the provisions of the Sodomites! Oh, what an evil sign of friendship they poured into their father from an evil mixing bowl! How much better it would have been if that wine also had perished with everything in Sodom, before it could supply such a tragedy! And since such examples are like this, and so many evils arise daily in life from wine, he who shamelessly proclaims his own deeds through confession says that he had done this, not only using the wine that was there, but also providing that there should be an abundance of such a store. ^C “For I planted,” he says, “for myself vineyards,” of which I would have no need, being myself a fruitful vine—a spiritual vine, flourishing, adorned with leaves, and spreading out, interwoven and entwined with the branches of life and the tendrils of charity with those who are of my own kind; and adorned not with leaves, but with the comeliness of good habits, and nourishing a sweet and mature cluster of virtue. He who translates these things into his own discourse, so that there is not only the use of wine ^D

^A that gladdens the heart, and the cultivation of his own ground—as it is said in the Proverbs—just as the law of such husbandry requires, (as it were, inviting life itself into his calculations, rooting out the bastard shoots of the virtues, watering the soul with instructions, and cutting away with the pruning-knife of critical reason the impulse of thought that rushes toward things superfluous and vain), such a man is to be deemed blessed for his husbandry, as one who presses out his own vine in the cup of wisdom. But he who looks toward the earth and embraces earthly things knows not this mode of planting. For he adds to these things the exquisite and affected beauty of gardens and orchards. ^B What need is there of many gardens for him who looks toward the one Paradise? And what utility is there for me in a garden that produces only vegetables, which are the food of the infirm? If I were in Paradise, I would not be distracted by the desire for many gardens. If my soul were living in health, such that it could partake of more solid food, I would not be occupied with vegetables, procuring for myself from a garden the food that befits infirmity. But since pleasure has once entered in together with necessity, and desire has passed beyond its proper bounds, after the magnificence displayed in houses and the profligate and reckless expense on ceilings and paneling, then he practices even outdoor pleasures, and uses the nature of the air itself for the satisfying of the desire for luxury. For through husbandry he provides that there should be for him dense ^C and ever-leafy and budding trees, which serve as a roof for the air, so that even when he is out of doors, he leads a life of luxury as if within a house; and the surface of the earth is clothed with every kind of herb through the skill of gardeners, so that pleasant things from all sides strike the eye, wherever one may turn one's gaze, and one is always surrounded by delights; and at every time of year one sees those things that are beyond the season—grass in winter, and early flowers, and the vine climbing the trees, entwining its own branches with those of another; and the elegant embraces of ivy with the trees; and whatever species of fruits, from those that are of diverse kinds mixed together, force the nature ^D of things, signifying by both sight and taste that which is of each, so that they appear to be both, which come to be from the compounding of things of diverse nature. All these things, and whatever else art has discovered in plants by forcing nature—things which the necessity of life does not require, but which desire, which cannot be chastened or restrained, does require—these, he who confesses his own life says, have been brought about in the artful cultivation of gardens and paradises. For he who said, "I planted every fruit-bearing tree," indicates by this comprehensive statement that nothing of such things had been omitted. Then, after the outdoor and indoor pleasures, not even water is left out as useless for contributing to pleasures, as it is necessary to luxuriate in all the elements: in the earth through its proper fruits, in the air through the trees, and in the water through the man-made sea. For even the sight of the water is to sweeten the deception of the eyes,

the lake becoming the floor, walled round about by water; so that not only might the swimming bring pleasure to those who are refreshing their bodies, but the water flowing away might make the plantations flourishing everywhere, being diverted for the needs of the things being irrigated. "For I made for myself," he says, "pools of water, to water therefrom the forest producing wood." But to me there was the fountain of Paradise: that is to say, the teaching of the virtues, by which the dryness of the soul was dewed, despising the earthly waters whose enjoyment is temporary, and whose nature is fleeting and passing. Nothing, therefore, would be better than to derive for ourselves a brief ^A flow from the divine fountain, through which the virtues of the soul arise and are irrigated, so that the grove of good practices may flourish in our souls, through our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power unto the ages of ages. Amen.

HOMILY IV

The place of confession still holds our discourse. For he who narrates his own affairs pursues almost everything through which the vanity of the things of this life is recognized. But now, as if touching upon a greater kind of censure of the things he himself has done, he accuses the vice of pride. For what in those things which are enumerated contributes so much to arrogance, namely, the costly house, and the multitude of vineyards, and the beauty of the gardens and the waters, and the construction of the pools, and the extent of the plantations, as much as that one who is a man imagines himself to be the master of those who are of the same kind as himself? "For I possessed," he says, "servants and handmaids, and house-born slaves became mine." ^B You see the swelling of arrogance. This voice openly rises up against God. For we have heard from prophecy that all things are subject to the power which is above all things. But he who makes what is possessed by God his own domain, and attributes to his own kind the power to imagine himself master of men and women—what else is this but to exceed nature through pride, viewing himself as something other than those who are subject? "I possessed servants and handmaids." You condemn man to servitude, whose nature is free and its own master, and you pass a law against God, overturning His natural law. For him who was made for this purpose, that he might be lord of the earth, and whom the Creator appointed to rule, him you subject to the yoke of servitude, as if resisting and fighting against the divine command. Have you forgotten what the limits of your power are? ^C Namely, that your authority is defined only thus far, that you might rule over the brute animals? For "let them have dominion," He says, "over the birds and the fish and the four-footed animals." How, having passed over the service which is subject to your hand, do you exalt yourself against free nature itself, counting those of the same kind among the four-footed animals or even those without feet? "You have subjected all things under man," the Word cries out through the prophecy, and it brings under number those things subject to reason—"cattle and oxen and sheep." ^D

^A Have humans been born to you from the herds? Have the oxen begotten human offspring for you? For the servitude of humans is one thing, and the irrational animals are another. For He makes grass grow for the beasts, and green herbs for the servitude of humans. But you, having divided nature into servitude and lordship, have made it both to serve itself and to lord over itself. "I acquired male and female servants." By what price, tell me, I pray, did you buy them? What have you found among existing things that is equivalent in value to this nature? For how many coins have you appraised reason? By how many obols have you counterbalanced the image of God? For how many staters have you sold off the nature fashioned by God? God said, "Let us make man according to our image and likeness." Tell me, who is the one selling, who is the one buying, him who exists according to the likeness of God, who rules over all the earth, and who has been granted by God the authority over all things that are upon the earth? It belongs to God alone to be able to do this—or rather, I would almost say, not even to God Himself, for "His gifts," he says, "are without repentance." ^B Therefore, God would not reduce to slavery a nature which He even recalled into freedom when we had freely made ourselves slaves to sin. If, then, God does not enslave a free being, who is he who prefers his own authority to that of God? And how shall he who rules over all the earth and all things upon the earth be sold? For it is absolutely necessary that the possessions of the one being sold be sold along with him. At what price shall we value the things beneath the whole earth? But if these are beyond price, of what value is he who is above these things, tell me? Even if you say the whole world, not even so have you found a price according to its worth. For he who knows human nature accurately has not even called the whole world a sufficient price to be given in exchange for the soul of man. ^C When man, therefore, is for sale, nothing else is led to the marketplace than the lord of the earth. Therefore, along with him, the existing creation must necessarily be proclaimed for sale as well. And this is earth and sea and islands, and all that is in them. What, then, will the buyer pay? What will the seller receive, such a great possession following the transaction? But a small scroll and a written contract and a counting of obols have deceived you into thinking you are the master of the image of God. O what folly! But if the contract were to perish, if the letters were eaten away by moths, or if a drop of water falling somewhere from above were to wipe them away, where would your proofs of lordship be? Where would your instruments of mastery be? ^D For I see nothing added to your possession from the one under your hand, beyond the name itself. For what has your authority added to his nature? Neither time, nor precedence. Your birth is from the same, your life is lived in the same fashion, and the affections of soul and body prevail equally in you who are the master and in him who is subjected to your lordship—sorrows and cheerfulness, delights and distresses, griefs and pleasures,

^A rage and fear, sickness and death. Is there in these any difference between servant and master? Do they not both draw the same air through their breath? Do they not gaze upon the sun in the same way? Do they not preserve their nature by the same addition of nourishment? Is the construction of their viscera not the same? Are not both one dust after death? Is there not one judgment? Is the kingdom not common, and the Gehenna common? You who are equal in all things, in what, I pray, have you been superior, that, being a man, you consider yourself the master of a man? "And I possessed," he says, "slaves and slave-girls," as if they were some herds of goats or pigs. For when he had said, "I possessed slaves and slave-girls," he added the prosperity which had previously been his in cattle and sheep. "And much," he says, "was my possession of oxen and sheep," inasmuch as these and those were subject to him in the same order of power.

Then, after these things, his declaration proceeds to greater sins, and he proclaims that there is in him the root of all evils, namely, avarice. For thus he speaks in the context of his discourse: "I gathered for myself both silver and gold." For what harm did the gold do when it was mixed with the earth and poured out in those places in which it had been placed by the Creator from the beginning? What additional utility did the Maker of all things cause it to afford you beyond the fruits of the earth? Did He grant you only the fruits of trees and seeds for nourishment? Why do you overstep the boundaries of the given power? Either show that these things also were granted to you by the Creator so that you might mine and dig them up and melt the underlying material with fire and gather what you did not scatter; or—if anyone might consider these things perhaps as having no affinity with crime—is it right for you to gather money from the metals of the earth in this way? But since the mention of the resources of kings and regions is added to the speech, the mind of one gathering cannot be immune from blame. For as it is permitted for royal power to gather a quantity of money from regions—namely, to impose taxes, to exact tithes, to collect money, to constrain those who are subject to its rule—so he says that he has gathered gold and silver. But whether in this way or otherwise he says he has gathered them, I would gladly know what benefit will return to him who gathers this material. Let us imagine that it does not come to those who are greedy for money by the mina or drachma or talent, but that all things suddenly become gold for them; let us suppose the earth, the sand, the mountains, the fields, the woodlands—let us suppose all things have suddenly been changed into this material—what will be added to the blessedness of life by these things? If he sees in the universe that which he now sees in a small part, what will come of that great abundance for the goods of the soul, or for those things for which we are led to have zeal on account of the body? Is there any hope from this that he who lives having such a great force of gold will become wise, sharp-witted, contemplative, learned, dear to God, temperate, pure, impassible, and exempt and in no way capable of anything that draws toward vice? Or is this indeed not so, but perhaps the body might be able, while extending life into many hundreds of years, to be free of old age, free of disease, free of harm, and to have all those things which men more dearly hold in life by study and desire? But no one is so foolish, nor ^D

^A so ignorant of our common nature, as to think that these things would accrue to men if an abundant store of money were freely poured out to all. For even now one may see many of those who possess such wealth beyond others living in a wretched state of body, for whom, if there were not those at hand to care for them, they could not live without their help. If, therefore, the wealth of gold that we proposed in our hypothesis adds no profit or advantage either to body or soul, it is even more clearly proven that a small amount of it is useless to those who possess it. For what can come from this material to him who has it, since it is neither effective in taste, nor smell, nor hearing, and in regard to touch it relates in the same way to everything that resists it? For let no one attribute to gold the food or clothing obtained through exchange. For one who has exchanged bread or a garment for gold to save his life has traded the useful for the useless, and he lives, having made food his sustenance, not gold. But he who gathers this material for himself through such exchanges—to what end does he use these riches, what counsel is gained from them, what instruction in practical matters, what prediction of the future? Who has had a consolation for the pains of the body through it? He counted it, stowed it away, marked it with a seal, refused it when asked, and when he was not believed, even perjured himself. This is the blessed state, this is the end of the effort, this the enjoyment, this the happiness—to gather material for the sake of perjury.

But, he says, the appearance of gold is of a beautiful color. Is it more beautiful than fire? Is it more fair than the stars? Is it more radiant than the rays of the sun? Who prevents you from enjoying these, so that you find it necessary to provide pleasure for your eyes through the color of gold? ^B But, he says, fire is extinguished, and the sun sets, and the grace of its brilliance does not last. But tell me, I pray you, in the time of darkness how does gold differ from lead? But, he says, one cannot make necklaces, girdles, torques, crowns, and such like from fire or stars; but gold produces these things, and whatever else is prepared for ornamentation. ^C He has brought the defense of material things to the very height of vanity. For I would say this very thing to them: What is the meaning and the purpose of him who takes care to make his hair shine with gold, or who hangs ornaments from his ears, or who surrounds his neck with luxurious collars, or who shows himself off wearing gold on some other part of his body? Wherever it is placed on the body, the person himself is not in the least transformed by the splendor of the gold. For he who looks at the one wearing gold sees the gold indeed—just as if it were displayed for sale—but he sees the wearer just as his nature is. Even if the gold is beautifully wrought and engraved, and even if it contains within itself green gems or those ^D glowing like fire, nature has received no more sense of the things that are added; but whether the sight is laboring under some disease, or something is lacking that is according to nature, as if perhaps the eye had flowed out, or the cheek had been...

^A uglily hollowed out by a scar, the ugliness remains in what is visible, hidden by no sheen of gold; and should he happen to be suffering pain in his body, the material of gold brings no consolation to the sufferer.

What is it, then, that brings anything useful to those who are diligent for it, when it provides neither beauty, nor good bodily condition, nor any relief for pains? And what is the disposition of those who have their hearts melted away for this material, when they happen to be in the awareness of such a possession, and exalt themselves as having something more? If someone were to ask them if they would consent to have their nature exchanged for that to which, in such a great disposition on their part, they have given honor, and to become that which they so greatly desire, so that their nature might pass from being human into gold, and they would no longer be shown as rational and intellectual beings, endowed with senses for life, but pale, heavy, and voiceless, inanimate and insensate—as is the nature of gold—I do not think they would choose these things, not even those who are wasted away with a vehement desire for gold.

