To Stagirius – Against Those Who Keep "Spiritual Sisters" – That Religious Women Ought Not to Dwell with Men

I have no certain word to say about these matters on my own account, nor can I declare what is to come; but this I know clearly, and I ask that you yourself be persuaded of this, that whichever of these may come to pass, it will be for our benefit; and if you are so disposed, you will quickly beat back the climax, as you call it, of these evils. ^A Furthermore, one must consider this: that the time for rewards and crowns is the age to come, while the time for struggles and sweats is the present. The blessed Paul, wishing to make this evident to us, said: "So I run, not as uncertainly; so I fight, not as one beating the air: but I chastise my body and bring it into subjection, lest perhaps when I have preached to others I myself should become a castaway" (1 Cor. 9: 26, 27). But when he had arrived at the end of his struggle, he at length uttered that blessed voice: "I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith: as to the rest, there is laid up for me a crown of justice" (2 Tim. 4: 7), showing that our whole life must be lived in struggle and labor if we are to enjoy the eternal rest and those myriad good things. If anyone, being slothful, should wish to enjoy the pleasures here as well as the rewards laid up for those who labor there, he is deluding and deceiving himself. For just as among athletes, one who seeks comfort during the time of the contests brings shame and disgrace upon himself for all time, while one who courageously endures every labor in the stadium enjoys crowns and glory and praise, both during the contests themselves and after they are resolved, from the spectators: so it is also for us. He who makes the time of labor a time of ease, when it is the time for that ageless rest, will then weep and gnash his teeth and will suffer the ultimate torments; but he who courageously endures afflictions here will be bright and glorious both here and there, with glory that is immortal and true. For if in worldly affairs one who confuses the timing of events will fall short of all that lies before him and will cover himself with myriad misfortunes, much more will he who does not know the order of times suffer this in spiritual matters. Christ said: "In the world you shall have distress" (John 16: 33). The blessed Paul says: "And all who desire to live piously in Christ Jesus shall suffer persecution" (2 Tim. 3: 12), not speaking only of persecutions from men, but also of the stratagems of the demons. Job said: "The life of man upon the earth is a trial" (Job 7: 1). Why then are you troubled while being afflicted during the time of trial? ^B For then we should have had cause to grieve, if we were making the time which Christ foretold for distress, a time of luxury and rest; if, when we were commanded to struggle and labor, we had become relaxed; if we were walking the broad road, when He commanded us to walk the narrow one. For so it would have been necessary for us to be punished in those ages to come. What then, you say, would you say to those who walk with breadth even here, and are to rest there? And who is this? For I am persuaded by the word of Christ alone, the one who says, "Narrow and strait is the way that leadeth to life" (Matt. 7: 14); and that it is impossible to walk in width through the strait way is surely evident to everyone. For where in outside contests no one has bound on a crown without sweats, and this while having antagonists who are of the same nature, where hostile powers rise up against us, how is it possible to prevail without distress and straitness against the madness of these?

5. But why for so long do we examine these things by reasonings, when it was possible to take refuge in the blessed and noble athletes who lived in former times? Examine all those renowned at that time, and you will see that all of them had boldness before God because of their afflictions. And if you will, let us come to the first child of the first-created, the lamb of Christ, Abel, who had done no wrong, yet endured the most terrible of things. For we pay the penalties for sins, the trials; but that righteous man was punished for no other reason than that he was righteous. And as long as he did not show anything great, his brother knew him; but when he shone forth from his sacrifice, he did not even acknowledge the nature itself, being blinded by envy. Wherefore do you know if even now the same cause excited the devil, and the brightness of your life called him forth to this combat? But if you laugh at these words of mine, I praise your humility, but I will not cease to be so disposed. For if he, by offering fat, was so approved, he who offered not anything external, but his whole self to God, would much more provoke the enemy against himself. But God allowed him to attack; for not even then did He prevent the murder from happening, but He allowed the righteous man to fall into the hands of the murderer, and did not rescue the one who was being destroyed for His sake and for the honor due to Him; for He did not wish that He be deprived of his crowns; for this reason He let him run until the end. And what kind of punishment is death? he says. Would that I had endured this penalty now. These things you say, my beloved, now, but before all this, the matter seemed most difficult, and more pitiable than any punishment. Wherefore also in the law of Moses those who had done the greatest wrongs, and such as were worse than pardon, underwent this punishment. And among outside lawgivers even now all who are convicted of the most shameful evils are punished in no other way; but nevertheless the righteous man suffered the same things as the lawless, or rather even much more severe, inasmuch as he received the blow from a brotherly hand. But what of Noah? For he too was righteous and perfect, and while all were corrupted, he alone pleased God, all the others having offended Him. He endured myriads of afflictions, many and evil. For he did not die immediately like that other, nor did he suffer this, which seems light to you, but he endured a long life, for so many years being burdened by heavy weight, and throughout being in no better condition. And this I will immediately make manifest to you, having first said this. For a whole year this man inhabited a prison, a strange and fearful prison. For I will pass over the multitude of beasts and reptiles with whom he lived for so long a time in such...

^A straitened circumstances; what do you imagine his spirit endured amidst such roaring of thunder and storms? For the lower abyss was being rent asunder, while the upper was being discharged with immense force, even while he sat within, alone with his children. And although he trusted in the end, strictly speaking, he was almost dead from fear at the vehemence of what was happening. For if we, who possess homes built securely on the earth and inhabit cities, when we see rain descending even a little more violently than usual, collapse and are constrained by fear, what must he be estimated to have suffered, when he was alone inside, and was considering that horrific abyss and the various kinds of creatures that were being suffocated? Finally, to see a single city, or even a home, swallowed up by a flood and covered by waves is enough to induce the greatest terror in the soul; but when the entire world suffered this, it is impossible to say what the state of mind of that man was, as he was carried around in the midst of the waves. He therefore spent that whole year in such fear.

When, however, the deluge finally ceased, the agitation subsided little by little, but his sorrow increased; and another storm, no less than the former, welcomed him as he emerged from the ark, when he looked upon that horrifying solitude, that violent death, and the bodies of those killed, mixed with silt and mud, and all men together, and beasts, and the other less noble kinds of living creatures, buried in one single miserable tomb. For even though they who had suffered such things were exceedingly sinful, yet Noe was human, and he could not but pity his fellow men. For Ezechiel himself, though being righteous and knowing the Israelites to be most wicked of all, yet when he saw them being slaughtered and falling, suffered this same thing and wept, even though God had before revealed all their impiety to him and had set it before his very eyes to be looked upon, so that when he saw them being punished, he might endure that calamity with fortitude. But yet, although he had been prepared with such ^B consolation of foreknowledge, he was nevertheless so tormented by their disasters, and in his collapse he cried out: "Woe is me, Lord, are you destroying the remnants of Israel?" (Ezech. 9, 8)—and he did not suffer this only once, but a second time when he saw Jechonias slain. And so, although Noe knew that their crimes were countless, he was not stronger than Ezechiel or Moses; for he too often suffered the same as the prophet. Seeing the Hebrews sinning, he felt pity for them most of all when they were about to be punished, and he was more tormented than those who were being punished. But in the time of Noe the calamity was far heavier; for such a death was brought upon them alone.

Therefore, when he was being pressed by so many evils—solitude, the misery of his own race, the multitude of the perishing, the manner of death, the desolation of the whole earth—and when sorrow was increasing on every side, which shook him most violently, the insult of his son was added, a thing indeed intolerable, of unbelievable shame and grief. For as the reproaches of friends are more grievous than those of enemies, so injuries received from children are even more intolerable than those. For when he saw him whom he had begotten, whom he had nurtured, whom he had schooled, for whose sake he had endured so many labors and pains and cares, treating him more insultingly than the others, he could not bear the pain of soul. For insult is indeed intolerable to a free man, both in itself, and if it should come from one's own children, it turns into a stupor of the soul, ^C as being most atrocious. I would have you consider not only that crime, but from it itself conjecture how insultingly he had held his father in the entire time before. For he who still had the terror of such a disaster present, and had lately emerged from that prison, and was seeing the calamity of the whole world, and yet had not been improved even then, but was subjecting him whom he least of all should have to insults, not having become better either by the death of infinite mortals, nor by solitude, nor by the anger of God, nor by any other of those things which had then happened—what kind of man was he before the flood, when he had many who would encourage him to vice? For then, truly, then that righteous man endured more troublesome waves than were those which occurred later in the flood, both on account of his son and on account of all the others. For in the deluge, only the multitude of the waters was narrowing him, but before the deluge he was being compressed on all sides by an abyss of wickedness, and was being struck more vehemently than by waves by the plots of the wickedest men. For, left alone in such a multitude of wicked and flagitious men, even if he suffered nothing else, he nevertheless endured very many mockeries and sneers nearly every day—and this, if not before, then most especially when he was speaking to them about the ark and the future disasters. But what power this has to disturb souls, Jeremiah, who was sanctified from his mother's womb, testifies, who on this account was intending to abandon prophecy itself. "For I said," he says "I will not prophesy" (Jer. 20, 9). Furthermore, this alone, that there was no one with a soul like his, and no one conforming to his own morals—how much boredom, how much sorrow do you imagine he had poured upon him? And he was not tormented for that reason only, but from pity for them he suffered countless tortures. For righteous men do not mourn only when they see the wicked dying, but also when they see them sinning; indeed, they are tormented by this much more than by that, which can be perceived most easily from the prophets. For one of them lamenting bitterly says: "Woe is me, my soul, because the godly man has perished from the earth, and there is no one among men who does what is right" (Mich. 7, 2). Another was speaking to God: "Why have you showed me labors and sorrows to look upon?" (Habac. 1, 3). And concerning those who were being oppressed by injuries, condoling too much, he ^D lamented saying: "You will make men like the fish of the sea, not having a leader" (Ibid. 1, 14). But if those things were happening then, when laws had been established, and princes, and courts, and priests, and prophets, and punishments, consider with what magnitude of impudence all crimes were committed under Noe, when these things did not yet restrain men. And under the prophets, indeed, life was not very long-lived, but was terminated in seventy or eighty years; then...

how many difficulties was he compelled to undergo, when he was journeying on such a long road, and yet striving not to turn aside even a little in such a great distance, although there were many obstacles in between? And why do I say many? Indeed, the whole road was entirely like that, from the ends of the earth to the ends of the earth, filled with precipices and thorns and wild beasts and drought and pestilence and cold and villains! For it was easier to travel a beaten path in the height of the night at all times than the way of virtue in those days; so many were they who were striving to turn his steps aside. For when it is permitted to everyone to do whatever they wish, and one man alone is walking the opposite way to them, how will he be able to arrive at the end with everyone pushing him back and driving him off? That there is difficulty in succeeding while being among many, is shown by those who have occupied this present life, who, by the grace of God, can see a prosperous life scattered everywhere, when there is also no small amount of concord and mutual affection toward one another. But at that time there was nothing of these things; rather, everyone was disposed toward him more savagely than wild beasts. Is there anything more miserable than this life? I, for my part, had promised to show that he was not in any better condition than those who are always bearing burdens and never catching their breath; but the argument has done much more: it has exposed to us that he was not only in no better condition, but in one much more burdensome than theirs. Many think, then, that Abraham spent his whole time in contentment, whence they are accustomed to compare him to those who are prosperous and flourishing in every way. Come then, let us examine what happened to him. For to me this man [is far more wretched] than Noe and than Abel—or rather, I shall say nothing until the examination of the facts delivers the verdict for us. Now, the things in Persia, and whatever sorrowful [events] befell him up to his seventieth year, no one could know clearly. For neither did the blessed [189] Moses write for us the history of that time, but leaving out that whole age, he has made the beginning of his narrative from the things after that. But that it is likely that he himself suffered the same things as Noe, desiring to be pious alone amidst so many ungodly and barbarian men, this is no longer unclear, in the same way as it is to others, but even very foolish men would easily conjecture it. But let these things be passed over now; let us make the beginning of our discussion from his migration, having first examined this: how far the land of the Chaldeans is distant from Palestine, or what sort was the construction of the roads, how the matters of social intercourse with one another were situated for men, [and] what was the manner of their government. For let it not be thought that because that righteous man obeyed easily, the matter is easy now, nor because Moses narrated the event quickly and in a short space, should you think that the work is to be measured by the brevity of the words; for to say and to narrate these things is easy, but to do them is not equally easy, but is even very difficult. The length of the road, then, and what the distance between these places is, many of those who have traveled from there to us could say, if there are any; we, however, having had no contact with any of them, but having met some who arrived in the outer country, and having asked them how much [time] they were compelled to travel, we heard that it was a count of thirty-five days; and he said that he did not know Babylon, but had heard from those who had been there that there is another road from there equal to that one. And the distance was as significant then as it is now; but the construction of the roads is not still set up then as it is now. For now it is divided by constant stations and cities and fields, and one traveling would encounter many wayfarers, which is no less a [matter] of safety than the station and city and field. Moreover, the governors of the cities from the territory select men [who are] excelling the others in bodily magnitude and strength, and able to suffice with the javelin and sling just as much as the archers with arrows and the heavy-armed soldiers with spears; having organized these and set commanders over them, they occupied them with no other thing, but only entrusted them with the guardianship of the roads. And along with these, they devised another security even more accurate than these. For having built dwellings at the distance of a thousand paces along the road, they stationed night guards for them, making their wakefulness and leisure the greatest hindrance to the incursions of the villains. But at that time none of these existed; no constant fields, no cities, no stations, no lodging-place, no seeing a fellow-traveler quickly, no, not any other of these things; for I pass over now the roughness of the path and the inequality of the climes—although they are sufficient, had those [security measures] not been present, to distress travelers sufficiently. And they would bear witness to me who use teams and beasts of burden, and who do not even so dare to step upon the accustomed road unless first they have paved it with stones, and by filling in the chasms from the gullies, have made it level. But then it was more deserted than the uninhabited regions, more difficult than the mountains, and more dangerous than the pits and precipices. And I have not yet spoken of what is the most difficult of all: how the matters of social intercourse were situated, which provided them with much more and greater troubles than the road, with all people divided by nations, or rather, by city. For it was not as it is now, that one authority is extended over the greater part of the inhabited world, and all obey one man, and are governed by the same laws—it was not so then; but as one body cut into many parts, so the race of men was torn asunder, and the righteous man was compelled to exchange enemies for enemies, before escaping the former, always falling into others, at one time there being a multiplicity of rulers, at another time anarchy. What then is more difficult than this life? For he was not only fearing and trembling for himself, but also for his father and wife and for his nephew. And the concern for his servants was not small—even if they happened to be on his own [land], let alone when they were on foreign [land], they were compelled to be at all times. And if he had known clearly where the [end of] his wandering would be established, the weight of his cares would not have been so unbearable; but now, having heard simply and indefinitely, "the land," not this or that [land], but "which I will show thee,"

VI. He brings forward the example of Abraham

he turned it over in his mind, and received great tumults in his soul, being unable to steady his thought anywhere, but forced to suspect many things and to be troubled with cares. For it is credible that he expected to set forth to the very ends of the earth and to the Ocean itself. And so, although he did not travel over the whole earth, he nevertheless shouldered the care of completing this journey. For he was not so prepared in his mind as if he were traveling only as far as Palestine, but as if he were to follow the command everywhere, even if he were ordered to traverse the entire world, and even to access islands beyond the inhabited lands. But if he were persuaded to hope for the contrary of the indefinite command, that again was most painful. For he who is about to endure something grievous bears it much more lightly if he knows openly what he must undergo and for what he must prepare himself, rather than if he is tossed by ambiguous thoughts, expecting now happy [outcomes] and now sad ones, and able to trust in neither of these, since both can be held as equally uncertain.

^B Before he had arrived in the promised land; but when at last he had come into Palestine, and hoped that he would now find rest, then a greater tempest beset him in the harbor. There is, however, no small reason for sorrow in this, or rather, it is the most unbearable of all, when one, thinking himself delivered from adversities and having arrived at the very end, freed from all care and thought, is compelled to experience the beginning of another [set of] evils. For he who is still prepared to bear adversities will receive those things when they are brought upon him with a more equal mind; but if, once the thoughts of his cares have been laid aside, something of this kind happens, he is troubled from two sides, and is easily overcome, both because the matter is unexpected and because he has laid aside all his care and preparation. What, then, was this tempest? A famine so severe had occupied Palestine that he was compelled to rise immediately from there and journey into Egypt. ^C When he had arrived there, as if he were about to find an end to his evils, another calamity, more bitter than the famine, seized him, so that he was in danger regarding the sum of his circumstances, and was reduced to such fear that he chose, as the most grievous of all things, to expose his wife to another's lust, compelled by fear. For he fell into such necessity at that time that he even used simulation: what could be said that is more miserable? For with what mind do you think he was when he was compelled to advise his wife thus, and to say: "I know that thou art a woman of fair countenance. Therefore, when the Egyptians see thee, they will say, 'She is his wife,' and they will kill me, but they will keep thee. Say, therefore, 'I am his sister,' that it may be well with me for thy sake, and my soul may live because of thee" (Gen. 12:11, 13)? He used these words, who had dismissed everything for the sake of God—his country, his home, his friends, his relatives, and all other domestic things; who had endured such hardship and such a labor for so long a time on the journey: ^D and yet he spoke nothing of this kind, such as: "Has God abandoned and averted Himself, and excluded me from His care and providence?" Rather, he bore all things bravely and faithfully; and he who, above all, should have been enraged when his wife was subjected to violence and taunts, did everything so that the taunt would not become manifest. Now, what kind of sadness and pain this is cannot be explained in speech: all who have married wives and have ever fallen into the suspicion of jealousy know it. But also Solomon bears witness to what this passion is, saying: "For the fury of a husband is full of jealousy; he will not spare in the day of judgment, nor will he settle enmity for any price, nor will he be reconciled by many gifts" (Prov. 6:34-35). And again: "Love is strong as death, jealousy is hard as hell" (Cant. 8:6).

VII. Quot adversa tulerit Abraham.

^A Meanwhile, when these sad things also had received an end, other adversities were born again, and war succeeded to the famine. I omit now the quarrels and disputes of the herdsmen, the separation from his brother's son; although these too, if they are examined with the others, could bring on no mediocre sorrow. For when he who had been saved by him, and had obtained such great commodities through him, who should have yielded to him in all things and should have honored his herdsmen—when this one, the option having been proposed, chose the more fertile region for himself, leaving the uncultivated and more desert [part] for him; who, I pray, would easily bear, I do not say detriment, but injury, when he saw that he who had honored him was treated in a way that was not honorable, and that he received the lesser part? That is indeed considered heavier than any detriment; but I pass over all these things: for our discourse is about the patriarch, not about any man whatsoever.

^B That he should lead his soldiers against enemies elated by victory, he who had not been present at the beginning of the war, when both sides were still intact, but [only] when the enemies had already obtained victory, when no one could bear them, but some had been killed here and there, others had given themselves to hiding places and flight, and the rest had been led into slavery. But yet nothing of these things induced him to remain at home, but, struck by vehement sorrow, he set out, and was himself to be a participant in that same calamity, and to expose himself without doubt to death. For to wish to fight, with his three hundred servants or a few more, against a most numerous enemy was surely nothing other than to expose himself to captivity, to torture, and to the bitterest death. ^C He set out, therefore, so that he too might experience barbarian ferocity. But saved by the clemency of God, having routed the enemies, and having returned in possession of the spoils and his kinsman, he was compelled to weep again for his own inconveniences, since because of the lack of children he was leaving no successor to his inheritance. For do not think, when you hear him complain and say to God, "What wilt Thou give me? I am going childless" (Gen. 15:2), that this was a recent and new vexation for him: for this care and solicitude had entered the house of that just man along with his bride, or rather, even before the entry of the bride herself. For we are all accustomed, when we begin to think about a wife, to be tempted even then by all the cares of the thing itself,

when the marriage has taken place, if the first year or the second or even the third passes without children, the sense of despondency intensifies, and the hopes for better things become weaker; and when a further period of time has elapsed, those hopes depart altogether, and this one [despondency] takes hold of the soul, casting a shadow over all the most pleasant things and allowing one to perceive nothing at all. So that even if none of these many grievous things had happened to him, but everything had gone according to his mind, the despondency of childlessness, attending all that occurred, was enough to cast a shadow over all joy and to cast it down. ^A For the promise of God was made in extreme old age, when the things of nature had been despaired of; but he continued all the time before that in such great pain and toil, and the more he saw his wealth increasing, the more he grieved, with no one to succeed him in it. For what do you think he suffered when he heard: *Your seed shall be a sojourner in a land not their own, and they shall enslave them, and they shall afflict and humble them for four hundred years* (Gen. 15:13)? And his wife, now ordering him to take her own handmaid, now, since he had taken her, finding fault and blaming him, and calling upon God against him, and compelling him to cast out the one who had shared his bed and was going to bear him a child—who would not be cast into the ultimate despondency by this? For if these things seem small to anyone now, considering that whole houses have been overturned on account of them, let him marvel at the righteous man. For even if he bore them bravely on account of his fear of God, he was nevertheless a man, and he was bitten and pained by all these things. ^B The handmaid of the master returns again to the house, and she bears the bastard to him, and Abraham becomes a father after that long time; and the matter had some pleasure, but a greater despondency. For the bastard reminded him of the legitimate one, and created an even greater longing for the matter. For he thought that the saying, *This one shall not be your heir, but he who shall come forth from you* (Ibid. 4), had been spoken concerning Ishmael; for truly nothing had yet been said concerning Sarah. But since he eventually received a clearer promise concerning Isaac, and a time was set for the birth, before he could again be gladdened by these hopes, the calamities of the Sodomites cast a great mist of despondency upon him. For that the matter disturbed the righteous man not as a casual event, is evident to everyone, of course, from his very words and the supplication which he offered to God for them; but when he saw that most terrible fire descend, and everything suddenly turned to dust and ashes, he was no longer even in himself. For if we, seeing houses burning from afar, are distraught and collapse from despondency and fear, what must he have suffered, seeing entire cities and regions—not with an ordinary conflagration, but with a strange and fearful one—burning along with their inhabitants? Does it not seem to you that the sufferings of the righteous man imitate the continuous succession of waves in the sea? For just as there, even before the former have vanished, the second ones are crowned, so it happened throughout the life of this righteous man. For while the evils in Sodom were still at their peak, the king of Gerar attempted to dare the same things against Sarah that Pharaoh had; and again the woman was compelled to act out that pitiful pretense, and the outrage would have gone into effect, had God not hindered it again. ^C When the child and the wife and the whole household were rejoicing at the birth of the child, the righteous man alone was forced to be in pain and to be despondent in the midst of such pleasure, being compelled to cast out the concubine along with the child. For even if Ishmael was a bastard and from a handmaid, yet the tyranny of nature was no less than from being unworthy, nor did the lack of noble birth make the compulsion of paternal affection weaker; and this can be learned from the Book itself. For the firm and courageous man, he who was willing to slaughter his only-begotten with his own hands, he grieved when his wife ordered him to do these things, and he would not have yielded nor been persuaded by Sarah—even though she had more boldness then—and saying these things to him, had not the fear of God greatly bowed him. So when you hear that he sent him away upon God’s commandment, do not think that his pangs were [194] relieved (for that was impossible), but marvel at his intense obedience, that, being bowed by sympathy, he did not contradict God, but sent away the child with his mother, not even knowing where he would go, and he endured and suffered in pain; for he was not superior to nature.

