To the Same, Homily II

moving from place to place, they were hiding; and after fifty days, when they began to show themselves and work miracles, not even thus did they gain security. For even after those signs were performed, infinite offenses occurred ^A among the weaker: in that they themselves were being scourged, the Church was being troubled, and with them driven out, the enemies in many places were superior and stirring up tumult. For when they had attained great boldness and freedom of speech because of the miracles, then again the death of Stephen brought on a severe persecution and scattered everyone, and threw the Church into tumult and trouble: and again the disciples began to be in fear, again in flight, and again in the greatest anxiety and anguish. ^B Yet even so, the affairs of the Church were always increasing, as they were flourishing through signs, as they had bright beginnings. And one man was being let down through a window, and thus escaped from the hands of the governor; and an angel led others out, and thus delivered them from chains; and others, again, who were vexed and harassed by those who were flourishing in wealth and power, were being cared for in every way by the bazaar-people and artisans—the purple-dyers, namely, and the tent-makers, and the tanners, those dwelling in the furthest recesses of the cities and by the shore and the sea. Often, indeed, they did not even dare to appear in the middle of cities; or if they did dare, the hosts certainly dared not receive them. And thus, through trials and recreations of spirits, matters were woven, and those who had been offended not long before were later healed; and those who had wandered were led back into the way; and what had been prostrate and leveled to the ground was built up more magnificently. For this cause, although Paul had contended in prayers that the Gospel might progress through quiet alone and tranquility, the most wise and most skillful God did not grant the disciple’s request, nor, though he was often asked, did He yield to his prayers, but used these words: *My grace is sufficient for thee; for my power is made perfect in weakness* (2 Cor. XII, 9). If, therefore, you now wish to weigh the successes against the hardships, if you do not see many signs and ^C miracles, you shall nevertheless see many things not unlike miracles, which are indeed clear proofs of God’s great providence and help. But lest you hear everything from us without labor, I leave this part to you, that you may accurately and diligently collect everything, and compare it with the troublesome and bitter things, and thus, distracting your mind with a noble occupation, you may avert yourself from sadness and anguish: for hence you shall perceive the greatest consolation. Pray, give my most earnest greetings to your whole blessed house. May God grant that you are always in firm bodily health and a joyful and cheerful spirit, my most venerable and religious lady. If you wish to write me a longer letter, let me know of this, and do not deceive me; namely, that you have laid aside all sadness of mind, and lead your life in tranquility. For in this is situated the remedy of my letters, that they may produce for you great joy of mind: and you shall receive frequent letters. But do not write to me again that you receive great consolation from my letters: for I know that well enough; but [receive] as much as I desire, so that you are neither troubled in mind nor shed tears, but live tranquilly and with joy.

To the same Epist. II

^D [a] The first letter that came was indeed sufficient to calm your inflammation; but because the bitterness of sadness afflicted you in a greater manner, therefore I thought it necessary to add another letter to the former, so that you might perceive copious and abundant consolation, and your health might now be in safety. Come, therefore, I will also brush away from elsewhere the dust which you have contracted from sadness of mind. For I believe it has been turned into dust from the ulcer and the most grievous tumors. But not even so must the care of your health be deserted: for dust also, unless one repels it with the greatest care, brings destruction to the most excellent part of all, namely, infecting the transparency of the pupil, and troubling the whole eye of the one who is mourning. Lest, therefore, this also happen here, let us tear out the remnants of evil with the greatest care and zeal. But you also, rouse yourself, and offer your hand to us. For just as it is accustomed to happen in those who are of a sick body, that if the physicians indeed perform what belongs to their duty, they themselves however do not fulfill their parts, the gain of health is interrupted: in the same way, the matter is accustomed to be in the soul also. Wherefore, lest this happen, for that prudence which is required of you, take pains that you also fulfill your parts: so that on both sides a huge utility may arise. But perhaps you will say, I desire that indeed, but I cannot, nor, even though using great contention, am I equal to repelling the dense and dark cloud of sadness. These are mere excuses and mere pretexts: for I know the nobility of your mind, the strength of your pious soul, the magnitude of your prudence, the power of your wisdom, and I know it is enough for you to command this raging sea of sadness, so that all things may be rendered tranquil. But so that you may be able to achieve that more easily, let us compare those things which are of our part. By what reasoning, therefore, will you be able to effect that? Namely, if you consider with yourself all those things which are contained in the previous letter (since many things were commemorated by me in it, which look to this argument), and besides this, do that which I now command you. It is pernicious to be broken in mind for others' sins. — What then is this? When it has been brought to you that one of the Churches has perished, another is tossed by a tempest, another is overwhelmed by savage waves, another is even affected by most grievous disasters, another has accepted a wolf for a shepherd, another a robber for a governor, another an executioner for a physician, although it is permitted to grieve;

by most grievous disasters, another has accepted a wolf for a shepherd, another a robber for a governor, another an executioner for a physician, although it is permitted to grieve; yet only so far as to impose a limit upon grief. For if in those matters in which we ourselves transgress, and for which we are about to render an account, it is by no means necessary, nor even safe, but rather most destructive and harmful, to grieve with ^A excessive vehemence, much more is it superfluous and vain, and besides this, Satanic and ruinous to the soul, to be softened and broken down over the transgressions of others.