If, then, it is already a curse in the minds of those who think rightly, to become possessed of the properties of inanimate matter, what sort of senseless madness is it to acquire these things, the end of which is vanity, to the point that those who are crazed by money dare to commit murders and practice robbery for their sake? And not that alone, but also the wicked invention of usury, which if someone were to call it another form of robbery and murder, he would not be far from the truth. For what difference does it make whether one should have another's goods secretly by breaking through walls after the manner of a robber, and by the murder of a passerby make oneself the master of what he had, or by the necessity of usury acquire what does not belong to you? ^B O wretched name! Usury becomes a name for robbery. O bitter marriages! O wicked union, which nature has not known, but the disease of the avaricious has devised among inanimate things! O heavy and tiresome concepts, from which a fetus of this kind (namely, usury) is born!

Only in those things which exist is animate life distinguished by the difference of masculine and feminine sex. To these, God the Creator said, “Increase and multiply,” 68 so that through generation from one another, that which is living might be increased and multiplied. But the fetus of gold, namely usury, consists of what marriage? From what conception is it brought to fulfillment? But I have learned the labor of such a birth from the Prophet: “Behold, he has travailed with injustice, he has conceived labor, and brought forth iniquity.” 69 This is that very offspring which avarice has travailed with, iniquity brings forth, and inhumanity acts as midwife. For he who always hides his wealth, and affirms with an oath that he has nothing, when he sees someone constrained by necessity, then his purse is seen to be pregnant; then he brings forth the wicked fetus with the desire for gain, and shows the hope of a loan to the wretched man, casting the material of the loan upon the misfortune, just as one who extinguishes a flame with oil. For he has not cured the loss with the loan, but has extended it; and just as in droughts the fields grow thorns of their own accord, so also in the calamities of those who are oppressed, the usuries of the greedy grow wild. ^C

^B Then he extends his hand with money, just as a reed extends the hook within the bait. The wretched man, gaping after the present supply, even if he had anything hidden away in store, disgorges it along with the attraction of the hook. Such are the benefits of usury. If anyone forcibly takes away someone’s traveling money, or steals it by stealth, he is called a violent man and a thief and such like; but the one who makes his injustice and bitterness a matter of record, and who strengthens his lawlessness with contracts, is called a philanthropist, a benefactor, a savior, and is addressed by all the honorable titles. And while gain made by theft is called larceny, the one who strips a Christian naked through such necessity glosses over his bitterness with the name of philanthropy; for this is how they name the losses of the wretched. "I gathered for myself," he says, "also silver and also gold." ^C But for this reason, the wise man, instructing life, numbered these things also in the list of those things to be confessed, so that men, having learned from one who knew by experience that this is one of those things condemned as absurd and foreign, might guard against the onset of evil before experiencing it, just as those who have safely traversed places infested by robbers and wild beasts can do so because others who preceded them have encountered the danger in them. Well does the divine Apostle, well, I say, define the vice of avarice, declaring it to be the root of all evils. ^D For just as when a corrupt and putrid humor flows into some part, and an inflammation arises in the spot, it is absolutely necessary for that fluid which has caused the swelling to break out into some abscess and corruption when the operation has reached the surface; so for those to whom the disease of avarice has flowed, the vice inclines in large part toward intemperance. Therefore, he adds to the abundance of gold and silver the indecency which by consequence follows the disease that has taken hold first. "For I made," he says, "singers and singing women," the luxuries of banquets, cupbearers and female cupbearers. The mention of the names was sufficient to brand the vice which the disease regarding money had paved the way for. O the strange nature of this artifice! How it suddenly lets loose a stream of pleasures, like some torrents flooding souls through both hearing and sight, so that the evil may be both seen and heard! The song corrupts the hearing, the sight overcomes the eye. Thence the feminine tone, through the lax harmony of the songs, introduces the passion into the heart. Through this, the sight, as if it were a military engine toward the eyes, falling upon the soul that had been broken beforehand by the songs, corrupts it. And wine becomes the general of this battle array, like some wicked archer shooting down the man with double arrows, aiming the darts at both the hearing and the sight; for the song becomes an arrow for the hearing, and that which is seen for the sight. For the name of the cupbearers is not an idle one, but the designation always comes from the work. When

wine is poured out for the guests in abundance and lavishly, and youth, adorned for beauty, performs this ministry—whether boys effeminated by their finery, or the female sex itself moving about in the banquet, and by gentle invitations stirring up an unseemly flame—what result is it natural to expect from such pursuits? For he who considers the scope of each of the things that happen, passing by the use of the things out of mere curiosity—as to how one might decorate those who are performing music, or with what apparel one will adorn the cupbearers—such things should rather be kept silent, and one should not proceed further in speech by describing them, lest, by this rebuke, memory should reopen the wounds in those who are a little more prone to such passions. On account of these things there is gold, and for these there is silver, so that he may prepare such baits of luxury.

^B For this reason, the passion that arises from pleasure is called a serpent by Scripture, whose nature is such that, if its head should slip into the joints of a wall, its whole body behind it enters in as well. This is what I mean: Nature makes a dwelling necessary for human beings, but through this use, pleasure, slipping into the joints of the soul, turns the use into a certain immoderate and luxurious magnificence of ornaments, and transfers the pursuit to certain vineyards, pools, gardens, and the decorations of gardens. Pleasure creeps in like a serpent, but afterward it rises up into pride, and coils itself in arrogance and haughtiness, subjecting to itself authority over those of its own kind. After these things, it drags behind it a trail of love of money, which is necessarily followed by intemperance, which is the final and tail-like part of the beastliness that comes from pleasure. But just as it is impossible for a serpent to be pulled from the extremity of its spine—that is, from its tail—since its scales naturally resist those who pull it the opposite way, so it is not possible to begin from the last things to banish the creeping thing of pleasure from the soul, unless one closes off the first entry to the evil.

Wherefore the teacher of virtue commands us to watch its head, calling the beginning of vice its head; for if this is not admitted, what remains is void and ineffective. For he who is altogether hostile and antagonistic in mind toward pleasure will not be subjected to the individual assaults of vice; but he who has admitted the beginning of vice has admitted the whole beast into himself at once. Therefore, when he who was exposing such vices in public had followed out everything, he brings the discourse to a summary. For having said from the beginning, "I have magnified my work," he now adds the detailed exposition of what had happened: "I was magnified," he says, showing that the knowledge of the contrary things did not come to him through some small matters, but in such a way that his experience proceeded to the highest magnitude, so that no memory of similar things in those who were before him is equal to it. For he says, "I was magnified," and added, "Beside"

all who were before me in Jerusalem," and he now reveals the reason why, having been previously instructed in all wisdom, he approached the trial of such things, and what was his design and scope. "For my wisdom," he says, "stood by me." By what is said, he signifies that through wisdom I have investigated every pleasurable concept, and my mind is situated at the summit of those things found within them. And my sight cooperated with my desire, and my faculty of choice was filled with whatever was desirable through the pleasure of the sights; so that nothing was left out of those things devised for enjoyment, but the participation in those things according to pleasure became my portion of possession; which seems to me to signify nothing else than that I contained within myself every pleasurable concept, as if harvesting happiness from created things like some kind of property.

^B "I did not withhold my heart from any joy, and my heart rejoiced in all my labor, and this was my portion of all my labor"—calling the possession a portion. Since, therefore, he has reviewed the delights that are in part, running through them from beginning to end, and embracing all things in his discourse—by which pleasures are stirred up in those who enjoy them: the beauty of buildings, vineyards, gardens, pools, orchards, authority over those of the same race, the abundance of riches, the preparation for merriment in banquets—everything, as he names it, the delights in which his wisdom was occupied, investigating such things and bringing them to conception, of which he says he has partaken through every sense, both with the eyes finding things that make for pleasure, and the soul possessing everything according to desire without hindrance—then he interprets the first phrase which he had made at the beginning of the discourse, declaring all things to be vanity. For he says that, looking to these things, he pronounced regarding human life that all things are vanity, both those which the sense sees and those which are pursued by men for joy.

^C "I looked," he says, "on all my works that my hands wrought, and on all my labor in which I labored to do, and behold, all is vanity and choice of spirit, and there is no profit under the sun." For the power and energy of all the senses has as its limit the life under the sun; but the sensitive nature cannot pass beyond, nor comprehend in thought the goods that are above. Having, therefore, contemplated all these things and things of this kind, he instructs ^D the life, that one should not be wonder-struck at anything that is here—wealth, ambition, authority over subjects, merriments and luxuries and banquets, and if anything else is thought to be precious—but rather to see that the one end of all these things is vanity, of which no remainder is found hereafter. For just as those who write upon water accomplish the writing with their hand, tracing the types of the characters in the liquid; but of the characters nothing

remains in shape, but the act of writing exists only while one is writing; for the surface of the water ^A always follows the hand, smoothing over what has been inscribed. Thus, all enjoyment-seeking zeal and activity appears in the things that are being done. For when the activity has ceased, the perception of pleasure is also erased, and nothing is stored up for the future, nor does any trace of joy or remainder of the activity that had come from pleasure remain for those who were enjoying it. This is what the passage means when it says that there is no surplus under the sun for those who labor in such things, the end of which is vanity. May we also be outside of these, by the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

HOMILY V

^BNow the great leader of the Church leads us mystically to higher disciplines. For when he had purified our souls with what was said before, and had withdrawn them from every desire that exists in men due to vanity, only then does he lead the mind to truth, having shaken off from the shoulders the burden of sorrow for vain things as if it were a weight. Thus, let the Church be instructed as if in a dogma, having learned through the present teaching that the beginning of a life lived according to virtue is to be outside of vice. For the great David, making a certain introduction in the Psalms to a pure manner of life, does not begin from the perfection of those things that are considered in blessedness. For he did not first say that the one who succeeds in all things is blessed—the one who is likened to a tree planted by the streams of water, who remains ever-flourishing in good things, who gathers the fruits of life at the ^C convenient times—but he established the beginning of blessedness to be the desisting from evil, inasmuch as it is not possible for it to be good before one has washed away the filth of vice. Thus, therefore, this great Ecclesiastes also first removes with his word the vain things, so that, as when a disease has been purged with due care in a body that is suffering, the good of health comes of its own accord. For this reason, he pursued vanity with his discourse, saying that the sense (perception) is not a safe judge of the good and honest, and he subjected to the eyes that those things in which we are held by zeal cannot stand. He separated our affection of desire from the pleasure of the body, and thus shows that which is truly to be chosen, which is truly to be sought after and desired: ^D whose study is an active and substantial thing, remaining forever with those who follow it, separated from every thought of vanity.

CAP. II, v. 12. — "I turned," he says, "to see wisdom." But in order that I might accurately see that which is desired, I first beheld also madness and folly. For from comparison with that which is contrary, the contemplation of those things in which we are engaged becomes more accurate. He even calls wisdom "counsel," saying, "Who is the man who shall come after the

^A counsel, concerning all those things which he has done?" He teaches, therefore, what human wisdom is: namely, to follow that which is truly wisdom, which he also calls counsel, as it is the efficient cause of those things which truly are and exist, and are not contemplated in vanity. This is the sum of human wisdom. But true wisdom and counsel, in my opinion, is nothing other than the wisdom which provides for the universe. It is that in which God made all things, as the Prophet says, "You have made all things in wisdom." But Christ is the power of God and the wisdom of God, in which all things were made and ordered. If, therefore, this is human wisdom, to be engaged in the contemplation of the true works of the wisdom and counsel that truly are; and the work of that counsel, or wisdom—in my opinion—is incorruption, and the blessedness of the soul, and fortitude, and justice, and prudence, and every name and notion of the mind whatsoever that is understood by virtue, then we are perhaps consequentially led to the knowledge of the good. For, he says, "After I saw these things, I discerned, as if on a scale, that which is from that which is not," in order to find the difference between wisdom and folly, the kind that might be found if light were brought and set against darkness. And it seems to me that he has appropriately used the illustration according to the light to signify the use of that which is good and honorable. For since darkness by its own nature does not consist—for if there were nothing to obstruct the solar rays, there would be no darkness—but light is in itself, understood in its own essence, he shows by the illustration that vice does not subsist in itself, ^B but subsists by the privation of the good. But the good always has itself in like manner, and is firm and stable, and does not consist from any preceding privation. And that which is understood from what is contrary to the good is not by essence; for that which is not in itself, is nothing at all. For vice is a privation of that which is, and not a substance. Therefore, the difference of light toward darkness is equal to that of wisdom toward folly. For in part, one includes all good under the name of wisdom, and with folly one interprets and explains the entire nature of evil. But what gain is it to us to admire the good, unless a way to its acquisition is also pointed out by the teacher? How, then, is it possible for us also to come into the participation of the good? Let us hear the teacher.

"The eyes of the wise," he says, "are in his head."