9. On the sacrifice of Isaac.

^A will provide for Himself a lamb for a holocaust, my son. With what great compassion do you think those words were filled? He held himself in, and repressed the force of his grief, and he performed all these things with such readiness as they might do who were restrained by no such impediments. Meanwhile, having immolated his son (for he had truly immolated him by his devotion), he received him again, safe and sound, restored to his mother: whom she, receiving, before she could enjoy her sweet son to the full, departed from this life; this was the greatest grief for that righteous man. For although they had lived together for a long time, nothing could persuade him to bear that fall any more lightly; nay, this very thing consigned him to even greater grief. For we are accustomed to yearn, above all others and with the most intense desire, for those who have lived with us for a very long time and who have given us the greatest proofs of their virtue and friendship. And that these things are so, the patriarch himself indicates to us, who pursued her with weeping and lamentation. Who now could recount the remaining anxieties which he undertook for his son, for the man's wife, for his brothers, and all the rest? ^B Whosoever should wish to consider these things with precision will perceive the life of this righteous man to be far more laborious and burdened with cares than that of him whom we pointed out a little earlier. For the Scripture, recounting only the most important matters, left all the rest for us to examine—things that are likely to happen daily at home, where there is a multitude of servants, a husband, a wife, and children, and the care and solicitude for many affairs. "Quite so," you will say, "but for him the consolation in each of these adversities was that he was suffering all these things for God's sake." Therefore, that same thing will also console you. For surely no one except God has permitted this trial to be brought upon you. For if not even the most wicked demons dared to attack the swine (Matt. 8.30 seqq.) unless He had first permitted it, much less would they touch a precious soul. Therefore, just as it brought much reward to that man that he bore all things bravely and with thanksgiving, so it will produce the same for you, if only you do not bear it grievously and indignantly, but give thanks in all things to the most merciful God. For the blessed Job also suffered what he suffered by God's permission; ^C yet he was not granted crowns for that reason only, because he suffered, but because he stood strong and inviolable against all adversities; and we all admire him, not because he was deprived of everything by the devil, but because among all these things he did not sin, not even with his lips. I have made mention of Job; I would indeed wish to pursue the long lamentations of that man and the vehemence of his sufferings; but lest I be too prolix, I return to Isaac. Furthermore, if you wish to learn all things about him more diligently, taking the book itself in your hands, look into the most profound abyss of that man's calamities, and you will find there the greatest consolation. For by as much as that righteous man is better than we are, by so much the greater force he had to overcome, and by so much the more vehemently was that most wicked one then stirred up against him. However, right actions are estimated not so much by the number of trials as by the strength of the things done. Therefore, even if this struggle is lower, it can deduct nothing from your crowns; ^D for he who offered two talents brought back nothing less than he who had offered five. Why so? Because, even if the yield was not the same, the readiness was the same. Wherefore both obtained the same honor, hearing: Enter into the joy of your Lord (Matt. 25.21). What then of Isaac? He was not, indeed, compelled to undergo that longest pilgrimage by his father's example and to abandon his own land; but he himself did plainly endure the greatest of all evils, to wit, the fear of passing on without descendants. But after he was freed from that fear by prayer, another, far greater fear immediately succeeded him. For the fear of infertility in a spouse is not the same as trembling for the very root itself. For he was so torn by the pangs of childbirth that life was for him more bitter than any death. And you may hear her saying this very thing: If it was to be so with me, why should I live (Gen. 25.22)? He also experienced famine, though he did not descend into Egypt as his father did; but what the other truly endured in Egypt, he too was in danger of suffering—namely, to lose his wife. And the neighbors all revered the father, but this man they harassed no differently than an enemy and a foe, and they did not allow him to enjoy his own labors; nay, when they hemmed him in with pressures on all sides, they freely enjoyed his labors themselves. And yet, when he had finally obtained them as friends, and saw his sons grown, then surely, then when he hoped he would find the greatest consolation and have the best caretakers of his old age, he fell into the greatest grief. For first, the greater son took for himself a wife of a foreign nation against his father's wish, and by that very fact that he had introduced strife and war into the house, he affected him with a force of grief that was supreme and incredible. For those women afflicted the parents with countless evils, which the Scripture, avoiding, indicated in one word when it said: They were a bitterness of spirit to Isaac and Rebecca (Id. 26.35); and it left that saying to be understood by those who have homes and children already married. For they know, more than any others, how great an evil it is and how great the detriment if a mother-in-law and a daughter-in-law quarrel, and most especially when both inhabit the same house. This, however, was a constant hardship for them. Added to these was a more grievous trouble for them, to wit, blindness, which only they know who suffer it. Furthermore, while he was blessing his sons, contrary to what he [intended], through the craft and artifice of his mother, he blessed the younger instead of the elder: in which matter he was so pained that he cried out more bitterly than he who had suffered, and excused his ignorance, that he had not knowingly defrauded him of the blessing, but had been circumvented. All these things betrayed the tragedy of the scene, and foreshadowed the story of the Theban youths. For here, too, the elder son, scorning the old age and blindness of his father, drove his younger brother from the house. And if he did not kill him, his mother's wisdom prevented it; for he had threatened murder and was lying in wait for the death of his father. Which, when the cautious mother had learned and reported to the father, she snatched him from his hands; and he—

^A for he was someone who felt kindly towards himself—forced them to commit him to flight, but kept the one who made his life bitter and unbearable (for Rebekah herself says as much) with them continually. Since, therefore, he had fled—he who had been raised in the house for all that time (for he was guileless while living in the house) and had for the most part remained at home with his mother—how great, one may imagine, was the sorrow Rebekah felt, and the lamentations she made, remembering her child at every moment, and seeing her husband in a state no better than the dead, both because of his age and because of his sickness! And with how much mourning, one may imagine, was the old man filled, together with his household, being forced to lament his wife’s calamities! But when she was about to die, what indeed did he not say, what did he not utter, which was sufficient to melt even stone, not seeing his child standing by and weeping, and wiping ^B his eyes, and stopping his mouth, and shrouding him, and attending to all the other things—things which seem to parents more bitter than death itself? And Isaac, seeing her breathing her last in this way, what kind of soul must one think he possessed both then and after her passing?

11. Jacob, how he was afflicted. — Such a man has been shown to us as one who seems to be more cheerful than many others. But the life of Jacob is enough, even without examination, to show this—the very confession of Jacob himself; for, when conversing with Pharaoh at that time, he said: *My days are few and evil, and they have not reached the days of my fathers* (Gen. 47:9); that is, I have lived a shorter and more wretched life. And even without his confession, his calamities are so conspicuous that not even many of the common people are unaware of them. For his grandfather, even if he did perform a long migration, ^C did so at God’s command, which brought him the greatest consolation; but this man, fleeing a brother who was lying in wait and murdering him—and whereas that one never lamented for the provision of his necessities, this one considered it a desirable and wished-for thing only to possess clothing and bread. Yet having been saved, and freed from the evils of his journey, and having come to his own kinsmen, he was forced into slavery, he who had been raised in such great abundance. And you know that everywhere slavery is bitter; but when someone is forced to endure the lot of a servant among those of equal standing, and that too without ever having had experience of the matter, but having spent his entire early life in freedom and luxury, the hardship becomes unbearable. Nevertheless, he bore everything nobly. And you hear him describing his labors in shepherding, and saying: *I paid back from my own pocket the thefts of the day and the thefts of the night; I became one scorched by the heat of the day and by the frost of the night, and sleep departed from my eyes* (Gen. 31:39-41). These things he suffered, he who had lived a guileless life, who had stayed in the house at all times, and after so many travails, and losses, and that great length of time, he endured that bitter deception ^D regarding his wife. For if he had not served the seven years, if he had not suffered all that he lamented to his father-in-law, if he had not loved the girl—just the act of being betrothed to the better one and having the inferior one given instead of her, what great despondency, what great turmoil, what great indignity did it offer to that blessed man at that time! Another person, indeed, if there were one, would not have easily borne the indignity, but would have overturned the entire house of his in-laws by killing himself along with them, or by destroying them in some other way; but since Jacob was free from malice and long-suffering, he did not do this, nor did he even consider it at all. But having been ordered to serve another seven years, he obeyed readily; so mild and gentle was he. But if the love of the girl took part in the gentleness of his character, again you tell me of the excess of his despondency. For consider what pain he endured, when he was deprived of her whom he so loved, and while expecting to have her inside, he was driven off by another delay of seven years, and the cold, and the heat, and the sleeplessness, and the continuous losses. And having taken her later, and living a wretched and laborious life with his father-in-law, he was envied even so, and endured a second deception regarding his wages, as he himself convicted him, saying: *You cheated me with ten lambs* (Gen. 31:41). But once with the father-in-law, the brothers of the wives became even more like wild beasts toward him. And the hardest thing of all was that the beloved one, for whose sake he chose to serve for two periods of seven years, was suffocating from despondency, seeing her sister bearing children while she herself did not even have the hope of the matter; and she was carried away at that time into such an ecstasy by despondency that she accused and blamed her husband, and threatened death upon herself if she did not bear children: *Give me children,* she says, *and if not, I shall die* (Gen. 30:1). What then could possibly cheer him, with the one so desired lamenting such things, and her brothers lying in wait for him and doing everything possible so that he might come to extreme poverty? And if things handed over to wives without sweat, when they are taken away, bring great despondency, how could he who was in danger over things acquired by his own labors bear this loss calmly? Having perceived, therefore, that they held him in suspicion and were looking askance at him, he departed secretly like a fugitive; what could there be more pitiful? For having traveled from his own land and from a foreign one with fears and dangers, he was forced to fall again into the same pitfalls. For he had fled from his brother and came to his father-in-law, and being driven by him in turn, he was forced to fall upon his brother; and he endured that prophetic saying which Amos mentions concerning the day of the Lord: *As if a man should flee from the face of a lion, and a bear should fall upon him, and he should leap into his house, and lean his hand against the wall, and the serpent should bite him* (Amos 5:19). But what need is there to speak of the trembling he endured when caught by Laban, the afflictions during the journey, with so many herds and children following him? But since he was about to see his brother’s sight, did he not suffer the same thing as those who see the head of the Gorgon fashioned by the poets? Was he not, as one going to his death, arranging everything in this way? Hear his words, and learn of the flame stored up in his soul: *Deliver me,* he says, *O God, from the hand of Esau my brother, for I fear him, lest he should come and strike me and the mother with the children. But you said to me, I will do you good* (Gen. 32:11-12). How much cheerfulness would not this fear have cast out, even if he had spent all the time before in joy? Now

however, his entire life, from the day he was to receive the blessing, was woven through with various calamities and treacheries, so that he was almost dead with fear. Indeed, such great dread had seized him at that time that, after his meeting with his brother, however unexpectedly kindly and humanely he had dealt with him, he could not even then find confidence or put aside his anxiety. Finally, when Esau entreated him to let him travel with him, hoping to be freed from him no differently than from some wild beast, he begged him to depart, saying: "You know, my lord, that the infants are tender, and the sheep and cows with young are with me; if I should drive them hard, all the flocks will die in one day. Let my lord go on before his servant, and I will be strengthened on the way, according to the slowness of the journey that is before me and according to the feet of my children, until I come to my lord in Seir" (Gen. 33:13-14). And breathing a little from those dangers, he fell into another far greater fear.

The theft of the daughter, Dinah

The son of the most beloved wife

^A and his children were gradually diminishing for him, he endured all things by the excess of his greater troubles; for a greater despondency held him concerning these than concerning Joseph. For that calamity which has no expectation of correction, even if it brings us sharp despondencies, nevertheless quickly casts them out, by throwing the mind into despair; but that which is still suspended does not allow the soul to rest, always straining and renewing our agony by the uncertainty of what is to come. And one might learn this well from the blessed David, who, while his child was still alive, mourned, but once he had died, he released himself from his mourning. And when his attendants were perplexed concerning this, and asked him the cause, he spoke this reasoning, which I speak now. ^B With good reason, therefore, he too feared and trembled more for these. But the desirable sight and the seeing of Joseph provided him with cheerfulness later. And what was the profit? For just as limbs scorched by a vehement fire, even if one should cool them ten thousand times, gain nothing; so also his soul, having become full of pain, and having been scorched by that flame of despondency, there was nothing sufficient to restore it, and especially when it is not likely that his perception was clear; which Barzillai also, excusing himself to David, said: "How many are the days of the years of my life that I should go up with the king to Jerusalem? I am eighty years old today. Will I discern between good and evil? Will thy servant taste what he eats or what he drinks? Or will I hear the voice of singing men or singing women? And why should thy servant become a burden to my lord the king?" (2 Sam. 19:34-35). But why is it necessary to conjecture these things from others, when it is possible to hear from the sufferer himself? For after seeing his son, he says, when asked by Pharaoh concerning the life of his days: "Small and evil are my days, and they have not reached the days of my fathers" (Gen. 47:9); to such an extent did he always carry within him the memory of what had happened, with his soul so flourishing in recollection.

12. But as for this famous and glorious son, Joseph, what did he not conceal by his calamities? ^C For his father had only one brother who conspired against him, but this one had many more; and the former was nourished for all his early life in abundance and much ease, but the latter, while still a boy, was forced to bear the miseries of travel in a foreign land. And for Jacob, his mother was present to lighten the conspiracy; but this one, while still young, and when he most needed his mother, was at that time left in a desert of this help. Besides these, Esau only troubled Jacob until the threat; but these men even brought the conspiracy to the deed, and before the conspiracy they continued to envy and slander him; what could be more grievous than to have those who live with you always as enemies? For they brought a wicked report against him, and seeing that his father loved him more than his other sons, they hated him, and could not speak any peaceful word to him. For neither the being under the merchants, nor the being under the eunuch, could I say was such a great evil; for they used him with much more humanity than his brothers. But yet, not even so did the winter of his calamities become milder; for a more vehement storm having fallen, it plunged him down again. Perhaps someone thinks I shall speak of the conspiracy of the mistress; but I shall speak of another more grievous than this. For it is terrible, truly ^D terrible, both to be slandered for such things, and to be condemned, and to dwell in prison for so long a time—a free and noble boy, and inexperienced in such a necessity; but I think the winter from his age was much heavier than all these. For if, being troubled by no desire, he had spurned her love, I would not greatly praise or admire the man, considering [his obedience] to Christ. For He says that not those who are castrated by nature, but those who make themselves eunuchs are deemed worthy of the kingdom of heaven; if this were not the case, what kind of victory would he have won? Against whom would he have bound on a crown? Whom would he have conquered to be heralded as victor, with no one there struggling with him and attempting to cast him down? For we do not praise those who do not mingle with irrational animals for the sake of temperance, because the desire for that union does not even lie within their nature. If, therefore, that fire did not trouble that blessed man at that time, why do we admire him for temperance? But if, when the flame is raised more vehemently than at any other time (for he was then passing his twentieth year), and when the tyranny is unbearable and no one is increasing it, at that time the incontinent woman set upon the youth, adding to the flame as much strength from her own incantations and adornments as it had from nature—how could anyone describe the winter of his soul, and the tumult and the agony, with nature and age disturbing him from within, and the devices of the Egyptian woman attacking from without, and this not just for a day or two, but for a long time? For I believe he was trembling then not only for himself, but was also grieving for her, as she was rushing to come to such a precipice; and this is clear to us from what he replies to her with much gentleness. For it was possible, if he wished, to have spoken to her even more insultingly and boldly; for she would easily have endured all things because of her love; but he neither spoke nor thought anything of the kind, but having stirred up pious reasonings, and through which he thought only to turn her back, he added nothing more. For "Behold," he says, "my master knows nothing because of me in his house, and all things that are his he has given into my hand, and there is nothing in this house that is greater than I, nor has anything been kept back from me except you, because you are his wife; and how shall I do this evil thing, and sin before God?" (Gen. 39:8-9). And after such gentleness and demonstration of temperance, he was slandered—and God permitted it. He was bound, and not even so did he expose the conspiracy and the unjust slander of the woman; for He wished both to have many rewards for him and to have his crowns be more glorious, and for this reason, even with the king's servants having been released, he himself still remained inside. But do not—I pray you—speak to me of the kindness of the jailer, but examine his own words, and you shall see the pain of his

dismissed he himself remained confined. ^A I do not want you to object to me the clemency of the jailer, but rather that you examine his words more carefully, and you will discern the anguish of his soul. For when he had interpreted the dream, he said to the king’s cup-bearer: *But remember me by yourself, when it goes well with you, and you will show mercy upon me, and you will suggest it to Pharaoh concerning me, and you will lead me out of this prison, because I was taken by theft from the land of the Hebrews: and here I have done nothing, but they cast me, innocent, into the house of this pit* (Gen. 40. 14. 15). For although he bore the confines of the prison easily, to live with such men—for instance, violators of graves, thieves, parricides, adulterers, murderers (for the dwelling was full of these and such as these)—was more burdensome and grievous to him. And not this alone, but because he saw very many, in vain and to no purpose, being tormented and consumed there. But nevertheless, that which you yourself complain of just now, the servant indeed was rescued from his chains, yet the free man persisted in his misery. But if anyone should make mention of a kingdom, he will again bring into the middle for me a swarm of cares, of vigils, and the difficulties of a thousand business affairs ^B which, for those who love a quiet life, free from cares, are not excessively pleasant. Furthermore, if anything joyful happened to those saints, it was surely not surprising, since the heavenly kingdom was not yet plain and manifest, nor the promise of future goods clear; but now, when such an abundance of goods is set before us, and the matter is manifest to all, will anyone, I beseech you, dare to grieve if he does not enjoy pleasant things in this present life, or will he ever consider anything in this life sweet if he knows those others? And what can be expressed as more abject than this state of mind, if, hoping that he will migrate in a little while to heaven, he seeks the rest and prosperity of this world, which is no better than a shadow? *Vanity of vanities,* he says, *and all is vanity* (Eccl. 1. 2). And if he, who had experienced the pleasures of the present life more than other men, brought forth this judgment against them, much more does it befit us to be so affected and to feel this way, we who have nothing in common with the earth, and to whom it is commanded to be enrolled in the city above and to transfer our whole mind thither.

OF THE SAME TO STAGYRIUS CONCERNING SADNESS. BOOK THREE

^C Sufficient, indeed, were those things which have been said to extinguish the flame of sadness and to persuade one to be of a better and more tranquil spirit; but in order that the consolation might be fuller, I decided to append this book as well, asking this from you first: tell me, I pray, if someone were to call you to an earthly kingdom, and before your entrance into that city, or before you received the crown, it were necessary to lodge in a stable, where there was an abundance of refuse and smoke, the tumult of travelers, the disturbance of robbers, and the utmost pressure and anxiety, would you turn your thoughts toward those sad things, or would you not rather despise them all as if they were nothing? How, therefore, would it not be absurd that a man about to possess earthly things should, uplifted by the hope of a kingdom, not be contracted by any of those adverse things which happen in the meantime, yet a man called to the heavens, at every individual case of sadness that happens in the inn, should collapse and be perturbed? For the state of this present life is in no way better than an inn or the dwelling of a stable; and when the saints desired to indicate this to us, they called themselves guests and pilgrims, instructing us by these words to deride both the joyful and the sad things of the present age, and, removed as far as possible from the earth, to long for heavenly things with our whole soul, and to transfer our entire thought to them.

He brings forth the example of Joseph.

Come, therefore, let us come to the saints, passing our discourse from Joseph to Moses. For he, the meekest of all who dwelt on the earth, is born with his own people oppressed by the force of most harsh servitude, but alienated from his parents, and ignorant of by whom he was begotten, he is educated for his whole previous age by barbarian men: what could be more grievous to a Hebrew, endued with singular prudence, even if he were thought to be the son of a king a thousand times over? Yet he was not tormented by this alone at that time, but because he saw his own nation oppressed by extreme catastrophes. For he who could not bear even to live without their salvation, nor to be enrolled in the book of God, how could he have enjoyed the goods of the royal court and the kingdom, when he saw all his people tossed by such a tempest? For if we—arising after so many centuries and having no cause of this kind for compassion for the Jews—feel such great compassion for the slaughtered infants, what did that blessed man not suffer, who, bound to his own nation by such singular affection, perceived their very slaughters with his own eyes, and was forced besides to honor with the title of parents those who were inflicting such great evils upon them? I believe that he himself mourned those wretched infants then more than the parents themselves did: which is clear from the very things he did afterwards. For when he could neither persuade nor force the one who was thought to be his father to remove the feral and tyrannical decree, he himself wished to be a sharer in the common evils. Nor is this what I admire so much now, but I am exceedingly stunned by it, inferring from that slaughter what a flame of sadness he had nurtured in time past. For he who, from the great force of grief, later burst forth into homicide, shows from that act what the pain of his soul had been beforehand. For he would not have avenged them with such vehemence, if he had not been more consumed by their evils than their own parents. What then, since he avenged and calmed his soul a little ^D from that sadness, was he able to completely

^A forget that consolation which came from the act of vengeance? The second day, in fact, had not yet arrived, when another sadness, far more grievous than the former, came to seize that blessed man, and such fear that it drove him out of all Egypt. It is a dreadful thing to hear oneself spoken ill of by anyone at all, but when the one doing this is among those who have been benefited, and he reproachfully brings up the very favors done for him—[the text says]: "Do you wish to kill me as you killed the Egyptian yesterday?" (Exod. 2. 14)—at that moment, then, the insult becomes unbearable, and it could very well cause the one insulted to choke; so much does it bring upon him anger along with despondency. ^B And in the case of Moses, a third thing was added to these: the fear of the king, which so mastered the soul of the righteous man that it cast him out of the entire land. Thus, the son of the king becomes a fugitive; so if anyone praises him because of his upbringing in the royal palace, he should now remember that abundance, and he will see that it became for the righteous man the cause of ten thousand despondencies and difficulties. For it is not the same to have been raised in a private home and to have endured many labors and many long periods of wandering and suffering in a foreign land, as it is to have endured the evils of a strange country after never having come to the briefest trial of these things, but having spent all his time in luxury—and then to suffer this very thing; for he will feel the flight to be far more painful than the other, if it ever happens that he is forced into such a necessity, which is what happened to him then. And having become a fugitive, he is lodged with an idolatrous man of another race; and this too is no small reason for despondency, to be a guest for so long a time among one who is devoted to demons. ^C And having been entrusted with the care of that man’s flocks, he thus spent forty years. But if to anyone this does not seem to be a terrible thing, let us examine not those who are traveling and hiding out of fear and dread, but those who are willingly separated from their homes for a short while, how they pine, how they are distressed, and how many good things they count as the cost of their return. But when there is also fear and a miserable life, and these heavy and burdensome things to bear appear lighter than the sweetest return, observe for me the complexity of his misfortune. For do not simply hear the word "he pastured," but remember now the words of Jacob, which he lamented to his kinsman, saying: "I was paying out from my own pocket the thefts of the day and the thefts of the night; I was consumed by the heat during the day, and by the frost at night, and sleep departed from my eyes." (Gen. 31. 39-40). For it is likely that all these things were happening to him, for more years and with greater intensity, inasmuch as the country was more desolate than Mesopotamia. And if Moses had not lamented these things—for even that blessed man would not have spoken, if he had not been placed in a great necessity of the matter, and had been forced to these words by the ingratitude of his kinsman. ^D Alien lands are of themselves sufficient to humble a man who is only traveling because of need. "For as a bird," he says, "when it flies from its nest, so is a man enslaved when he is estranged from his own places." (Prov. 27. 8). At that time, moreover, he could not even be secure regarding his own safety, but like some servant who has run away from a cruel master, he trembles at all times and fears that he might be captured; so also the blessed Moses lived in continual fear; and it is evident from the fact that even when God commanded him to depart after so long a time, he shies away and hesitates, even after having heard that "those who are seeking your soul are dead." (Exod. 4. 19).