2. And that you may understand that these things are so, I will tell you an old story. A certain Corinthian, having enjoyed the sacred waters and having been cleansed by the mystery of baptism, and having partaken of that most awesome table, and having participated in all the mysteries among us without exception (many say that he even held the rank of a teacher), after this sacred rite, and after having attained to the possession of all those ineffable goods, and holding the first rank in the Church, fell into a most grievous sin. For having looked with wicked eyes upon his father's wife, he did not stop at this base and impious desire, but he also carried his licentious intention into action; and what he dared was not merely fornication, but adultery, or rather something far more grievous than adultery. Therefore, the blessed Paul, having heard of this, and not having any name suitable to bestow upon the sin, indicates the magnitude of the transgression in another way, saying: *It is actually reported that there is immorality among you, and of a kind that is not named even among the Gentiles* (1 Cor. 5:1). He did not say, "It is not committed," but, "It is not even named," wishing to show the excess of that transgression. And he delivers him to the devil, and cuts him off from the entire Church, and does not even allow him to share in a common table. ^B For he says that one should not even eat with such a person; he breathes much fire, demanding the ultimate penalty from him, using Satan as an executioner for this purpose, and through him cutting his flesh. Yet Paul, who cut the man from the Church, who did not allow him to share in a common table, who commanded all to mourn on account of him (for *you have become arrogant,* he says, *and have not rather mourned, that he who has done this deed might be removed from among you* [1 Cor. 5:2]), who drove him away from everywhere like some pestilence, who shut him out from every house, who delivered him to Satan, who demanded such a penalty from him—when he saw that he had grieved and repented of what he had done, and was singing a recantation through his deeds, he so shifted his own position, that he commanded those to whom he had ordered these things to do the opposite. For he who said, "Drive him out, turn away, mourn, and let the devil take him," what does he say now? *Reaffirm your love for him,* he says, *lest such a one be swallowed up by excessive sorrow, and we be outwitted by Satan; for we are not ignorant of his designs* (2 Cor. 2:7, 11). Do you see how it is Satanic to grieve immeasurably and for the ^C work of that snare to exist, which makes the saving medicine a poison through immoderation? For it truly becomes a poison, and hands the man over to that one, whenever it falls into immoderation; wherefore he also said, *Lest we be outwitted by Satan.* What he means is this: The sheep was full of much mange; it was alienated from the flock, it was severed from the Church; but it corrected the disease, it became such a sheep as it was before; for such is the power of repentance. It has therefore become one of our flock. Let us draw him to ourselves entirely, let us receive him with open hands, let us embrace him, let us fold him in our arms, let us unite him to ourselves. For if we are unwilling to do this, then the devil outwits us, not taking his own, but taking one who has become ours through our own negligence, and, through the immoderation of despondency, plunging him down and henceforth making him his own. Wherefore he also added, *For we are not ignorant of his designs,* that he is accustomed to trip up those who are not watching, even through those things which are beneficial, when these things are not done as they ought to be.

3. If, then, over those things for which he himself has transgressed, and that such a transgression, Paul does not allow him to be carried away by much grief, but hastens and is eager, and does everything and employs every means so as to cut off the weight of despondency, declaring that immoderation is Satanic, and the greed of the devil, and a work of his malice and his wicked intentions—how, over the transgressions of others, and for which other people are to render an account, is it not the height of folly and madness to be so cut up and to grieve as even to bring such darkness, and confusion, and turbulence, and ineffable storm into the mind, and much noise there? But if you say the same things to me again, that "I wish to, but I have no strength," I will say the same things to you again, that these are pretenses and excuses; for I know the nerves of your philosophic soul. But that I may from another direction make your resistance and victory over this untimely and ruinous despondency easier for you, do this which I again command. Whenever you hear someone telling of this utter destruction, leap away quickly from these thoughts, and run to the consideration of that day, the fearful one, and meditate within yourself upon the judgement seat, the awesome one, the incorruptible Judge, the rivers of fire, those that are dragged before that seat and are seething with the most violent flame, the sharpened swords, the severe punishments, the hell that has no end, the sunless gloom, the outer darkness, the venomous worm, the chains that cannot be broken, the gnashing of teeth, and the inconsolable weeping, the theater of the world, or rather the ^D theater of both creations, [558] the upper and the lower. For *the powers of the heavens will be shaken,* he says (Matt. 24:29), Christ says. For even if they are conscious of nothing against themselves, nor are they about to render account, yet beholding the entire race of men, and the countless multitudes being judged, they do not stand there without fear. Such is the sight