^A And just as we call the sole of the foot the heel, so too it would be the base of the soul, by which it touches the coalescence of the body, whence it sends the power of sensation and action into the subject body. When, therefore, the discerning and contemplative power of the soul is occupied with sensible things, her nature shifts to her heels, through which she looks at inferior things, remaining entirely devoid of the contemplation of sublime sights. But if, having recognized the vanity of the underlying things, she should raise her eyes to her own head, which is Christ, as Paul interprets, she would be considered blessed for the sharpness of her eyes, having her eyes there, where there is no darkness of evil. Great Paul, and whoever else are great like him, had their eyes in their head, as do all who live and move and have their being in Christ. For as it is impossible for one who is in the light to see darkness, so it is impossible for one who has his eye in Christ to fix it upon anything vain. ^B He, therefore, who has his eyes in the head—and we have understood the head to be the source of all—has his eyes in every virtue (for Christ is the perfect virtue), in truth, in justice, in incorruptibility, in every good. "The eyes of the wise man are in his head; but the fool walks in darkness." For he who does not place his lamp upon a lampstand, but places it under the base of the bed, makes darkness for himself out of the light, having become the creator of what does not exist. But what does not exist is vain. Therefore, darkness has the same significance as what is vain. Thus, the soul of the fool, which loves the body and is carnal, while it is looking at these things, sees nothing; for the sharpness of vision concerning these things is truly darkness. You see these sharp, ^C clever, and versatile men in this life, whom we call lawyers, how easily they achieve the impunity to commit injury—by witnesses, by advocates, by petitions, by deference to judges—so as both to do evil and to extract payment? Who does not marvel at the acuteness and versatility of such men? Yet these are blind, if they are compared with that eye which looks at the things that are above, which is in the head of those things that truly are; they are clearly blind, those who adorn their own heel, which is torn by the teeth of the serpent. For because they look at the things that are below, they impress upon themselves the dogmas of sin. "For he who loves iniquity hates his own soul" (Ps. x, 6), and what is considered blessed among men in their case is more miserable than any adversity. How many, on the other hand, are filled with the struggles that are on high, and are occupied with the contemplation ^D of the things that truly are, yet are thought to be blind and useless in material affairs, just as Paul glories in being, saying that he is a fool for Christ’s sake. For his understanding and wisdom were not occupied with any of the things that are eagerly sought here. Therefore he says, "We are fools for Christ's

sake," ^A as if he were to say: We are blind to the life below, because we look to the things above and have our eyes in our head. For this reason he was without shelter, without a table, a beggar, a wanderer, naked, exhausted by hunger and thirst. But consider what he was like concerning the things above, even though he was such as this regarding things below. For having been caught up even unto the third heaven, where his head was, there he had his eyes, rejoicing in the ineffable mysteries of paradise, and beholding the invisible, and taking delight in those things which are beyond sensation and thought. And who would not have thought him miserable, seeing him in chains, and tormented with stripes, and cast into the deep in a shipwreck, and carried about through the seas in his bonds? Yet nonetheless, if such were his circumstances among men, he was not turned away from having his eyes always in his head, saying: "Who shall separate us from the love of Christ which is in Christ Jesus? Shall tribulation, or distress, or persecution, or famine, or nakedness, or peril, or sword?" ^B This is equivalent to saying: Who will gouge my eyes out of my head and transfer them to that which is trampled upon and earthly? He commands us also to do the same thing, while he instructs us to "set your mind on the things that are above," which is the same as saying, to have one's eyes in one's head.

But if we have learned how the eyes of the wise man are in his head, let us flee from folly, which becomes darkness to those who walk in this life. "For the fool," he says, "walks in darkness." And the fool is, as the prophecy says, he who says in his heart that there is no God, who has become corrupt and abominable in his practices. The flow of the passage, through what is said next, heals those who are faint-hearted regarding this life; to whom even the death is considered something grievous, and for this reason they believe that no profit accrues to those who pursue a higher life by virtue, because life ends for both in the same goal; and it is not possible to escape death, unless one has completed a better life. ^C Therefore, making such objections as it were from his own person, he again attacks the absurdity of those who adduce these points, as they do not at all consider the nature of existing things, and he teaches the difference, in what way virtue has an advantage over vice: namely, that a certain equality is not to be expected in them through the commonality of death, but the difference is found through the good or evil things that await hereafter. The text of the objection is as follows: "I knew that one event shall happen to them all. And I said in my heart, that the event of the fool will also happen to me. And why did I labor for more wisdom? I spoke in my heart, for the fool speaks out of an abundance, that this too is vanity. That there is no memory of the wise with the fool forever; because already the days ^D

coming have been forgotten; and how shall the wise die with the fool? ^A To this he adds that it is fitting to consider as worthy of hatred all things in which he was previously passionately involved, embracing as a good what was actually vain. And he says he has hated all things that he accomplished by looking to this life, because he labored at all things not for himself, but for him who would come after him, whose use of what had been labored for he could not foresee, on account of the uncertainty of the future. He speaks word for word as follows: “And I hated life, because the work that is done under the sun is grievous to me, for all is vanity and a striving of spirit. And I hated all my labor in which I toiled under the sun, because I must leave it to the man who will come after me. And who knows whether he will be a wise man or a fool, and whether he will have authority over all my labor in which I toiled and showed myself wise under the sun? This also is vanity.” ^B Having said these things, he says that he was also aggrieved in his soul about this, namely, that he considered the lot to be one and the same for him who has lived according to virtue and for him who has applied no effort to this. For he says that for the former, the labor is in wisdom, knowledge, and courage; but for the other, it is in anger and in the sorrows that accrue on account of the effort placed in this life. To put these on an equal footing, therefore, he says is a sign not only of vanity but also of wickedness. The context has it as follows: “And I turned to make known to my heart in all my labor in which I labored under the sun. 21. There is a man whose labor is in wisdom, and in knowledge, and in greatness of soul, and he will give his portion to a man who has not labored in it. This also is vanity, and a great wickedness.” 22. “For what happens to man in all his labor, and in the purpose of his heart, with which he labors under the sun? 23. All his days are sorrows, and his irritation is an affliction, and even by night his heart does not sleep. This also is vanity.” ^C He again proposes to himself another objection of those who judge the life of pleasure to be more excellent than the more sublime life, and he overturns what is objected, following both through in his own person, namely, both the solution and the objection. For the objection that was made is that one ought to deem nothing else good than that which one takes into oneself. And this is food and drink. The answer to this objection is met in this way: that these are not the things by which a man is truly nourished and gladdened, but rather wisdom and knowledge. So that it is indeed good to place one’s effort in these; but the effort and diligence undertaken through the flesh is an affliction of the soul and vanity. ^D The words of the sublime teaching have it in this way: “There is no good for a man such that he shall eat and drink, and show his soul good in his labor. 25. And this also I have seen, that it is from the hand of God, what anyone eats and drinks apart from Him; 26. for to the man who is good in his sight He has given wisdom and knowledge and gladness, and to the sinner He has given the anxious care of adding and gathering,

that He may give it to him who is good before God; for this also is vanity and the impulse of the spirit. ^A Now, the meaning of what is written next, and the preliminary view according to the sequence, is what we have set forth briefly just now. It is time, however, to take up the text again and to adapt the thoughts to the words with precision. *And I knew myself also, that one event will happen to them all; and I said to myself, as the event of the fool, so will it happen to me; and why was I so wise?* This is the objection which he poses to himself, saying: If there is for both of them this one event of death, and virtue does not exempt the one who has become wise from the communion of death, my labor in the pursuit of wisdom has been in vain. ^B What then is the reply of the Word to the things said? *I said, he says, this in my heart, that the fool speaks out of abundance; and that this also is vanity: there is no remembrance of the wise with the fool forever.* He condemns the objection, as having been brought forward superfluously and illogically, and calls "insensate" the argument which is not from secret places, nor brought forth from the inner storehouses of wisdom, but is like so much excrement of the mind, being spat out like foam. *For the fool speaks out of abundance.* To use the Word in this way is vain, and contributes nothing further, when the aim of the Word in this book has no other purpose than to persuade one not to look at the things that appear. For the one who contradicts, contends from the things that are seen; for death is of the things that are seen. ^C What does he mean by saying this? That the judgment of the virtuous and the wicked life does not consist in this, as if it were fitting that the wicked alone should die in body, but that the good should remain untried by bodily death, because he does not know wherein is the immortality of virtue, and what the death of those who live in vice is. The memory of the wise, he says, lives always, and extends throughout all time; but for the fool, even his memorial has been extinguished. For concerning such men the Prophet also says, that *their memorial has perished, clearly and manifestly.* For the addition of the "sound" indicates this. There is not, then, he says, a remembrance of the wise with the fool forever; but the life of the wise endures eternally through memory, while oblivion succeeds the fool. For in the coming days, all things of the fool pass into oblivion; ^D thus, always speaking with the word, that because the days are already coming, all things have been forgotten. If, then, the wise man seeks wisdom, and the fool is vanished by the death of oblivion, how, he says, do you say that the wise man will die with the fool? For this reason, he is grieved and ashamed of the things in this life on which his effort was spent, and says he hates everything on which he had spent effort for this life, suffering something similar to what one might suffer if, having been stuffed with honey-sweetened medicine because of gluttony, then, the sweetness having changed to a foul taste for him, he should catch the sense of the poisoned mixture he vomited up, which is spat out along with the honey; and for this [reason]

having filled himself, not to the point of satiety, with those things pursued for pleasure, in the vomiting of confession, he is disgusted and abhors the shame upon what he has done, just as if it were the quality of some poison, and he cries out that he hates that life, saying word for word: "And I hated life, because the work that is done under the sun is evil unto me." For not for another, he says, but for myself have I become evil, by the things I have done under the sun. For nothing of what was done stands firm for me; but all the things that were pursued were merely an opinion and an impulse of the will. "For all is vanity and a pursuit of spirit," he says. ^B And another says that the pursuit here is worthy of hatred, because it is not for himself that one labors, but for him who will be after him, whatever one might happen to have achieved in this life through hard work: dockyards, harbors, those brilliant and costly constructions of ramparts and buildings, entrances and towers, the beauty of porticoes, structures, and land-tilling, groves of every kind, the beauty of meadows, and vineyards rivaling the seas in their breadth, and if there is any other such thing—whoever happens to have labored for it, but the one who comes after him upon the stage of life enjoys it.

But it is uncertain whether he might make his wealth and riches a material for vice. For it is not given to all to lower their perception for the sake of knowledge to make a trial of such things. ^C Which I, he says, have done by way of wisdom. Having released the appetite of nature, like some young colt, to leap about for a little while in the lower motions of the soul, I again reined it in with the bridle of reason and brought it under the power thereof. "Who knows," he says, "if that one, too, who comes after us in these things will hold authority over the enjoyment, and will not rather be mastered by them himself, succumbing like some slave to the tyranny of pleasure?" "For this reason," he says, "I hated all my labor in which I labor under the sun; because I leave it to the man who comes after me. And who knows whether he will be wise or foolish, and whether he will have authority over all my labor in which I have labored and shown wisdom under the sun?" ^D I believe this to be the meaning of this statement: that he did not slip into a life of pleasure through some [irrational] passion, but came to it by some reasoning of wisdom, making the participation in it subject to him, and not himself mastered by the tyranny thereof. Who then knows, he says, if he who is after me will not be mastered by these things, which I labored for not through some passion of the soul, but through wisdom? For he signifies pleasure by naming it "labor," because he admitted the participation of pleasure with compulsion, as if it were some difficult struggle. "And this, therefore," he says, "let it be counted among vanities." Moreover, he says that he has also renounced his soul to another of those things that are here, and by his discourse he makes clear what he intends. For he is indignant against the one who errs in right judgment, because, seeing clearly the difference between contrary lives, from which the one [relates] to virtue

and brings his desire to no human thing, while the other, on the contrary, does not endure any labor of those things which are done through virtue, but is worn away only in bodily labors. When, therefore, someone gives the vote of "the good" to this [latter] man, passing over the one who excels in wisdom, he pronounces this unjust judgment to be not only vain, but also wicked. He speaks in these words: "And I turned," he says, "my heart to renounce the other labor, which I labored under the sun." What, then, is that which I renounced? "There is a man whose labor is in wisdom and in knowledge and in excellence of spirit, and another man who has labored in nothing in such things." How, then, will anyone add the portion of preferment to such a man? "For a man," he says, with whom he has labored, that is, one who has labored through life in the good, "shall give to him his portion," instead of: in the portion of the good he shall define such a life. "But it is vanity," he says, "this, and a great wickedness." For how is it not a great wickedness, when one knows the earnestness and free choice that is in man concerning labors? For this is what he means when he says that ^B he knows for man, in every labor of his, and in the free choice of his heart, which he himself labors under the sun. What, then, is it that he knows? "For all his days," he says, "are of distresses, and the vexation of his spirit. And even in the night his heart does not sleep." Truly, for those whose soul is occupied in this temptation, life is indeed grievous, whipping the heart with the desires of many things as if with certain goads; and the earnestness concerning greed is painful, not so much rejoicing in what one has as it is pained by what is lacking; in which labor is divided by night and by day, being performed in accordance with each of them, the day being spent in labors, and the night driving sleep from the eyes. For the cares of profit drive away sleep. He, therefore, who looks to these things, how does he not condemn the vanity of this earnestness? For this reason he adds to the things previously said that this too is vanity. Again he touches upon another objection. This is what is objected: ^C "If that which is outside of us, you count among vain things, O teacher, that which we have taken into ourselves would not justly be condemned as vain. And yet, food and drink are within us. Therefore, this is not to be rejected, but one would define such a grace as a divine benefit." This is the meaning of the objection. But the words are in this manner: "There is no good," he says, "in man, except that he should eat and drink, and show his soul a good in his labor. And this indeed I saw, that it is from the hand of God, that one eats and drinks without him." This is what the patron of gluttony ^D brings forward against the teacher. But to these things the instructor of wisdom says to the "good" man—for the addition of "the good" makes an absolute distinction, so that it might be manifest that what is understood is contrary to goodness. For a man, therefore, not a beast, nor for him who

is bent toward his own belly, and who possesses a throat in place of reason, but for him who lives according to the image of the true Good alone—God has not ordained that luxury after which the bestial nature gapes; but, as it says, He gave him wisdom, knowledge, and joy in place of food. For how could anyone increase goodness by means of things edible for the belly? “Man shall not live by bread alone” (Matt. IV, 4). This is the word of the true Word. Virtue is not nourished by bread, nor does the power of the soul thrive and grow fat through flesh. A sublime life is nourished by other foods and is rendered full and succulent. For the food of the good is temperance, bread is wisdom, a side-dish is justice, drink is impassibility, and pleasure is not that of the flesh—of the sort which is an affection for what is agreeable—but that whose name and office is “joy.” It is for this reason that He applied this name to the disposition arising in the soul toward the good, because such a state comes about from ^B thinking rightly. It is necessary, therefore, to learn here also what we heard from the Apostle (I Cor. XV, 31), that the kingdom of God is not food and drink, but justice, impassibility, and blessedness. But the things that are eagerly sought by men for the sake of bodily enjoyment are the zeal and distraction of sinners, by which the soul is dragged down from things above to things below; the entire interval of its conduct in this life is consumed in the zeal of adding and gathering. He, therefore, who judges this to be good in the sight of God is ignorant, defining the good in that which is vain. I said these things with my own voice. Divine words, however, bring their seal to this thought. For He says: “To the sinner He gave the task of adding and gathering, that he might give it to one who is good in the sight of God. This also is vanity and a striving of spirit” (Eccl. II, 26). May those things which we have now learned from this parallel ^C examination of what is good and what is worse, by means of this reading, give us help toward avoiding what has been condemned and pursuing what is good.