2. But after he was eventually persuaded and departed, and was forced to leave his wife and children behind, he returned to Egypt, only to face again accusations and curses from those who were being benefited by him. For he was saying: "Why, Moses and Aaron, do you turn the people from their works? Go each of you to his work." (Exod. 5. 4). But the Israelites say: "May God see you and judge you, because you have made our odor to be detestable before Pharaoh and before his servants, to give a sword into their hands to kill us." (Ibid. v. 21). These things were indeed grievous and burdensome, but that which was most heavy of all was that, having gone in and promised ten thousand good things—freedom, the removal of the pressing evils—he appeared to be a deceiver. For not only was the weight of the pressing slavery not eased for them, but it was intensified to something more harsh, and he who was expected to be the liberator of the whole nation, and who had promised this, appeared to be the cause of their tortures and beatings, and a conspirator and a destroyer. Who would not have been easily swallowed up by despondency, having promised a release from such great evils, only to see, after that promise, the addition of others even more grievous? He was despondent, indeed, as it is natural for one hearing and seeing these things to be despondent, but he was not led astray by the passion, but remained unshaken, even though these things did not turn out according to his promises, but were even in conflict with them. And having approached God and discussed these things, and having lamented much—for he said, as it is written: "Lord, why did you afflict your people, and why did you send me? And from the time I have entered in to Pharaoh to speak in your name, he has afflicted this people, and you have not rescued your people." (Ibid. v. 23). Having lamented these things, then, and having heard again the very same things as he had before, he reports them to the Israelites again, but they do not accept them because their souls are held fast by weariness and despondency. "For they did not listen to Moses," it says, "because of their despondency and their harsh labors." (Exod. 6. 9). And this also wounded him not as a chance matter. And as this happened regarding the signs, and he was often mocked by Pharaoh and yet bore even this mockery nobly, having been delivered from Egypt and encouraged with the Jews finally, before he could breathe fully, he was seized by a fear prior to the first one, or rather, [a fear] far greater than the first. For not even three full days had passed, and they saw all the barbarians standing near them with their weapons, and they were suffering the same as if some runaways in a foreign land had suddenly fallen into the eyes of their masters; or as if, just as these people themselves perhaps at some time having indulged in pleasant dreams, and having imagined this deliverance, then upon waking up found themselves back in Egypt and in the same evils. Or rather, I do not know what one would say they considered a dream: those three days of deliverance, or that present sight that was chilling and fearful; so thick was the mist of despondency cast upon the eyes of all. And Moses

^A was enshrouded in much greater darkness. For he feared not only the Egyptians, as did the rest, but the Israelites themselves along with them; for both groups were about to attack him as a deceiver and a charlatan—the Egyptians indeed mocking and trampling upon him, the Israelites stung with pain and consumed by despondency. But what need have I to gather by conjecture the griefs and straits of the man, when we can understand his entire pain from that very voice sent down from above? For to him who was silent and did not dare to open his lips, God said: "Why do you cry to me?" ^B And when this fear was resolved, new tribulations were again added. For throughout all that journey, those who were governed by him and enjoyed through him countless goods, treated him more cruelly and inhumanly than Pharaoh himself and the Egyptians had done. And first of all, they pressed upon him vehemently, suffocating him and demanding Egyptian flesh, and ungratefully loathing their present state, and longing for the past: which was surely the most grievous thing of all. For what could he suffer more bitter than to have been appointed leader of mad and insane men? And yet that blessed man bore all things bravely; and if he had not loved them with the greatest affection, it would have been a tolerable evil to suffer only for his own injuries; but since he was affected toward them no differently than a father, he was compelled by this affection to undergo another distress, namely, that concerning their perversity and wickedness. For he was not so tormented by the insults as by the fact that they themselves were insulting. ^C It had been truly grievous even before the miraculous provision of food that they were ungrateful; but they showed their wickedness even in the midst of miracles, their iniquity and unbridled lust, which they brought forth as they gathered manna; and when they had proceeded but a little way, they murmured again, and again complained ungratefully against the benefits of God. And when they sinned daily, one by one, that blessed man mourned, more sorrowful than they. For when they made the calf, they indeed played and acted wantonly, but Moses, mourning and affected by sadness, was calling down upon himself that terrible curse, and nothing at all could persuade him to abstain from his affection of pity. ^D Seeing therefore those so beloved ever progressing toward worse things, with how much pain, with what tears, do you suppose he was constantly overwhelmed? For if one who has only one son cannot live without pain when he notices him ever prone to vices, even if he himself be more wicked than all; then he who had placed so many thousands of men in the rank of sons—nay, who loved them more than sons (for no father, like him, wishes to perish together with his son, especially when he has committed no sin)—he, I say, who had so many sons, who averted evil and zealously loved good, what must he be thought to have suffered when he beheld them all, as if by some agreement, rushing toward the precipices of vice? For he would never have cast down the tablets from his hands and shattered them had he not been enshrouded in darkness and his soul obscured by an inner sense of grief. But that disaster was quickly settled by him. By what remedy, I ask? For even if the wound had been healed by that kind of cure, he himself was still always in tears. For almost no one would be so stony as not to suffer when seeing brothers and kinsmen slaughtered by their own, and that slaughter progressing to the number of twenty-three thousand. For when we ourselves detect that our children have sinned in something, we subject them indeed to torments and lashes; but we do not do this without pain, nor are we less afflicted than those who suffer.

Since, therefore, a great mourning had occupied both him and the camp, another anxiety was again added. For God threatened that He would no longer spare them, but would abandon them and give their care to an angel. That indeed appeared to Moses the most bitter of all. For hear what he said to God: "If you yourself do not go with us, do not lead us away from here" (Exod. 33.15). Do you see how fears ever succeeded fears, and sorrows sorrows? Nor did the adversities stop even here; but when he had persuaded God of this also, and He had assented more mercifully, and had granted the favor, he was afflicted again by other sorrows. ^A Provoking God again—who was now propitious—they exposed themselves to the greatest calamities: for after that lamentable slaughter, they offended God again in such a way that they provoked against themselves that fire which would have consumed and destroyed almost everyone, had He not exercised the greatest clemency toward them. Moses, however, was always tormented by a double sadness: that he saw them perishing and yet unwilling to be corrected, and that he saw nothing gained from the downfall of those who were perishing. For that disaster had not yet reached its end when those who had remained, mindful of onions, took ill the food given to them, saying: "Who shall feed us with flesh? We remember the fish that we ate in Egypt, and the cucumbers, and the melons, and the leeks, and the onions, and the garlic. Now, however, our soul drieth away, and our eyes behold nothing but manna" (Num. 11.4-6). Here Moses could no longer bear the ungrateful, nay, rather, overcome by grief, he rejects their rule, and prefers to die rather than live in such bitterness. ^B Hear finally his words: "And he said," it says, "Moses to God: Why hast thou afflicted thy servant, and why have I not found grace before thee, that thou shouldst lay the burden of all this people upon me? Have I received all this people in my womb, or have I begotten them, that thou sayest to me, Take them in thy bosom, as a nurse the sucking child, unto the land which thou didst swear to their fathers? Whence should I have flesh, that I may give to all this people, for they weep against me saying: Give us flesh that we may eat? I shall not be able to bear this people alone, for this word is heavy for me. But if thou dost not do this to me, I beseech thee, kill me, if I have found grace before thee" (Num. 11.11-15). Those things were spoken by him who had said: "But now if thou wilt forgive them their sin, forgive: but if not, strike me out of the book which thou hast written" (Exod. 32.32): to such a degree ^C was he overwhelmed by grief and ^D constantly vexed by the things done by the children. For even after the

^A events recorded, it is evident from what he did thereafter that he never ceased in his sympathy for them. For since, after they attempted to kill the spies, they even cast stones at him, he escaped their hands and turned again to supplication on their behalf, and besought God to be merciful to those who wished to kill him: to such a degree did the bond of natural affection lie upon him. Consequently, when the spies had died and the mourning was at its height, before time had even passed, they were again weaving threads of sorrow for him; first, by not enduring his prohibition against fighting, and second, by being cut down by the Amalekites. And even before this war, they had been sufficiently ravaged by cholera and gluttony. For he says that He slew them in great numbers, while their food was yet in their mouths (Ps. 77. 30). ^B Having witnessed that great slaughter as well, and while the distress over it had not yet ceased, he was set upon by another grief, and was reduced to such a necessity that he wished, for the sake of these beloved and dearest ones, to end his life through some strange and extraordinary death. In this way, some were suddenly burned by fire, and others were swallowed up by a chasm in the earth; and these were not a few in number, but more than fifteen thousand men suffered these things.

After this had happened, how was it likely that their relatives and friends would be disposed toward Moses? And how [would] Moses himself [be], seeing both the children orphaned and the wives made widows by this disaster, and his own sister and brother having departed life, and his own sons having been burned because of some transgression? Each of these things was sufficient to crush a soul that had suffered nothing, let alone one already wrought by so many evils. ^C When they took the Canaanite and were forced to circle a long path, the Jews grumbled again, and again they were perishing—not by disease as before, nor by fire and chasm as formerly, but by the bites of venomous serpents, which would have destroyed them all had not Moses approached again and besought God. Since they were delivered from this destruction and escaped the curses of the soothsayer, they again cast themselves down from the most grievous precipices, and after the blessings of Balaam, or rather of God (for the words were not of his own choosing, but of the power moving him), they committed fornication with the daughters of the foreigners and were initiated into Beelphegor. Moses, seeing such shame and mockery, again ordered them to cut one another down, saying: "Slay each one his neighbor who has been initiated into Beelphegor" (Num. 25. 5); just as if, in the case of some wound that has taken many incisions and cauterizations but has in no way been made better by this, ^D one were to order it to be cut and burned again.

But when you hear of these difficulties, do not think that only these things happened; for I have omitted not a few of those recorded, such as the wars, the oppositions of the enemies, the long journeys, the insult from his sister, and the punishment for which that most meek Moses felt the most pain. Yet, even if one gathered everything with precision, what is written is not even a ten-thousandth part of what happened. For if one who is in charge of a few servants in a house has countless occasions for provocation and grief; 478 what kinds of troubles was he forced to face daily, being compelled to oversee so many tens of thousands for forty years, and in a desert where there was neither air nor water? What concerns, what anxieties, both for the living and for the dead! For he saw all those he led out die, except for two men alone, and he was not deemed worthy to lead those born from them into the land of promise; but he saw it from the summit of Mount Nabau, and was well instructed as to its nature, yet he was not permitted to enjoy it with the remaining Israelites, but remained outside and died; about which he himself lamented to the Israelites, saying: "And the Lord God was angry with me because of the things said by you, and swore that I should not cross this Jordan, and that I should not enter the land which the Lord thy God gives thee in inheritance. For I die in this land, and I do not cross this Jordan; but you shall cross, and shall inherit this good land" (Deut. 4. 21, 22). And the most terrible thing of all was that he brought him down to Hades with grief; for he forelearned the evils that were to seize the Jews—the idolatry, the captivity, the untold disasters—so that his soul was worn down not only by things he saw and things that had happened, but also by things that had not yet come to pass. For beginning to suffer and be anxious from his earliest age, he ended his life with the same distress.

5. *Joshua the successor of Moses and he too afflicted.*—But his successor Joshua shared in all the grievous things with him, so to speak; and if he escaped some things because of his youth, he made up for this after his death. For not only when Moses lived did he tear his garments and sprinkle dust upon his head, but also when he had died he was again cast into the same, or rather into a greater, necessity: not for a short time, but for the whole day lying prostrate on the ground. Hear also his words and his wailings: "And Joshua," he says, "rent his garments and fell upon his face on the ground before the Lord until evening, he and the elders of Israel, and they cast dust upon their heads; and Joshua said: 'I beseech Thee, O Lord, why has Thy servant brought this people across this Jordan, to give it to the Amorite to destroy us? If we had only remained and dwelt by the Jordan. And what shall I say, since Israel has turned his back before his enemy? And the Canaanite and all the inhabitants of the land shall hear it and shall encompass us and shall blot us out from the earth'" (Josue 7. 6–9). Having heard these things, God revealed to him the cause of the defeat; and having learned it, he destroyed all of them utterly, not the sinner alone, but also his relatives and kin, and the multitude of his herds, which moved his soul not as a casual matter. For if we, seeing strangers being punished, cannot endure even to look, what would he not have suffered, surrounding his own kinsmen and fellow soldiers with such evils? What then of the trickery of the Gibeonites and the suspicion that arose against those who dwelled beyond the Jordan? What of the multitude of other...

afflictions of the people that followed after? I do not deem it necessary to recount these, for it is not our present purpose to enumerate the tribulations of individuals, but only of those who were exceedingly pleasing to God.

^A 5. Therefore, it seems, let us pass over Eli, for he also offended God through the wickedness of his children, or rather, through his own negligence. For he was not punished because he had wicked children, but because he had spared them rebuke beyond what was due, and when the laws of God were being violated, he did not punish them severely. Being conscious of this himself, after those great threats he said: "The Lord himself will do what is good in his sight" (1 Kings 3:18). Having omitted him, therefore, let us come to Samuel. From his childhood he was reared in the temple, and he was always dear and highly pleasing to God, and he displayed such proofs of virtue from his earliest age that even before he attained to man's estate he was numbered among the wonderful prophets, and this at ^B a time when such things seemed to have vanished entirely. For, it says, "there was no vision discernable, and the word was precious" (1 Kings 3:1). This Samuel, then, who was born after many tears, was first of all so confused and troubled when he beheld his master brought to that miserable death, as befitted a grateful and affectionate disciple. After this, he was compelled to weep over the Jewish calamities. Furthermore, his own sons, being iniquitous and wicked, and having arrived at the height of wickedness, afflicted him with this very grief, and because they could not be heirs of the honor granted to him. This grief was succeeded—or rather, did not even wait for the former to cease, but was added to it—by the most unjust petition of the Israelites. In this matter he was so broken that he stood in need of great consolation. Hear, therefore, what God said to him: "They have not rejected you, but me" (1 Kings 8:7). Nevertheless, even after these things, he was so disposed toward them as to say: "But far be it from me to sin in ceasing to pray for you" (1 Kings 12:23). Thus, seeing those whom he so loved being oppressed ^C by Him—or rather, by their own evil-doing and their stumbling in wars, and having provoked God—what pleasure could he have felt? What time could he have passed without grief and tears? And when he had established Saul as king, alternating and constant groans were added to him. For when that man offered sacrifice contrary to the will of God, and when, having defeated the Amalekites, he spared their king contrary to the command of God, he was so struck in spirit that from that time on he no longer saw the man, but wept and lamented for him until his last day, at which time he was even rebuked by God for the vehemence of his grief. "How long," He says, "do you mourn for Saul, and I have rejected him?" (1 Kings 16:1). And if he mourned for these things, in what state of mind are we to think he was when he slaughtered so many priests without cause? When he set out a second time to kill the man who had benefited him with many favors and had offered him no injury? When he saw him naked, prophesying and falling? When he heard David complaining much against him in their familiar meeting?

^D 6. Since I have made mention of David, I do not know what I should do—whether to bring into the middle of this the long and intense lamentations written in the Psalms, or to allow you to ponder these in your leisure and explain his calamities myself. He indeed suffered many things while he was pasturing his flocks, struggling against the inclemency of the air and the brutality of wild beasts. We can notice the former from what Jacob said, and the latter from what he himself told Saul regarding the lion and the bear. But after he left that pastoral life and undertook the affairs of war as an untimely soldier, I omit the envy of his brothers, although that was a most troublesome matter; for when he had attained that most brilliant and marvelous victory, he found in Saul a more vehement enemy than the fallen Goliath, even though he had been benefited by him. For he did not war against him openly, but assuming the mask of one who loved him, and pretending to care for his honor and dignity, he was thus affected toward him in the manner of an enemy. Furthermore, how great an evil it is to receive evil in return for good, hear the blessed prophet lamenting constantly and bearing it with difficulty, saying: "If they return evil to me for good" (Jer. 18:20). Truly, even if no other evil were present, that alone was most troublesome, that the commander of the army should see himself suspected by the king, who looked upon him with grim eyes. What do I say, commander of the army to a king? For if we suffer this very thing from servants, we bear it indignantly; and when they seek our life with hatred and guile, what life could be more bitter? Yet he bore all things and tolerated them, and stood by him who intended to slay him, and waged his wars. But after he withdrew and removed himself from the cares of war, by the very fact that he had removed himself to a distance and had established open enmity, he had a little more confidence; yet when he was compelled to fight against such forces with four hundred men, he was held by a greater fear than before. For consider in what state of mind was he—who possessed neither cities, nor fortifications, nor allies, nor resources—when he was compelled to fight against such a multitude, and could find nowhere to flee except to deserts and caves. For when he had taken the city called Ceila (1 Kings 23:1), he immediately retreated from it, admonished by the priest's response that if he continued to stay there, God would not rescue him from the hands of Saul. But that same priest was he who had escaped the hands of Saul and had announced the most sorrowful slaughter which had occurred in Nob to the king, when he also broke into that most bitter cry: "For I am guilty of all the souls of the house of thy father" (1 Kings 22:22). And so, to be with him was constantly nothing other than a reminder of that lamentation. For when he looked upon him, he always remembered the slaughter of the priests. Furthermore, regarding the slaughter itself...

^A attributing the cause to himself, he led a life more miserable than any condemned man. For even if nothing else were troubling him, it was enough to wound his soul and to tear it apart to consider himself the slayer of so many priests. Wounded by this thought, which gnawed at his soul by night and by day more than a moth, he subsequently received other continuous and successive wounds. For when Nabal insulted him through his servants, and called him a runaway, a fugitive, and an ungrateful slave, he did not bear those words without pain; and when he went to the foreigners, feigning madness, and fell down, and rolling his eyes and letting a great deal of foam pour from his mouth, he was consumed more than those who are truly demon-possessed, considering into what necessity he had brought himself, though he had been treated kindly so many times. But since he had rested a little, having come to the enemy, it was necessary for him to march against their enemies; but the satraps, being jealous of him and wishing to slander him to the king, cast him out from the army as useless to them and as one who would be a plotter and a traitor. "For the satraps of the foreigners were angry at him," it says, "and they say to him: Turn the man back, and let him return to the place where you stationed him there, and let him not come with us into war, and let him not become a plotter against the camp. And in what shall he be reconciled to his master? Is it not with the heads of those men?" And he, struck by these words, withdrew with much insult and despondency. ^B And having come home, he found such great evils that he nearly suffocated from grief. For the terrible things that had happened at that time were indeed enough, even if they had been premeditated, to darken his soul; but with the unexpected and unforeseen added, they appeared twice as great as they were, and were no longer bearable. For he went home as if to find rest, and thinking that he would find consolation for that despondency in his children and wives; but having arrived suddenly, he heard that they were in slavery among the enemies, and he saw fire and smoke and blood and corpses, and before he could lament these and weep for the captivity, those dwelling in the city fell upon him more cruelly than wild beasts, each seeking to find consolation for their own personal evils from his head. And just as when opposing winds fall upon the sea, a great and wild storm arises from that conflict; so too then, with despondency and fear tearing apart the soul of the righteous man, there was a great surge and confusion, as these passions kept constantly overcoming and being overcome. And having been able to escape these evils, and to recover his wives, and all the captives, before he could again perceive that victory, he is struck by a bitter message, regarding the slaughter of Jonathan, which cast down his soul as can be learned from the laments: "For it fell upon me," he says, "your love, as the love of women" (2 Reg. 1. 26). And why do I speak of the laments? For the one who wept so much for the father of that man, his own enemy and plotter and one who desired his destruction ten thousand times, what would he have suffered for the one who stood by him in those dangers and often rescued him from the father’s plotting, and shared secrets ^C and made pacts for many things with him, to learn that this man, when he was able to render to him the rewards for those good deeds, had been snatched from life?