there, and how great is the dread at that time. Reflect on these things, and those irrefutable proofs. For that Judge needs neither accuser, nor witnesses, nor proofs, nor arguments; but He brings everything as it was done into the midst, and before the eyes of those who have sinned. Then there will be no one present to rescue one from the punishment—no father, no son, no daughter, no mother, no other kinsman, no neighbor, no friend, no advocate, no giving of money, no abundance of wealth, no tumor of authority or power. But all these things are cast out like dust from the feet, and the one who is being judged, from the things done by him, is either acquitted or condemned. Then no one is called to judgment for things another has committed, but for what he himself has done. Having gathered all these things, therefore, and having heightened this fear, and set it against the satanic and soul-destroying sadness, stand your ground against it in the battle; in which, merely by appearing, you will be able to shatter and destroy it more easily than a spider's web. For it, ^A besides being vain and superfluous, also brings immense detriment and destruction; but that fear is necessary, and beneficial and useful, and has with it great profit and gain. But indeed, I have been swept away by the momentum of the speech, and have undertaken to counsel you, a thing not fitting for you—for to me and those who like me are weighed down and overwhelmed by a multitude of sins, this word is necessary; for it creates fear and rouses—but to you, flourishing in so many achievements of virtue, and already touching the very arch of the heavens, it could not bring even a tiny bit of fear. Therefore I will turn myself to another style of music, addressing you, and I will strike a different string; ^B since this fear cannot fasten onto you, unless it also fastens onto the angels. Let us therefore turn hither; and do you also turn yourself together with my discourse, and ponder within yourself the rewards for the things you have done rightly and with praise, the brilliant palms, the radiant crowns, the choir with the virgins, the holy bridal chambers, the bedchamber of the heavens, the seat with the angels, the confidence and familiar intercourse with the Bridegroom, that marvelous splendor, the good things that exceed all speech and understanding of the mind. Do not hold my words against me, therefore, because I have enrolled you in the choir of the virgins and the class of those holy ones, having lived in widowhood. For you have often heard me, both privately and in public, when I was explaining what the definition of virginity is, and contending that nothing would ever be an impediment to her being referred to the number and order of virgins, nay, that she would even surpass by a long interval those who had manifested a specimen of great philosophy in other matters. And for that cause Paul also, when he was describing a virgin, not only called her a virgin who was free from marriage and bridal intercourse, but also the one to whom those things that pertain to the worship of God were a care (1 Cor. 7:34). ^C And even Christ Himself, showing how much almsgiving, of which you have long held the primacy and obtained the crown, excels virginity, cast out half the part from the choir of virgins, because they had entered without this virtue, or rather because they did not possess it abundantly; for they did have oil, but more sparingly than was fitting. In contrast, those who had approached without virginity, because they were adorned with mercy, He received honorably, calling them the blessed of His Father, calling them to Himself, and bestowing upon them the inheritance of the kingdom, and proclaiming their virtues with the whole world watching (Matt. 25); and indeed, with the angels and the whole race of mortals present, He did not hesitate to call them the nurturers and hosts of Himself. This blessed voice you too will hear then; this reward you will attain most abundantly. Furthermore, since for almsgiving alone such great rewards, such great crowns, such great radiance, such great splendor, such great glory are received, if I should recount other parts of your virtue, what pardon could you obtain, when, while you ought to be keeping a feast, exulting, leading dances, and binding your head with a crown, you are instead, because one person is seized by madness and another has cast himself down, consuming yourself with anguish, and rendering your holy soul an easy encounter for the devil, whom you have not ceased to lacerate to this very day? For why should I mention your varied and manifold patience? What speech, what volume of history could be sufficient for me for this thing, if I should want to recount the calamities which you have endured from a tender age to this present time; that is, which you have received from your own and from others, from friends and from enemies, from those related by blood and those not touching you by any degree of kinship, from those flourishing in power and from the humble and abject, from those holding office and from private individuals, and finally from those who were counted among the clergy? For there is nothing of these which, if related one by one by someone, could not make a complete history. But if one should turn to other types of this virtue, and embrace in speech those afflictions which not others now, but you yourself have brought upon yourself, what rock, what iron, what adamant will he not find surpassed by you? For while you had received a body so tender and delicate, and accustomed to every kind of luxury, you have so besieged it with various afflictions, that now it is in no better state than if it had been entirely extinguished: for you have excited in it such a swarm of diseases, that it outdoes both the art of physicians, and the power and faculty of medicines, and every kind of cure, and you yourself exist in perpetual pains. ^D And as for the endurance and austerity regarding the table and the nightly vigils, what speech would one use? Although there is no longer cause for anyone to use the term "continence" or "endurance" regarding you; but another name much more excellent must be sought for these virtues. For we say a person is endowed with continence and endurance when they are vexed by some desire, and overcome it. You—

[561] …you have no one to overcome; for with such great force you breathed against the flesh right from the beginning, that you extinguished these desires of it, not by bridling the horse, but by hobbling it, casting it to the ground, and causing it to remain motionless. And at that time you achieved self-mastery, but now you have achieved freedom from passion. For the desire for luxury no longer molests you, and you have labor in holding it in check; but having once and for all caused it to disappear, and having rendered the flesh inaccessible to it, you have trained the stomach to enjoy only as much food and drink as is necessary so as not to die and bring upon yourself punishment. For this reason, I call this not fasting, nor self-mastery, but something greater than this. This can also be seen regarding your sacred wakefulness; for the desire for sleep, with that other having been extinguished, was extinguished along with it—for food is the nourishment of sleep. And you conquered it by another way as well, having from the beginning constrained nature itself, and having spent whole nights awake; yet later, by constant habit, you brought the matter into a state of nature. For just as for others it is natural to sleep, so for you it is to be awake. These things truly are marvelous and full of astonishment, even when considered by themselves; but if one were also to examine the time, that these things were being achieved at an untimely age, and the lack of those to teach you, and the multitude of those causing scandal, and that in a soul that had just deserted from an impious household to the truth, and that in a female body, and one otherwise delicate on account of the magnificence and luxury of your ancestors, how many oceans of wonders will he discover opening up in each of these things? For this reason, I will not even mention the others: your humility, your love, the remaining virtues of your holy soul. For just as I remembered these, and spoke their names, my mind caused ten thousand springs to gush forth again, and it struggles to tell of their forms, as of the previous one, even if only in part—or rather, only the subjects themselves; for that is something that seeks a very infinite discourse. But I will not suffer myself, so as not to fall from the subject I chose to complete, to be carried off into an infinite ocean. For if this were not incumbent upon me now—to uproot your despondency 341 from you—I would gladly have lingered on these words, and sailed an infinite ocean, or rather oceans, cutting through the multifaceted paths of each of your virtues, of which each path gave birth to an ocean again—whether in patience, or in humility, or in almsgiving, the multifarious kind, spread even to the very ends of the earth, or in love, which conquers ten thousand furnaces, or in wisdom, which is infinite and full of much grace, and has transcended the measures of nature. If anyone were to wish to go over the achievements born of these, he would do the same as if someone were to attempt to count the waves of the sea.

