Homilies on First Corinthians 12

'Now these things, brethren, I have in a figure transferred to myself and Apollos for your sakes, that in us ye might learn not to think beyond what is written.' (1 Cor. 4:6)

So long as there was need for him of the burdensome words, he did not uncover the tent, but discoursed as though he himself were the one who heard these things, in order that the dignity of the persons accused, standing over against the accusers, might not permit them to be carried away from the accusations into wrath;

but when at length he needed to give the reins, then, stripping it off and lifting away the mask, he showed the hidden persons under the designation of Paul and Apollos.

'Now these things, brethren, I have in a figure transferred to myself and Apollos.'

And even as in the case of the sick, when the ailing child kicks and turns away the food offered by the physicians, those in attendance call the father or the tutor, and bid him take the food from the physician's hands and offer it, so that out of fear toward those persons the child may receive it and be quieted;

so also Paul, being about to bring accusation on behalf of others — some as being wronged, others as being honoured beyond measure — did not set down the persons themselves, but brought the discourse under his own name and that of Apollos, in order that out of respect for these they might receive the treatment;

but when they had received it, then at length he uncovered on whose behalf he was saying these things.

But this was not dissimulation, but condescension and a wise dispensation.

For if he had said plainly, 'But you judge these holy and admirable men,' they would have been vexed and would have started away;

'But to me it is a very small thing that I should be judged of you.' (1 Cor. 4:3)

and again, 'Who then is Paul, and who is Apollos?' (1 Cor. 3:5) — he made the discourse easy to be received.

Wherefore he said, 'These things I have transferred in a figure to myself for your sakes, that in us ye might learn not to think beyond what is written,' showing that if he had brought the discourse to bear upon those men, they would not have learned what they needed to learn, nor would they have received the correction, being vexed at the things said.

But as it is, out of respect for those about Paul, they bore the rebuke easily.

But what is 'not to think beyond what is written'? It is written:

'Why beholdest thou the mote that is in thy brother's eye, but considerest not the beam that is in thine own eye?' (Matt. 7:3)

and, 'Judge not, that ye be not judged.' (Matt. 7:1)

For if we are one and are bound together with one another, we ought not to rise up against one another.

'For he that humbleth himself shall be exalted,' He says; (cf. Luke 14:11)

and, 'He that would be first of all, let him become servant of all.' (Mark 10:44)

'That ye be not puffed up one for the one against the other.' (1 Cor. 4:6)

Again, leaving the teachers, he rebukes the disciples;

for it was they who were exalting these.

And besides, the rulers would not easily have received such a discourse, on account of their desiring the glory that is from without;

for indeed they were maimed by the passion;

but these same persons, not reaping the glory themselves, but bestowing it upon others, would both more easily bear the admonition, and were more able than the rulers to loose the disease.

So then this too is a mark of being puffed up — to be elated on behalf of another, even though a man suffer this not on account of his own affairs.

For just as he who is highminded over another's wealth does it out of madness,

so also is he who is elated over the glory of another.

And well did he call it a being puffed up (inflation).

For when the one member rises up, it is nothing else but inflammation and disease;

for in no other way does one member become higher than another, save when a swelling arises.

So then also in the body of the Church, he that is inflamed and puffed up, he himself would be the one that is diseased;

for he swells beyond the common symmetry.

So also does it come to pass in the body, when some spurious and evil humour flows in, and not the accustomed nourishment.

So also is arrogance begotten, when thoughts foreign to us come in upon us.

For that which is puffed up has a mass of wind, being filled with corrupted humour.

But he says these things, not cutting off the treatment (of tending others), but the treatment that is to their hurt.

Do you wish to tend such a one? I do not hinder you;

for teachers were not given us in order that we might be arrayed against one another, but that we might all be knit together with one another.

For indeed the general is set over the army for this very cause, that he may make those who are separated into one body;

But if he should go about to break up the army, he would fill the place of an enemy rather than of a general.

'For who maketh thee to differ? and what hast thou that thou didst not receive?' After this, leaving those who are ruled, he turns to the rulers.

Whence is it plain that thou art worthy to be praised? Has there been a judgment? Has an examination gone forward? A scrutiny, an exact trial? But thou couldest not say so.

And even if men do cast their votes for thee, yet their judgment is not upright.

But let us grant that thou art indeed worthy of praises, and that thou dost truly possess the gift, and that men's judgment is not corrupt;

not even so oughtest thou to be high-minded.

