...or by choice? It is evident that it comes from nature. For that which is without form, even if it uses countless arts, cannot become beautiful as far as the body is concerned; for the things of nature are fixed, bound by limits, and cannot be changed. Therefore, what is beautiful is always beautiful, even if it has no artifice; and that which is without form cannot make itself beautiful, nor can the beautiful make itself ugly. Why? Because these things belong to nature. You have seen, then, bodily beauty: let us lead [our discourse] within, to the soul; to the handmaid that belongs to the mistress. Let us lead it to the soul. Behold that beauty, or rather hear of it; for you cannot see it, since it is invisible. Hear of that beauty. What, then, is the beauty of the soul? Temperance, gentleness, almsgiving, love, brotherly affection, tenderness, obedience to God, fulfillment of the law, justice, contrition of mind. These are the beauties of the soul. These things, then, are not of nature, but of choice. And he who has them not, can obtain them; and he who has them, if he becomes slothful, has lost them. For just as I said regarding the body, that the ugly cannot become beautiful, so with the soul I say the opposite: that the ugly soul can become beautiful. For what was more ugly than the soul of Paul, when he was a blasphemer and a persecutor? And what was more beautiful than he, when he said, "I have fought the good fight, I have finished my course, I have kept the faith" (2 Tim. 4:7)? What was more ugly than the soul of the thief? And what became more beautiful than it, when he obeyed: "Amen I say to thee, this day thou shalt be with me in paradise" (Luc. 23:43)? What was more ugly than the tax-collector, when he was plundering? And what more beautiful than he, when he gave his own judgment? You see that you cannot change the beauty of the body; for it is not of choice, but of nature. But the beauty of the soul is provided to us from our choice. You have received the definitions. Which ones? That the beauty of the soul comes from obedience to B God. For if the ugly soul obeys God, it puts off its ugliness and becomes beautiful. "Saul, Saul, why persecutest thou me?" He answered, "And who art thou, Lord?" "I am Jesus." And he obeyed, and obedience made the ugly soul beautiful. Again, He says to the tax-collector, "Come, follow me." And the tax-collector arose, and became an apostle; the ugly soul became beautiful. Whence? From obedience. Again, He says to the fishermen, "Come after me, and I will make you to be fishers of men" (Matth. 4:19); and from obedience their mind became beautiful. Let us see here what kind of beauty He speaks of. "Hearken, O daughter, and see, and incline thy ear, and forget thy people, and thy father's house, and the king shall desire thy beauty" (Ps. XLIV, 11). What beauty shall he desire? The spiritual one. Whence? Because she forgot [her people]. He says, "Hearken, therefore, and forget." These things are of choice. "Hearken," He said. The ugly one hearkens, and this ugliness, the one of the body, is not dissolved. Say to the sinner, "Hearken," and if he obeys, you will see what her beauty is. Since, therefore, the ugliness of the bride was not natural, but voluntary (for she did not listen to God, but transgressed), for this reason He leads her with another medicine. You became ugly, then, not from nature, but from choice; and you became beautiful from obedience. "Hearken, O daughter, and see, and incline thy ear, and forget thy people, and thy father's house, and the king shall desire thy beauty." Then, so that you may learn that He speaks of nothing sensible, when you hear of beauty, do not think of an eye, or a nose, or a mouth, or even a neck, but of reverence, faith, love, the things within: "For all the glory of the daughter of the king is from within" (Ps. XLIV, 14). For all these things, let us give thanks to God, the Giver, for to Him alone belongs honor, glory, and dominion for ever and ever. Amen.
MONITUM ON THE HOMILY WITH SATURNINUS AND AURELIANUS, ETC.
C That this homily should be attached to the two previous ones concerning Eutropius, the very sequence of events persuades us. For when Gainas, after having obtained the ruin and destruction of Eutropius, partly by force and partly by guile, was becoming more insolent day by day, he reached such a pitch of impudence that, equipped with arms and troops, he demanded the heads of Saturninus and Aurelianus, who were prominent among the nobles of the empire, and threatened that he would not lay down his arms unless this condition were met. But the Emperor Arcadius, who, because of his indolence and fear, was vulnerable to any injury, not daring to deny a matter however indignantly, was about to hand over such great men to death; had not Chrysostom, as the common father of all, approached Gainas in this way—walking about, as it is said, exhorting, beseeching, supplicating, that he might... D
HOMILY COMPARED WHEN SATURNINUS AND AURELIANUS HAD BEEN SENT INTO EXILE, AND GAINAS HAD DEPARTED THE CITY; AND CONCERNING AVARICE.