8. While this passion was still flourishing, the leader casts him again into another despondency—the one who had promised to yield all his army to him with complete ease—having snatched this man away before the promise, and having destroyed him by treachery. For he grieved at that slaughter so much that even then he cursed Joab, and at the time of his death commanded his own son to exact from him this penalty for the murders. And the words, which he lamented calling him to mind, are sufficient to set before us the passion of his soul: "For the king," he says, "raised his voice, and wept over the tomb of Abner, and said: If Abner dies according to the death of Nabal, your hands were not bound, nor your feet in fetters, nor did you approach as one who falls before a son of iniquity" (2 Reg. 3. 33-34). What then after this? Mephibosheth is murdered, and with the grief that came to him on this account (for he grieved again at this, as even to kill those who had murdered him) the added opposition of the lame and the crippled disturbed him greatly. Having mastered these and other enemies, he brings up the ark with much joy; but while it was still being brought up, and everyone was rejoicing, in the midst of the gladness a thing occurred which darkened everyone's pleasure, and cast into great despondency and fear the soul of the king. For the one who wished to steady the tottering ark, Uzzah, the wrath of God struck down immediately and made a corpse, and this fear so shook David’s soul for a long time, that he did not dare to bring the ark to himself before learning how he should conduct himself toward Obed-Edom, who received it then. After this, when the king of the Ammonites died, doing the action of a kind and humane man, he sent to console his son, and to persuade him to bear his father's death gently; but the other, instead of this honor, having insulted those who had gone, sent them away in such a manner to the king. Does this seem a small thing to you to strike and cast down a soul? Does not that war show this, which was caused by nothing else, and was extended to such violence, that it surrounded him with countless evils? These things, then, are sufficient, even if one were to mix into them ten thousand pleasures, to classify his life among the lives of the suffering; but now, the things that followed are such that these were not even the beginning of his truly mournful troubles. For the passions of this king surpassed every fable and every tragedy; so bizarre and successive were the terrible things that fell upon his house, with evils always being eager to heal an evil. For see: Amnon lusted after his own sister; having lusted, he insulted her, having insulted her he hated her, and he made the insult and the defilement public, immediately commanding one of his servants to cast her out against her will ^D

and to send her forth through the marketplace screaming and lamenting. When Absalom learned the truth of this, he invited all his brothers to a banquet; among them was that ravisher of his sister, and as he was eating and drinking with the rest, he had him slaughtered by his servants. Then someone arose from there, and without knowing the full order of what had happened because of the tumult, he announced to the king that all his sons were dead. Then he sat mourning for the slaughter of his children, which had not even occurred. After he learned the true state of affairs, he did indeed threaten his son with death; but when he had fled and lived for three years in a foreign land, the king remained angry during all that time; and not even then would he have summoned him, had not the wisdom of his general swayed him. ^A Yet when he was summoned, even then the flame of his sorrow was not extinguished, but he kept him from his sight for another two years, and only after so long a time did he at last, upon the entreaties of the general, deem him worthy of his presence. But he, indignant at the memory of these things, or by other means aiming at tyranny, rose up against his father, and recalled him back to the flights and wanderings he had endured under Saul; indeed, this flight was far more distressing to him than the former. For in the former instance, he was a leader when he endured such things; but now, after he had reigned for many years and had overcome almost all his enemies, he was compelled to wander and become a fugitive; and the one who was driving him to flight was not some stranger or enemy, but one who had gone forth from his own womb, just as he himself lamented while weeping. ^B For he was at the prime of his life when those former things happened, and he was able to bear everything bravely; but now, after that time had passed—when he ought to have had that wicked one as the comfort of his old age—at that time most of all he felt him to be treacherous and most hostile to himself. The king went forth with a few men, barefooted, hiding himself for shame and shedding tears. For that war was to him not only a matter of calamity, but of confusion as well. For the impious son acted toward the blessed one more insultingly than Saul, so much so that he violated his father’s concubines, and this not in secret, but on the roof of the house ^C in the sight of all, so that he overturned the laws of nature and the customs of the marriage bed through the excessive madness which he bore toward his father; and, drunk with folly, even before the war had finished, as if he had already been victorious and had taken his adversaries captive, he dared such things and made them manifest. Thus, when Siba found him sad and fearful, he troubled him yet more, slandering his master and asserting that he had tyrannical designs. Ungrateful, he splattered him with countless reproaches, mixing stones with his words: "Go out," he said, "you man of blood, and man of wickedness! The Lord has returned upon you all the blood of the house of Saul, because you have reigned in his stead, and the Lord has given the kingdom into the hand of Absalom your son, and has shown you your malice, because you are a man of blood" (2 Reg. 16:7-8). Hearing these things and enduring them, he withered away, which is clearly proven by his own lamentations, yet he dared to do nothing further; but when he had said, "Let him alone to curse me; for the Lord has said to him, so that He may see my humility, and the Lord may return to me good for this man's cursing" (2 Reg. 16:10-12), he permitted him to depart from him alive. He himself, however, awaited the arrival of Chusi, and anxious and trembling, he awaited the outcome of the matter. ^D When these things too were announced, war was readied—a war more insolent than any that ever occurred, more like an enigma than a reality. For him who had been the cause of all these evils, and had provided the whole substance of that war—with his death all their adversities were ended—him, I say, he commended to his generals with all foresight and care, constantly repeating to them: "Spare," he said, "my son Absalom" (Id. 18:5). What is worse than this hesitation and ambiguity? What is more miserable than this difficulty? He was compelled to undertake a war in which it was equally distressing for him to win or to be defeated. For he did not wish to be overcome, having sent out such great forces, nor again to win, since he forbade the author of the war to be killed. Yet once the war was distinguished, and the end which God willed was achieved, and that parricide was slain, while all the others were acting in joy and gladness, the king alone mourned and wept, shutting himself away and calling upon his departed son, and bearing it heavily that he had not fallen in his stead. "For who," he said, "will grant me to die for you, Absalom, my son?" (Id. v. 33). What has ever been heard more perplexing than this calamity? When he had killed his brother, he was seeking to kill him; but when he was borne madly against himself, then he spared his son. Nor would he have ceased from weeping for the dead, had not Joab entered and argued the indignation of the matter, and by speaking more vehemently, raised him up and persuaded him to receive the army with a fitting demeanor. Not even then did his disasters find an end, but first the soldiers became divided and fell into sedition against one another; and then, after they had barely ceased through the greatest of flatteries, returning again they cleaved to Seba, and another war began to be stirred up while the remains of the former still persisted. Disturbed by these things, David gathered his forces and sent them out with his generals; but Joab, even after victory was achieved in this war, did not permit the pleasure of victory to be felt without sorrow. For the leader who had been appointed alongside him, who had subjected all the people to David—innocent and who had in nothing harmed him—him he slew, agitated by the goads of envy. This matter was so grave and burdensome to the king that, while dying, he gave orders for the blood of Amessa to be avenged. But what is far weightier is that, being so affected, he did not even dare to state the cause of his sorrow, because he had already struggled against countless misfortunes. For after the tumult of wars, a famine took hold of the entire region, and when he sought the resolution of that evil, he was compelled to deliver the sons of Saul to death. For indeed this heavenly oracle commanded it: "Touching Saul," it said, "and his house, there is this injustice, because he put the Gibeonites to death" (Id. 21:1). If one recalls how much he wept for the death of Saul, he will note what he also suffered then, when he delivered the sons to the Gibeonites. Yet even these things he endured, and further calamities proceeded. For after the famine, a plague immediately arose, and there fell in half a day seventy thousand men, when he spoke those pitiable words

^A king. For when he had seen the angel holding a drawn sword, he said: "Behold, I, the shepherd, have sinned, and I, the shepherd, have done evil; as for these, the flock, what have they done? Let thy hand be upon me and upon my father’s house" (2 Reg. 24. 17). It is not possible for us to recount all his despondencies with precision, for they are not all written down; but from his laments and wailings it is possible to conjecture the magnitude of those omitted, and how the righteous man never ceased to beat his breast and grieve. For what does he say? "The days of our years in them are seventy years; but if in strength, eighty years, and the greater part of them is labor and pain" (Ps. 89. 10). If you should say that he condemned only this common life, and not his own alone, you grant something greater than I myself wish to say, and you relieve me of many words, for he himself confesses that it is not possible to find a life not only his, but even that of any other man, which does not have many more hardships than pleasant things. For indeed, just as you yourself rightly said, not only considering his own, but also those of others, he brought forth this judgment, ^B speaking the same things as the patriarch, but with greater vehemence; for what the latter said in part, the former later pronounced in general terms. For the one said, "My days are few and evil" (Gen. 47. 9); but this man said, "The days of our years in them are seventy years"—meaning for all men—"and the greater part of them is labor and pain."

10. But these things, as I said, I leave for you to go through carefully at your leisure; I for my part will come to the remaining prophets. Although they have nowhere left us their life written down, yet, falling into such distress through the magnitude of the evils that beset them, I think I shall be able to show from a single step that their whole life was sorrowful. And first, what was common to them all: being racked, scourged, sawn asunder, stoned, imprisoned, putting to death by the sword, going about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, afflicted, tormented, they spent their whole life (Heb. 11. 37). And after this, they had another addition to their despondency even more grievous than this: seeing the wickedness of those who inflicted these things upon them advancing, at which they were bitten more than by their own afflictions. ^C And one said: "Cursing and lying and theft and adultery and murder are poured out upon the earth, and blood mingles with blood" (Osee 4. 2), showing us the boldness, the complexity, and the abundance of wickedness. Another cried out again: "Woe is me! For I am become as one gathering stubble in the harvest, and as a gleaning in the vintage, while no cluster exists" (Mich. 7. 1), mourning through these words the scarcity of good men. Others again lamented other such things. The goatherd did not lament only their evils, but mourned their calamities more than his own temptations, and implored God, saying: "Be propitious, O Lord; who shall raise up Jacob, for he is small in number? Repent, O Lord, concerning this." And not even thus does he obtain his intercession; for He said: "And it shall not be, says the Lord." But Isaiah, having heard that the whole earth would be desolate, did not even wish to be consoled, but lamented continuously and said: "Let me alone, I shall weep bitterly; do not insist on consoling me" (Isai. 22. 4). For the manner of death surpasses every calamity. And as for the laments of Jeremiah, both those composed privately and those scattered throughout the prophecy, both those on behalf of the city and those on his own behalf, who will be able to go through them without tears? ^D For at one time he said: "Who will give to my head water, and to my eyes a fountain of tears? And I will weep for this people day and night" (Jer. 9. 1); and now: "Who will give me in the desert an ultimate lodging, and I will leave this people and go away from them? For all are adulterers" (Ibid. v. 2). And at times, complaining, he cried out: "Woe is me, mother! For what did you bear me—a man judged and judging the whole earth?" At other times he even cursed the day of his birth, saying: "Cursed be the day in which I was born in it" (Ibid. 20. 14). But the pit of the cistern, and the distresses of the bonds, and the scourges, and the plots, and the constant mockery so affected him that he finally despaired. But what when the city was taken—did he obtain any providence or honor from the barbarians? Did he perceive any of these? At that time he wrote bitter laments, mourning those who had departed; but he saw evils no less than the past ones, since those who were left behind from the war provoked God. For having promised that they would obey Him in all things and gainsay nothing, they went down to Egypt again, though the oracle said the opposite, and they took the prophet down with themselves, and through their own ingratitude forced him to proclaim to them things more grievous than the former.

But what of Ezekiel? What of Daniel? Did they not pass their whole time in captivity? And the one was punished by hunger and thirst on behalf of others' evils, and when his wife departed, he was ordered to bear such a calamity without tears—and what could be more burdensome than not being allowed even to mourn one's own evils? For I pass over now being forced to eat his own bread on dung, and to lie on one side for one hundred and ninety days, and how many other such things he was commanded to endure (Ezech. 4. 12). For even if none of those painful things had happened to him—either those omitted by me or spoken of now—to be in the midst of enemies and barbarians and unclean men, being righteous and pure, was more burdensome than every punishment. But Daniel seemed to enjoy much honor, and not to live as in captivity, moving about in the royal palaces and being in positions of power; but if anyone should hear his prayer and study his fasting, and the changing of his face, and his constant intercessions, and realize well on behalf of whom he did these things, he will know most of all that this man was in pains and despondencies. For not only present evils troubled him, but also those to come, which, not yet having come to pass, he was vouchsafed to learn with prophetic eyes; and seeing the Jews not yet freed from their former slavery, he was forced to foresee another captivity for them, and the city not yet built, this being taken...

and the temple polluted with sacrifices and laid waste, and all reverence cast down: for this cause he mourned and wept, saying, "To us is the confusion of face, and to our princes, and to our fathers, because we have sinned against thee, O Lord" (Dan. ix. 8; Baruch i. 15, 16).

^A But I know not how I had almost overlooked, among the prophets, that heavenly soul which sojourned on earth in such a way that it was always in heaven; for he had nothing earthly save his mantle. What then of this great and admirable man, if one must call him a man (3 Kings xix)? For after that immense boldness which he had used against Achab, after that calling down of fire from heaven, after the slaughter of the priests, after he had shut and opened heaven, at whatever time he wished, and after such and so great achievements and signs of his confidence, he was held so greatly by the weight of sadness that he spoke these words: "Take my soul from me; for I am not better than my fathers" (Ibid. v. 4). This he said, who even to this day is not yet dead. And not this alone, but he went forth into the desert and fell asleep, crushed and exhausted by the burden of his grief and sorrow. Moreover, his disciple not only received a double portion of his master’s spirit, but also far greater pressures (4 Kings ii). Finally, the blessed Paul, setting these men before us a little while ago, and enumerating their afflictions, said: "Of whom the world was not worthy" (Heb. xi. 38). Very opportunely have we now made mention of Paul; for who, if viewed by himself alone, could suffice to bring consolation, and yet, coming after others, whose grief and sorrow should he not make to vanish? His hunger, thirst, nakedness, shipwrecks, wanderings ^B in the deserts, fears, dangers, plots, prisons, stripes, watchings, and the countless deaths which he endured for the sake of preaching, I do not even think worth recounting. For although these things brought him pressures, they were not, however, without a certain pleasure. But indeed, when all the Asiatics turned away from him, when the Galatians were perverted—a whole nation, and one previously acceptable—when the Corinthians rent their own church into many parts, and by their flatteries led the most terrible fornicator to lose even the sense of shame, what do you think he suffered, what darkness do you suppose was poured over his soul? But why do we collect these things by conjecture, when we may hear his own words? For writing to the Corinthians he said: "For out of much tribulation and anguish of heart I wrote to you with many tears" (2 Cor. ii. 4). And again: "Lest perhaps when I come, God humble me, and I bewail many of those who sinned before and have not done penance" (Ibid. xiii. 21). To the Galatians he says: "My little children, of whom I am in labor again, until Christ be formed in you" (Gal. iv. 19). And writing to his disciple about the Asiatics, he complains and groans. Nor did these things alone at that time affect him with sorrow; but the thorn that was given to him so vexed and afflicted him that he often besought God for its removal—for what he says there, "thrice," signifies "often" (2 Cor. xii. 8).

^C But when could he ever breathe, who also mourned the absence of a brother? "For," he says, "from the time I did not find Titus my brother, I had no rest" (2 Cor. ii. 13). In the sickness of another, he suffered the same thing: "For God had mercy on him," he writes to the Philippians concerning Epaphroditus, "and not on him only, but on me also, lest I should have sorrow upon sorrow" (Phil. ii. 27). And grieving deeply over those who were deceivers and resisted him, he writes to Timothy, saying: "Alexander the coppersmith hath done me much evil; the Lord will render to him according to his works" (2 Tim. iv. 14). What brief respite, then, could such a man have from sorrow and pain? For not only the things mentioned were able to besiege his soul, but also others which provided him with constant grief. And these, again, he revealed himself, when he says: "Besides those things which are without, my daily instance, the solicitude for all the churches. Who is weak, and I am not weak? Who is scandalized, and I am not on fire?" (2 Cor. xi. 28, 29). If he then was burning because others were scandalized, surely that burning could not be extinguished from his soul. For there were never wanting those who were scandalized, and who ministered fuel to his fire. For if cities and nations were often entirely brought to ruin, much more was it necessary that one or another who suffered these things should be found, since there were so many churches throughout the world. Let us grant, if you will, that no one was scandalized, that no one was ever separated from him, and that no other such sad things had happened to him: not even so would we be able to find him free from sorrow. In this matter, again, no witness ^D more suitable occurs than the one who suffered. For what does he say? "I wished myself to be an anathema from Christ, for my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh, who are Israelites" (Rom. ix. 3). What he says, however, is this: It were more desirable for me to fall into hell than to see the Israelites faithless and incredulous; for this is what "I wished to be an anathema" means. Yet he who chose the torment of hell, in order that he might be able to lead all the Jews to the faith, it is evident surely that, not having obtained his wish, he was more grievously afflicted than those who are tormented in hell, since he desired this even more than that.

On the comparison of Stagirius's grief with that of the ancients

think that all others are likewise affected; for the taking away of these things has led many into madness and utter ruin. A noble soul, indeed, can be cast down by neither of these things; but a weak soul, and one more accustomed to the life of the world, is stung by the latter more than by the former. Why so? Because it is not the same thing to fear hunger always as it is to be distressed for some few days by this disease. For in the latter case, the violence is all in a brief space of time, just as in the case of a fever, or a rigor, or some other visitation that attacks, and it occupies a much smaller duration than this. But if it does overcome by its severity, I could show you many who are feverish who are much more distraught than those possessed by a demon, when they are held fast by that fire. Since, however, the fear of poverty—of the lack of necessities—is like a constant, bitter siege, it sits by and consumes the soul of the impoverished. And why do I speak of poverty? For if we were to wish to recount all the calamities of men, not only we, but perhaps even you yourself will laugh at your own laments and wailings. For it is impossible for us to tell all, or even a thousandth part of them; for we neither know them, and even if we did, all time would not suffice us for the narration. But having selected a few from many, I shall provide you from these the ability to infer even those not mentioned. For remember that most dear old man, Demophilus, I mean, he of the great and illustrious house. He has already ^A spent fifteen years since he became no better than the dead at doing anything, except insofar as he trembles constantly, and speaks, and has a clear perception of his own evils; he lives in utter poverty, and has one young man to serve him, a good one and devoted to his master, yet not able to comfort that calamity; for he can neither provide against poverty, nor stop the tremor of his paralysis, but only put a morsel into the master's mouth (for his hands are not sufficient even to help him with this, and he might be able to bring a cup, and wipe away his slaver, but he can contribute nothing further than these things. But this man has spent fifteen years suffering ^B in this way, as I said; but I think of the one who has wasted thirty-eight years in this affliction. And do you also consider with these the Bithynian, Aristoxenus; for to him the body is not dissolved as it is to that old man, but a disease lies upon him much more grievous than that paralysis. For through the groin certain spasms and pains more bitter than any tormenting, sometimes piercing worse than spits, sometimes gnawing more fiercely than fire, and troubling him every day and night, bestow upon those who do not know the affliction the opinion that he is mad; so greatly do they twist his pupils, so greatly do they strangle his hands and feet, and leave him speechless. And his cries and wailings (for he often cries out after that speechlessness) surpass the lamentations of women in labor, and often those who live far away, having sick people of their own and being troubled by much sleeplessness, have sent, complaining on behalf of those who are suffering, as if they were made worse by the voice of the one ^C thus affected. But this happens to him not at long intervals, but often in the day, and often in the night, and this is now the sixth year since he was handed over to this wicked scourge, and neither is a servant present to attend to him, nor a physician to comfort him, in part because of his poverty, and in part because their craft has been proved vain by the affliction; for many physicians have labored for him (for he happened to have much wealth before this) and profited nothing. And what is more terrible, not even one of his friends is willing to see him now, but all—even those who were once much benefited by him—have abandoned him. And if anyone should ever enter, he immediately fled; so greatly is the room filled with stench, because there is no one to care for him. For one maidservant alone sits beside him, providing only as much service as it is reasonable for a woman to be able to do, being alone and supporting herself by the work of her hands. How much more grievous, then, are his evils than those of demons! For even if nothing of these afflicted him, what would he not suffer, ^D thinking of the long time he has lain on his bed, the great expense that has cast him into utter poverty, the contempt of friends, the desertion of his attendants, the not knowing if these terrible things will ever stop—which is what you are always lamenting—or rather, the being exactly convinced that they will never stop while he is still alive and breathing? For the heightening of the disease and the fact that it progresses to the worse for him every day says this. 13. But that I may not appear to weary my hearers by enumerating one by one those who have been so unfortunate, go to the one entrusted with the care of the hospice, and command him to introduce you to those who lie there, that you may see every root of sufferings, and strange ways of diseases, and all kinds of grounds for despondency. Having come from there to the prison, and having observed everything in that place, walk to the forecourts of the baths, where some lie, using only cypress and reeds instead of clothing and homes, naked, besieged by cold and disease and hunger continuously, comforting the passers-by only by their breathing and the trembling of their bodies and the clatter of their gnashing teeth, and being unable either to let out a voice or to stretch out their hands, because they are already so wasted away by such evils. But do not even stop at these, but also go out to the lodging of the poor before the city, and then you will see well that the despondency which you think now grips you is a calm harbor. For what could one say of the men being consumed little by little by elephantiasis, or the women being eaten away by cancer? For both these diseases are long and incurable; and one of them even drives those who have it from the city, and it is not lawful for them to share in the bath, or the market, or any other thing within. And this is not the only terrible thing, but that they cannot even have confidence regarding the abundance of their necessities. And what of those often condemned to live in the mines in vain and for nothing? For all these are suffering things much greater than those tormented by a demon.

^A If, however, you do not believe it, there is nothing to wonder at. For we are not accustomed to judge both our own and others' ills by the same standard: for the latter we learn by word and sight alone, but the former by experience and sense, combined with pity for ourselves. Therefore, we think them more intolerable than the others, even if they are light and bearable. But if someone, having been freed from all these, were to examine their nature more carefully and observe those who have fallen into them, he would certainly deliver an impartial judgment to us regarding such matters.

But perhaps you will say, "All those passions revolve around the body alone, but this plague touches the soul itself, and is worse than all of them." But precisely by this fact we shall discover it to be lighter than all of them. For it does not corrupt the body as those do, but only disturbs the soul for a short time; furthermore, those very diseases which we have just enumerated, since they are born in the flesh, do not stop at the body but transmit the whole plague to the soul, torturing it continually and corrupting it through the stings of pain and the intensity of sorrow. As it says, "Just as vinegar is not fit for a wound, so also a passion introduced into the body disturbs the heart" [Prov. 25:20]. Therefore, do not say that these arise solely from the body, but rather show this: how it does not send all the plague and corruption to the soul. ^B Indeed, even a plague, though it is not born from bodies, corrupts and ruins bodies, and the venom of snakes, though it comes forth from them, ruins us as well; thus it is to be understood in the case of these diseases, which, being born from the body, infuse the poisons of their malice into our soul. For the intensity of sorrow is more powerful for harm than any demonic possession. For even the demon, whomsoever he overcomes, overcomes him through sorrow; if you remove this, no one could be harmed by the demon at all.