HOMILY VI

“To everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven” (Eccl. III, 1). This is the beginning of the utterances proposed to us for contemplation. There is also no small labor of examination, and the profit taken from the labor is worth the effort. For perhaps the scope of those things considered by us at the beginning of the book is most clearly manifest in this part, as the discourse will show by proceeding in sequence. In the things that preceded, all things were condemned as vain which are pursued by man for no profit of the soul. For the good was pointed out, toward which one must look through the thoughts ^D that are set in the head; while to those who put forward bodily pleasure, the delights which are from wisdom were opposed. It remains to know how one might live according to virtue, like some art and approach

^A accepted by reason for the upright conduct of life. These, then, are the things

Exposition on Ecclesiastes, Homily VI

^B For he says that there are two criteria of the good in life, for each of the things pursued in this life: proportion and timeliness. And he determines this now, saying: *To all things there is a time, and an opportunity for every matter.* We must understand "measure" instead of "time," because time is extended along with every one of the things that occur. Now, whether these are criteria of the good, and whether they are suitable for the upright conduct of every virtue, I shall not yet assert, until the discourse as it proceeds demonstrates it. That the greater part of an ordered life is accomplished by such observation, however, anyone can perceive. For who does not know that virtue is a measure, measured by the mean of things considered alongside it? For virtue cannot exist if it lacks or exceeds the fitting measure, as in the case of courage, of which that which falls short is cowardice, and that which exceeds is rashness. For which reason also some of those of outside wisdom—having perhaps stolen from our own—distinguishing the meaning intended in this text, the one advised in a maxim that nothing should be lacking, ^C and the other forbade that which is excessive; for the one declared "measure is best," and the other legislated "nothing in excess." It is shown by both, therefore, that both failing to reach the measure sought according to virtue is among those things which are condemned, and exceeding proportion is to be rejected. But the same argument will also be returned to us regarding the part about timeliness: that neither that which anticipates the opportune time, nor that which follows after it, is judged as being in the portion of the good. For what did it profit the farmer to have entrusted the cutting of the grain before it was ripe

or to have delayed his zeal for the harvest until the seeds had fallen from the stalks? For in neither case is the zeal effective for good, since it wastes the benefit of the harvest time through the inappropriateness of the cutting. And what has been said in part can be understood in the whole. For the same thing occurs in navigation, whether one anticipates the opportune moment or arrives late. And what should be said of the healing art, when an excess or deficiency of time and measure, which is proper for the cure, brings harm? But these things must be passed over, since through that which follows next, the example is made clearer in the very words of Ecclesiastes.

But why have these things been set before us so that we might consider them? Because neither that which lacks measure is good, nor that which is inopportune; but that is good and done from virtue which has received perfection through both. For if one alone of these were heeded, while the remaining part were neglected, even that which was rightly done in the other respect would be useless. Just as when ^B we perform movement with two feet, if something were to happen to one, even the one that is unharmed is useless for the race, because of the weakness of the one working along with it: so if time lacks measure, or there is no opportunity in measure, along with what is missing, that which is present is altogether useless as well. But both in time there is symmetry, and in measure there is usefulness in opportunity. Time, therefore, is understood by us as a measure, because time is the measure of every measure of each thing. For things that take place, take place altogether in time, and with the extension of each of the things that occur, the space of time also extends simultaneously, little in the lesser, and more time in the more ample. There is the measure of conception, the measure of the growth of the ears of corn, the measure of the perfection of the fruits, the measure of navigation, the measure of walking, the measure of each age—infancy, childhood, boyhood, adolescence, youth, the virile and constant and advanced age, old age, and decrepit old age. Since, therefore, there is not one measure of time for all things—for it is not possible that all things should be of equal measure among themselves on account of the difference in the subjects—but the measure common to all things that fall under measure, as has been said, is time, containing all things within itself: for that reason He did not say, "A measure is for all," because of the wide inequality ^C in that which falls under measure, regarding the more and the less; but He said that time is the general measure for all, which measures whatever is done and comes into being. For just as in the human race, that which is of advanced age is weak, and that which is not yet of confirmed and established age is immoderate and insolent; but that which lies between the two is the best, which indeed has escaped the trouble of both—for in this is shown the power of youth separated from disorder, and the wisdom of old age separated from listlessness; so that there is a power mingled with wisdom, equally avoiding ^D both the listlessness of old age and the boldness of youth—so time, defining for all, separates in each case by reason the evil arising from immoderation, and that which

exceeds the time, he blames, and that which is deficient, he rejects. But it is time, consequently, to add the contemplation of the divinely inspired words itself.

^A “A time,” he says, “to give birth, and a time to die.” He rightly joined this necessary conjunction together in his words at the beginning, linking death with generation. For death necessarily follows birth, and every generation is dissolved into destruction; in order that, through the death and generation being shown together, he might awaken those who are immersed in the depths of a carnal life by the memory of death, as if by some goad, and incite them to the care of things to come. The friend of God, Moses, philosophizes about these things implicitly in the first inscriptions of his books, having written Exodus immediately with Genesis, so that those who encounter what is written might be instructed in the affairs of their own lives through the very order of the books. For it is impossible for one hearing of “Genesis” not to immediately think of “Exodus.” ^B Indeed, the great Ecclesiastes is shown to have understood this here as well, having shown death to be coordinate with generation. For, he says, “a time to give birth, and a time to die.” The time has come, he says, and I was born; the time will come, and I shall die. If we all looked to this, we would not, by abandoning the short path, wander in a circle with the ungodly, choosing of our own accord to wander the periodic error of life, in powers, and grandeurs, and riches, through which, entangled in the many ways of this life, we no longer find the exit from the labyrinth of this life; for we confuse the signs of the path of straight travel by the very things through which we think we are striving. How blessed, he says, are those men who, having abandoned the periodic deceptions of life, bring themselves onto the short road of virtue! ^C This is to turn the soul toward nothing of what is here, but to be directed with zeal toward that which is set before us through faith in hope. And let us again examine what was said. “A time,” he says, “to give birth, and a time to die.” Would that it might be granted to me to have both the birth and the timely death at the [right] time! For no one could say that this involuntary travail and automatic death are now being set forth by Ecclesiastes as a virtuous achievement. For the travail is not at the will of the woman, nor is death at the choice of those dying. But that which is not in our power, no one would define as either virtue or vice. Therefore, it is necessary to understand the timely birth, and the death that happens in time. It seems to me that the birth is mature and not a miscarriage when, as ^D Isaiah says, someone, having conceived from the fear of God, gives birth through the pangs of the soul to his own salvation. For we become fathers of ourselves in a certain way, when through a good choice we fashion and beget ourselves, and into...

light we bring ourselves forth. ^A We do this by admitting God into ourselves, having become children of God, children of power, and sons of the Most High. And again, we miscarry ourselves, rendering ourselves incomplete and abortive, whenever in us there is not formed, as the Apostle says, “the form of Christ.” For it is necessary, he says, for the man of God to be perfect. And he is completely perfect in whom the principle of nature is fully completed. Therefore, if anyone through virtue has made himself a son of God, having received the power of this nobility, he knows the time of the good birth, and he rejoices, according to the Gospel, deservedly, because a man is born into the world. But he who has become a child of wrath, and a son of perdition, and an offspring of darkness, the brood of a viper, an evil fetus, and everything else by which an evil birth is maligned, does not know the time that begets things vital; for there is one time that brings forth to life, and not many. He, therefore, who through unseasonableness has not attained the birth, has brought himself forth to destruction, and has acted as midwife to his own soul for death. But if it is clear how we are born in time, it is also clear to all how we die in time; just as for holy Paul every time was an opportune time for a good death. For he cries out in his own writings, in a manner of adjuration, when he says: “I die daily, by your boasting,” and that: “For your sake we are killed all the day long,” and “We have within ourselves the answer of death.” ^B Indeed, it is not at all obscure how Paul dies daily: he who never lives to sin, who always mortifies the members of the flesh and carries about in himself the mortification of the body of Christ, who is always crucified with Christ, who never lives for himself, but has Christ living within him—this, in my judgment, would be the opportune death, which became the mediator of true life. “For I,” He says, “will kill, and I will make to live,” so that it may be firmly believed that it is truly a gift of God to be dead to sin and made alive by the Spirit. For through killing, the divine voice promises to make alive. To the things which have been said, that which follows is also similar: “A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted.” We know who our husbandman is, and we know whose husbandry we are. For the former we have learned from Christ, the latter from the servant of Christ, Paul. For the Lord says: “My Father is the husbandman,” and the Apostle says to us: “You are God’s husbandry.” The great husbandman, therefore, knows how to plant only good things. “For God planted a paradise in Eden toward the east,” but He plucks up things contrary to the good. “For every plant which my heavenly Father has not planted will be rooted up.” Therefore, pharisaic malice and unbelief, and the ungrateful spirit...

toward those miracles which the Lord performed—these are the plants that are rooted up. ^A For the proclamation of salvation must prevail. “The Gospel must be preached in the whole world.” Every tongue must confess that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Since, therefore, these things must absolutely happen, the unbelief that currently prevails among some is not from the Father’s planting, but from him who sows tares upon it, or who plants the shoot of Sodom next to the Master’s vineyard. What we learned from the Master’s voice in the Gospel, the Ecclesiastes has now taught us in this riddle: that it is the same time both to receive the saving plant of faith and to root up the very tares of unbelief.

What has been said specifically regarding that which is rightly done out of faith, you may likewise understand to hold true for every virtue. ^B It is the time to plant temperance and to root up the plant of intemperance. Thus, also, when justice is planted, the unjust growth is rooted out; the plant of humility overturns arrogance; and charity, having sprouted, has dried up the evil tree of hate—just as, from the contrary tree, namely hate, when injustice is multiplied, it chills charity. If we think of all other things in this same way, so as not to weary ourselves by mentioning each one individually, we will not go astray.

Again, the passage that follows is in harmony with what has been examined before. “For to everything there is a time,” he says, “a time to kill, and a time to heal.” This is clearly interpreted in the prophetic reading, where it is said from the person of God: “I shall kill, and I shall make to live.” ^C For unless we kill the enmity within ourselves, we shall not heal the affection of charity, which is sick on account of hate. Likewise, there is a time to kill all other things that live in us to our own harm: I mean the wicked array of the passions, and this civil war which is waged against us by way of pleasures, and which takes us captive to the law of sin. For the slaughter of such things becomes a healing for the one who has grown infirm through sin. Physicians say that worms and certain other such creatures are generated within the entrails ^D from evil humors, and that their life becomes a disease to the body; but if those creatures are killed by some medicinal potion, the sick person is restored to his original health. These things that happen to the body have a certain proportion and correspondence with the diseases of the soul. When anger boils within, or when one’s strength of soul and reason are weakened by the recollection of an injury received, or when the beast of envy—or whatever other such evil the bad manner of living has generated—has been fed, the one who perceives that his soul is feeding a beast within will opportunely use the medicine that destroys the vices of the soul. This is the doctrine of the Gospel: that when those things have been put to death, health follows for the one who has done so.

“A time to break down, and a time to build.” These things can also be learned from what was said by God to the prophet Jeremiah.

to whom was given from God the ^A power to cleanse first, and to root out, and to dig down, and then to raise up, and to build, and to plant. For it is necessary that the buildings of wickedness be first pulled down in us, and then to find time and space for the construction of the temple of God, which is built up in us, whose material is virtue. For if anyone builds upon this foundation gold or silver, precious stones—these are called virtue—but wood and hay and stubble, the nature of wickedness is explained, which is prepared for nothing other than to be consumed by fire. When, therefore, the buildings are of hay and stubble, that is, of injustice and pride, and the rest of the wickedness of life, the Word commands to lead these to destruction first, and then to make the gold of virtue the material of the structure of the spiritual house. For it is not possible that silver ^B should coalesce with stubble, or gold be made to adhere to hay, or a pearl to wood. But if this is to be, it is absolutely necessary that the one be destroyed. For what partnership has light with darkness? The works of darkness must therefore be destroyed first, and then the luminous buildings of life will be constructed.

“A time to weep, and a time to laugh.” This word is clarified by the evangelical voice which was uttered by the person of the Lord, who indeed says, “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.” Now, therefore, is the time for weeping; the time for laughing is stored up in hope. For the present sadness will become the mother of the joy that is hoped for. Who, moreover, would not consume his whole life in mourning and sorrow, if only he were to receive a sense of himself, and were to know within himself what things he had and lost, and in what state nature was at the beginning, ^C and in what state it is at present? Then death was not, sickness was absent; “mine” and “thine,” those pernicious words, were first banished from life. For just as the sun is common, and the air is common, and before all things the grace of God is common, and the blessing is common, so too was the participation of every good offered equally and freely, and the sickness of greed was not known, and there was no hatred of him who had more because one had less. For there was not even at all anything that could exceed; and there are countless other things besides these, which cannot even be explained in words, which indeed in magnitude far surpass those that have been mentioned. I mean equality of honor with the angels, confidence before God, the contemplation of supermundane goods, and that we also are adorned by the ineffable beauty of the blessed nature, showing in ourselves the divine image shining in the beauty of the soul. But those things which succeeded in their place are like a wicked swarm of disasters, and the evils of troubles like a ^D wasp's nest. What of the evils of life shall one name first? All hold the same rank of honor among themselves, all hold the primary place in the excellence of evils, all provide an equal occasion for mourning. For what of misery

^A of life, the hardship, the beginning with tears and the ending in a tear, the pitiable infancy, the delirium in old age, the instability of youth, the laboriousness of those established in their prime, the burden of marriage, the solitude of celibacy, the rootlessness of childlessness, the envy of wealth, the painfulness of poverty? And I pass over the manifold varieties of diseases, the wounds, the mutilations, the decays, the losses of the senses, the disturbances from demons—everything that nature contains within itself, and which, by its power, every human being has within their nature as passions. ^B I pass over the madness of erotic desires and the foul mire into which such frenzy turns; nor do I mention the disgust joined to our nutrition through excretion, lest I appear in my discourse to inveigh against life entirely, showing our nature to be a producer of filth. Passing over all these things and what is of this kind, I say that this is especially worthy of tears for those who perceive it: the knowledge that everyone has, that when this shadowy life has passed, there awaits us some expectation of judgment, and the zeal of fire that is about to devour the adversaries. Who, therefore, considering these and such things, will not always live with mourning and lamentation?