6. Therefore, having passed by these infinite oceans, ^B I will strive to show the lion by its claw, discoursing a little about your attire, about the garments worn simply and at random. For the achievement seems lesser than the others; but if one were to examine it precisely, he will find it to be very great, and one requiring a philosophical soul, and a soul that tramples upon all worldly things and is flying towards heaven itself. For this reason, not only in the New, but also in the Old Testament, when God was leading the human race through shadow and type, and the things of the commonwealth were being ordered more bodily, and there was not yet any discourse concerning heavenly things, nor mention of things to come, nor any riddle of the philosophy that now holds sway, but the laws were written for the Hebrews in a somewhat cruder and more fleshly way, with much vehemence forbidding the adornment of garments, He says these things through the prophet: *Thus says the Lord to the ruling daughters of Zion. Because the daughters of Zion are exalted, and have walked with a high neck, and with winks of the eyes, and in their walk dragging their tunics, and playing with their feet; and the Lord shall humble the ruling daughters of Zion, and will uncover their figure, and will take away the glory of their apparel. And there shall be to you instead of sweet scent, dust; and instead of a girdle, you shall be girded with a rope; and instead of the adornment of your head, you shall have baldness because of your works; and instead of a tunic of purple, you shall be girded with sackcloth; these things you shall have instead of adornment* (Isa. 3:16-18, 24). Did you see the unspeakable wrath? Did you see the most severe punishment and vengeance? Did you see the intensified captivity? From this, conjecture the magnitude of the sin. For the Lover of mankind would not have brought such a most severe punishment, had the sin that draws it upon itself not been much greater. But if the sin is great, it is evident that the achievement, which stands opposite to it, is also very great. For this reason, also when conversing with worldly women, Paul not only leads them away from wearing gold, but does not even allow them to put on expensive garments (1 Tim. 2:9). For he knows, he knows clearly, that this is a grievous disease of the soul, and one difficult to overcome, and it is the greatest indication ^C of a corrupted judgment, and one greatly needing a philosophical mind; and not only the worldly women, who have associated with men, and none of whom easily bore this exhortation, demonstrate this, but also those who seem to practice philosophy, and who have been chosen to belong to the choir of virginity. For many of them, having successfully fought against the tyranny of nature, and purely running the race of virginity, and imitating an angelic commonwealth in this, and demonstrating in a mortal body the preludes of the resurrection (For in that age, He says, *they neither marry, nor are given in marriage* [Luc. 20:35]), and having set themselves to competition with the bodiless powers, and struggling for incorruption in a corruptible body, and achieving through their deeds things that for many are not even bearable to hear, and warding off desire—just as one would a rabid dog constantly leaping upon one—and stilling the raging sea, and in wild [circumstances]

sailing with tranquility through the waves, borne by the surges of a sea that is stirred up quite violently, and standing in the furnace of natural desire, yet not being burned, but instead walking upon these coals of desire like mud, were nevertheless captured by this very desire in a very shameful and wretched way, and even when they had been able to achieve greater things, they were condemned by this.

[ζ] For the matter of virginity is so great, and it requires such great labor, that Christ, when He descended from heaven to make men into angels and to plant the heavenly mode of life here, did not even dare to command this or to prescribe it by law, but rather He legislated on dying—for what could be heavier than that?—and on being continually crucified, and on treating enemies with kindness; but He did not command virginity, but left it in the discretion and will of those who hear Him, saying, "He that is able to receive it, let him receive it" (Matt. XIX, 12). And the magnitude of the matter and the difficulty of these struggles and the sweat of these contests are great, and this place of virtue is indeed very steep and slippery: this is shown also by those who achieved many things in the Old Testament. For that great Moses, the head of the prophets, the sincere friend of God, who enjoyed such great boldness of speech that he obtained from God the rescue of six hundred thousand men liable to punishment, snatched from the stroke of the divine plague—that man, so great and so distinguished, commanded the sea, and divided the deep, and shattered the rock, and changed the air, and turned the water of the Nile into blood, and brought an army of frogs and locusts against Pharaoh, and transformed the entire creation, and displayed a myriad of other wonders, and provided many proofs of virtue; for he shone in both aspects; yet he could not even turn his eyes toward these struggles, but required marriage and the embrace of a wife and this kind of safeguard, and dared not entrust himself to the sea of virginity, fearing the waves thereof. And the patriarch too, that priest of his own son, was able to trample down the most tyrannical of natural passions, and he was able to put to death his son, and indeed his son Isaac, in the very flower of his age, in the very prime of youth, his only-begotten, his genuine son, given to him beyond all hope, and blooming with many virtues, upon whom alone he relied, and even in extreme old age; and he was able to take him onto the mountain in order to perform such a deed, and he built an altar, and gathered wood, and placed the victim upon it, and snatched the knife, and pressed the sword against the throat of the child. For he pressed it and drew blood, that adamant, or rather, firmer than any adamant. For he possesses this by the force of nature; whereas this man imitated that natural firmness and hardness by a philosophic choice, and displayed angelic impassibility through his actions. Yet nevertheless, he who was able to endure such a great and distinguished struggle, and to issue forth from the very limits of nature, dared not undertake the struggle of virginity; but he himself also feared this arena and embraced the consolation of marriage.