And how, you will say, is it possible to be free from sorrow? I, in turn, will ask you, what is the cause that it is not permitted to be free from sorrow? For if you had committed adultery, or murder, or some such crime which would exclude you from the kingdom of heaven, you would rightly grieve and mourn, and no one would prohibit you; but if by the grace of God you are most far removed from all these, why do you needlessly tear yourself to pieces?

^C God also implanted sorrow into the nature of mortals, not so that we might use it pointlessly and untimely in contrary matters, nor that we might destroy ourselves, but that we might obtain the greatest advantages from it. How, indeed, are we to obtain them? If we take it up at the right time. But the time for sorrow is not when we suffer some adversity, but when we act evilly. Yet we invert the order and have changed the times, we who, while committing countless evils, are not contracted by sorrow even for a moment; but if we suffer some evil from anyone, we immediately collapse, hesitate, and hasten to be freed and to depart from life. Therefore, this thing seems cumbersome and heavy, just as anger and desire. For these also were brought in by those who did not use them correctly or opportunely. And the same thing happens as with medicines which are provided by physicians: ^D for if those too are applied not in their own order and time, or not for the diseases for which they were prepared, but for others, they not only do not free the infirm from their languor, but rather aggravate their infirmity; so indeed also does sorrow, and quite deservedly. For since it is an austere and corrosive medicine, and, so to speak, a purgation of the vices that are in us, if it is applied to an idle and delicate mind, weighed down by a great burden of sins, it will bring it the greatest utility; but if it is applied to a mind that is struggling, competing, exercised by labors, burdened by cares, and having suffered much, besides the fact that it does not help, it harms it greatly, making it weaker and easily assailable. Therefore, to those standing firm and fighting fiercely, Paul, when writing, said: "Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice" [Phil. 4:4]. Furthermore, to those who are dissipated and possess a great tumor, he says: "And you are inflated; and have you not rather mourned?" [1 Cor. 5:2]. And so, indeed, he who is fattened by the abundance of his sins should be attenuated and dried up by this medicine; but he who is in a good condition, and maintains himself in a decent state, what is the cause why he should corrupt his good health through sorrow? It is so sharp and effective that, even for those needing it, if it lingers for more time than is necessary, it is the cause of the greatest evils. And the blessed Paul, fearing this, quickly ordered it to be removed after he had done what was his part, and added the cause: "Lest perhaps," he says, "such a one be absorbed by overmuch sorrow" [2 Cor. 2:7].

Moreover, if excessive sorrow, rushing in, has often ruined even those to whom it was necessary, what will it do to those who, when they do not need it, voluntarily fetch it for themselves? "Yes, indeed," you will say, "I know this myself; but how I am to exclude it, and remove it from my soul, I do not know." And whose difficulty is this, my dearest friend? For if it were some desire, or the insane love of bodies, or the tyranny of vainglory, a vice truly most difficult to overcome, or some perturbation of this kind, you would rightly be solicitous about liberation from such things. For it is not impossible, though very difficult, for those who have been captured by these to escape those nets. Why is that? Because pleasure cooperates with them and helps them. [index: entries preserved] That is the thing which, once they are captured, attaches many ropes to them, and this is the first thing that is full of difficulty: to persuade a mind so ensnared that it truly and thoroughly wants and desires to be freed from these knots; and it becomes very similar to someone who, about to get rid of a scab and itch, delights in his disease, and casts himself into that very same thing. Furthermore, to escaping sorrow, it contributes not a little if we admit it only reluctantly for the time being. For he who is burdened by something will strive to quickly shake it off. What then, if someone strives to cast it from himself, and cannot? Let him not remit his effort, and he will quickly be able to. For consider that a Christian, if ever he is sorrowful, has only two just causes for sorrow: either when he himself or when his neighbor offends God; when indeed your present sorrow has none of these reasons as its root, in vain do you...

distress yourself. And whence, you say, is it clear that we are not paying this penalty for our offenses? Most of all it is clear, yet for the present I do not insist on this. But let it be, if you wish, not unclear as you said, but even very clear that this is a retribution for sins: why therefore do you sorrow, tell me? Or rather, is it not a cause for joy that one’s sins are wiped away here, so as not to be condemned with the world? For he who sorrows ought to sorrow not because he is chastised, but because by sinning he provokes God; for sins alienate God from us and make Him an enemy, whereas the pains of chastisement reconcile Him to us and prepare Him to be merciful and near. That this toil and struggle is not a retribution for sins, but an occasion for crowns and prizes, is clear from this. For if you had passed your former life foully and dissolutely, and in such a state had transferred yourself to the manner of life of monks, there would have been a place for such a suspicion. For if God brings punishments for this reason, that He might turn to repentance those who are unyielding, once repentance has been shown, the penalty would henceforth be superfluous for this purpose. For God is so far from wishing to punish us that even when we often do things worthy of punishment and have need of much conversion, He corrects us solely by threatening and fearful words. And this you can see both in the case of Israel and in the case of the city of the Ninevites. For not only did He not bring the punishment when they had shown repentance, but He even immediately dissolved the threat. For He desires much more than we do that we suffer no evil, and no one would spare himself as God spares us all. Since then He who frightens those who have sinned often by His words, without punishing them, and who releases those who have repented from even this distress, has not only not spared you—who have shown such piety and virtue—from the threat, but further delivered you to the punishment that comes through deeds; how could anyone believe this? But if, as I said, your life before this had been corrupt and wicked, it would have been possible for one to fall into such a thought; but now, when the former was less than the present, and was itself orderly and full of much gravity, so that this is manifest to us from every side, that these struggles are for crowns and a greater occasion. Therefore, as I said, it is necessary to stir up these and such-like considerations, and it is necessary with these—or rather, even before these—to dispel this darkness with prayers and supplications. For the blessed David, that wonderful and great man, used these remedies continually, and thus warded off the many pains of his tribulations, now praying and saying: *The tribulations of my heart were multiplied; from my necessities deliver me* (Ps. 24:17); and now stirring up pious considerations: *Why art thou sorrowful, O my soul, and why dost thou trouble me? Hope in God, for I will confess to Him* (Ps. 41:5). And again, turning from considerations to prayers: *Give me rest, he says, that I may be refreshed before I go and be no more* (Ps. 38:14); and from prayers to considerations: *For what have I in heaven, and what have I desired of Thee upon earth?* (Ps. 72:25). Thus also Job, against the woman who suggested the satanic words, fought back with considerations and rebuked her, saying: *Why hast thou spoken as one of the foolish women? If we have received good things from the hand of the Lord, shall we not endure the evil things?* (Job 2:10). But towards God he used supplications. And the blessed Paul also aided both these who are in tribulations and temptations, now saying: *If you are without discipline, then you are bastards and not sons; for what son is there whom a father does not discipline?* (Heb. 12:7-8)? And again, praying, *God is faithful, he says, who will not suffer you to be tempted above that which you are able* (1 Cor. 10:13); and again, *If it is a righteous thing with God to repay tribulation to them that trouble you, and to you who are troubled, rest* (2 Thess. 1:6-7). If, therefore, you also wish to use these weapons, and fortify yourself well on every side—walling off the inroad of despondency with considerations, and by prayers, both your own and others', making this a strong bulwark—you will quickly perceive the fruits of discipline. For you will gain not only this, to bear the present things courageously, but having been well exercised by them, you will thereafter be invulnerable to all the sorrows of this life. ^A And the

Concerning those who have subintroduced women.

MONITUM

OF THE SAME: AGAINST THOSE WHO KEEP VIRGINS SUBINTRODUCED.

^{A B C D} I. Regarding the ancestors of our own time, there were two reasons why men kept wives in their homes. One is ancient, just, and reasonable: namely, marriage, which has God as its Lawgiver. For he says: “For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall cleave to his wife, and they shall be two in one flesh” (Gen. 2.24). The other is newer, unjust, and contrary to law: namely, fornication, which was introduced by malignant demons. In this age of ours, a third, new, and unusual manner has appeared, the cause of which you would not easily discover. There are, indeed, some who take into their homes girls inexperienced in marriage and keep them, fostering them even to extreme old age, not for the purpose of bringing forth children—for they deny that they have relations with them—nor for the sake of lust—for they say that they keep them incorrupt. And if anyone asks them the reason, they have many excuses; they have prepared them, and they are reasonable, so I think, in their own eyes—but none of them is genuine. But let us not now speak of these excuses; rather, let us bring into the middle the cause which we ourselves, most of all, suspect to be the case. And what is that? By all means, if I wander from the goal, it is permitted for you to refute me. And what is this cause? What is this pretext? It seems to me that the cohabitation with women has some amount of pleasure, even without the requirement of marriage and physical congress.

But if my view is not correct, I cannot say; I am telling you my own opinion. Perhaps, however, it is not only mine, but that of those men as well; for it seems to them to be so, and this is clear from the following: they would in no way despise such glory or risk such scandals were there not a great and vehement pleasure in such cohabitation. If, by chance, some should be indignant that I say these things, I pray that pardon be given to us, and let there be no anger; for I would not willingly and rashly take upon myself this enmity. I am not so miserable and wretched as to wish to offend everyone rashly; but I grieve and am tormented in my soul to see the glory of God blasphemed, and to see the salvation of many perishing little by little on account of this pleasure. For that this is sweet, and that it produces a love more ardent than the marital union, you might perhaps be struck to hear, but when I demonstrate it, you too will acknowledge it.

For with a legitimate wife, when it is not forbidden, the union satisfies the craving, and often brings about satiety, extinguishing the heat of desire, and frequently leads the man to a state of satisfaction, and puts an end to the intensity of desire. Furthermore, the pangs of labor, the childbirths, and the rearing of children, as well as the frequent illnesses that follow from these, afflict the body, cause the flower of youth to wither, and make the sting of pleasure weaker. In the virgin who cohabits, however, you will find none of these things. For the intercourse, which can relax and bring down the impetuousness of nature, is absent, and neither the pangs of labor nor the rearing of children cause the flesh to wither; but she preserves her youthful vigor for a long time, as she remains untouched. For after childbirth and the rearing of children, the bodies of wives become weaker, but those women [the subintroduced virgins] remain in their own form up to the fortieth year, and they vie with virgins who are ready to be married. Hence it is that those who cohabit with them are kindled by a double fire; for their ardor is not extinguished, as intercourse with them is forbidden, and the source of their ardor remains and is rendered more powerful.

I suspect this to be the cause of this companionship; but let us not be very angry with them, nor let us be difficult and importunate. For whoever wishes to restore a sick man does not act with anger and blows, but offers medicine with great care and gentle encouragement. For if it were our intended purpose to exact penalties from them, and if we were holding the position of judges, it would be appropriate to be indignant; but if, setting that aside, we take up the duty of physicians and of those who wish to cure, it is necessary to exhort, to beseech, and, if need be, to touch their knees, so that we may accomplish what we have undertaken to do. Therefore, just as physicians who wish to restrain the sick from food or harmful drink—even though they may have pleasure mixed in them—persuade them before all else that there is much bitterness in them besides the harm; so let us act, showing them that this cohabitation, however sweet and pleasant it may appear, is pernicious and is no better than deadly potions. And it seems indeed to have much pleasantness, yet it has much bitterness in it, which it pours into the soul that is delighted by pleasures.

For he who is persuaded to depart, departs securely. Indeed, he who is separated from his beloved by fear and necessity becomes a stronger lover, and perhaps will once again approach that person; but if he flees it as a ruinous and bitter thing, he by no means returns again, on account of the logic of his own judgment, which persuades him more violently than any necessity. How, then, shall we persuade them that this not only harms, but is also bitter? And how else, except from the very nature of things? Let us therefore question them, if someone, having set out a sumptuous table filled with various and most sweet foods, were to declare...

^A that no one should touch any of the things set before them, and that under threat of severe punishment, would anyone choose to sit at such a table and torment himself? I certainly do not think so; for he would not reap as much pleasure from the sight as he would endure distress from the prohibition. And what if, to someone thirsty and burning with heat, one were to point out a clear and pure spring, and forbid him not only to taste it, but even to touch it with the tips of his fingers—could there be any suffering for him more bitter than that punishment?

2. *Tantalus.*—Nor here, I think, will anyone disagree with me. So great is this evil that even the profane, who are most skilled in examining these matters—I mean the nature of pleasure and grief—when they desired to depict certain people being severely punished, did it in no other way than this: by crafting a myth, they bring forward in the myth someone who had to pay the ultimate penalty, and besides providing him with a feast ^B and showing him water flowing past, they would not allow him to enjoy any of these things, but as soon as he reached out his hand, all the things he saw would retreat, and this continued forever. This was the mode of punishment according to the outside myth. And a certain philosopher, seeing one of his companions kiss a beautiful youth, expressed wonder, saying that this person, having dared to kindle such a furnace within himself by means of a kiss, could easily leap into fire. I would not say this, that those who live together kiss or touch each other; but if some were to accuse them of this, I shall endeavor to show that, even if they proceed as far as this, they are dragging upon themselves a torment even more bitter than the former. For if sight alone puts in such pain, when touch is also added—a pleasure far thicker than sight—it raises a greater flame, and makes the pain more sharp, and makes the beast more cruel. For as much as we increase the things of desire, and provide it with stronger nourishment, ^C so much are our own pains intensified. And just as one who sits by a table and a spring does not suffer as much by seeing as he does when, having been permitted to touch it with his hand, he is stopped from tasting it, so too are those who are permitted to touch virginal bodies punished more severely by the touch than by the sight, dragging upon themselves a more bitter pain from the failure to achieve. And why is it necessary to seek philosophy on these things from external matters? For the decree of God, which is stronger than all these, shows this to be so. For when He wished to punish Adam (Gen. 3), He did not settle him far from paradise, but near to it, so that he might have a continuous punishment—the sight of the place he desired, seeing it constantly but not being allowed to enjoy it. But perhaps someone might say: "And how, if this is so bitter by nature, do the many pursue it with such eagerness?" I, for my part, would say to this that this very thing is the greatest proof of their utmost ^D infirmity. For this is the habit of those who are sick, to reap a cold and short-lived pleasure, and from it to build up for themselves a long-lasting punishment. For one might see this also in those suffering from fevers, who, not wishing to endure for a little while, by touching forbidden drinks and foods for the sake of a momentary gratification, prepare for themselves a long and most grievous illness. But those who are healthy ought not take their judgments about things from those who are ill; for if we follow them, we shall be condemned by both medicine and philosophy. For this is not the case only with fevers or with women, but also with money and all other things, for those who are sick in such matters. For those who are mad about money, knowing that those who let go of these small things here to those in need will receive myriads of good things there, nevertheless hold onto them and bury them, and choose to fall away from all good things for the sake of this cold and brief pleasure, rather than to be freed from eternal punishment and to reap the immortal life through the disregard of these present things. This is what these people also suffer; since they do not endure keeping themselves away for a little while from this small desire that comes through the eyes, they gather for themselves unbearable fire, and by as much as they think they are experiencing pleasure, by that much more are they entangled in the evil, the devil being the artificer of this for the remaining and increasing of the flame; whence, while they burn, they both experience pleasure and suffer pain, planting a strange temperament in their own souls.

3. But if any of us condemns intemperance because of these words (for [they say] brave men who live with women suffer no harm), I call those people blessed, and I myself should wish to receive such strength; and perhaps I am even persuaded that it is possible for some people to be such, but I wished also that those who accuse us could be persuaded of this—that a young man who is vigorous in body, living with a young virgin and sitting and dining and conversing with her throughout the day (for I add nothing of the other things, the untimely laughter and the unbending and the soft words and the other things which it is perhaps not good even to speak of)—but that by having the same house, and sharing table and words, and partaking of and bestowing many things with great frankness, he is caught by none of the human passions, but remains pure of evil desire and pleasure; I wished that these things could persuade those who accuse us, but they do not wish to be persuaded, but they even cry out against us, the ones making these apologies, as being shameless, and as suffering the same things as they do, and concealing our own wickedness. "And what are these things to us?" he says. "For we are not responsible for the folly of others, nor, if someone is unreasoningly scandalized, am I worthy of punishment because of his folly." But Paul did not say this, but even if someone is unjustly scandalized, and even if through weakness, he commanded us to help. For only then are we rid of the punishment lying upon those who are scandalized, when from the scandal another gain is born greater than the harm from the scandal; whereas if this is not the case, but only one thing happens—that others are scandalized—whether they are scandalized reasonably or unreasoningly, whether as the weak, their blood [is] upon our head, and from our hands God will seek such souls. For this very reason, so that we might not everywhere neither care for nor despise those who are scandalized, Christ established certain boundaries and canons for us, and did this—both this and that—together with the time.

^A For when he was discoursing on the nature of foods, and demonstrating that it was pure, and delivering it from Jewish observation, when Peter entered and said, "They have been scandalized," he said, "Leave them alone; ^B every plant which my heavenly Father has not planted will be rooted up." Thus he made the law concerning foods of no effect. But when those who were demanding the didrachma approached Peter and said, "Does your teacher not pay the didrachma?" then he did not act as he did before, but had regard for the scandal and says, "But so that we do not scandalize them, go to the sea, cast a hook, and take the first fish that comes up, and you will find a stater in its mouth; take this and give it for me and you." Do you see him sometimes caring and sometimes not caring? For in that case, there was no necessity for the glory of the Only-Begotten to be revealed; for how, since he was elsewhere eager to overshadow it and had commanded the multitude not to say that he was the Christ? And for this reason there was no harm in paying the didrachma; but had he not paid it, great evils would have been born from it; for they would have shunned him as a tyrant and an insurgent and an enemy of the whole city, and one casting them into extreme dangers. For this reason, those who wanted to seize him and make him a king, he avoided from afar, and repelled that opinion from the many who were about him. ^C But in the former case, what was being done was necessary; therefore, he usefully and seasonably and in a matter of greater importance despised the scandal. For it was very fitting for the time not to hinder those who were about to ascend to the highest philosophy from following the custom of the Jews; but rather to go, as the time called, to the purity of the soul, and not be detained by bodily observation, but to be freed from that base care. Thus also Paul sometimes despised those who were scandalized, and sometimes did not despise them, following the Teacher, and said, "I please all men in all things, not seeking what is profitable to myself, but to the many, so that they may be saved." ^D If then Paul neglects his own profit that he might find that of others, how much punishment shall we be worthy of, if we do not flee our own damage in order to find what is profitable to others, but we also together with others pleasantly lose ourselves, when we could have saved both our own selves and others? For this reason, when he sees more profit than damage, he despises those who suffer scandal; but where he sees no profit, but only scandal coming from it, he is prepared to do and suffer everything that it might not happen. And he does not reason in our manner; for he does not say, "Why are they weak? Why are they thus affected without cause?" but for this very reason he spares them most, because through a lack of reason they are in this state, and are thus weak.

Tell me, what reasonable pretext can he state, who is scandalized by one eating meat and drinking wine?

having broken the strength of the devil, even he went in such fear of such a struggle and believed it impossible for one living with a virgin to remain unstained and pure—so much so that he established for himself a law for his eyes, not even to glance at a virgin. For he knew clearly, he knew, that it is difficult ^A, and perhaps even impossible, for not only the one cohabiting, but even the one who looks with curiosity at a virgin’s face, to escape the harm which arises from that. On this account he said: *And I will not fix my mind upon a virgin* (Job 31:1).

5. But if Job seems small to you for the contest, although we are not worthy of even his dung—yet if you think his example falls short of your magnanimity, consider the most sonorous herald of the truth, Paul, who, after having traveled the whole world, and being able to say those things full of much wisdom, that it is no longer he who lives, but Christ in him, and that he has been crucified to the world and the world to him, and that he dies daily (1 Cor. 15:31)—after such grace of the Spirit, and such a demonstration of other graces, after unspeakable dangers, after precise philosophy—shows us and declares that as long as we breathe and are clothed in this flesh, there is need for struggles and labors, and it is never possible to achieve wisdom without trouble, but we have need of many sweats and toils for this trophy. Thus he said: *I buffet my body and bring it into bondage, lest by any means, after having preached to others, I myself should become disqualified* (1 Cor. 9:27). ^B He said these things, declaring the rebellion of the flesh and the madness arising from desire, and the continuous war, and his own life of struggle. And for this reason Christ, declaring the difficulty of the matter, did not permit one even simply to gaze at the faces of women, but even threatened to punish those who look in such a way with the penalty of adulterers. And when he said to Peter that it is not expedient to marry, he did not legislate against marrying, but by declaring the weight of the matter, he said: *He who is able to receive it, let him receive it* (Matt. 19:12). We hear also of our own generation that many, having bound their whole body with iron, and having clad themselves in sackcloth, and having run to the mountains, and living in continuous fasting and all-night vigils and watchings, and displaying all austerity, and forbidding all women to come up to their chamber and their hut, and training themselves in this way, barely overcome the madness of desire. But you say that even if you see one cohabiting with a virgin, and bound to her, and living luxuriously, and preferring the soul of his cohabitant, and choosing to suffer and do anything ^C rather than be separated from the beloved—do not believe there is anything evil, nor think it is a matter of desire, but of piety. But it is not those who have bodies, my wonderful friend, but those who cohabit with stones, who ought to be in such a state. And perhaps you do not believe [this] because of your great self-control; but I have heard from some, describing how many have even suffered something regarding statues and stones. But if, where there is hardness and resistance and mere molding, it has such power, what madness does it not produce when, along with the molding, there is a soft body lying beneath? How will the accusers not reasonably appear to be speaking more truly than you who are defending? For what is reasonable, tell me, for a man to desire a woman, or not to desire? We would surely say, to desire. Again, when he does not endure to depart, although ten thousand ^D reasonable pretexts push him outside, but thrusts himself inside for no virtuous achievement, but [incurring] myriad disgraces and harms to his own and others' [affairs]—what is reasonable? That he suffers this from a good intention, or from an evil one? Perhaps someone would say from an evil one, rather. But let us not be pedantic about these things; let it be granted that those who are scandalized are not scandalized rationally, nor justly, but in vain and to no purpose: why do you cohabit, tell me, with the virgin? For this cohabitation is established for no other reason than for love and longing; for if you take this away, the need for the matter is annulled. For what man would choose, without the necessity for a woman, to endure [her] luxury and insolence and the other defects of that kind? For this reason, God from the beginning armed the woman with this strength, knowing that she would be utterly contemptible if she did not bring this as a beginning, and that no one would choose to cohabit with her while being pure of desire. For if, even when such a great necessity and much other need is now present (for they also bear children, and keep the house, and perform many other services far more than these)—if, when they are performing such and so many services for men now, they were often held in contempt and cast out of the house, how would they be desirable to us without desire, and that too while enveloping us in so many disgraces? Either state, then, the cause of the cohabitation, or there is no need to suspect any other [cause] than evil desire and shameful pleasure.