It is time, therefore, to turn such things over in the mind now. For from the fact that we are affected by sorrow and trouble regarding the present life, it will follow, as is consistent, that we commit no sin in it. ^C When this has been successfully achieved, the promised grace of gladness will be laid up for us through hope; and hope does not put to shame, as the Apostle says. What follows is, as it were, a repetition of what was said before. For when he had spoken of the occasion for tears and for laughter, he added: "A time to weep, and a time to dance," which is nothing other than an intensification of each of those that were mentioned. For the poignant and heartfelt mourning is called "wailing" [kopetos] by the Scripture. Likewise, "dancing" signifies the intensification of gladness, as we learned of such a thing in the Gospel, in which He says: "We played the flute for you, and you did not dance; we lamented to you, and you did not wail." ^D Thus, the history says that there was indeed a wailing among the Israelites when Moses departed, but that David danced, leading the procession of the ark when he recovered it from the foreigners, not in his customary manner. For it says that he sounded harmonious melodies while playing on a musical instrument, and that he moved his feet to the rhythm, and by the rhythmical movement of his body made public the internal disposition. Since, therefore, man is double—I mean, of soul and body—and life is likewise double, it would be well, corresponding to each of the things enacted in us, that for the bodily life, while we wail—for there are many occasions for lamenting throughout this life—we should prepare for the soul the harmonious dance. For as much as life is more saddened through affliction, by so much more

in the soul. ^A For the more the life is distressed and contracted by sorrow, the greater the occasions of joy that are gathered in the soul. Temperance is a strait and rugged thing; humility is a sorrowful thing; to suffer loss is a lamentable thing; mourning is a proof of not possessing as much as those who hold dominion. But he who humbles himself shall be exalted; and he who is exercised in poverty shall be crowned; and he who was teeming with ulcers, and in all ways showed a life worthy of being mourned, shall rest in the bosom of Abraham. In whose [rest] may we also be, by the mercy of him who saves us, Jesus Christ; to whom be glory for ever and ever. Amen.

HOMILY VII

^B “A time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together.” By the things which he points out, the commander of the ecclesiastical forces has already increased the strength of his hearers, so that they might now be able both to strike their adversaries and to amass those things which are useful for striking. For we have been taught to recognize as the judge of what is good and honorable that which conforms the measure of time to all things, and creates opportunity in everything; and those things in which we were previously instructed lead us to this faculty, so that we may understand that there is a certain arm of our soul, and that we may cast, straight to the mark, the stones that kill the enemies, and again recall them—against whomever we might cast—so that we may always cast the same [stones] at the adversary. Now, those who look only at the letter, and attend only to the meaning that is ready to hand, will perhaps apply the Law of Moses to the present words, in which the law commands to cast stones if any are found to be transgressing against the law, just as we have also learned through the history itself, both in the case of those who sinned against the Sabbath, and in the case of him who stole sacred things, and in other offenses which the Law ordered to be punished with stones. But I, even if the Ecclesiastes were making the gathering of stones an opportune act, concerning which the law orders nothing, nor does any action of history report the like, would have agreed with those who interpret the words by the law, as if then it were the time to cast stones, whenever someone either transgressed against the Sabbath or took away something of those things which were dedicated. But now, the addition that it is necessary to gather the stones back again—a thing which is defined by no law—leads us to another meaning. Let us learn, then, of what kind this type of stone is, which, after the throw, must again become the possession of the one who threw it.

^D For since we cast the stones in season, we are taught to gather them back again in season. To me, therefore, it seems that there is no sublime way to understand the law according to the ready-to-hand meaning. For what is great and worthy of God appears in the bare sense of the things that are written? If someone were caught gathering sticks on the Sabbath, and for this reason the man had to be overwhelmed with stones, when no injustice appeared in the offense? For what harm had he done to anyone, [in picking up] some twigs scattered by chance through the wilderness for the need of fire

^A collecting them? For it is not the removal of another’s property that is censured, such that the injustice might appear to be justly punished, but rather the fact that it was something common to all that becomes the cause for the casting of stones at him. But because he did this on the Sabbath, for this reason he is condemned as an evildoer. Who does not know that each of the things that occur is judged by its own nature, whether it be evil, or whether it is not such? But the time in which an action is performed is viewed as external to the nature of the thing done. For what commonality does the span of time have with that which is accomplished by our own free choice? If someone asks us what a day is, we will answer entirely that it is the sun being above the earth, and we will establish morning and evening as its measure. But this definition of a day will not fit only one of those things that revolve through the cycle of the week; rather, for the first and the second and up to the seventh, the reasoning is the same, and the day of the Sabbath differs in nothing from the others in the fact that it is a day. ^B If, however, someone examines the intent of a sin, we will say that it is entirely doing nothing against one's neighbor, such as: "You shall not commit adultery, you shall not murder, you shall not steal," and the rest; of which the law is general, comprising in itself the individual cases, and what was given as the commandment to love one's neighbor as oneself—these are, every day, whether they are performed rightly and out of virtue, or contrary to the laws, either entirely good or are understood as the opposite. But no one would suppose that what is judged evil today, and held as an offense, whether it be murder or anything else prohibited, is the same thing, on the following day, to be good and honorable. If, therefore, an evil is of such a kind at whatever time it happens to be dared, then that which is blameless could not, because of time, become blameworthy. If, therefore, before the Sabbath to gather brushwood and kindle a fire is far removed from injustice ^C and punishment, then how does this same thing become an offense on the following day? But I know the Sabbath of rest, I know the law of inactivity, which does not, by tethering man from his natural operation, command him to be inactive. For if indeed it commands things that are impossible, by ordering us to be inactive—for us to whom, even apart from the rest of the works, the very nature of existence is itself a work: the seeing of the eyes, the operation of the ears according to nature, the smelling of the nostrils, the drawing in of air by the mouth, the speech of the tongue, the administration of nourishment by the teeth, the digestion of the inward parts, the movement for the feet, and for the hands those things for which it is implanted in us by nature that those members ^D should act. How, therefore, is it possible for the law of inactivity to be confirmed if we do not accept the idleness of nature? How shall I persuade the eye not to see on the Sabbath, whose nature it is to always be looking at something? How shall I bring to a halt the operation of hearing? How shall I be persuaded by the sense of smell to lay aside the perceptive faculty of vapors on the Sabbath? And by what pact will the inward parts not exercise their own operation, [as if] serving the law, so that the nourishment remains undigested in the body, in order to show that nature is idle on the Sabbath? If, therefore, the remaining parts of our body cannot accept the law of inactivity (for those things that do not operate will not be alive at all), it is not at all the case that not to transgress is the

law if, while remaining inactive through one of our members, we violate what is commanded by performing actions according to nature with our other sensory instruments. But the law is from God; and nothing of what is commanded by God is of such a character as to be contrary to nature or outside the realm of what can be shown to be in accordance with virtue. ^A Irrational inactivity, however, is not virtue. It is therefore necessary to seek what the commandment of the Sabbath rest intends.

I say, then, that every piece of legislation that has come from God has one goal: that those who have received the law should be cleansed from the work of vice; and every law that forbids what is prohibited commands us to "sabbatize," or rest, from evil works. This is what the tablets mean, this is the Levitical observance, this is the precision found in Deuteronomy: that we should be idle and inactive in those things whose work is vice. If, then, one interprets the law in such a way that a man is idle in vice, I too agree with the wise Ecclesiastes ^B against the man who gathers his own wood, that he designates a time for throwing stones, because of which the gathering of the brushwood of vice—which is collected to feed the matter for fire—is prohibited. But if the letter remains bare, I do not see how what is worthy of God can be conceived in the law. It must therefore be understood who those stones are that are thrown against such a person, so that the zeal for gathering brushwood does not achieve its end. But if the wood is that which will set the gatherer on fire—and these things are by no means obscure to anyone who has introduced even a modicum of mystical reasoning—truly, the Apostle well calls "wood, hay, and stubble" an evil building, because such buildings become fuel for fire at the time of judgment. And the voice of the Gospel says that "the chaff is prepared for the fire," ^C and it declared that the fruitless vine branch is fit only for the fire. It would be clear, then, that the wood gathered to prepare for the fire is the vain pursuits of this life, and this is the one who is struck by stones at the proper time; and if anyone understands this as the thought inclined toward evil, he would not miss the mark of what is required.

It must be understood, however, that the thoughts which destroy vice are the stones which are rightly slung by the Ecclesiastes, which must always be both thrown and gathered: thrown, in order to overthrow that which rises up against our life; and gathered, in order that the bosom of our soul may be full of such preparations, so that it might be ready to hand to be thrown at the adversary ^D whenever he might otherwise contemplate a plot against us. From where, then, shall we gather stones with which we may overwhelm the enemy? I have heard the prophecy saying: "Holy stones are rolled upon the earth." These, then, would be the words descending to us from the God-inspired Scripture, which we must gather in the bosom of our soul, so that in due time we may use them against those who trouble us, the throwing of which is so noble that it even [defeats] the enemy.

and is not separated from the hand of him who throws it. For he who casts down the ^B lustful thought with the stone of temperance—the thought that, through pleasures, supplies material for the fire of the passions—both defeats it with the throw, and always carries the weapon in his hand. Thus also, justice becomes a stone against injustice; it destroys it, and is kept in the bosom of him who has admitted it. In the same way, all things that are understood regarding what is better, both destroy the worse, and are not separated from the one who conducts himself according to virtue. In accordance with our discourse, thus it is necessary to cast stones in season, and in season to gather stones, so that we may always send forth good throws to destroy the worse, and the abundance of such weapons may never fail us.

The passage that follows ^C in the logical sequence defines the season and the unseasonableness of a certain “embrace.” The text is as follows: “A time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing.” These meanings could not become clear to us otherwise, had the phrase not been understood first through Scripture, so that it might become clear to us in what sense the divinely inspired Word knows how to use this term. The great David, therefore, indicated this in the Psalms, and cries out, saying: “Encircle Zion, and embrace her.” But this same Solomon, when he was composing the inner union of one captured by the love for wisdom, says other things as well, through which the union with virtue happens to us, and adds this: “Honor her, so that she may embrace you.” ^D If, therefore, David exhorts us to embrace Zion, and Solomon says that those who have honored wisdom are embraced by her, we perhaps do not err from the proper sense, having learned the matter for which the embrace is timely. For Zion is the mountain that rises above the citadel of Jerusalem. He, therefore, who exhorts you to embrace it, exhorts you to become one with the lofty way of life, so that you may arrive at that very acropolis of virtues, which it signifies by the name of Zion in an enigma. He who makes wisdom dwell with you proclaims to you the embrace that follows for them. Therefore, it is the time to embrace Zion, and the time for wisdom to embrace us; the name of Zion indicating the loftiness of the way of life, and wisdom signifying through itself the whole of virtue in parts.

If, therefore, we have learned through the things said the timeliness of the embrace, through these same things we have been taught from what sort of things separation is more beneficial than union. For, he says, it is a “time to be far from embracing.” He who has been made intimate with virtue has been alienated from the relationship with vice. “For what communion has light with darkness, or Christ with Belial?” Or how is it possible, for one serving two contrary masters, to be well-disposed to both? For the love of the one has produced hatred of the other. When, therefore, the affection of love claims for itself the good—and this is the seasonable—

^A it is necessarily followed by estrangement from that which is opposed to it. If you have truly loved temperance, you would have hated its opposite. If you look toward purity with the eyes of a lover, you clearly loathe the stench of the mire. If you have clung to the good, you have certainly removed yourself far from clinging to the evil. But if someone should carry the meaning of "embrace" toward the embrace of riches, this argument also shows what kind of wealth it is good to embrace, and the possession of which it is necessary to cast off. I know of a treasure sought with great diligence, namely that which is hidden in the field, not that which appears to all. I know, on the other hand, of riches that are held in contempt, not those which are hoped for, but those which offer themselves to the eyes. The voice of the Apostle teaches this, saying: "While we look not at the things which are seen, but at the things not seen; for the things which are seen are temporal; but the things which are not seen are eternal." If we have understood these things, we shall also, through them, have understood the words that follow.