[η] Do you wish me to add Job to these? That righteous man, the lover of truth, the pious one, who abstained from every evil deed? (Job I, 1). This Job, therefore, crushed the face of the devil; being struck himself, not striking, he emptied the devil's entire quiver; and though assaulted by constant arrows from him, he endured every form of temptation, and each one to an immense degree. For those things which have the appearance of troubles in this life, and are truly troubled, these are, above all, poverty, disease, the loss of children, the attacks of enemies, the ingratitude of friends, famine, continuous bodily pains, insults, slanders, and evil reputation; all of which were poured out into one body and constructed against one soul, and what is even more grievous, they arrived unexpectedly. And what I say is to be understood thus: whoever is born of poor parents and brought up in such a house will easily bear the trouble of poverty, as he is exercised by usage and custom; but he who overflows with so much money and abounds in such wealth, and then suddenly slips into the opposite state, will not easily bear such a change; for to the inexperienced, who falls into it suddenly, it seems more bitter. And again: whoever is ignoble, and had obscure parents, and lives in perpetual contempt, is not very much disturbed by curses and insults; but he who, having previously enjoyed such great glory and being surrounded by everyone, and being celebrated in everyone's mouth, and proclaimed with great splendor, then falls into infamy and contempt, to him it must happen as to one who has become poor from being rich. In like manner, whoever is deprived of children, even if he loses them all, provided it is not at the same time, relieves the mourning which he takes from those who have died with the consolation of the survivors: and when that grief which the death of the former brought has been settled, if after some time it happens that another departs from life, this calamity becomes milder for him; for it does not strike a wound that is still recent, but one that has been settled and removed, which indeed takes away no small amount from the pain. But on the contrary, this man saw the entire chorus of his children snatched away in one point of time, and that too by a most bitter form of death. For this death was both violent and premature, and the time and place added no small heap to his grief; for it was at the time of a banquet, and in that house which was open to guests, and finally, the house became a tomb for them. For what new thing, which cannot be expressed in words, should I mention regarding that famine? Should I call it voluntary or involuntary? For I do not know by what name I should call it, and I find no name to impose upon such an unexpected calamity. For he abstained from the table set before him, and did not touch the foods which he saw. For the stench of the wounds by which his own body was afflicted oppressed every appetite, and poured trouble even upon the table itself. This is what he declared also in these words: "I see my food as a stench" (Job VI, 7). And the force of hunger indeed compelled him to taste the food offered; but a certain incredible stench, which proceeded from his own flesh, overcame the force of hunger. Therefore, as I have already said, I have no way to call it. Voluntary? But he was forced to eat the food set before him.

[The text begins with the continuation of the previous section, reflecting the internal struggle and suffering of Job.]

^A ...desire to taste. Coerced? But the food was at hand, and there was no one to prevent him using it. Now, how could I describe his pains, the springs of worms, the fluid flowing down, the reproaches of his friends, the contempt of his servants? For My servants did not spare me, he says, from the face of spittle; those trampling upon me, those leaping over me? For those whom I did not deem worthy of the dogs of my flocks, he says, these now have fallen upon me, and they rebuke me. Does it not seem to you that all these things are grievous? For they are indeed grievous. Shall I tell you the head of his evils, the colophon of his calamity, that which most of all choked him? The storm of unrest occurring within his own mind was what most of all suffocated him, and was unbearable; and his conscience, pure as it was, made the inward tempest all the more [violent], and darkened his reason, and disturbed his pilot. For those who are conscious of many sins in themselves, even if they suffer something terrible, have at least the means to find an explanation for what happens, by considering their own sins, and resolving the disturbance that arises from confusion. ^B Again, those who are conscious of nothing evil in themselves but are flourishing in good deeds, if they suffer something similar, knowing the doctrine of the resurrection and considering those rewards in store, they know that these happenings are but contests and subjects for countless crowns. But this man, being just and knowing nothing of the resurrection, was storm-tossed most of all by this, not knowing the cause of what he suffered, and, concerning the worms and the pains, was more deeply pricked by this very lack of understanding. And that you may learn that these things are so, when the philanthropic God deigned to tell him the cause of these contests—that *in order that you might be revealed as just, these things were permitted*—he breathed again as though he had suffered none of those painful things, and he revealed this by the things he uttered. And yet, even before learning the cause, he was in pain, but he bore it nobly, and after losing everything, he uttered that admirable voice: *The Lord gave, the Lord took away; as it pleased the Lord, so it came to pass; blessed be the name of the Lord forever* (Job 1. 21).