6. What then, he says, if we can state a reasonable and just cause, will you have said these things about us in vain? Truly, you will state no such thing; yet even so I wanted to learn if you have even a shadow of a reasonable pretext to state. The virgin, he says, is without protection, not having a husband, nor a provider, and often not even a father, nor a brother, and she has need of someone to stretch out a hand, and to comfort her solitude, and to be everywhere as a protector and to place her in great safety and a harbor. What safety, and what harbor? For I do not see the breakwater restraining the waves, but rousing them, and the harbor not checking the storm, but even giving birth to swells that did not exist. Then are you not ashamed, do you not cover your face, defending such things? For if no accusation, nor harm, nor scandal were born from this service, but it were possible to do this very thing with a good reputation, of what would you not be more pitiful, increasing her wealth, and training her in greed, and casting her into business, and tutoring her for worldly cares, and exchanging the rank of stewards and curators and things of the marketplace? Very much so; for you will not be able to discourse about poverty and persuade [people] to despise their possessions, you who do everything so that [her] possessions might remain and increase, and that resources might be added to resources, having become merchants and peddlers for their sake, useless indeed. For your hopes are not noble.

503 S. JOANNIS CHRYSOSTOMI ARCHIEP. CONSTANTINOP. wealth to increase, making some people into agents and others into sub-agents for their sake, although they are useless. For your hope is not noble. For when you were ordered to carry the cross and follow Christ, you cast off the cross, and like effeminate soldiers who have thrown away their shields, you sit occupied with a distaff and a basket, having opened by another more shameful method a door into the present life. For it is not as shameful for those who are in matrimony to manage these things as it is for you, who pretend to have retreated from the cares of present matters, to undergo them again under another’s guise. For this reason, we everywhere receive the reputation of gluttons, sycophants, parasites, and menials to women, since we trade all the nobility given to us from above for earthly servility and base-ness. The great men of olden times indeed refused to distribute the wealth of widows, since so much blasphemy would arise from it because there was no one to administer it, but thinking it beneath their philosophy, they handed it over to others. We, however, are not ashamed to increase the wealth of others to the detriment of the possessors, being no better than the eunuchs occupied in such things, who have been commanded to carry our blood and soul/ ^A in our hands every day in place of weapons. What then? Is it necessary to disregard all things that are snatched from the virgin, while they are taken and carried off by relatives, servants, outsiders, and domestics? Truly, we shall render to the virgin a fine recompense, because she neither married nor loved the present world, but chose Christ above all, leaving her exposed to those who deprive her of her own possessions. And how much better would it have been for her to marry and have a partner, upon whom the administration of these things would weigh, rather than remaining unwed to trample upon the covenants forged with God, and to commit injury against a thing so noble and venerable, and to drag others also into the shipwreck of her own evils? How, moreover, will you say that she has preferred Christ to all things, when Christ cries out and says: "You cannot serve God and mammon" (Matt. 6:24)? How, furthermore, will you be able to say that you hate the world and the present life, you who persuade/ ^B her not to reject the desires of this world? And how can you urge the woman who has a husband to despise wealth, when you pursue riches for the virgin? And how will you permit this same virgin to cling assiduously and constantly to the Lord, when you expend your whole life and all your study upon her business affairs? How can a virgin philosophize when she sees you, a man, taking it badly if her money is plundered? How can she hold loss in contempt when she sees you doing and suffering everything to accumulate her wealth? God does not want us to be freed from business in this way, but to despise possessions, and to renounce everything that pertains to this life. But you do not allow us, nor do you grant that the law of God should prevail. What then, if she has need of the patronage of others, he says, and bears much that is unworthy? Are not these things unworthy of a virgin? Indeed, nothing is so unworthy of a virgin as to become wealthy and be overwhelmed by a throng of business affairs. What, moreover, if she should order/ ^C along with these things such as these: to put out money at interest, then, if she does not persuade us when called to such trade, and when she does not persuade us, she approaches others, shall we be the cause? What, moreover, if she should arrange some other illiberal and servile transactions, and then, if we are unwilling to cooperate, she should have need of certain others, shall we be worthy of being rebuked? By no means, but rather worthy of being praised; for we would be worthy of censure if we gave them such help. Do you wish her wealth not to be carried off or plundered? Admonish her to lay it up where she has no need of a man for safekeeping, and where it may remain perpetually intact; but if she wishes to have business affairs, why does she play a game that is not a game? For if a virgin does these things, she plays a game that is not pleasant, but deadly. For when she constitutes herself liable to these struggles, and makes all things unworthy of her own pledge, a greater punishment, a heavier retribution is prepared. Have you heard what law Paul—or rather, Christ, who spoke through him—has set for her, that the woman/ ^D and the virgin are divided? And "she that is unmarried thinks of the things of the Lord, that she may be holy both in body and in spirit" (1 Cor. 7:34)? But you do not permit it, and listening to all their desires, you are more compliant than bought slaves. "It is so," he says. What then, if she should labor in extreme poverty? For these things have been well said by you regarding those who are in abundance; but what of the crime, if those who lie neglected in beggary and great poverty are raised up? Would that you had not cast them down and driven them into the abysses of perdition; that would be desirable. Indeed, if you do this in obedience to His command, who ordered us to be a help to the poor, you have many brothers; exhibit this good work there, where it will undergo no scandal; but here, the almsgiving is worse than any inhumanity and cruelty. What utility will there be, while you indeed feed the body, but weigh down the soul? When you give a garment, but cause a suspicion more shameful than nakedness? When you are of service in things that are of the body, but destroy all things spiritual? When you make her situation prosperous on earth, but cast her out of the heavens? What sort of almsgiving is this, when the glory of God is held in contempt, when there are openly reproaches and confusion and insults and mockery, both of the one whom you pity, and of many others who are scandalized? These things do not proceed from mercy, but from an inhuman and cruel soul. For if they were from mercy and kindness, it would be necessary to exhibit these things toward men as well. [...], but men have many aids by nature. Moreover, among men there are many who are more infirm than women, both because of great old age, and because of health, and because of mutilation of the body, and because of grave illnesses, and other such causes. Truly, however, because the race of women is your greatest care, as being the weaker, and you are very merciful and compassionate toward them, we shall not be destitute of an occasion in this part either, but we shall show you cases in which there is no reproach and the reward is very great. For there are also certain women worn out by old age, or with hands cut off, or deprived of sight, and invalid from various other diseases, and affected by poverty more difficult than their diseases. Since poverty—when one has absolutely nothing—brings about diseases of the body; and poverty itself also becomes heavier and more intolerable than the diseases. Seek these out and gather them; indeed, in gathering them there will be no need of labor; so do they lie before all, ready for all who...

wish to stretch out a hand. If you have money, spend it upon them; if you are strong, contribute here the service of your body. You will see many things here, too, that require bodily service, the expenditure of money, and much running about. For it is a task to provide dwellings for these women, and to prepare medicines, and to buy a bed and garments, and to provide suitable food, and to look after all the other things—even if there were only ten who were sick with such ailments! But now our city is full of them, and you will find thousands upon thousands. These are the ones who need protection, these are the deserted ones, these are they who lie upon the ground. This is almsgiving, this is philanthropy; this passes over to the glory of God and brings about the benefit of those who see, and those who suffer, and those who act. For the weaker ones should more justly be helped by the strong, and the aged by the young, and the ones possessing only a moderate amount by those who lack even necessary food, and the unsightly, by reason of the unbearable nature of their sufferings, by those who are attractive to many—and the ones who are weighed down by insults by those who are able to turn aside the insults that have occurred and add to their good name. ^A Show, therefore, that you do these things for the sake of God, and take care of them. But if you do not wish to see these, even in a dream, but go about hunting for beautiful young women, and while having some other intolerable reason for this ignoble "hunt," you put forward another reason that seems attractive—that of "protection"—even if you deceive men, you will not deceive the unbribable tribunal, since you do these things for one subtext while putting forward another. For you say that you do everything for the sake of God, but you perform the deeds of the enemies of God; for to cause His name to be blasphemed and slandered is the work of the enemies of God.

And I put forward another consideration. For let us suppose that the man who says these things is telling the truth, and that he is pure from all desire, and that for no other reason but piety alone he undertakes this protection—yet we shall not find him free from punishment even in this way. For if he lacked other pretexts in which it was necessary to demonstrate piety, and to do this without souls being scandalized—although even then, these men should not be engaged in these matters, where the damage is greater than the gain. For tell me, what is the equality in keeping one or two virgins for the sake of bodily necessities while scandalizing countless multitudes in their souls? But the accusation is not so grievous there; but when you find ten thousand ways and means that are free of accusation, free of scandal, and have a greater "commodity" in them, for what reason do you weave difficulties for yourself in vain and to no purpose, and undermine your gain, and build insecurely and shamefully, when it is possible to do so with security and much glory? Do you not know that the life of a Christian ought to shine brightly everywhere, and that whoever has brought shame upon his own glory will henceforth be useless everywhere, and will be able to gain nothing great, even if he happens to accomplish great things? For if the salt has lost its savor, He says, wherewith shall it be salted? For God wants us to be salt and light and leaven, so that others may be able to share in the profit that comes from us. For if people who live irreproachably can barely convert those who are neglected, if we should provide a handle to them, how shall we not be entirely responsible for their destruction? ^B For just as it is impossible for one who has a corrupted life to ever be saved, so neither is it possible for one who has wrapped himself in evil glory to escape hell. But if it is necessary to say something astonishing: even if one commits great sins, yet does this secretly and scandalizes no one, he gives a lesser account than one who has committed lesser sins, but does so with boldness and scandalizes many.

8. And lest you marvel at what has been said, or judge the word to be an exaggeration, we shall bring you this verdict from heaven and read this law from thence. For the blessed Moses—the meekest of all men on the earth, and the friend of God, and greater than the prophets (for to the others He spoke through enigmas, but to him as if a friend speaking to a friend)—this man, too, such as he was, having suffered myriad miseries in the desert over so many years, having been in danger many times, both among the Egyptians on behalf of the Jews, and among the Jews on behalf of those ungrateful people themselves, nothing else prevented him, after those many miseries and myriad achievements, from obtaining the promise, save that he scandalized those who were with him at the water. And hinting at this, God said: Because you did not believe me to hallow me before the children of Israel, therefore you shall not bring this congregation into the land which I have given them (Num. 20:12). And yet, even before this, he disobeyed in some things (for he spoke against God once and twice when sent to Egypt, and after that, in the desert, he doubted, saying: Six hundred thousand are the footmen, and you have said, I will give them flesh, and they shall eat for a month of days. Shall the sheep and the oxen be slaughtered, or shall all the fish of the sea be gathered, and will it suffice them? And after this, again he became discouraged, and he declined the protection of the people). But yet, none of these things had the power to deprive him of the offered prizes, save for that which happened at the water alone; for by its nature it was less than those others; but because it happened to the injury of others, it became much greater. For those former things happened privately and covertly; but this was sinned openly and before all the people. For this reason, also, God, accusing him, hinted at this by saying: Because you did not hallow me before the children of Israel, laying bare to him the nature of the sin, and revealing whence it became inexcusable. ^C But if this caused such a man to stumble, how shall this not sink and destroy us—worms and creatures of no account? For nothing so exasperates God as when His name is blasphemed. And to the Jews, too, He continued to complain up and down: Because my name is profaned; and again, You profane it; and, Through you my name is blasphemed among the Gentiles; and so great has been His providence that this might not happen, that He has often saved even the unworthy, so that this might not come to pass. For I have acted, He says, so that my name might not be profaned; and, Not for your sake do I act, O house of Israel, but so that my name might not be profaned (Ezech. 20:9 and 36:22). And Paul, too, prayed to be anathema for the sake of the glory of God; and Moses himself exhorted to be blotted out of the book for the sake of the glory of the name of God; but you not only choose to suffer nothing in order to ward off this blasphemy, but you do everything through which you increase it.

^B Everything, then, must be done so that no occasion for scandal may arise. But even if they falsely accuse us, let us resolve the charges with persuasion, and let us imitate the saints, who had such a zeal for the glory of God that they would disparage their own interests for the sake of God. Let us not think that, having cast everything aside and trampled it underfoot, we are sufficiently defended if we say, "We bought a dress for the virgin, and shoes, and we have well provided for the other things that pertain to the physical comfort of the virgin." Who, they say, would manage the things in our house? Who would look after our property? Who would be in charge of the house in our absence, and when there is no woman inside? Indeed, these arguments are even more contrary and shameful than the former ones. And they do not care about these things, nor are they ashamed, speaking whatever comes into their mouths, just like drunkards. Therefore, we will not weary ourselves, even if what they say is such that it deserves no answer. We will not be burdened, I say, even to answer and to speak to them gently, until we free them from this drunkenness, as much as lies within us. For I am ashamed and blush when I attempt to overturn these things which those who contradict do not blush to put forward; yet the shame must be endured entirely for the benefit of those who do not know how to blush. For it would be absurd, while refuting those who consider it of no account that they are a scandal to their brothers, to abandon the concern for them because of a sense of shame. For tell me, what are those things that they say are so necessary at home for the care of the virgin? Are there a host of barbarian maidservants, newly purchased, whom it is necessary to instruct in wool-working and other services? Or are there storerooms of wealth and clothing, and does it behoove a guardian to sit inside always and protect the virgin’s eyes from the malice of the servants? Or must dinner and banquets be prepared continuously, and must the house be adorned and the cooks and table-servers be managed by the virgin’s care? Are there likewise many diverse and frequent expenses, and must someone always be in charge so that they may be guarded with diligence, so that those things do not slip away from the house without profit? ^C It is nothing of these, he says; but so that she herself may take care of the chest, and the clothing, and the other little possessions, and may well prepare the table, and well arrange the bed, and light the fire, and wash feet, and provide every other such comfort. Then, for this small and chilly bit of convenience, will we endure such an accusation, and bear such reproaches? And how much better and more easily would a brother manage these things? For by nature the man is stronger than the woman, while in habit he is more accommodating to us, and not so extravagant. For the woman, being more delicate, needs a softer bed, and thinner clothing, and perhaps another girl to serve her; and she will not provide us as much service as she herself will need from us. But a brother needs none of these things. And if he does need something, we share that same need, which is no small convenience if the housemates use not different but the same things: which is certainly not the case with a virgin. In the first place, surely, whether she wants to be relieved or is sick in body, the brother will not serve her in these things, even if he were very shameless, nor would she be sufficient for herself. But if it is brothers who are living together, they will be able to serve one another by turns. Again, when it is time to sleep, since the virgin is sitting inside, there must be two beds, and two sets of bedding, and two blankets; and if they are wise, two separate rooms. But if they are brothers, again there is no need for such household property. For one house, one pillow, one bed, and the same coverings suffice for both; and in summary, if one were to run through every service, one would find much ease here, whereas there, one would find difficulty. I am silent about the indecency of the house. For what is it, if one goes into the house of a solitary man, to see women’s shoes hanging, and girdles and headbands, baskets, and the spindle and the weaver’s rod and combs and distaffs, and other things which it is not permitted to count one by one? If, however, you search the things that belong to a rich man, the subject for mockery is greater. For first, he is the only one moving about in such a throng of girls, just like a choir-master in the orchestra who sings along in a chorus of dancing women: than which what could be more shameful and dishonest? Then, he is broken down all day long, angry at the servants regarding matters that pertain to the woman. For it is *necessity* for him either to be silent entirely and, neglecting everything, be rebuked by her, or to speak and, in rebuking, act shamefully. And look at what happens: for he who was ordered not even to approach worldly business does not only handle worldly things, but the very things of women. For he will not refuse to carry women’s vessels to the silversmiths, asking repeatedly whether the mistress’s mirror has been prepared, whether they have finished the jar, whether they have returned the oil cruet; for all things have come to such corruption that these virgins use more vessels than many secular women. From there, again, he runs to the perfumer to discuss the mistress’s aromatics, often even, because of such excessive zeal, not refusing to act if the pauper must be insulted. ^D Yet virgins use various and precious perfumes. Then from the perfumer to the linen seller, and from him again to the tapestry weaver. For they are not ashamed to command these small things, because they see them very obedient, and having more gratitude for those who command than for others who serve. From there again, if at any time something must be prepared which pertains to this portable tent, they persevere until evening without food, stuck to the workshops. And that is not to be wondered at, but that they are also troublesome to the wretched servants, and press them with frequent injury and shouting. Think of how many complaints arise from this: for the servant who has been injured, especially for such things, because he has no other way to avenge himself on him who injured him, does it by tongue and secret disparagement. And he spares none of those by whom he may satisfy his own rage, but avenges himself as immoderately as is likely for a slave thus reproached, and for whom this is the sole consolation from his evils against the one who has saddened him. And he who says that he lives with a poor man, when...

^A he is a silversmith, will not converse with him (for his poverty does not allow it), nor will he sit with perfume sellers, but he will often annoy shoemakers and weavers and embroiderers and dyers. And why is it necessary to recount all this indecency, such as when they enter houses selling warp and woof, and when they wander into the marketplace searching for these very things? And these things take place in houses; but in the marketplaces they endure things even more laughable than these.

10. In the church, however, it is not possible to describe the disgrace. For just as it is necessary that no place be ignorant of their insult and this base slavery, so also in this holy and most fearful place do they proclaim their entire lack of self-control; and what is even more grievous, they even pride themselves on things for which they ought to be ashamed. For by receiving them from the very doors, and by becoming like eunuchs, they act with arrogance, and by leading the way they think highly of themselves, with everyone looking on, and they are not abashed, but even rejoice. And even at the very moment of the most fearful mysteries, they perform many things for their pleasure, providing opportunities to many of the onlookers. ^B And these wretched and miserable women, although it is necessary to drive them away from such grace, are even delighted and think highly of themselves. And yet, who could find, whether for these women or for those men—if he were about to utter some curse—a harsher one than this, namely, that they have ten thousand witnesses to their lack of self-control, and that they behave indecently in the eyes of all? What need is there to speak of how many things are overturned in the churches themselves for their sake, how many of the things of God are neglected for the sake of these men, so that these women might not be provoked? And why do I say "provoked"? If only someone of them looks at them with a gloomy and unpleasant face, they choose to endure everything rather than see that woman suffer this. But how long shall we continue to act indecently by recounting all their affairs? For we did not choose this, since it would require many and long discourses to narrate everything; or rather, it is not even possible to tell everything even if one wished, but by combining a few things from many, it was enough to make the length [of our discourse] sufficient. But we did not come to this, ^C but we mentioned even these things reluctantly, so that we might slightly sting those of our listeners who have sense; henceforth, we must entreat and beseech. Therefore, I beg and implore, and I prostrate myself before your knees, and I set forth every petition: be persuaded, and let us recover from this drunkenness, and let us become ourselves, and let us recognize the honor which God has given to us, and let us listen to Paul shouting: "Do not become slaves of men" (1 Cor. 7:23); and let us cease being slaves to women, to the common ruin of us all. Christ wishes us to be noble soldiers and athletes. He did not arm us with spiritual weapons for this purpose, that we might accept the service of three-obol virgins, that we might occupy ourselves with wool and looms and such-like ministrations, that we might sit beside women spinning and weaving, that we might spend every day staining our own souls with female habits and words; but that we might strike down the invisible powers opposing us, that we might strike the devil who commands them, ^D that we might drive away the wild phalanxes of demons, that we might pull down their strongholds, that we might bind the authorities of the prince of darkness and lead them captive, that we might put to flight the spiritual forces of wickedness, that we might breathe fire, that we might be ready and prepared for daily deaths. For this reason He clothed us with the breastplate of righteousness, for this reason He girded us with the belt of truth, for this reason He placed upon us the helmet of salvation, for this reason He shod our feet with the preparation of the gospel of peace, and He handed over the sword of the Spirit, for this reason He cast fire into our souls. Therefore tell me, if you saw one of the soldiers, after putting on the helmet, the greaves, the breastplate, after taking the sword, the spear, the shield, the bows, the arrows, the quiver, while the trumpet was sounding clearly and calling everyone out, and while the enemies were breathing fiercely and were prepared to tear the city up from its foundations, not running out to the battle-line, but entering a house and sitting beside a woman with those weapons—would you not, if it were permitted, thrust the sword through his middle, without even granting him a word? And if you would be filled with such great anger, how do you think God is disposed toward things far more absurd than these? For these things are more shameful and more absurd than those by as much as the war is more severe, and the enemies are more fierce, and the prizes for which the war is waged are greater, and everything, in a word, is as different as the distance between truth and a shadow. Let us not, therefore, soften our strength, nor cut our own sinews with these associations; for an unspeakable and great wickedness flows into our souls from this source. For what if we do not perceive it while drunk with this friendship? For this is the most terrible thing of all, that we do not even know that we are being unnerved, and are becoming softer than any wax. For just as one who takes a proud and grim-looking lion, then shears off its mane, removes its teeth, and pulls out its claws, makes the fearful and unbearable creature—which shakes everything by its roar alone—shameful, ridiculous, and easily overcome by children; so do these women make all whom they capture easily handled by the devil, softer, hotter, shameless, senseless, irascible, bold, untimely, base, ignoble, cruel, servile, unfree, babbling, talkative, and, in a word, carrying all the corrupted female habits, they imprint them upon the souls of these men.

11. For it is impossible for one living with women with such affection, and becoming involved in their associations, not to be a sort of mountebank, a huckster, and rabble. For even if he says anything, he says everything from the looms and the wool, his tongue having been dyed with the quality of female words; and even if he does anything, he will work this with much servility, having removed himself far from the freedom that becomes Christians, and becoming useless for any of the great achievements. For if such a person is useless for life's necessities and public affairs, much more so for the magnitude of spiritual things, which require more noble men, so that those who are to pursue them cannot even touch them unless they become angels instead of men. And not only do they themselves receive such wickedness, but they also become the cause of corrupted character to those women. For just as these men, wishing greatly to please them, depart from the conduct that befits them; so also...

they, by their ornate adornment, excessive care of their dress and gait, and by spending the entire day in idle chatter, behave in ways they ought not. For since they see that these men are delighted by these loose behaviors and words, they zealously pursue all things by which they can hold them in bondage.