6. "For there is a time," ^B he says, "to seek, and a time to lose." For he who has understood, through the things that have been examined, from what he ought to sever himself and with what he ought to join himself, would know what it is fitting to seek, and of what things the loss is a gain. "For there is a time," he says, "to seek, and a time to lose." What, then, is that which I must seek, so that I may attain to the fitting time? But what it is that must be sought, the prophecy indicates, saying: "Seek the Lord, and be strengthened." And again: "Seek the Lord; and in finding him, call upon him, and let the heart of those who seek the Lord rejoice." I have learned, therefore, through the things that have been said, what it is that must be sought: the discovery of which is the very act of seeking it always. For there is not one thing which is seeking, ^C and another which is finding; but the gain of the seeking is the seeking itself. Do you wish to know the opportunity, what is the time to seek the Lord? I say briefly and in sum: the whole of life. For in this alone, the time of zeal is the whole of zeal. For it is not in some certain and defined time that it is good to seek the Lord, but not to cease seeking—this is the true opportunity. "For my eyes," he says, "are ever toward the Lord." Do you see how diligently the eye searches for that which is sought, as one that gives itself no relaxation, nor any interval in the contemplation of what is sought? For by the addition of the word "ever," it shows a perpetual and ^D never-interrupted zeal. In the same way, let us also understand the "time to lose," judging it to be a gain to lose that which, if one possesses it, brings him damage. Avarice is an evil possession; therefore, let us lose it. The remembrance of an injury received is an evil deposit. Let us, therefore, lose it. Unrestrained desire is a ruinous possession; let us, before all others, be poor in this, so that through such poverty we may gain the kingdom. "For blessed," he says, "are the poor in spirit," that is, those who are destitute of such wealth

and it is more blessed not even to possess any such things at all from the beginning, so that we may be entirely without possession of those things that defile us. But it is no less good for one who has been overtaken by the possession of evil things to lose such acquisitions and bring them to destruction. But not to have a share in such things at any time at all is something greater than human nature; yet, having received them, to eradicate them—this lies within the power of human capacity. Hence, to have had none of the possessions of the adversary belongs to the Lord alone, who partook of our own passions without sin. "For there comes," he says, "the ruler of this world, and in me he finds nothing of his own." But for man to cleanse himself through diligent repentance is something that can also be seen in those who illuminate themselves through virtues. ^B Paul lost the evil possession of unbelief through the grace of prophecy working in him; and he became full of the treasure that he sought. Isaiah lost, in the purification of the divine coal, everything in him that was sordid, both word and thought; for this reason he was filled with the Holy Spirit. Everyone, in the participation of the better, loses whatever is perceived to be contrary to it. Thus, the temperate man loses intemperance, the just man injustice, the modest man pride, the kindly man envy, and he who is possessed of charity, enmity. For as the blind man in the Gospel found what he did not have—for upon the blindness being taken away, the splendor of light took its place—and as in the leper, the disease having been made to vanish, the grace of health returns, and as in those rising from the dead, cold death recedes upon the arrival of life, so also in the philosophy set before us, it is impossible to possess anything of the higher things unless we have lost our pursuit of earthly and humble things. For in finding these, that which is more precious is lost to us; and conversely, the loss of these will be the cause of the invention of precious things. We have learned this from the voice of the Lord: "He who finds his soul will lose it, and he who has lost his soul for my sake will find it." For the soul being found in those things whose pursuit is located in matter is the cause of it not being found in the true goods, and conversely, the privation and loss of these becomes the substance of those things that are hoped for. "For what does it profit a man if he gains the whole world, but suffers loss of his own soul?" "A time," he says, "to seek, and a time to lose." If, therefore, we have known what the sought-after gain is, which is found through the losing of those things that were evilly possessed, let us seek the one and lose the other; let us seek the good things, and let us lose the bad. ^C And correctly and fittingly to the things previously examined is the consequence of what is written added. For he says, "A time to keep and a time to cast away." What is to be kept? Evidently that which has been found by us through the seeking. What is to be cast away? That which was judged to be a benefit to lose. Your thought has become

^A a right one; a desire to see God has entered in; your soul has thirsted for God, the strong, the living; a longing has come upon you to be in the courts of the Lord. Now the courts of the Lord are, in my judgment, the virtues with which Reason dwells, and everyone who follows Reason. Keep these, so that the wealth of the soul’s pure possessions does not drain away from you. A contrary thought slips in, like some stealthy thief, causing the destruction of pure perceptions; this must be cast out and sent away from the mind. For in repelling it, the treasury of good things will be safely kept for us. But if that which corrupts is not cast out, there will be no profit from our acquisition, as our wealth melts away through the treacherous schemes of those who burrow through walls.

Since, therefore, we have learned the time for seeking, ^B and the saying that «everyone who seeks finds,» let us set the most meticulous guard over the treasure so that what has been found may remain. «Guard your heart with all keeping,» it says, after finding it, by guarding the grace that has been found; just as one who has approached the faith has found purity through the washing [of baptism]. But the labor is greater in guarding what one has received than in finding what one did not previously have. Just as, therefore, we said that the favorable time for seeking is not limited to any one season, but that the whole of life is one season for that good seeking, so too we declare that the time for guarding is measured by our whole life; and we put forward now the same voice of the prophecy, saying: «My eyes are always toward the Lord; for He shall pluck my feet out of the snare.» For in this consists our safe-keeping of the good possession, in our making God the guardian of our affairs. For when my eyes are always toward the Lord, then the snares of the adversary, through which he plots ^C against the things that are precious to the soul, become ineffective. «Do not give your foot to be moved,» it says, «and He who keeps you shall not slumber.» Thus, the present passage follows from the preceding discourse. That one commanded us to seek so that we might find; this one advises us to guard so that we might not lose. The way to guard good things is by casting out those that are understood to be from the contrary side; just as a city under siege is guarded more safely when the traitors have been cast out; for as long as they are within, those who are hidden plot more effectively than those who are open enemies. For there is, it says, a time to keep, and a time to cast away.

The sequence of the discourse that follows next ^D leads the soul to a greater philosophy regarding the intelligible realities. For it shows that the universe is self-contained, and that the harmony of the intelligible things has no solution [or loosening], but that there is a certain concurrence of beings with one another. And the whole is not severed from its connection with itself, but all things remain in being, held fast by the power of the Being. And the truly Being, or the Goodness itself

^A or if there is any name that one might conceive that is above this, signifying the incorruptible nature—yet how could one find a name for That which the divine voice of the Apostle says is above every name? Nevertheless, whatever name might be found interpretive of the ineffable power and nature, the thing signified is altogether good. This Good, therefore, or that which is above the good, both truly is, and by itself has given and gives to things that are both the power to come into existence and the permanence in being. And everything that is contemplated outside of It is non-existence. For that which is outside of the Being does not exist in being. Since, then, vice is contemplated as opposite to love, and God is the perfect and absolute virtue, vice is therefore outside of God, the nature of which is grasped not in its being, but in its not being good. For we have assigned the name of vice to that which is outside the notion of the good; thus vice is contemplated as opposite to the good, as that which does not exist is distinguished from that which exists as being opposite to it. Since, therefore, by the free choice of our impulse we have flowed away from the Good—just as those who are not in the light are said to see darkness (for in seeing nothing consists the seeing of darkness)—then the non-existent nature of vice was substantiated in those who had flowed away from the Good, a nature which is such only as long as we are outside the Good. But if, again, our free movement of will were to be torn away from its relation to the non-existent, and were to be grafted onto the Being, that [vice] which is in me having no more to be, will not have even that which is in me at all. For evil, outside of free will, does not exist in itself. But I, having attached and stitched myself to Him who truly is, remain in the Being; it always was, and forever will be, and now is. It seems to me that these are the thoughts that the "time to rend, and the time to sew" (Eccl. 3:7) suggests, that having been torn away from that to which we were evilly grafted, we might be grafted onto Him to whom attachment is good. "For it is good for me," he says, "to cleave to God, to place my hope in the Lord" (Ps. 72:28). And one might say this also for many other things, having the counsel profitably in mind, as for example, "Remove the wicked man from among yourselves" (1 Cor. 5:13). This the divine Apostle commands regarding the one condemned for unlawful union, ordering him to be torn away from the common body of the Church, "Lest," he says, "the little leaven of the vice of the condemned man should spoil the whole mass of the ecclesiastical prayer" (1 Cor. 5:6-7). But him who has been torn away through sin, he stitches back on through repentance, saying: ^B "Lest such a one be swallowed up by excessive sorrow" (2 Cor. 2:7). Thus he knows how to rend opportunely the stained part of the Church's tunic, and again opportunely to stitch it back when it has been washed of its defilement through repentance. And there are many such things to see, both in the more ancient accounts and in our own life, regarding what is performed in the Churches for the sake of order. For you know from whom we are torn away, and to whom we are always being stitched. For in being separated from heresy, we are stitched forever to piety; then we see the tunic of the Church as unrent, when it is torn away from communion with heresy. ^C

But whether the word is philosophizing about existing things according to the theory we have previously examined, or whether it is instructing on such matters through this counsel, the passage contains in every respect what is profitable and useful—at the proper time tearing away those things whose commingling is evil, and at the proper time again joining together those things whose union is useful.

^B We, however, should proceed to what follows in the sequence, through which it seems to me that the discourse, considered through a more sublime philosophy, has greater agreement with the words. For in the first place there has been placed the time for silence, and after silence it has given the time for speaking. When, therefore, and about what is it better to be silent? Someone of those who look to character might say that silence is often more becoming than speech, just as Paul discerns the opportuneness of silence and of speech, at one time decreeing that one should be silent, and at another time permitting one to speak: "Let no corrupt speech proceed from your mouth." This is the law of silence. But if some speech is good for the edification of faith, so that it may give grace to those who hear, this is the time for speaking. "Let women be silent in the churches,"—again it has given the time for silence. "But if they wish to learn anything from those things which they do not know, let them ask their own husbands at home,"—again it has demonstrated the opportuneness of speech. "Do not lie to one another,"—and this also is an opportunity for silence. "Let each one speak the truth with his neighbor,"—again there is the authority to speak. And many such things can be cited from the older Scripture: "While the sinner stood against me, I was dumb, and was humbled, and I kept silent from good things, and as a deaf man I did not hear, and as a mute I did not open my mouth." The one who remains unmoved for the rebuttal of evil becomes mute; but in matters where it is proper to use speech, he opens his mouth in parables, he speaks forth problems, he fills his mouth with praise, he makes his ^C tongue a pen. But since there are innumerable examples in Scripture, what need is there to treat subtly of those things which are manifest? But that which first came into my mind before this, inasmuch as the opportuneness of silence and speech is consistent with the theory which was given regarding the rupture and the sewing, I wish to take this up again and speak of it in a few words. For there, too, when the discourse had torn away the soul that had been evilly attached to the contrary, it led it to the union of Him who truly is through the attachment—a thing which surpasses discourse, as established by the discourse which preceded. And here, for this reason, it seems to me that silence has been placed first; this is because that which surpasses every ^D concept and name—which the soul, having been torn away from evil, seeks at all times, and desires to be written upon by the One who has been found—this is more lofty

^A And he who struggles to drag this down beneath the meaning of speech, unwittingly sins against the Divine. For that which is believed to be above all things is also, in every respect, above speech. He who attempts to grasp the indefinite by means of speech no longer allows that which is above all things to be what it is, or puts forth in opposition his own definition, imagining it to be such and so great as what speech has been able to express—not knowing that in being persuaded that the Divine is above knowledge, in this the God-befitting concept concerning the Truly Existing is preserved. For everything that exists in creation looks by nature toward that which is akin to it. And none of the things that exist remains in existence through itself. Fire is not in water, nor water in fire; the terrestrial is not in the abyss, nor the aquatic on dry land; the subterranean is not in the air, nor, again, the aerial in the earth; ^B but each thing, remaining within its own boundaries of nature, exists only as long as it remains within its own limits. If it were to be outside itself, it would also be outside of existence. And just as the power of the senses, remaining in those operations which are according to nature, cannot pass over to that which is adjacent—for neither does the eye perform the functions of hearing, nor does hearing taste, nor does touch discourse, nor does the tongue perform the functions of sight or hearing, but each has the limit of its own power, which is the operation according to nature—so also, the whole of creation cannot be outside itself through the contemplative apprehension, but remains always within itself. And whatever it may see, it sees itself; and even if it should imagine that it sees something beyond itself, it does not have the capacity to see a nature outside of itself; for instance, it strains to move beyond the concept of "interval" ^C in the contemplation of things that exist, but it does not move beyond it. For with every thought that is found, it always contemplates as well the interval that is apprehended along with the substance of the thing understood; and the interval is nothing else than creation. But that Good, which we have learned to seek and to keep, since it is above creation, is above apprehension. For our intellect, traversing through the interval-laden extension, how could it apprehend the non-intervaled nature, always searching through the resolution of time for things older than what is being found? And it runs past all things that are being known through curiosity, but finds no device to run past the concept of timelessness—so as to stand outside itself and rise above that which is seen prior to things, and above eternity itself—but, just as if one were found upon a high crag. ^D Let there be supposed a rock that is smooth and precipitous, below, crimson in appearance, extending to infinite length, and above, bearing that peak at the height, which, in the projection of a cliff, falls down into some abyssal depth; which is what one would likely experience when touching with the tip of the foot a ridge overhanging the depth, finding no footing either for the foot or a handhold for the hand. This is what my soul also experiences, having gone beyond what is solid in interval-laden things, in the search for the pre-eternal and non-intervaled nature, having nothing to grasp—neither place, nor time, nor measure, nor any other such thing—nor does it admit the踏 of our intellect; but slipping from everywhere from the ungraspable, it whirls...

in confusion and disturbance, and turns itself back again to that which is akin to it, being content if, concerning that which is above all things, it merely knows this: that it has the conviction that it is something other than the nature of those things which are known. ^B Therefore, when reason and discourse arrive at those things which transcend reason, and cannot be explained in words, then is the time for silence, and the inexplicability of that ineffable nature has its miracle in the secret place of the conscience, in him who knows that even the great men spoke of the works of God, and not of God Himself, saying: "Who shall declare the powers of the Lord?" And, "I will declare all Thy works," and, "Generation shall praise Thy works." These things they speak of and discourse upon, and they grant to the voice [the power] to report these things which have been done. But when the discourse concerns that which transcends every conception of the mind, by the very things they say, they openly lay down a law of silence. For they say: "Of His majesty, of His glory, of His holiness, there is no end." O the miracle! How the discourse trembled to approach the glory of the divine miracle, to such a degree that it did not even grasp the miracle of any of those things which are considered ^C externally! For it did not say that the essence of God has no end, judging it to be a measure of excessive audacity even to think of this; but it marvels in discourse at the majesty perceived in the glory. And again, it could not see the essence of the glory itself, but was struck with awe having considered the glory of His holiness. How far, then, was he from curiously inquiring what His nature is, who could not even marvel at the last of the things that appear! For he did not marvel at His holiness, nor at the glory of the holiness, but having proposed to himself to marvel only at the majesty of the glory of the holiness, his strengths were insufficient even for marveling at it. For he did not grasp with his thought the end of that which he marvels at. He says, therefore: "Of His glory, of His majesty, of His holiness, there is no end." Therefore, in matters concerning God, when the inquiry is indeed about His essence, ^D it is time to be silent. But when it is about some good operation, the knowledge of which descends even unto us, then it is time to speak of His powers, to announce His miracles, to recount His works, and to use speech thus far. But in those things which transcend these, the creature must not be permitted to overstep its own boundaries, but it should suffice it if it knows itself. For if the creature does not yet know itself, as our opinion indeed holds, nor does it grasp what is the essence of the soul, the nature of the body, whence all things are, whence come the origins from one another, how that which is not is made to exist, how that which is exists so as not to be dissolved into that which is not, what is the harmony of counterparts in this world; if the creature does not know itself, how shall it discourse upon things above itself? Therefore, it is the time to be silent about these things; for silence is better in such matters. But it is the time to speak, through which our life advances toward virtue, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom is the glory and the power unto the ages of ages. Amen.