1. I have been silent for a long time, and after a long time I have returned to your love; but not through any sloth or sluggishness of body, but by calming the tumults, lulling the waves, and correcting the winter—
...not merely to the sluggish, but through the reconciliation of disorders, the calming of waves and tempests; I am zealous to bring back by the hand to the harbor and calm those who had already begun to sink. For I am the common father of all, and it is necessary to take thought not only of those who stand, but also of those who have fallen; not only of those sailing with favorable winds, but also of those tossed by the storm; not only of those who are safe, but also of those who are in danger. For the sake of these things I left you for a time, walking about, exhorting, imploring, beseeching, that this calamity might be warded off by the masters. But since an end has been put to those unpleasant and sad things, I have returned to you who are safe, who sail with great tranquility. To those I had gone, so that I might calm the storm; back to you I have returned, that no storm might arise. To those I had departed, so that I might free them from troubles; to you I returned, so that you might not fall into troubles. For just as it is necessary to have care not only for those who stand, but also for those who have fallen; so again, not only the fallen must be a care to us, but also the standing: the former, that they may be raised up; the latter, that they may not fall; the former, that they may be freed from the evils that beset them; the latter, that they may not encounter the dangers that threaten. For nothing in human affairs is stable, nothing immovable, but they are like a raging sea, daily giving birth to strange and grievous shipwrecks. B
Everything is full of turbulence and confusion; everything is reefs and precipices; everything is hidden shoals; everything is terrors, dangers, suspicions, tremors, and anxieties. No one trusts his neighbor, and each person fears the one next to him. Perhaps that time which the prophet depicted is near, saying: “Do not put faith in friends, and in rulers do not place your hope” (Mich. VII, 5). Keep guard, lest you entrust anything to him. And why? “Because the time is evil,” (Jerem. IX, 4). “For every brother will surely supplant his brother, and every friend will walk deceitfully.” There is no safe friend, no firm brother. The goodness of love has been snatched away; civil war occupies everything, a civil war that is not open, but shrouded in shadow. There are countless masks everywhere, and feigned faces. There are many skins of sheep, but countless wolves are hidden everywhere beneath them; so that one would now live more safely among enemies than among those who appear to be friends. Those who yesterday were fawning, those who were kissing hands, have suddenly been found to be enemies, and having cast off their masks, they have become more bitter than any accusers; those for whom they were thanking God yesterday, these people are now accusing and slandering.
C II. What, then, is the cause of all these things? The love of money, the mad passion for wealth, a disease incurable, a furnace that is never extinguished, a tyranny spread everywhere throughout the whole world. For this reason we also do not cease saying what we said before, although many were recently blaming us, speaking such things: “Will you never cease having a tongue armed against the rich? Will you not cease constantly attacking them?” Do I, then, wage war with them? Do I arm myself against them? Do I not rather, for their sake, say and do everything, while they sharpen swords against themselves? Has not the very experience of events declared that I, while rebuking and constantly chiding, was seeking their advantage, but they are more truly the enemies who heap blame upon us for saying these things? You have seen the outcome of events to be in agreement with our discourse. Have I not always said that wealth is a fugitive, passing from this man to that? And would that it had only passed on, and not also killed; would that it had only departed, and not also destroyed from the midst. But now, besides the fact that it deserts, it also delivers them to the sword and drags them into the abyss, because they are dangerous betrayers, and they wage war especially against those by whom they are loved. They are ungrateful, D fugitive, homicidal, implacable, incurable beasts, a precipice broken on every side, a reef full of constant waves, a sea tossed by countless winds, tyrants commanding harshly, mistresses more savage than any barbarian, enemies irreconcilable, foes implacable, which never remit their hostility toward those who possess them.
Poverty is the opposite of these things. For it is a safe asylum, a tranquil harbor, perpetual security, delights free from dangers, sincere pleasure, a life ignorant of turbulence, a life unacquainted with billows, a wealth unconquerable, the parent of philosophy, a bridle on arrogance, the removal of punishment, the root of modesty. Why, therefore, do you flee from this and pursue those? Those enemies, those homicides, those more savage than any beast? For such is the love of money, such is the mad passion for gold. Why do you make an enemy your perpetual table-companion? Why do you irritate a beast which it was fitting to tame? And how, you say, will it become tame? If even now you tolerate my words, when disasters are present, when calamity is flourishing, when all are in tumult and grief. How can it be that a beast is not a beast? Indeed, I am able to change it, if you are willing; for such is the power of words. How then will it be changed from its wildness? If we learn how it becomes savage. How, then, does it become savage? Like lions, like leopards, like bears, who—while they are being enclosed and constrained in the darkness—raise their spirits and sharpen their anger: in the same way, wealth, while it is being enclosed and buried, roars more sharply than lions and strikes terror on all sides; but if you lead it out from the darkness and distribute it into the bellies of the needy, from wild beasts they become sheep, from ambushes they become protection, from reefs they become a harbor, from shipwreck they become tranquility. For you could see this also in the case of ships: whenever there is cargo heavier than is right, it sinks the skiff; but when it is measured, it is carried along on a prosperous course. The same thing happens in our houses: when you amass money beyond what necessity demands, a small gust of wind and any chance occurrence of unexpected events sinks you and your skiff; but if you store up only as much as necessity requires, even if a violent whirlwind rushes in, you easily traverse the waves. Do not, therefore, desire more than necessity requires, lest you...