But if we should be willing to come to our senses for a little while, and become our own men, we shall gain both them and ourselves and all others. And just as we are now made the cause of destruction for many, so then we shall receive a reward for the salvation of many, and we shall enjoy with great honor those things of which we now take possession basely. For tell me, why do you wish to be honored by women? This is most unworthy of a spiritual man, to crave such honor; yet even this will be present exactly when we are not seeking it. For a man is accustomed to despise those who flatter him and to hold in admiration those who do not fawn—a disposition to which the female nature is more prone. For if someone fawns upon them, he is intolerable; but they admire most of all those who do not know how to yield and who do not succumb to their untimely desires. And you yourselves will be my witnesses to this. For now not only outsiders but even these women who live with you mock you—if not openly, yet certainly in their conscience—and they boast of this harsh tyranny; but then they will admire you entirely, and will be stunned at your liberty.

And if you do not believe our words, ask these very women whom they praise and approve more: those who serve them, or those who master them? Those who are subject to them, and who do and suffer all things for their sake, or those who endure none of these things and are ashamed to obey their base commands? And if they are willing to tell the truth, they will answer: "Those who master us." Indeed, there is no need for a response, as the facts themselves proclaim this. But he who lives with them for the sake of pleasure is intent on wealth, feasting his eyes on the sight of these virgins. Even if this were so at its best, it ought to have been fled for this very reason. But enough has been demonstrated to you that this is not sweet, but clearly the opposite, if one does not enjoy this contemplation—and to this you must add the joy of a good conscience. ^A Nothing so exhilarates as a good conscience. For nothing is accustomed to exhilarate us as much as a pure conscience and good hope. But do you seek this for the sake of repose? It has already been demonstrated that this would be easier if a brother were living with you; and now you differ in nothing from a slave, and while seeking repose, you have found a most burdensome slavery. When you are free from this ministry, then you will be among those who command, not those who are commanded. Therefore, if there is grief there instead of pleasure, and confusion instead of glory, and slavery instead of liberty, and labor instead of repose, and in addition to these, God is blasphemed, and there is such great destruction and scandal, and eternal punishment, and the loss of countless goods; while here there are all the opposites: glory, honor, pleasure, confidence, liberty, the salvation of souls, the inheritance of the kingdom, and the escape from punishment—for the sake of what will we not exchange these for those? For my part, I do not know, unless one desires to destroy himself; for we shall have no defense or pardon thereafter. For if, even if none of these things were true, it would still have been necessary to bear all things for the glory of God, when it is permitted to perceive both the present things and to attain the future goods; but since, besides the fact that the glory of God is blasphemed, we also destroy ourselves, who will snatch us and deliver us from the impending punishment for this? No one, assuredly. ^B Oh that we might at last mend the salvation of our souls! But if there is any difficulty in being torn away from a long habit, let us entrust the whole matter to the power of reasoning together with the grace of God, and let us persuade ourselves of this: that if we only set a beginning to the work, we shall no longer see the difficulty; thus we shall prevail over habit. For if you abstain for ten days, you will bear twenty more easily, and then twice as many again; and then by gradually advancing, you will not even feel the difficulty you had at the beginning, and you will see that what once demanded so many struggles is most easy to do, and you will transfer yourself to another habit, finding the transition not so grave. And this will come about not only through habit, but also through good hope. In this way they will admire you more, and God will accept you above others, and men will crown you, and you will live freely and pleasantly. ^C For what would be sweeter than to be freed from an evil conscience, to resolve the perpetual war of concupiscence, to knit together the famous crown of temperance with great ease, and to look at heaven with free eyes, and with a pure voice and heart to call upon the Master of all? No one who has been exempted from chains, squalor, and the other hardships of prisons—nay, no one who was blind and, with opened eyes, sees this sweet light—is so exultant, leaping, and dancing as he who has been able to be freed from this slavery. For liberation from this tyranny is far sweeter than this light, and the misery of that slavery and those bonds is more grievous than any darkness. But why is there need to pursue the condition of either life more prolixly, when the former surely brings with it unworthiness, sadness, loss, and great corruption; while the latter brings liberty, pleasure, utility, and much prudence? For no speech can express it, but only the experience of the facts. And then you will know rightly from what evils you have been freed, and what life you have attained, when you are willing to obey us in deed. You will obey, therefore, when you have learned what has been said through the work itself. But if you still resist and do not believe our words, ask some who once bore this slavery and then, being freed, turned back to a good liberty, and you will know the gain of this admonition. For even Solomon, when he was held by the concupiscence of secular things, thought them great and admirable, and spent much labor and care on them—building magnificent houses, hoarding boundless gold, gathering choirs of singers, and various kinds of servants for his table and kitchen, seeking pleasure for his soul from the grace of gardens and beautiful bodies, and pursuing every way, if I may so say, of gratification and refreshing. But when he returned from there to himself and was able to look toward the light of true wisdom, as if from a certain dark abyss, then he uttered that sublime voice worthy of the heavens, saying: Vanity of vanities, and all is vanity. ^D

^A If you also, should you so wish, were to bring forth this same judgment—a judgment even more sublime—concerning this untimely pleasure, if you would separate yourselves but a little from this evil habit. And yet, Solomon, living in the ages of old, was not required to possess such great precision of philosophy; for neither did the Old Law forbid luxury, nor did it declare it a superfluous and vain thing to enjoy other pleasures. Nevertheless, even in that state of affairs, he was able to perceive the unprofitableness in them, and to condemn their great vanity. But we are called to a greater way of life, and we ascend to a higher summit, and we have stripped ourselves for greater contests. And what else are we commanded to do but to live according to those supernal powers, those intellectual and incorporeal beings? How then is it not shameful and deserving of great punishment to appear far inferior to him, and not only to fail to become higher than what is permitted, as he did, but even to lay hold of things that are forbidden and bring intolerable punishment? For to nourish an evil love in the soul, and to look upon a woman for the sake of desire, and to contemplate another’s beauty, and thereby to disgrace oneself, to harm the weaker, to provide many pretexts to the Greeks and the Jews, to trip up both one’s own people and those who are strangers, to cause much blasphemy against the glory of God, to accept servile ministries, to thrust ourselves into the din of worldly affairs, to pledge the freedom granted to us to the devil, and for it to exchange a most grievous tyranny, to become a laughingstock to friends and a reproach to enemies, to cast a wicked reputation upon the community of the Church, to disgrace the dignity of honorable virginity, and to provide many pretexts to those wishing to live wantonly, and to procure other evils more than these (for it is impossible either to perceive or to express in words all the things they endure through the deeds themselves)—this is among the things most strictly forbidden and which carry an intolerable punishment.

So if the pleasure is even a small thing, by weighing all these things ^B against it—laughter, shame, the suspicion of the multitude, accusations, taunts, insults, the worm that dies not, the outer darkness, the fire that is unquenchable, the tribulation, the distress, the gnashing of teeth, the indissoluble bonds—and by placing them as it were upon a balance and setting them against it, let us leap away, even if late, from this most grievous and soul-destroying disease, that we may depart for there with bright crowns, and be able with free lips to say to Christ that: "For Your sake and for the sake of Your glory we have despised habit, and mastered pleasure, and afflicted our own soul, and casting out all friendship and prejudice, we have preferred You and the desire for You above all things." For thus we shall gain ourselves, and we shall gain those wretched women, and we shall gain those who are scandalized, and we shall take our stand beside the martyrs themselves, and we shall receive the first rank. For I do not consider a man who is held by an ancient desire, and who is captivated by some most sweet and ancient habit, and who then for the sake of the fear of God breaks those bonds and turns back toward what is pleasing to God, to be any less than those who have fought that greatest of battles and endured the most steadfast pains. For it is one of the most difficult things to cast out an ancient sympathy and affection, and to cut through the complex entanglements, and to grow wings, and to run up to the heavenly arches. And just as the toil is sharp for them, so for these is the sorrow more enduring. Wherefore the crowns are likewise equal, since the contests also are set before them in parallel. For if he who leads a precious soul from an unworthy state shall be as the mouth of God, think of how great a reward he shall receive who has both liberated himself and delivered countless others from accusation, and, lightened by the hope of the prizes, despise evil habit, that having run through the present life according to what is pleasing to God, you may behold her there with a pure conscience, and enjoy her most holy fellowship. For, the bodily passions being loosened, and the tyrannical desire being extinguished, there is nothing to prevent men together with women from being there, with all evil suspicion put out of the way, but only the angelic way of life, and the ability of those intellectual powers to be preserved, of all who are brought into the kingdom of the heavens, by the grace and loving-kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father, together with the Holy Spirit, be glory, honor, and power unto the ages of ages. Amen.

THAT REGULAR VIRGINS OUGHT NOT TO COHABIT WITH MEN

^C 4. Woe is me, O soul! For with the prophet it is timely for me also to say this now, and once and twice and oftentimes, "Woe is me, O soul!" What a matter, and how full of philosophy! Virginity has been insulted, and the veil that separated it from marriage has been taken away, torn down by shameless hands, and the holy of holies has been trodden underfoot, and the venerable things, full of awe, have become profane and accessible to all; and what is more venerable than marriage has been dragged down and brought so low, that married women are rather to be called blessed. For always indeed virginity, when ranked with marriage, held the first place and all the presidency; but now it has not been able to remain even in the second rank, but has been driven off far and to the very last rank; ^D and what is more grievous is that it is not some enemies or foes, but those who are thought most to nurture it who have disposed it thus, and those who provided us most of all with the ability to speak freely to the unbelievers, these have most of all sewn up our mouths and poured out much shame upon us. For the sake of money—and even these were few, yet they had it in them to show that some among the Greeks had lived philosophically, and some among them overcame anger; but the flower of virginity was nowhere among them, but they always yielded the first place to us in this, acknowledging that the achievement is above nature and not human. For this reason our entire nation was greatly admired by them; but now, no longer, but they laugh and jeer at us. For this reason also the devil has thus breathed against this flock, because he saw in this most excellent phalanx the army of Christ; and thus he attempted to confound it, so that hereafter it would be better, if not that virgins themselves...

^A even attempt to carry out the matter in this way. The reason for all these evils is that the matter exists only in name, and the whole business is circumscribed in words, which is the smallest part of virginity; while those things which are more necessary, and which demonstrate it even more, have been neglected, and no attention is paid to a modest manner of dress suitable for virgins, or to silence, or to compunction, or to anything of that kind. They rather chatter away at everything, and laugh at inappropriate times, and are tumultuous, and live more in delights than women who stand in the brothel, while they entice spectators from all sides with their tricks, and strive to throw themselves into the disgrace of harlots, as if competing with them and contending for the glory of the disgrace. For where, tell me, shall we be able afterwards to distinguish such a virgin from the rank and company of those women, when she herself does the same thing that they do; when, indeed, she entangles the hearts of young men in fraud, when she is petulant and intemperate, when she offers the same poisons, mixes the same cups, and prepares the same hemlock?—But she does not say: "Come, let us be entwined in love," nor does she say: "I have sprinkled my bed with crocus, and my couch with cinnamon" (Prov. vii. 17). Those others hide the bait at home, but you carry the snare everywhere, and spread the wings of pleasure as you walk in the market-place. But you did not say the words, nor did you utter those harlot-like speeches: "Come, let us be entwined in love." You did not say it with your tongue, but you said it with your habit; you did not speak with your mouth, but you spoke with your walk; you did not invite with your voice, but you invited with your eyes more clearly than with your voice. But even after you had invited, you did not offer yourself. You are not thus freed from sin, for this is another species of fornication. You remained pure from the violation of the body, indeed, but not of the soul; and the sin was completed by you, even if not through the act, but through the gaze.

Virginity does not befit a luxurious manner of life and expensive clothing.

But I know not whence, to say these things, I have been brought back to this point; wherefore it is necessary to return to that from which I digressed.

^A point of Bethsaida he did not employ exhortations anymore, nor signs, but only lamentation, continuously crying out, "Woe," to the cities, just as we do for those who are in their death throes. And blessed Paul, too, imitating his own teacher, did not cease throughout his whole life to lament so bitterly those who had fallen and who remained in their fall and were no longer willing to rise, such that even with a certain more powerful definition he wrote to the Romans on this very matter, saying: *I have great sorrow and unceasing pain in my heart. For I could wish that I myself were accursed from Christ for the sake of my brethren, my kinsmen according to the flesh, who are Israelites* (Rom. 9.2-4). Do you see how much emphasis his words have, how much pain of heart they present? And he mourns for the believers who are stumbling and tossed by waves, as if he himself were the one in those very evils. For who, he says, *is weak, and I am not weak? Who is made to stumble, and I do not burn?* (2 Cor. 11.29). And he did not say, "I am sorrowful," but, "I am burning," wishing to indicate the unbearable and incurable nature of the pain through the word "burning." Let us, therefore, imitate both our Lord and his fellow-servant. For there will not lie before us a small reward for these lamentations and weepings, just as no ordinary blame follows from God for those who pass over the evils of their own members without sympathy. And of these, one may see an example from the most steadfast man, Ezekiel, and the other from the blessed Micah. For the one says that, when the Jews had arrived at the extreme of wickedness and had voluntarily defected to the evil of idols, God commanded a sign to be given on the faces of those who were groaning and suffering over what was happening. For it is not necessary simply to groan, but also to be pained, even though they had neither said nor done anything toward the correction of what was happening; but because they contributed what was in their power, they were honored with such honor by the philanthropic God that they were deemed worthy of both safety and much glory. ^B And Micah, along with other accusations—I mean gluttony, drunkenness, and the anointing with perfumes—added this charge of lack of sympathy, saying thus: *They did not suffer at all over the breaking of Joseph* (Amos 6.6). And he reproved again those who inhabited the city of Enan because of this, saying that they did not go forth to lament the house neighboring them (Mich. 1.11). But if, where God is angry, the one who does not suffer with those being punished is accused, what kind of forgiveness will he be worthy of who does not grieve with those who fall into evil? And do not be amazed if, while God is punishing us, it is necessary to suffer with those being punished; for even God himself, in punishing, does not wish to do this. For *I do not desire the death of the sinner*, he says. Therefore, if the one inflicting the punishment does not wish for the punishment, it is all the more necessary for us to suffer with those being punished; perhaps we will call them back in this way, perhaps we will recover them. For even if they have perished, let us nevertheless provide the remaining remedy and let us mourn and lament, not by gathering choirs of women, but each one privately and by himself, without those women present. But if you wish, I will also begin this mournful song for you; for I am not ashamed, ^C doing this with Jeremiah, Isaiah, and Paul, and before all these, with the Lord. Let us begin, therefore, as Christ began first, and let us say: "Woe to you, my soul! For the sake of what honor you were called through the philanthropy of God, and what place you will receive because of your negligence! Woe to you! Because he himself drew you to the spiritual bridal chambers, but you, tearing yourself away from that glory, were brought down into the fire of the devil and to the incurable punishments, where [there is] weeping and gnashing of teeth, where there is no one to comfort, nor to stretch out a hand, but all is darkness and perplexity and turmoil and evils that have no comfort nor end; all these things the friendship of the world has worked for you, and the preferring of the earth to heaven, and the not wishing to hear the voice of the bridegroom assiduously admonishing us to have nothing in common with present affairs." Who, you wretched and miserable soul, will be able to show you mercy henceforth? For even if you see Noah himself, who saved his entire house in the common storm of the world’s flood and stood against such great wrath, even if you see Job, and Daniel, and with them Moses and Samuel, even the patriarch Abraham, no one will stretch out a hand to you henceforth, even if you be related by birth, even if you be a daughter, even if you be a sister, even if you offer a prayer of supplication, like that rich man, you will work all things in vain and to no purpose. How were you cast down from heaven, not being the morning star, nor rising in the dawn, but being able to shine more than the solar rays themselves? How have you sat desolate? And one would not be wrong to transfer the majority of the laments made over that city to this captive soul, the one more captive than that city.

3. But perhaps there is enough of lamentations — enough, I say, as in scripture and book; for without these, the whole of time would not suffice for us to lament as worthy the soul that has suffered such things. For what should one lament first? That the honorable and holy and great name of God is blasphemed among the Gentiles because of you, and his glory is defiled? Or that a matter so venerable and great is maligned? Or that many souls are falling through these scandals? Or that even the sound part of the choir is dyed with the stain of your glory? Or that you are kindling an unquenchable fire both for yourselves and for those who live with you? And how, you say, is it necessary that these things happen when we are able to show the body not corrupted, not defiled? For the most part, this display will not be now, ^D but then, on that day. For the wisdom and art of a midwife is able to see only this: whether the body received the union of a man. But if it also escaped ignoble contact, and the fornication by kisses and the corruption of embraces, that day will declare it then, when the Word of God, who lives and brings forth the hidden things of men into the midst, and who is present at things done in secret, places all things naked and stripped bare before the eyes of all; then we will know well if your body is pure from these things and incorrupt in every way. But although we do not refine our arguments on these matters, nor do we contend: but...

^A that which is the most grievous of all these things, and worthy of ten thousand tears, that you should endure such labor on all sides, keep the body with such diligence, and have exhausted all that labor and poured forth that sweat, yet for the sake of the blasphemy against Christ, and having spared the flesh, you did not spare the glory of God, but did everything so that your body might remain intact for Him; but as for how it should not be insulted or disgraced before many, you did not even have any concern. Would that you had not done all this, and had not exerted yourself so that the glory of God might be defamed. And how do I do this? you say. Because you have men shut up inside the house with you, who are always seated by you. ¶ For if you desire to have men as cohabitants, you ought not to have chosen virginity, but it was necessary to pass on to marriage: for it would have been much better to have married in that way than to claim to be a virgin in such a way.

Marriage is to be preferred to ill-guarded virginity

For such a union neither God condemns, nor do men blame; for it is an honest state, offending no one, harming no one: but that virginity with men is more denounced by all than fornication itself. For it loses its proper order, and has been cast down into a pit deeper than that of fornication. For no one would be able to count the virgin who does not care for the things of the Lord, but makes many into adulterers, as being among the virgins, nor indeed among the wedded. For she has a concern for how to please one husband: but you, for how to please countless ^B men, and those who are not known by the law of marriage, but in some other way condemned and rejected by all: whence I fear lest, falling from both positions, you might appear as having been numbered in the order of dishonest women. And if one should wish to judge the matter from the very appellation, we can contradict nothing. For if at any time they betake themselves to the marketplace, or if there is otherwise talk at home about them among those who dispute concerning such an absurd coupling, wishing to signify her, they call (him) this one, not "mother"—for he did not give birth to her; nor "sister"—for she was not born from the same womb; nor "spouse"—for they do not cohabit by the law of marriage; nor by any other name of kindred which is allowed or permitted by law, but by a certain shameful and ridiculous one. For I myself could not bear to name it: so greatly do I hate and abhor this appellation, and it is troublesome to me even (to hear) the name of cohabitation. But you did not give birth, nor did you endure the pains of childbirth. And what is more foul than this defense? What, likewise, is more miserable than that she wishes to appear a virgin before those to whom both many others and loose women can betake themselves? But they, you say, are convicted from elsewhere, that they are given to licentiousness. From where elsewhere, tell me? From their clothing, from their look, from their walk, from the lovers whom they catch. You have indeed well depicted for us the character ^C of a harlot; but see that with these conjectures and arguments, before you catch them, you do not catch yourself. For you, too, for yourself, often provide such lovers, and through the same nets. But if you do not call those passing by into your dwelling, and have them always kept inside, which is much more grievous, for no other reason than to fulfill an absurd pleasure—which is both his and yours—not, I say, the act of intercourse. But what profit comes from that, since this very thing happens by mutual gazes? Otherwise, if this is not the case, and you do not commit this adultery, why do you have him at home? What just and reasonable cause will you tell us? For the wedded woman will cite marriage, the harlot will cite lust; but you, a virgin, what kind of cause will you tell us that is worthy of being brought forward and is just? Do they sleep, and not congregate with us, as those men do with those women? Nay, most people affirm precisely this. But what is this? you say: it is against their own heads. But whether they speak only against their own heads, we shall inquire later. And already it has been manifestly demonstrated, when we were speaking about men, that not only those who blaspheme, but those who rashly provide occasions, are liable to punishment in the case that is being handled: ^D nevertheless, we shall demonstrate this same thing again. But now, if I ask you the cause of this cohabitation, can you tell me anything? I am a weak woman, she says, and am not able by myself to suffice for my own needs. Truly, when we object these things to your cohabitants, from them we hear the contrary, namely that they keep you for the sake of their own service. How then, you who can be a comfort to men from your abundance, cannot be a support to yourselves as women, but stand in need of others? For just as man to man, so woman to woman would surely have cohabited more conveniently and rightly: when, moreover, you are more convenient to men for service, much more so to yourselves. For what, I ask, is the society of a man necessary and useful? Or what kind of service will he perform for the woman that a woman cannot (perform) for a woman? Will he be able to weave a web with you, or thread a warp with a woof, more than a woman? Or is not the matter the opposite? For he, even if he wished, would certainly not know how, unless perhaps you have just now taught them these things; since this is the work of a woman alone. But to wash a garment, to kindle a fire, and to boil a pot? Even these, not less, but better than a man, can a woman perform. How then is a man useful, tell me, I ask? Or when it is necessary to sell or buy? But not even here does a woman avail less than a man, and the marketplace will surely testify, and all those who wish to buy garments will for the most part be from women. But if it is shameful for virgins to stand in the marketplace for trade, as indeed it is shameful, how much more shameful is it to cohabit with a man? Nevertheless, even this is less able to escape than that. For I would have more rightly entrusted these things either to a girl who serves, or to old women who are fit for these things: whence it is plain that these are pretexts and evasions, and coverings for weakness. What coverings of weakness? she says. For if I desired a man and marriage and a life of this sort, who would forbid it? Would not the liberty be present for me to do this, whereby neither God would be offended, nor I myself be rebuked by men? And indeed I say this also, and they are not your words so much as mine. But it is necessary to say: where the need for a man is so greatly necessary to you; or since you cannot show it, let him who cohabits badly be cast out: for otherwise you cannot be absolved of this disgrace. For this is