9. On the Difficulty of Virginity

9. But indeed, I appear to have been carried too far from the subject at hand, being enthralled by the love of this man; therefore, having added a few things, I shall return to the matters proposed. This man, then, so great and of such stature, who had trampled underfoot so many necessities of nature, did not dare himself to enter into this contest [of virginity], but he enjoyed the company of a wife, and became a father to so many children. Such is the difficulty of virginity; so high and great are its contests, and grievous its labors, requiring much fortitude. And yet, many of those who have stripped themselves for this contest have not mastered that passion, the desire for the adornment of dress, but have been captured and overcome even more than secular women. Do not say to me, "That gold is not worn, nor are silken and gold-woven garments put on, nor are jeweled brooches held." For this is the most grievous thing of all, and that which demonstrates the excess of their disease and the tyranny of the passion: that they have had the power and have contended and forced themselves, through those lowly garments, to surpass the adornment of those who wear gold and silken robes, and to appear more lovely as a result. This they do, as they think, pursuing a matter of indifference, but as the nature of the matter shows, it is a ruinous and harmful thing, and involves a deep abyss. Therefore, you must proclaim with ten thousand tongues, because of this matter, that while for virgins it has become hard to overcome, for the one living in widowhood it is so easy and light, as the truth of the facts itself has shown. For I do not marvel only at the ineffable lowliness of the attire, which surpasses even those who beg, ^C but also at the lack of affectation and the lack of artifice in the garments, the shoes, and the gait, all of which are colors of virtue, painting from the outside the philosophy stored within the soul. *For the adornment of a man*, he says, *and the laughter of his teeth, and the step of his foot, shall tell about him* (Eccli. 19. 27). For if you had not thrown to the ground and trampled upon the earthen thoughts of worldly imagination with excess, you would not have leapt forth to such a height of disdain for them, you would not have so victoriously conquered and driven away this most grievous sin. But let no one judge the discourse to be excessive if I have called this a most grievous sin. For if among secular and Hebrew women, and in that time, the transgression brought about such great punishment, in the case of those who ought to hold their citizenship in heaven, and to imitate the angelic life, and who walk in grace, what pardon could the same thing have if dared with even greater excess? For when you see a virgin constricted in her garments, dragging her tunics—which the prophet censured—breaking down in her gait, and through her voice, her eyes, and her dress, mixing the poisonous cup for those who look with longing, and digging the abyss ever deeper for those who pass by, and setting traps as a result, how then shall you call her a virgin, or rather, will you not number her with the women who play the whore? For they do not become a lure as much as these do, spreading out the wings of pleasure on all sides. For these reasons we bless you, for these reasons we admire you, that having been delivered from all these things, you have shown forth death [to the world] in this respect, not adorning yourself, but acting with vigor, not beautifying yourself, but arming yourself.

^A But since we have shown [enough of] the lion from his claws, and that in part—for we have not fully comprehended your virtue; just as I said before, I fear to set foot into the immense seas of your other virtues; and it is not my purpose here to deliver praises of your holy soul, but rather to prepare a medicinal balm—come, let us resume what we have said before. What is it that we said before? Namely, that you should cease to ruminate upon who has sinned—or what sort of evil he has committed—and instead constantly reflect upon the contests of your own endurance, your patience, your fasting, your prayers, your sacred vigils, your continence, your almsgiving, your hospitality, and your various, grievous, and frequent temptations. Consider how from your earliest age to this very day you have not ceased to feed Christ when he was hungry, to give drink to him when thirsty, to clothe the naked, to welcome the stranger, to visit the afflicted, and to approach him in bonds. ^B Observe the sea of your charity, which you have opened up so wide that it has reached the very ends of the inhabited world with great force. For your house was not open only to anyone who came, but even everywhere on land and sea, many have enjoyed this bounty of yours through your hospitality. Gathering all these things together, gladden your soul with the hope of these crowns and prizes. But if you desire to see these lawless and bloodthirsty men, and those who have committed even more grievous acts than these, paying the penalty, you will see this too. For even the rich man saw Lazarus in suffering (Luke 16:23). Although their places were divided because of the difference in their lives, and a chaos separated them, and one had his place in Abraham’s bosom while the other had his in the intolerable furnaces, still, nonetheless, Lazarus saw him, heard his voice, and answered him. These things will be so for you also then. For if he who despised one man is given such punishments, and to the one who has scandalized but one, it is profitable that a millstone be hung about his neck and that he be cast into the sea (Matt. 18:6); then those who have brought scandal to such a great part of the world, and have overturned so many churches, and filled everything with tumult and confusion, and have surpassed brigands and barbarians in savageness and inhumanity, and have been moved by such madness by the devil, whom they had as their leader of war, and the demons, whose help and assistance they used, that they offered this fearful doctrine, full of holiness and worthy of the Giver, to be mocked by Jews and Greeks; those who have plunged countless souls and caused countless shipwrecks throughout the world, who have stoked such a fire, and have torn the body of Christ, and scattered his members here and there—"For you," it says, "are the body of Christ, and members in part" (1 Cor. 12:27); ^C indeed, what can I say to express the fury of those who cannot be explained in words? How great a punishment do you think those pestilential and bloodthirsty men will bear then? For if those who did not feed the hungry Christ are condemned to the eternal fire with the devil, you can imagine what punishments those will suffer who drove into famine the flocks of monks and virgins, and stripped the clothed, and not only did not welcome strangers but even chased them away, and who not only did not visit those working in disease but even afflicted them more vehemently, and who not only did not betake themselves to those in chains, but even worked to have those who were free and unencumbered thrown into prison. Then, therefore, you will see them tortured and burning in flames, in chains, gnashing their teeth, mourning in vain, wasting away in useless lamentations, and, like that rich man, repenting to no avail. And, in turn, they will see you wearing a crown in those blessed seats, dancing with the angels, and reigning with Christ, and they will cry out vehemently and groan, repenting of the insults they heaped upon you, and offering suppliant petitions to you, and imploring your mercy and humanity in vain.