HOMILY VIII

^A Cap. III, v. 8. “There is a time to love, and a time to hate.” Who, then, will be so cleansed in his hearing that he may purely receive what is said concerning loving, bringing with himself nothing of base love? Perhaps our own ears indeed need the fingers of Jesus, so that through the divine contact of the true Word, the hearing power of our soul may be delivered from all filth that obstructs the hearing; so that it may both understand the praiseworthy love, and the soul may receive what is the time to love, and what is the time to hate. I do not think this time is anything other than that which is useful. For the utility that is seized from both of these, in my own judgment, is the opportuneness of the use of both. For if it so happens that it is removed from utility, that which is done would also be outside of time. But first, I think, we must understand the meaning of these two words, I mean “to love” and “to hate,” so that we may thus also consider their opportune use in speech. Love is an inward disposition ^B toward the desirable, operating through pleasure and delight; but hatred is the alienation from that which is unpleasant and the turning away from that which causes distress. It is possible, however, to use both of these dispositions both usefully and the contrary, and just as every life lived according to virtue has its beginning from this. For wherever we lean with love, we make that thing intimate to our souls, and toward whatever we might be disaffected with hatred, we are alienated from it. For whether the soul’s disposition is toward the good or toward the evil, that which is loved is in a way mixed into the soul. But whatever it may be, and whatever interposes hatred in the midst, it brings about a separation of it, whether of the good or of the worse. Therefore, it must be considered what is indeed to be loved, and what is by nature to be hated, so that by using this disposition of the soul in time, we might both become alienated from evils ^C through hatred and be blended with the nature of the good. And would that human nature were taught this before all else—to discern, I say, the good and the honorable, and that which is not of this kind! For the passions would not have gained access to our life if from the beginning we had known the good. But now, by making irrational sensation the first judge of the good and honorable, we are reared together with the judgment that first comes to us concerning beings, and for this reason we have difficulty being torn away from those things which sensation deemed to be good, having made for ourselves the disposition regarding them by our upbringing.

Pulchrum videtur hominibus, quod oculis per bonum colorem affert voluptatem sive in inanima ^D

^A materia, sive in animatis spectaculis. ^B To the hearing, melody is a beautiful thing; and in tastes and odors too, the beautiful is defined, in the former by the palate, in the latter by the sense of smell. But the most heavy and most irrational of all is the touch, through which the unrestrained pleasure takes the seat of honor in nature when it comes to judging what is beautiful. Since, therefore, the senses are born in us immediately as we are born, and we are occupied with them from the very beginning of life; and since there is a great familiarity between the capacity of sensation and the irrational life—for all such things are seen even in beasts—the mind is in a way hindered from its own operation by infancy, and is, as it were, squeezed by the dominance of the more irrational sense; for this reason, the misguided and erroneous use of the affectionate disposition becomes the beginning and foundation of a life lived in vice. ^C For since our nature is of a double kind, composed of both the intelligible and the sensible, our life also is consequently double, being appropriately generated in us in both respects: corporally in the sensible part, and incorporeally in the other. ^D Likewise, the good and its opposite are not the same for both kinds of our life, but the one is intelligible to the intelligible part, while for the sensible and corporeal part it is such as the sense desires. Since, then, the sense is born together with our first origin, but the mind awaits the progression of age toward maturity, so that it may be able to appear little by little in the subject, for this reason the sense obtains dominance over the mind, which approaches gradually and is always accustomed to obey that which abounds more, judging that thing to be good or evil which the sense has decided should be sought or rejected. Whereby it happens that it is arduous and difficult for us to comprehend the true good with the mind; because we are preoccupied by the instruments of sensation, circumscribing the good and the honorable by that which delights and affects us with pleasure. For just as it is impossible to look toward the beauty that is in the heavens if mist has intercepted the air above one's head, so neither does the eye of the soul look toward virtue if its vision is blunted by pleasure as if by a certain mist. Since, therefore, the sense looks toward pleasure, and the mind is hindered by pleasure from seeing virtue, this becomes the beginning of vice, because the mind, having been forced by the sense, has cast its vote for the irrational judgment regarding the beautiful; and even if the eye says that the beautiful exists in the fine color of what is seen, the reason also flows along with it. And it is the same with the rest as well: that which delights the sense is judged to have brought the vote for what is beautiful. But if it had been possible for us from the beginning to have a true judgment regarding the beautiful, with the mind testing the good by itself, we would not have become enslaved to the irrational sense and, like beasts, reduced to servitude. In order, therefore, that such confusion might be distinguished in us, and that which is by nature to be loved, and that which is otherwise, might again be known clearly, Ecclesiastes now says in the discourse that "a time to love, and a time to hate," through which he distinguishes the nature of things, showing what is advantageously to be lov-

to be good, having made for ourselves the disposition regarding them by our upbringing. ^A Youth, boiling with the passions of its age, says that this is for it a time of loving those things which are pleasing to youth. But the Ecclesiastes calls out the opposite to youth, defining another time for pure friendship. For such a relationship of the soul, wandering astray in base and shameful things, is not friendship. For just as when nature is proceeding in healthy, direct order, thirst comes to the body in its proper time—but as for those upon whom the bite of a dipsas [serpent] has induced such a disposition, no one would say that their thirst is occurring in its proper time; for in these cases the thirst is not a natural appetite, but a disease—so also the sordid enticement of youth is not a form of love, but a disease born in the one who is burned and internally stung by the bite of that age. ^B Not every love, therefore, has the proper time, but only that which is directed toward the one thing worthy of love. But it is not possible to obtain a clear understanding of these matters without thus dividing the discourse in contemplation. Of those goods, then, which men pursue, some are truly such as they are called, while others possess their name falsely. For those things which do not merely offer enjoyment for a time, nor appear beautiful to some while becoming useless to others, but are always and through everything and in all things good to those in whom they reside—these are truly good, always remaining the same and not admitting the admixture of evil. These things are perceived by those who examine the matter accurately only in the divine and eternal nature. ^C But all other things which are beautiful to the senses, but appear beautiful through the deception of opinion, neither exist nor subsist by nature, but, being of a flowing and transient character, are considered to be true by the uninstructed through a certain deception and empty presumption. If, therefore, those who are caught up in things that are unstable do not reach out for those that are always established, it seems that the Ecclesiastes, standing as if upon a certain high watchtower, cries out to human nature when he says, "A time to love, and a time to hate," because other things are truly good, which are themselves also beautiful, and make those who participate in them such as they are. For whatever the thing participated in may be by nature, it is necessary that the participant also be transformed into it; for example, the mouth of one who has taken some fragrant spices through the mouth becomes sweet-smelling, and again, the mouth of one eating ^D garlic or some other of the more foul-smelling things becomes foul. Since, therefore, every defilement of sin is foul, while on the contrary virtue is the "good odor of Christ (II Cor. II, 15)," and the disposition of loving naturally brings about a mixture with that which is loved, whatever we love through affection, that we become, whether the good odor of Christ or a foul odor. For he who has loved what is good and virtuous will himself also be good and virtuous, by the goodness of that which is in him [restoring] him who [is]...

to be good, having made for ourselves the disposition regarding them by our upbringing. ^A For this reason, He who eternally is sets Himself before us as food, so that by receiving Him within ourselves, we may become that which He is. For He says: "My flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed." He who loves this flesh, therefore, is not a friend of his own flesh, and he who is well-disposed toward this blood shall be cleansed from sensible blood. For the flesh of the Word, and the blood that resides in this flesh, does not possess merely one grace; but it becomes sweet to those who taste it, and desirable to those who long for it, and lovely to those who love it. But if anyone should turn his affection toward things that do not subsist—such as things of this nature are—it is entirely necessary for him who is engaged in them to become such as they are. Since, therefore, among existing things there is that which is true and that which is vain, it is fitting to recognize the vain, so that by opposing and comparing these, we may understand the nature of those things which truly are. For thus do all the saints act: they lead back those who have wandered from the straight path and are traveling along a road that is not straight to the path from which they turned aside, shouting from afar: "Flee the road on which you are walking!" For upon it are robbers and thieves and the ambushes of murderers, ^B so that at once the traveler may avoid the danger of a destructive way; and the withdrawal from that way becomes the guidance of the one that saves. Thus also the great Ecclesiastes shouted from above to human nature, which was wandering in a trackless place and not on a road, as the Prophet says, saying these things openly through what he speaks: "Why do you wander throughout your life, O men? Why do you love vain things, and love those things which cannot subsist, and pine away with affection for those things which have no substance?" There is another way, unerring and salutary; love that one, walk in that one through charity, whose name is truth, and life, and incorruption, and light, and things of such a kind. But this way through which you are now running is worthy of your hatred and aversion; for it is devoid of light and is intercepted by darkness, and leads to precipices, and chasms, and the dens of wild beasts, and the ambushes of robbers. He therefore who said, "A time to love," ^C signified that which is truly lovable and worthy of love; and he who assigned a time for hatred taught which things are to be turned away from. Therefore, having learned what is by nature to be loved, let us embrace it through charity, in no way turned aside from it, through the fact that we cannot judge what is good and honorable, consuming our love on those things in which the great David forbids us, saying: "Sons of men, how long will you be heavy-hearted? Why do you love vanity, and seek after falsehood?" For there is only one thing by nature to be loved, that which truly is, about which even the law of the Decalogue says: "You shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your mind, and with all your soul." And there is, on the other hand, one thing truly to be hated, namely the inventor of vice, the enemy of our life; concerning whom the law says: "You shall hate your enemy." For the love of God becomes the strength of the one who loves. ^D But affection for vice brings destruction to him who loves evil. For thus says the prophecy: "I will love you, O Lord, my strength; the Lord is my support, and

to be good, having made for ourselves the disposition regarding them by our upbringing. ^A For the prophecy says: "I will love you, O Lord, my strength; the Lord is my support, and my refuge, and my deliverer." Conversely, it says: "But he who loves iniquity hates his own soul. He shall rain snares upon sinners."

The whole of life, therefore, is the time for loving God, and the whole of life is the time for alienation from the adversary. Whosoever is apart from the love of God for even a small space of his life, departs completely from Him from whose charity he is separated. And it is necessary that he who is outside God is outside the light, since God is light; and he is outside of life and incorruption, and outside every thought and thing which is perceived toward the better; all of which God is. For he who is not in these is altogether in their contraries. Therefore, such a one is received by darkness and destruction, and ruin and death.

^B Having briefly distinguished these things in his discourse, the word of the Ecclesiastes, by means of timely friendship and by the hatred exercised at the proper moment, reveals the nature of those things which are understood to be opposed to one another. "There is a time," he says, "to love the good, and a time again to hate the contrary." But he says, "You, O man, consider that what is said looks toward that which is good and honorable." For that perverse and wandering disposition of our soul, regarding both of these, is the root and principle of sin. "For no one," says the Lord, "can serve two masters; for either he will hate the one and love the other." This distinction teaches who it is that rules evilly, from whom one must be alienated through hatred, ^C and who it is that rules for the good of the one who is subject, to whom it is proper to be joined through charity. But if anyone embraces that which is to be hated, and despises that which is to be loved, this man is one who exchanges the proper moment of love and hatred to his own harm. For he who despises a thing will perish by it; and he who clings to destruction will procure for himself that which he clung to. He, therefore, who by this word has distinguished those things which are understood by virtue and vice, will recognize the right moment, and how he ought to conduct himself in both cases. Continentia and pleasure, temperance and intemperance, modesty and arrogance, benevolence and malevolence, and whatever else is understood as being in opposition, are openly pointed out to you by Ecclesiastes, so that, being well-disposed in your soul regarding these, ^D you may take counsel profitably.

"It is, therefore, the time to love'self-control, and to hate pleasure, so that you may not become a lover of pleasure, but rather a lover of God; and likewise for all other things: the love of contention, of gain, and of glory, and all things which, by the use of love for those things which are not proper, separate one from that habit which is toward the good." For instance, we have learned as an incidental doctrine that every movement of the soul was created by Him who fashioned our nature for what is good; but if the use of these movements has become sinful, it has produced occasions for vice; for our power of free will, being a good thing, when it is exercised toward evil, becomes the ultimate of evils. And conversely, it is an instrument of virtue...

the ultimate limit. And on the other hand, it is an instrument of virtue, an expulsive force against those things which are disagreeable, to which the name of hatred is given, when it is armed against that which is contrary. But it becomes weapons of sin when it resists the good. Every creature of God, therefore, among those that are constructed within us, is good, and nothing is to be rejected if it be received with thanksgiving; but an ungrateful use of these things makes the creature a vice, through which that union which we have with God recedes, and contrary things entering in are positioned in the place of God; so that to such people the passions are deified. Thus, for those who are given over to gluttony, the belly becomes a god. Thus, the avaricious, out of their vice, constitute an idol for themselves. Thus, those who through error have the eyes of the soul darkened in this age make vain glory a god for themselves. And to speak once for all: to whatever thing anyone has yoked his own reason, and has enslaved it and brought it into bondage, that thing he has by his own vice made a god; which he would not have done unless, through indulgence, he had made evil familiar and joined it to himself in intimacy. If, therefore, we have understood the opportunity for love and hatred, let us manage it: let us love the one, but truly wage war against the other.