what you were saying, and it is not yours so much as it is of those who grieve over your indecency. It was fitting indeed, even if the service of the man were very useful, not even so to accept it with such reproach: for when the glory of God is insulted, there should be no pretext so necessary as to persuade one to overlook so great an evil. For even if it were set before you that you must die ten thousand times a day so that this might not happen, you ought to have endured this with much pleasure, much more so than to overlook so great an evil for the sake of rest and worldly need. ^A Hear, then, how Paul fears this and trembles, and from what fullness of virtue he speaks. "For it is good for me," he says, "to die, rather than that anyone should make my boast void" (1 Cor. 9:15). If he, then, in order that his boast might not be made void, chose to die, and we, in order that we may remove scandals, do not despise even a small amount of ease; how shall we ever be able to be saved? Yet it is not equal, nor even a little bit close, to be deprived of praise and to fall into accusation. For he, even if that had happened, would not have offended God—for He himself had ordered him to live from the Gospel—but nevertheless he chose rather to die than to betray his achievement. But we, who disturb established things everywhere, and know that we shall pay a most heavy penalty for these things, do not even endure to despise a cold and untimely habit? And what forgiveness shall we have? It was fitting, as I said before, if even the many needs required only a man, and such an insult was born from the fact, to choose to die rather than to overlook this happening. But when it is easier and most simple to achieve everything even through a woman, what forgiveness shall you have when you act delicately in this way, and insult your own salvation? Tell me, when that man provides these things for you, will you not also provide some service to him? It is surely clear to all. And how much better is it neither to give back such things nor to receive them, but to spend that time of labor, which you waste on his rest, on your own, rather than by laboring at more difficult tasks to further disgrace your reputation? But you provide no service to him. Then he must serve himself in everything, and make the beds, and cook, and kindle a fire, and do other things of that kind. But not even a servant, receiving nothing from his master, would endure ^B to serve in such a way. But this man endures everything, you say, for the fear of God, and the reward laid up for this service, and he will be grateful—the one who is ordered—to receive nothing from us. How, then, shall we stop the mouths of the shameless? For if you testify such piety to him, and he so trembles and fears the commandments of God that he sees himself as cheaper than any slave, and undergoes everything while receiving nothing from you, before all these things he ought to have cared for the glory and good name of God. But now it is not of the same soul, at the same time, to show such persuasion and contempt regarding the commandments of God—at one moment to tremble at them, and at the next to make no account of the Lawgiver himself being insulted. For to be free of pleasure, and to suffer nothing human at all, to keep vigil, and to endure hardship, and to humble oneself, and by one's own labors to provide rest for others, is of a soul that is very much philosophical and winged; but not to insult the glory of God, and not to do those things through which He would be blasphemed by many, even many who are not very great have achieved. How, then, shall we believe you that you do this for God and for the intensity of the ascetic life, which requires a great and noble soul, when you do not endure to overlook that which is of a lesser and ordinary kind? You do not even wish to depart from these things, from which God is insulted, and you betray both body and everything for the sake of things that are not pleasing to Him? And who would endure to be persuaded of these things? But I do not know how I passed from the virgins to those cohabiting with them; wherefore we must return again to them. 5. Whence, then, shall we be able to persuade those who accuse and reason these things? "And let them not be persuaded," she says. And where is the pious soul in this? For one ought to despise those who speak evil only when we do not provide them with handles; or rather, not even then, whenever we can stop their mouths; but when the whole thing is from us, all the fire turns ^C upon our own head. For by sinning in such a way, he says, against the brethren, and wounding their weak conscience, you sin against Christ (1 Cor. 8:12). For he knew, he knew clearly, that the weakness of those who are struck does not suffice for our defense, but this very thing is what condemns us most of all. For by as much as we are clear of the cause of the hitting, by so much the more would we be just in sparing their weakness. And I do not yet say that they are not hit without cause, but let it be granted that they endure this unreasonably; for not even so should one overlook them. Paul himself, writing to the Romans, taught us this, saying thus: "Do not for the sake of food destroy the work of God" (Rom. 14:20). Yet the stroke was unreasonable, but nevertheless he does not rebuke the one who is struck, but him who brings the stroke. For what I said already, I will say again now: when some great gain happens, and it is greater than the stroke, one must overlook those who are scandalized; but when there is nothing more than that the weak are cast down—and even if they suffer this ten thousand times from unreasonableness—one must spare them; since God also brings those who push and cast down under the sentence of punishment. For to hit another while gaining nothing is of the utmost wickedness. And we, when we see someone become displeased from a long illness, cast out of the house those who provoke him untimely, and we do not quibble over whether they do this justly or unjustly, but having cast them out of all defense, and giving much forgiveness to this one because of his weakness, even if he is provoked unjustly, we pity him. And if we have used such care even regarding servants and children, and often scourge a son who is failing in such things, much more will the good and kind and gentle God do this. What do you say? Is the one being struck weak? Then he is worthy of pity, not a blow. Does he have wounds? Let us not, then, exacerbate them, but let us heal them. Does he suspect wrongly and without reason? Then let us remove the suspicion, so as not ^D

to sin against Christ—she who contends about these things. Do you not hear in the Old Testament Moses often saying, "God is a jealous God" (Exod. XX, 5)? And again, "I have been jealous for Jerusalem" (Zach. I, 14)? In the New Testament, however, Paul crying out, "For I am jealous of you with a godly jealousy," lest a soul not very infirm or sick be subverted. For although the matter is very terrible, it is more a matter of sweetness than of terror. For there is never jealousy without a preceding warm and fervent charity, so that this is a proof of a vehement and ardent divine charity and friendship. For jealousy in God is not a passion, but wishing to interpret His immense love, He has often used this name. Nevertheless, we who, being very senseless, fall into human affections, wrong Him who loves us so much, while we honor in every way those who can be of no benefit to us. For what, O wretched woman, can this cold living-together profit you, while it deprives you of so great a treasure? See, I pray: it leads you down from the heavens, it excludes you from the spiritual bridal chamber, it separates you from the heavenly Bridegroom, it prepares for you immortal punishments and torments that have no end. For these, if your housemate offered you ^A countless talents, if he were more ready than slaves for sale, if he set you in greater honor and dignity than a queen, would it not behoove you to shun and hate him as one harmful and an enemy, and as one taking away more than he gives? The care of heavenly goods is set before you, of the future kingdom, of immortal life, of ineffable glory; you, however, call to mind earthly business, and you honor this one who seems useful for those things as if he were a master, and do you not hide yourself, and do you not pray that the earth might swallow you up, so that you might thus depart from there? But you offer me the pretext of the infirmity of the female nature, and the dispensation of human usages, and domestic rest, framing and composing pretexts that are not? ^B But neither thus will you deceive those who have a heart. For there is not, there is no rest that drives one to such turpitude. For a woman, if she wished, would suffice not only for herself but for many others for service: since, while from the beginning the man took upon himself civil affairs, the woman was allotted the domestic administration and care. You do not, therefore, snatch men inside because you are in need of rest. For what, then? For the sake of lewdness or lust? I, indeed, would not say so; far be it. Nay, I do not cease to rebuke those who say this; would that it were possible to persuade them! What, then, is the pretext, what is the cause that makes us seek that thing, one says? The love of vain glory. And just as for men there is a frivolous and ^C wretched pleasure, so for them the desire for honor reconciles this cohabitation.

Mulieres vanæ gloriæ cupidæ

being as a virgin, and attending upon the Bridegroom without distraction; then shall not only your kinsfolk, but Greeks, and Jews, and every race of men, acknowledge you. ^A So if you seek glory, walk this path, and not the opposite one: then they will no longer call you by this person's name or that, but by Christ's; and of this ornament, nothing comparable will ever be provided for you by any man. Are these things small, tell me, which are sung and noised abroad every day, both in the marketplace, and in houses, and in other cities: "Such a one, being a girl, and quite young, and of very fair countenance, able to attract many protectors if she had wished, did not wish to, but chose to undergo and suffer anything rather than betray the friendship of Christ and cause the flower of chastity to wither"? Blessed are you, and twice, and thrice, and many times over; what good things shall you enjoy, what a crown shall you receive, what a reward shall you reap, competing even with the incorporeal powers themselves! ^B These things and the like will all say regarding her, and will set them before their own daughters for emulation; and if one should wish to urge someone who is living temperately, or to correct one who has been corrupted, all will again bring forward her praises into the midst: and not only here, but if speech happens to be made simply concerning virginity, thus will all praise her, not only those who live temperately, but even those who had studied and acted in every way to capture her, only to be thereafter treated with contempt and looked down upon. And she indeed will enjoy such, and much greater than what has been mentioned, glory; but she who has those cohabiting with her, will enjoy the opposite of all these. ^C And first, when virginity is accused by some as unclean, both will come to mind in such assemblies, but one will open her mouth with the words of those who are defending, and the other with those of the accusers. Next, when it is necessary for someone to be corrected and set aright, she indeed is brought into the midst like an astringent medicine, capable of checking rot, and it adorns the mouth of the teacher; that one, however, stands with the shamed person, even if she is not present, being punished and shamed. For it is necessary that she who is sinning at every turn be accused and shamed again. And wherever speech arises regarding this matter, just as that one is blessed, so this one is wretched and miserable, and will hear all such things; and just as the former is sung and praised not only by those who know her, but also by those who are ignorant of her, and who have received no benefit, so this one is blamed and slandered by those who know her, and those who are ignorant of her, and those who have suffered no harm from her. ^D For those who live correctly are praised and admired not only by acquaintances, but also by strangers, and even by their enemies; but the corrupted and the base are blamed even by their friends. And this is also a work of the providence of God, to have instilled in us such intimacy towards virtue, and such estrangement towards vice, that all may vote for the former, even those who do not pursue it, and condemn vice, even those who turn away from it and those who pursue it. Whence it is clear that these neglected ones are turned away from not only by those who know them, but also by those who are ignorant of them, and most of all by those themselves who cohabit with them. For even if they say they

have not harmed them, yet they have done them the greatest of wrongs, as also to those who live with them, and to those who are scandalized, and before all these, they have cast shame upon the name of the Bridegroom—what punishment will they not endure? Are you unaware what a task you have undertaken, for what a struggle you have girded yourselves, what part of the battle you have been allotted? You dwell near—nay, you dwell with—the King of battles Himself, and you serve in His army. Just as in wars the whole army does not occupy one place, but some adorn the horns of the formation, others the center, others the rear, others the front of the phalanx, while others, wherever the king appears, appear everywhere with him and run with him: so also the choir of virgins, if it is truly the choir of virgins, has chosen no other order but this. Not in this way do those who are arrayed in golden togas, carried on horses adorned with gold, and bearing shields distinguished with gold and gems, have to manifest the presence of the king, as the virgin of Christ. For they indeed wait about the royal carriage itself; but the virgin becomes as it were a royal carriage, like the Cherubim, if she wishes, and stands by Him like the Seraphim.

^B You must therefore show yourself, as though you were an ornament of all philosophy, and strike everyone with amazement—as if an angel were now descending from heaven, and as if one of the cherubim were appearing on earth, he would turn all men toward himself: so too must the virgin bring all who see her into wonder and amazement at her holiness. For if, as she walks, she goes as if through a wilderness; and when she sits in church, with the most profound silence, her eye sees none of those passing by, neither women nor men, but the Bridegroom only, as if He were present and visible; and returning home, she speaks to Him in prayers, and hears His voice alone through the Scriptures; and at home she considers only Him whom she desires and loves, and is as a stranger and an alien, and does everything as if the things present did not pertain to her; and not only does she flee the looks of men, but also the gatherings of worldly women, and affords the body only as much as is necessary, and spends everything for the salvation of the soul: who would not admire, who would not be struck with awe, beholding an angelic life in a feminine nature? And what man would dare approach, what man would dare to touch a soul so radiant? Therefore all will refrain from her, both willingly and unwillingly; all likewise will be struck with amazement, seeing her like gold gleaming and refined by fire. For indeed the nature of gold has in itself much brightness, but when it also holds fire within itself, it is a greater miracle and more terrible. But if this happens in a body, when the same happens in a soul that is golden, it will be a sight desirable not then to men only, but even to angels. Why therefore do you adorn yourself with garments, you who have such adornment from this flame? For garments were not given so that we might be adorned by them, but that we might hide the shame of our nakedness, not so that we might be clothed in such things as expose us to greater shame than nakedness itself. For this reason God also clothed Adam in garments of skin (Gen. 3:21), and likewise his wife; although, had He wished, He could have clothed him in beautiful garments; but He showed us from of old through them that the present time is one not of delicacies, but of lamentation and mourning.

^C But if it is ignominy and condemnation, and comes from sin, that you should need a covering, why do you increase the matter of reproach? Does it not sufficiently indicate our fall that we have need of clothes? Why do you exaggerate the crime? Why do you increase the accusation with greater need? For it was fitting to wail and weep, and to punish the body itself, according to Paul (1 Cor. 9:27); but we sit and weave veils artfully, just as if someone having swellings around his eyes were compelled to cover them, and were to decorate these veils all the more. For this reason Elijah, for this reason John, having a simple covering and tunics of skin, and being clothed in hair garments, panted and longed to receive the garments of incorruption. But you surpass theatrical women in the curiosity of your garments, with which you prepare snares for more elegant young men. The Bridegroom does not wish you to be clothed and adorned in this way, but commanded that all His glory be stored in your soul; but you neglect that, and adorn the mud and ashes in various ways, and entice incontinent lovers, and make adulterers of almost all who see you. And that you gather much fire from this, I do not believe you would deny; but that ignominy and disgrace follow therefrom, I shall demonstrate this from your lovers. For when she who adorns her soul has God as the lover of her beauty, but you have men—nay, not men, but pigs and dogs, and if there is anything more irrational: who is so senseless as to think you more adorned than those whose desire leads God toward them for their internal beauty? And thus, the more you have leisure for curiosity, the more abominable you have become: and you drive God away from yourself, while you entice these, and hence you appear so much the more foul and base. For how is she not base, if she cannot entice God? But if she who adorns herself is so ungrateful, consider how much hatred she gathers to herself who has a cohabitant.

^D But if it seems right, let us not talk of cohabitation only, but let us open it up ourselves, so that it may be seen to be more foul. For since they do not fear the eye that knows no sleep, but the fear of their eyes is the eyes of men; come, let us deprive them of even this consolation, bringing what is hidden and covered by walls into the middle; let us open the door for those who want to see these things, waking them first from the bed; indeed, if it seems right, let us first examine what happens at home, and let us order them to be separated by walls and to sleep in various bedrooms. For I do not think anyone, even if he were very much in bondage to foulness, would want to be exposed in this way, to sleep in one bedroom. Let them, therefore, be separated by walls—and what will this have been? For it is not enough to be freed from suspicion. But now nothing is said of suspicion, even though many maidservants cohabit with her; let us now seek out another foulness. For it happens that when they rise at the same time, not for vigils (for nothing pious is to be expected from these souls), that they pass to each other as they lie, and force themselves at night: compared to which what could be more shameful? But if it happens that the cohabitant suddenly falls ill, there is no use for walls here afterward, but rising before others she enters in to the virgin lying there, to tend the infirmity.

And often the handmaidens are themselves disposed to be slothful, and she sits by and takes care of the other tasks, which it is often only proper for women to minister; and neither is she ashamed, but rather she prides herself on it, nor does he blush, but actually rejoices the more, and so much the more as the slavery he exhibits is more shameful: and that Apostolic saying which says, *Whose glory is in their shame* (Phil. 3:19), is shown forth then through their deeds. But when the handmaidens also arise, the shame is worse; for with uncovered head, and in single tunics, and with bare hands, as if distraught and rising in the night, they run about while he is present, or rather, while he is moving about in their midst and running hither and thither, they are all forced to fulfill their tasks: what could be more shameful than this? And if a midwife should arrive, not even then is he ashamed, but he even prides himself on it while other strangers are coming in. For he looks to one thing only—how he might display his own service to the sick woman—not knowing that the more he displays it, the more he brings shame upon both himself and her. And what is to be wondered at if he does not blush when she arrives? For they often do not hesitate even at midnight, doing the work of the meanest handmaidens, to run to the midwife herself; and when she arrives, sometimes they drive him out even against his will, if he is very shameless, and at other times they permit him to enter and sit by: and yet what would one do, even if he were to practice a thousand things in order to bring shame upon himself, such as he prepares for himself? But when day comes, and it is time for both to rise from bed, ^A there are guards and observations. For she could not go out into the outer room with freedom; and often upon going out, she perhaps falls upon the man in her unclothed state; and he, suspecting this very thing, sometimes enters after giving notice, and at other times without being on guard, and he incurs great laughter; for I do not wish to say anything more. These things, even if they are small, are accustomed to give birth to great coals of wantonness. And these things happen in the house, and more than these besides; but when, having entered the marketplace, he is about to return, the indecency is greater again. For as if entering his own house, and not being forced to give notice, by finding women sitting there he shamed her; and she herself has often suffered the same. And a woman has thought it shameful to receive women, and the man to receive men; but they do not refuse to live together, while refusing to host those of their own sex. What could be worse than this? And there are times when I have even found him sitting beside a woman who is winding thread, or even holding a distaff. What could one say of the quarrels, the daily fights? For even if there is great friendship, it is likely that these things happen. But I have heard it said by some that they even endure jealousy; for where there is not spiritual love, this too must happen. Thence come the constant falls, thence the corruptions, thence the virgins become unfree and shameless, even if they are not corrupted in body, by being corrupted in their character. For when she learns with boldness to converse with a man, and to sit with him, and to look him in the face, and to laugh while he is present, and to behave indecorously in many other ways, and considers this to be nothing terrible, the veil of virginity is removed, ^B and the flower is withered. Thence they do not hesitate, they do not refuse, but they even become procuresses and matchmakers for marriage, and they become hucksters of others’ affairs, and they hinder many who wish to remain unmarried, thinking to have found in this an apology for their own evils; thence they are contemptible to all, thence even the married women themselves do not blush to be like them, since they act better than they do in every way. For it is much better to be joined in a first and second marriage, than to behave so indecorously, and to receive the suspicion of being procuresses and panders from everyone, because, having departed from the pleasures of marriage, she subjects herself to the burdens of marriage. For what is more burdensome than to have a man and to be anxious for his affairs? God has delivered you from this weight; the words, *Your turning shall be to your husband, and he shall rule over you* (Gen. 3:16), have been loosed for you through virginity; why do you drag slavery upon yourselves again? Christ made you free, and you are sewing troubles for yourself; he made you free from care, and you are devising anxieties.

9. But because I have mentioned anxiety, it occurred to me while I was saying these things that that Apostolic statement is relevant. For if the cohabitation of men with women, and women with men, suppressed these anxieties, Paul would not have said, while exhorting them to self-control, *But I would have you to be without anxiety* (1 Cor. 7:32), as if even by this he were urging us on. For what do you want, he says? Rest and freedom? Then do you not see the opposite coming to pass, slavery and labors and many miseries from cohabiting with men? Many at any rate, having often lost their husbands, for this reason did not marry again, so that they might not be under the yoke of slavery again. But in general, if you live in poverty, and are unprotected from every side, show forth the virtue of your life, and have nothing in common with a man, but mingle yourself with women who have lived decorously, and you will neither lose your crown, and you will enjoy every security. But if you think this is difficult to obtain, seek diligently, and you will certainly find; or rather, there is no need even to seek. For just as we all run toward the light, so if the rays of your mode of life shine, all will run to you, each one desiring to take upon herself the rank of your servant, and will consider you to be the security of her own house, and the ornament of life, and the crown of life, according to the word of Christ. *For seek*, he says, *the kingdom of God, and all these things shall be added unto you* (Matt. 6:33). But now we ourselves are the cause of falling out of these worldly things, while neglecting heavenly things. And when I say "we," I do not mean men only, but also you, and you more than men. Since even in the beginning for this reason the woman received a more grievous punishment, because she brought in more of the deception; for which reason God punished the one who deceived more than the one deceived: which is what will be now also, if you do not wish to correct yourselves, and to return to your own nobility. For indeed for this reason the woman was blamed then, that she gave of the fruit to the man, and she did not dare to say that it was his duty, being a man, not to be persuaded nor deceived, but she kept silent as having no apology, and he came to another, weak indeed herself, yet nevertheless having more of an argument than she. Whence it is manifest that it is more permissible for the deceived to cast blame upon the deceivers, than for those to cast it upon the deceived. The harlot calls the one who abuses her ^C shamefully, and when he sleeps, she dismisses him again; but you, when you call him in with insults, you afflict and corrupt your own soul, always shutting him in, and you do not allow him to go out, binding yourself with heavy chains of flattery, and you think yourself to be busy with other works.

^C But tell me, how is the present life—how brief it is, how it resembles dreams, and fading flowers, and a passing shadow! Why do you wish to delight yourself now in a dream, and be punished then in reality? Although, this thing has no delight; for how could it, where there is condemnation, reproaches, insults, and scandals? But even if there were delights, what is a small drop of water compared to an immense sea? "Hear, O daughter, and see, and incline your ear, and forget your people, and your father's house, and the King will desire your beauty" (Ps. XLIV, 11)—this David once spoke to the world, which was in a bad state. We, therefore, chanting this to you, shall alter the Prophet's word slightly and say with the Prophet: "Hear, O daughter, and see, and incline your ear, and forget your evil habit and those who live with you to your harm, and the King will desire your beauty." ^D What is greater than this for you? Or what equivalent could we possibly say, than that having chosen the Lord of heaven, of earth, of angels, and archangels, and of the powers above as your lover, you are liberated from your base fellow slaves who dishonor your nobility? Therefore, it is fitting to end the discourse here: for we shall be able to say nothing equal to this honor.

For if a woman who has taken a king on earth as her groom considers herself more blessed than all others: you, having not a terrestrial one, nor a fellow slave, but Him who is in heaven, Him who is above every principality and power and virtue and every name that is named, Him who sits above the Cherubim, who shakes the earth, who stretches out the heaven, who is terrible to the Cherubim and inaccessible to the Seraphim—having not just a groom, but a lover more ardent than any man—how do you not abandon all things that are here, even if it were necessary to abandon the soul itself? Since, therefore, this word alone is sufficient to correct and to promote towards the heavenly conversation that which is heavier than all lead, we also finish here, and admonish you to sing this as if it were some divine song; and at home, and in the marketplace, and by day and by night, and on the road, and in your chamber, and by voice and by mind, you should speak continuously to your soul saying: "Hear, O soul, and see, and incline your ear, and forget your evil habit, and the King will desire your beauty." And if you say this word continuously, you will make your soul purer than all gold. For this utterance will be able to breathe more vehemently and effectively than fire upon your thoughts, and to purge away all the stains of your mind, in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom be glory forever and ever. Amen.

THE END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.

Order of matters contained in this volume see at the end of the second part of the volume.

Parisiis. — Ex Typis J.-P. MIGNE.