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A ...lose your need; nor overstep the established boundaries, so that you are not stripped of everything you possess all at once; but cut away the superfluous, so that you may abound in the necessities. Do you not see that even farmers prune the vine, so that its strength might be displayed not in leaves and tendrils, but in the root of the plant? Do you likewise: prune the leaves, and expend all your zeal on the bearing of fruit. If you do not wish to do this in times of prosperity, hope for adversities; in calm, expect storms; in health, look for sickness; in wealth, hope for penury and destitution. For it says: "Remember," in time of plenty, "a time of famine," in a day of wealth, "poverty and need" (cf. Eccl. 18.25). For if you are so disposed, you will manage both wealth with much sobriety and poverty when it comes with much fortitude. For what is unlooked for, when it falls upon us, disturbs and confuses; but what is expected, when it comes to pass, does not bring much commotion. You reap these two good things: neither to be drunk and maddened in prosperity, nor to be disturbed and alarmed at the change to the opposite, especially if you intend always to expect those opposites: for expectation is sufficient in place of experience. What is it that I say? Are you rich? Hope for poverty every single day. For what reason and why? Because this expectation will be able to benefit you the most. For he who hopes for poverty, while he is in wealth, is not puffed up, is not made arrogant, does not melt away, does not lust after what belongs to others; for the habit of expectation is present like a tutor to make him sober, it settles his mind, and does not allow the evil sprouts that come from the love of money to grow, checking and cutting them away as if with the sickle of the fear of opposing things.
B 4. Expectation of sorrows, when they actually come, mitigates them. — You will reap this one great good; and another no less than this: not to be afraid when the experience itself comes to pass. Let expectation, then, anticipate sorrows, so that the experience of painful things may not catch you unawares; for this reason experience comes, because expectation is not present; for if that had perfected the man, there would not be much need for this. And Jonah the prophet is a witness of this among the Ninevites; as they hoped, by the prophet’s warning, to fall into an incurable calamity, by the expectation of the evils to come they turned away wrath; but the Jews, not being persuaded by the prophet when he spoke of the capture of Jerusalem, underwent the terrible things. For a wise man, fearing, turned away from evil; but the fool, confident, mingles with it.
C 5. The history and praises of Job. — And to understand that I do not say these things by conjecture, I wish to tell you an ancient story. There was a certain man, admirable and great, and famous everywhere in the habitable world—the blessed Job, that athlete of piety, that crown-wearer of the world, he who traversed all kinds of contests, he who erected countless trophies against the devil. This man was rich and poor, glorious and despised, the father of many children and childless; he was in royal courts, but he was also on the dungheap; he was in splendid clothing, and after that, in a plague of worms; he enjoyed countless ministrations, and after these he endured countless insults, with servants rising up against him, friends reproaching him, and his wife plotting against him. All things flowed to him at the start as if from fountains: abundance of wealth, greatness of power, surrounding glory, peace and security, honors and services, bodily health, and the prosperity of children, and there was nothing there that was painful. Wealth was present to him with security, and prosperity that was unshakable, and very naturally so; for God was hedging him in on every side. But later all those things flew away, and countless storms henceforth took up residence in his house, and all were successive and continuous, and all with excess. For all that he had was snatched away at once; his servants and children were buried by a violent and untimely death, slaughtered at the table and at the feast, not by blade or sword, but by an evil spirit that shook the house. And after that his wife sharpened her own engines and brought them against the just man; and his servants and friends, some spat in his face, as he himself says: "For they did not spare the spittle from my face" (Job 30.10); others trampled on him, and he was cast out of his entire house, and his dwelling place became, from then on, the dungheap, and fountains of worms abounded, and the adamant was covered on all sides with blood and ichor, and taking a potsherd, he scraped off the ichor, becoming his own executioner; and pains were continuous, and tortures unbearable, and the night more grievous than the day, and the day more terrifying than the night, as he says: "When I sleep, I say, When is the day? And when I arise, I say again, When is eventide? And I am filled with pains from evening until morning" (Job 7.4). And all things were precipices, and craggy cliffs, and there was no one to console him, but countless ones insulting him; yet in such a storm, and in such waves, he stood against all challenges generous in spirit and unmoved; and the cause of these things was this, which I said: that when he was rich, he expected poverty; when he was in health, he awaited illness; when he became the father of so many children, he expected at once to be childless. And he always unrolled this fear before himself, and he always fed this anxiety, knowing the fleeting volatility of human affairs to be less significant than the flow of a river, and swifter to vanish into air than smoke or a fleeting shadow. If you philosophize about these things, neither will good things be able to elate you, nor will painful things be able to bring you low; if, when good things are present, you do not cling to them too much, neither, when they have departed, will you be able to be cast down. If you accustom your mind to the expectation of opposites, often the opposites will not even come, but if they do arrive, they will not deeply afflict you.