^B “For it is time,” he says, “for war, and time for peace.” You see the organized battle-line of contrary affections, the law of the flesh warring against the law of the mind, and leading me captive into the law of sin. Observe the manifold and varied apparatus of the battle, and in how many, or rather in how infinite, ways the adversary's army attacks your city; he sends explorers, he bribes traitors, he places ambushes on the roads, he recruits allies, and he prepares machines through which the wall of the soul is shaken; slingers, archers, and those who join in hand-to-hand combat, and cavalry forces, and whatever else is of this kind, all these fight against you in the battle-line. And you are not ignorant of the meaning of what has been said, who is the traitor, who is the explorer, who the ambushers, who the slingers, who the archers, and who those who fight at close quarters, and what the troop of horsemen is. ^C Therefore, looking to all these things, we too must arm ourselves, and exhort our allies, and discern among those who are subject to us whether they favor the side of the enemy, and be on the watch lest ambushes be prepared on the road, and against the throwing of missiles and those who join us in hand-to-hand combat, protect ourselves with shields, and ward off with a trench those horsemen who are being launched against us. It is also fitting to fortify the walls with certain ramparts, lest they be shaken by machines. Nor is there any need for us to explain each thing in words, namely, how the enemy of each one of our cities, which is founded by God in the soul, attempts to test our strength either through explorers, or by having those from among our own ranks who become traitors to our army. ^D But so that the meaning may be revealed more clearly, such is the first assault of temptation, from whence the vicious affections take their beginning. This is the explorer of our strength; for instance, a spectacle has fallen upon the eye that is able to rekindle desire. Through this, therefore, the enemy scouts the power within you—

^A whether it is strong and well-prepared, or weak and vulnerable. For if you have not been broken by the appearance, nor has the intensity of your mind been dissolved by what has been displayed, but you have dismissed the encounter with equanimity, you have immediately terrified the scout, having shown to him, as it were, a phalanx of soldiers bristling with spears, that is, the preparation of your reason. But if your perception has been softened by pleasure toward the vision, and an image of the character penetrates within your mind through your eyes, then the general within, the intellect, is overcome, as it has nothing manly or youthful in it, but is dull and lax, and a multitude of traitors is gathered from the populace of thoughts around the scout. These are the traitors of whom the Lord says: “The enemies of a man are his own household,” ^B those who proceed from the heart and defile the man, the names of whom can be clearly learned from the Gospel. From this, it will no longer be difficult for you to understand in order all the things that pertain to that military apparatus, and who they are that secretly lay ambushes, who make an incursion upon those who walk the road of life without foresight. For those who, under the pretext of friendship and kindness, drag the one who is persuaded into the destruction of sin, these are the ones lying in ambush along the roads; they are the flatterers of pleasure, those who lead [others] off to the theaters, those who point out the ease of evil and, through what they do, call them to imitate similar things, naming themselves brothers and friends for the destruction of those who perish. Concerning whom it is written: “Every brother will act with the heel, and every friend will walk in deceit.” ^C If we have understood these ambushes, it should be clear, too, to investigate the troop of slingers, archers, and javelin-throwers. For those who are insolent, irascible, and abusive, because they are the first to provoke with insults and reproaches, instead of arrows or stones, casting forth provoking words—shooting as if from a bow and sling, and throwing like a javelin—they wound the heart of those who pass by without a breastplate and without protection. And one would not be wrong to compare the vice of pride and arrogance to the prancing of horses. For there are certain horses that are, in a word, stiff-necked and high-headed, trampling upon those who are moderate with the heavy, arrogant steps of pride, as if with hoofs. Concerning whom the Scripture says: “Let not the foot of pride come upon me.” ^D As for the machines by which the harmony of the wall is broken, one would rightly identify love of money. For there is nothing in the enemy’s arsenal so heavy and difficult to withstand as the machine of avarice. And even though other virtues may have been built up in their souls through an harmonious structure, nonetheless, the machine often enters through them as well. For it is possible to see such love of money entering even through temperance...

and through faith, and through an accurate and diligent perception of the mysteries, and through continence and humility, and through whatever things are of this kind, so that this grave and impregnable evil bursts inside. ^A Hence it is that some who are continent and modest, and fervent in faith, and composed and moderate in their ways, are unable to resist this disease alone. If, therefore, the band of the enemy has been understood by us, it would be the time to wage war. Yet let no one be confident that he can put the enemy’s battle line to flight and defeat it, unless he has seized the ^A armour of the Apostle. And indeed, no one is ignorant of the kind of weapons those are, by means of which he who stands against the phalanx of the enemy is made invulnerable to the missiles of the adversaries. For after the Apostle had divided the virtues into their kinds, he assigned a specific weapon of its own to each of the vital virtues within us. For by linking and weaving righteousness together with faith, he constructs the breastplate for the armed soldier, rightly and safely shielding the soldier’s chest through both. For it is impossible for the one, when separated from the other, to provide a safe weapon in itself to him who wields them. For faith without works of righteousness is not sufficient for salvation, nor again is the righteousness of life in itself safe for salvation, if it is separated from faith. ^B For this reason, just as if weaving faith and righteousness as a certain raw material into this weapon, he protects the breastplate of the armed man. For in the breast, the heart is understood. He fortifies the head of the brave warrior with hope, signifying that it is fitting for the good soldier to have hope for heavenly things above, like a kind of crest. And the shield, which is the weapon by which we are covered, is the unyielding faith, which the point of the thorns cannot pierce. And by the thorns shot by the enemies, we should understand the various assaults of the passions and perturbations of the soul. But the salvific weapon that arms the right hand of those who distinguish themselves against the enemies is the Holy Spirit, terrible indeed if it is contrary, but salvific if it is taken up. And all evangelical doctrine brings security to the feet, so that no part of the body is found naked and susceptible to strikes. ^C If, therefore, we have learned with whom we must wage war, and how the battle is to be taken up, we must also learn the other part: with whom the word testifies that we ought to enter into a covenant and make peace. Who, then, is the good commander to whom I shall reconcile myself through peace? And who is the king of such an army? Or is it not clear that we have heard both from the divinely inspired Scripture, that the heavenly army is the host of angels? ^D "For there came to be," he says, "a multitude of the heavenly host praising God." And Daniel sees ten thousand times ten thousand standing by, and he beholds thousands of thousands among those who serve him. The Prophet also, testifying to this, calls the Lord of the universe the Lord of hosts and Lord of powers. And to Joshua, son of Nun, the mighty one says in battle: "I," he says, "the commander-in-chief..."

^A of the powers." But if we have understood what the good alliance is, and who the leader is of these allies, let us make a covenant with him; let us hasten to his power, and become friends to him who possesses such great might. And what is the manner of intimacy with him? The one who brings about this friendship, the great Apostle, teaches us, when he says: "Therefore being justified by faith, we have peace with God." And again: "For Christ, therefore, we are ambassadors, as though God were exhorting through us; we beseech you on behalf of Christ: Be reconciled to God." For as long as we were by nature children of wrath ^B by doing what is not fitting, we were ranked with those who oppose the right hand of the Most High, having laid aside impiety and worldly desires, by living holily, justly, and piously. Through this peace, we shall be joined to the true peace. For thus the Apostle says concerning him, that "He himself is our peace." This utterance is the goal and sum of all things that happen in time. For we were taught to do all things in time, that we might accomplish this for ourselves: to have peace with God, because we had been set in a hostile and antagonistic manner toward the adversary. But entirely, even if one were to call the virtues the army of peace, with which it is incumbent upon us to be joined in friendship, he would not be leading the discourse outside of the sense already provided; since every name and thought of virtue is referred to the Lord of virtues.

And why should anyone prolong the discourse on such matters, ^C when what has been said is sufficient to reveal the meaning contained in the words? But since through these things he has stirred the soul of the one who was previously instructed in these high teachings, he again raises the soul of the one who follows the discourse to a certain high state, and says: "What is the abundance of the one who does, in those things in which he himself labors?" Which is equivalent to saying: What is there from all human labors, from which nothing more comes to him? He farms, he sails, he becomes weary with military labors, he engages in trade, he suffers loss, he gains, he goes to law, he fights, he departs having been defeated, he receives the winning vote, he is made miserable, he is deemed blessed, he remains at home, he wanders among strangers; all things whatsoever that are seen in life ^D among various pursuits, some in one, some in another. What more does the zeal concerning these things bring to him who spends his own life through them? Does not life cease at the same time, and everything become covered by oblivion? And being abandoned by the things about which he was zealous, he departs naked, carrying with him nothing of the things here, except for the conscience alone concerning his deeds? From which, in a certain manner, this voice is sent afterwards into heaven, to him who has been led astray in life through such occupations: "What more was there for you from those many labors in which you labored? Where are the brilliant houses? Where are the buried purses? Where are the bronze images, and the voices of those praising? Behold now fire and scourges, and the

^A judgment that is neither swayed by bribes nor corrupted by favor, and the examination of the past life that cannot be deceived. What then is the greater abundance for him who labors in those things in which he himself toils? And afterwards, "I saw," he says, "the distraction ^B which God gave to the sons of men, that they might be distracted in themselves by all the things which He has made beautiful in his time. And he has also placed the aeon in their heart, so that a man may not find the work which God has wrought from the beginning even to the end." Why does he say this? I recognized, he says, from whence human nature was distracted from life, having received the incentives from divine benefits. For God indeed made all things for good, and gave to those who partake of these things a faculty of judgment discerning the better, through which the opportune time ^C for the use of each thing being recognized, grants to those who use it a perception of the good. But since [the mind] fell from the correct judgment concerning existing things, having been turned aside from the established reason through evil counsel, the changing of the time turned that which is useful in each thing into a contrary experience. Just as if someone, having set forth at a table an entire preparation for a feast, and having placed alongside it some vessels suitably adapted for the preparation of food—such, namely, as are constructed by those who are skilled in such arts—either fine knives, by means of which the dinner guests divide for themselves some of the things set before them, or silver spoons, which have a cavity at one end made in such a way as to be ^D fit and appropriate for mush; and then one of those invited to the banquet, having changed the use of what was set forth, should use each thing for purposes that are not fitting, and should cut either himself or one of those reclining nearby with the knife, or should gouge out either a neighbor's eye or his own with the spoon: would one say that the guest abused the feast-giver's preparation for evil, although the one who had made the preparation had not intended the cause of the things that were to happen, but rather the evil use of what was set forth led the one who used what was proposed inadvisedly into this misfortune? Thus, he says, I also recognized that each thing was made by God for every good, if only we use it in time, as is proper; but the turning away ^A from the correct judgment of what exists has transformed good things into an occasion for evils. What, I ask, is more pleasant than the operation of the eyes? But when the vision, being poorly affected, becomes a servant to such things, it declares that what was made for a benefit has become a cause of evils—which is nothing else than that someone, using the good badly, has made the use a vice. Thus also all other things which nature has from God are situated in the free choice of those who use them, so that they may become material either for good or for evil. Wherefore he says: "Everything that He has made is good in its time." ^B "And He has also placed the aeon in their heart." Since the aeon is a certain concept of the mind, measured by spaces and intervals, it signifies every creature of His which has existed within it. Therefore, from that which contains, the discourse shows the universe which is contained within it. Everything, therefore,

^A should be used by each person for their own benefit. ^B For this reason he says: "Lest man find the work which God has made with a view to benefit, in all things that have existed from the beginning of creation until the completion of the universe, there being nothing evil among the things that are." For it is not in the nature of things for any evil to arise from the good. And if the Cause of all things is good, then whatever has its substance from the Good is altogether good.

Then, "I knew," he says, "that there is no good in them, except to rejoice and to do good in his life." With these words he summarizes what has been said. For if the use of divine works at the proper time defines what is good for human life, the one good will be supreme: namely, continuous rejoicing in good and honorable things, which is born from good deeds. For the observation of the commandments now gladdens the performer of good works through hope; but after this, having received the fruit of good hopes, it sets forth a joy proper to those who are worthy, when the Lord says to those who have done good: "Come, you blessed of my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you." And what food and drink are to the body, through which nature is preserved, this is for the soul to look toward the Good; and this is truly a gift of God: to have one's eyes fixed upon God. This, indeed, is the name which is interpreted in what is said thereafter. The wording is as follows: "And also every man who shall eat, and drink, and see good in all his labor, this is a gift of God." For just as the carnal man, he says, has strength in eating and drinking, so he who looks toward the Good (and the true Good would be He who alone is good) has a gift of God in all his labor, this very thing of always looking toward the Good. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, to whom be glory and power for ever and ever. Amen.

OF OUR HOLY FATHER GREGORY, BISHOP OF NYSSA. ACCURATE EXPLANATION OF THE SONG OF SONGS

PROEMIUM TO OLYMPIAS

^A I received as befitting your venerable life and pure soul the zeal concerning the Song of Songs, which you set forth to us both in person and by letter, in order that through suitable contemplation the philosophy hidden in the words might be revealed, being purified in those untainted perceptions from the obvious meaning of the *lexis*. ^B Therefore, I eagerly accepted your concern regarding this matter, not because it will be of use to your own character (for I am persuaded that the eye of your soul is pure from every passionate and filthy thought, and that it gazes without any impediment upon the untainted grace through these divine utterances), but so that it might become a kind of guidance for those who are more carnal toward the spiritual and immaterial state of soul to which this book leads through the wisdom hidden within it.

Since, however, it seems to some of the ecclesiastics that the letter and diction of the Holy Scripture should always be followed, and they do not consent that anything was said by it through enigmas and underlying meanings for our benefit, I deem it necessary first to offer a defense to those who accuse us of such things: that nothing is done by us that is out of place in our striving to hunt for the useful in every way from the divine and God-inspired Scripture. So that if the *lexis* itself, understood as it is spoken, provides some benefit, we have the object of our study ready at hand. But if anything is said with concealment, in certain underlying meanings and enigmas, it is not—