^D

Chapter XI: He consoles Olympias for her absence, while she is grieving.

569 S. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM, ARCHBISHOP OF CONSTANTINOPLE

^A ...must we not, instead of wandering about in search of those who love us sincerely (for this is indeed a rare thing), run to the blessed Paul? He will tell us how great this struggle is, and how much it requires a noble soul. For this Paul, who had already put off the flesh and laid aside the body, and who traversed the inhabited world with his soul almost stripped bare, having banished every passion from his mind, imitating the impassivity of the incorporeal powers, dwelling on earth as if it were heaven, standing with the Cherubim on high and sharing in that mystical melody with them—he bore all other things easily, as though suffering in the body of another: prisons and chains, abductions and scourges, threats and death, and stoning ^B and drowning, and every kind of torment. Yet, when he was separated from one soul that was beloved by him, he was so confounded and disturbed that he immediately fled the city where he had expected to see the one he loved, but did not find him. Troas is witness to this for him, having been abandoned by him for this very reason, because he could not show him that person there at that time. For, "Having come," he says, "to Troas for the Gospel of Christ, and a door being opened to me in the Lord, I had no rest for my spirit, because I did not find my brother Titus; but taking leave of them, I went off to Macedonia" (2 Cor. 2:12-13). What is this, Paul? You were bound with wood, dwelling in a prison, with lashes laid upon you—your back flowing with blood—and yet you were performing the mysteries, you were baptizing, you were offering sacrifice, and you did not disdain even one person who was about to be saved! Yet, having come to Troas, and seeing the field already cleansed, and ready to receive the seeds, and the threshing floor filled, and providing you with such great ease, did you throw away such gain from your hands, having come ^C precisely for this (for "Having come," he says, "to Troas for the Gospel," that is, because of the Gospel), and with nothing opposing you (for "A door having been opened to me," he says), yet you fled immediately? "Yes," he says. "For I was held by a great tyranny of despondency, and the absence of Titus so confounded my mind and so overcame and mastered me that it forced me to do this." And that he suffered this because of despondency, we need not conjecture; we must learn it from him. For he stated the cause of his departure, saying: "I had no rest in my spirit because I did not find Titus, but taking leave of them, I went forth to Macedonia."

12. Do you see what a great struggle it is to be able to bear the separation of one who is loved with calmness? And how painful a thing it is, and bitter? How it requires a high and courageous soul? You are now undergoing this same struggle. And by how much the struggle is great, by so much is the crown greater, and the rewards more brilliant. Let this be a consolation for your hesitation, and the fact that you will surely see us again, springing forth with the reward from here, being crowned and proclaimed. For it does not 570 suffice for those who love each other merely to be bound together in soul, nor is this sufficient for consolation, but they also crave a physical presence; and if this is not present, no small part of the joy is curtailed. And coming again to this nursling of love, we shall find it has it so. For writing to the Macedonians, he said: "But we, brethren, being orphaned from you for a short time, in face, not in heart, have endeavored more abundantly to see your face; I, indeed, Paul, once and twice, and Satan hindered us. Wherefore, no longer able to endure it, we thought it good to be left in Athens alone, and sent Timothy" (1 Thess. 2:17; cf. 3:1-2). Oh, the power of every word! For he displays the flame of love that was stored up in his soul with great clarity. For he did not say, "separated from you," nor "torn from you," nor "parted," nor "left behind," but, "being orphaned from you." He sought a word sufficient to express the pain of his soul. And yet, though he was in the position of a father to them all, he speaks like children who were orphans in a premature age, having lost their parent, wishing to show the excess of his despondency. For nothing is more painful than premature orphaning, when their age is not sufficient for them to provide for themselves, and there are no foster parents to take care of them sincerely, and many who would oppress and conspire against them suddenly appear, so that, like lambs, they are thrown into the midst of wolves, who tear and mangle them from all sides. No one can represent the magnitude of this calamity with words. For this reason Paul, having gone around and sought a word indicative of both bereavement and grievous calamity, in order to represent what he was suffering by being separated from those he loved, used this word; and then he intensifies it again in what follows: "Being orphaned," he says, "not for a time, but for the season of an hour, and separated not in mind, but in face only, yet we do not bear the pain arising from this; and yet, having sufficient consolation—to be bound together in soul, to have you in our heart, to have seen you yesterday and the day before—yet none of these things delivers us from despondency." But what do you want and desire, tell me, and desire with such excess? Their very appearance. "For more abundantly," he says, "we have endeavored to see your face." What are you saying, O high and great one? You who have the world crucified to you, and are crucified to the world, you who have been freed from all carnal things, who have become almost incorporeal, have you become so captivated by love that you are brought down to this clay-like, earthly, sensible flesh? "Yes," he says, "and I am not ashamed in saying these things, but I even pride myself on them; for having the mother of good things, love, springing up within me, I seek these out." And he does not seek a merely physical presence, but desires most of all to behold their face.