A consideration of the circumstances of his affairs. And so he said: *The fear which I feared has come upon me, and the danger which I dreaded has met me* (Job 3.25). For he always kept [his attention] fixed upon that fear in his thoughts, covering himself with it, hoping and awaiting; therefore, when it had arrived, it did not disturb him. *I did not have peace, nor did I have rest, but wrath came upon me* (Job 3.26). He did not say, "I do not have peace, nor do I have rest," in the present tense, but, "I did not have rest," in the past tense. For even if the prosperity of his affairs encouraged arrogance, the expectation of sad things did not allow me to rest. Although the abundance of his possessions strongly urged him to delight, the harshness of the things that were expected banished security; and although the present happiness compelled him to enjoy his circumstances, the concern for the future nevertheless interrupted the pleasure. Therefore, because he had foreseen these future events while meditating in his own mind upon his prosperous affairs, he bore these struggles bravely and spiritedly after they happened, being already long since exercised for them; and because he had already apprehended them in that expectation, he was not disturbed when he saw them at hand. B But that he did not become strongly attached to them even when the joyous things were present, hear what he says: *If I have rejoiced when many riches flowed to me, if I have set gold as my strength, if I have placed my trust in precious stones, if I have put my hand to countless things* (Job 31.24–25). What do you say, man? You did not rejoice when riches flowed to you? By no means, he says. Why so? Because I saw their unstable and fleeting nature; I saw that the possession was not durable. For I see, he says, the sun rising and failing, the moon waning; for they are not [independently] in control of themselves (Ib. v.26). What he says is of this kind. If the stars which are in the heavens and shine perpetually receive some mutation—namely, the sun failing and the moon waning—is it not of extreme madness to consider earthly things as stable and fixed? And so he was neither greatly delighted by the present, nor vehemently saddened by their departure, because he knew well the nature of those things. Hearing these things, beloved, let us not be cast down by poverty, nor puffed up by riches; but keeping our soul immutable amid the permutation of affairs, let us reap the fruit of philosophy, that we may both enjoy pleasure here and attain future blessings; which may it be granted to us all to obtain, by the grace and kindness of our Lord Jesus Christ.
MONITUM
We possess these minor works in Latin only; for the Greek texts are either entirely lost or lie hidden somewhere. That they are genuine, however, is suggested both by the sequence of the matters and affairs discussed, and by the style itself. All learned men likewise admit that they are genuine, except for one recent author who, as Tillemont observes (p. 586), denied they were genuine, and yet later, forgetful of his words, counted them among the authentic works; he indeed achieved the result that we care no more for his denial than for his assertion. C The first homily was given by Chrysostom on the day after he had returned to Constantinople from Asia. He had undertaken the journey into Asia in order to settle the disputes of the Ephesian Church and to depose simoniacal bishops, which he also accomplished; being absent for more than a hundred days, as he himself says at the beginning, he had left behind a great longing for himself among the people who loved him exceedingly. The Constantinopolitans had hoped, at the very least, that he would return to celebrate Pascha with them; this, however, they were unable to achieve. Having returned after Pascha, he consoles them and says that it can be celebrated daily: "For we celebrate Pascha," he says, "whenever, by partaking of the body and blood of Christ, we proclaim the death of the Lord." Throughout the whole homily, he congratulates the people for the good order, faith, and charity kept and exhibited both in his presence and during his absence. The following minor oration was given by Chrysostom on this occasion. Severianus, bishop of Gabala, who D