Chapter 12

^A for he craves not only to see them, but longs to behold their very countenances. "We have," he says, "the more abundantly hastened to see your face." Do you then crave to see the sight, and burn with a longing to behold these countenances? "Indeed I do," he says; because there are the instruments of the senses collected. For the soul, if it be naked and by itself joined to another soul, will be unable either to say or to hear anything; but if it be my lot to enjoy the bodily presence, I shall be able to speak something, and in turn to hear from those I love. For this reason I desire to look upon your face, in which is the tongue that emits the voice and utters the thoughts of the mind, and the ear that receives the words, and the eyes that portray the motions of the mind; for it is possible to enjoy the intercourse of a beloved soul much better through these.

^B And that you may learn how he is kindled toward this contemplation, having said, "We have the more abundantly hastened," he was not content with that expression, but added, "In great desire." And immediately, not enduring to mingle himself with the others, but showing that he loves more ardently than the rest, after he had said these words, "We have the more abundantly hastened and have desired to come to you," he separated himself from the others, and stationing himself alone said, "I, Paul, once and again"—showing by this, of course, that he had labored in this with more intense zeal than the others. Then, because he did not achieve this, he is not content with the letters, but sends his companion, Timothy, who was to be in his stead for the letters; wherefore he added, "Wherefore when we could no longer forbear," that love which could not be curbed or tolerated by any rein, [showing]! And just as when someone is burning with the heat of a fire, and seeking to find some relief from the conflagration, he leaves no stone unturned; in the same way he, too, when he was being kindled, choked, and burnt, devised consolation as far as was possible and practicable. "For when we could no longer forbear," he says, "we sent Timothy, the minister of the gospel, and our fellow-laborer," and tearing a most necessary member from our company ^C and exchanging sorrow for sorrow. For that he could not easily bear even his absence, but that he undertook this trouble for their sake, he signified this very thing by saying, "We thought it good to be left alone." O soul transformed into the very substance of love! For after he was separated from one brother, he says he is alone, and that while he had so many others with him.

— The reward of patience. Do you, therefore, also meditate on these things with yourself continually, and consider that by how much the more this matter brings you greater torment, by so much the more, if you bear it with a grateful mind, will it bring you a greater reward. For not only the bodily wounds inflicted, but also the pain of the soul brings crowns sublimer than any speech, and indeed [the pain] of the soul [brings] more than [that of] the body, when those who are smitten bear it with thanksgiving. As therefore, if your body were lacerated and torn with scourges, you would bear it with a brave and noble mind, and would proclaim the glory of God in this regard, and would have received a great reward for this; in the same way, when your soul suffers these things, wait for great rewards ^D from this. Expect also that it will surely come to pass that you will see us again, and be delivered from this pain, and receive a large and abundant gain from this pain, both hereafter and now. And these things are sufficient for the lightening of sorrow for you; nay, truly, not for you alone, but even for anyone, however else he might be endowed with a senseless and stony mind. But where there is such prudence, and such riches of piety, and such sublime philosophy, and a soul trampling underfoot the pomp of the things of this life, there also the art of curing the malady is easier. Wherefore in this matter also show your love toward us, because we, even while writing, possess great authority with you, and no less than if we were present. But you will show this clearly if we learn that our letters have profited something, and not only something, but as much as we desire. For we desire you to be engaged in the same gladness of mind in which we beheld you when we were there. And if we learn this, we too shall receive no small consolation for this loneliness in which we now are. Therefore, if it is in your heart to settle us in greater peace of mind—and I know that you wish it and are greatly concerned about it—let us know this, that you have removed all the dregs of sorrow from yourself, and that your affairs are in a tranquil state: and repay to us this reward of our benevolence toward you. For it does not escape you, I say, it certainly does not escape you, how much, if you perform this and inform us of it by letter, you will be about to refresh our soul.

To the same letter III

^A those who struggle with severe fevers, or the sea with fierce winds, do not suddenly cast off the storm that the waves have brought, but [settle] gently and little by little. For bodies need a longer space of time, that after the fevers are dispelled they may return to perfect health, and may wash away the weakness which the disease left behind; and the waters, even when the winds have been lulled, are still for a time agitated and stirred up, and are carried and recede with great impetuosity, and need some time to return to perfect tranquility. I have used this kind of introduction [as an example] not idly, but that you may understand that we were driven by necessity to send this letter to you. For even if we have removed the tyranny of sorrow in our previous letters, and have overturned its citadel: yet our speech still needs great assiduity to procure for you a deep peace, and, having blotted out the memory of all the disturbances which flowed from that anguish, to show you a pure and certain tranquility, and to place you in great alacrity of mind. For I am doing this now, and I am laboring that I may not only deliver you from sadness, but also fill you with great and perpetual pleasure. For this can be done, if indeed you are willing. For it is not among the fixed things of nature that we…