For thou hast nothing of thine own, but didst receive it from God.

What then? Dost thou pretend to have what thou hast not? Nay, thou hast this, and others together with thee.

Therefore thou hast it as one who received it, and not this or that only, but all things whatsoever thou hast.

For these are not thine own achievements, but belong to the grace of God.

Even if thou speak of faith, it came of the calling;

and if thou speak of the remission of sins, or the gifts, or the word of teaching, or the powers, all these thou didst receive from thence.

What then hast thou, tell me, which thou hast not as having received it, but which thou didst achieve of thine own self? Thou couldest not say.

But thou didst receive, and for this reason art thou high-minded? Nay, for this very cause thou oughtest to have been humbled;

for that which was given is not thine, but belongs to Him who gave it.

For if thou didst receive, yet from Him thou didst receive;

and if from Him thou didst receive, it was not thine own that thou receivedst;

and if it was not thine own that thou receivedst, why art thou high-minded, as though it were thine own? Wherefore also he added,

'And if thou didst receive it, why dost thou glory as if thou hadst not received it?' Having thus built up his argument by a cumulative course, he shows that they had need of many things also, and says that, most of all, even if they had received all things, they ought not to boast;

but as it is, ye are even destitute of many things.

And in the beginning he intimated this, when he said,

'I could not speak unto you as unto spiritual;'

and, 'I determined not to know anything among you, save Jesus Christ, and Him crucified;'

but here he does it by way of putting them to shame, saying,

'Already are ye filled, already ye are become rich;'

that is, ye have need of nothing further, ye are become perfect, ye occupy the very summit, ye stand in need of nothing

ye think, neither of apostles nor of teachers.

And well did he use the word 'Already,' showing from the shortness of the time the incredibility and the unreasonableness of their conceit.

Wherefore also, as it were making sport of them, he said,

So quickly have ye reached the goal, which was impossible to happen in so short a time!

For the more perfect things abide in the world to come;

but to be filled from a few things belongs to a feeble soul;

and to think oneself rich from a few things is the mark of a sickly and wretched soul;

for godliness is a thing that cannot be sated;

and it is the token of a childish mind to think from the first beginnings that one has grasped the whole, and, while not yet even at the outset, to be high-minded as though one had laid hold of the end.

Then in what follows he shames them yet more.

For having said, 'Already are ye filled,' he added,

'Already ye are become rich, ye have reigned without us;'

'and I would that ye did reign, that we also might reign with you.'

The saying is full of much weight.

Wherefore also he brought it in last of all, after much rebuke.

For thus the exhortation becomes dignified and easy to be received, when after the accusations the shaming words are brought in.

For this is enough to restrain even a shameless soul, and to strike more deeply than open accusation, and to correct the pain and the shamelessness that were likely to arise from the accusation.

For indeed the marvellous thing about words of reproof is chiefly this, that they possess two contrary effects;

both they give a deeper cut than open reproach, and they dispose the man convicted to endure the sharper cutting with the greater fortitude.

There is here much emphasis, both towards the teachers and towards the disciples.

And their want of conscience is shown, and their exceeding senselessness.

For what he says is this:

In the toils, he says, all things are common both to us and to you, but in the prizes and the crowns, ye are first.

But I am not grieved in saying these things;

'And I would that ye did reign.'

Then, that it might not seem to be some kind of irony, he added,

'That we also might reign with you.'

For then, he says, should we too have attained these good things.

Seest thou how at once he shows both his gravity and his tender care, and his heavenly-minded temper? Observe too how he takes down their conceit by the words which he adds, saying,

'For I think that God hath set forth us the apostles last of all, as men doomed to death.'

Much emphasis and weight he again displays by saying, 'Us.'

And not even with this was he content, but he added also their dignity, striking home to them very keenly;

'Us,' he says, 'the apostles;'

who endure ten thousand ills, who sow the preaching of godliness, who are leading you on to this heavenly wisdom;

these He hath set forth last, as men doomed to death, that is, as condemned criminals.

For since he had said, 'That we also might reign with you,' and had relaxed the vehemence of his speech,

lest he should thereby unnerve them, he takes it up again with more of severity, and says,

'For I think that God hath set forth us the apostles last of all, as men doomed to death.'

For as I see, he says, and from what ye yourselves affirm, we are the most dishonored of all and the condemned, who are ever put forward to suffer evil;

but ye already dream of a kingdom, and honors, and prizes.

And wishing to carry the argument on to still greater absurdity, and to show it exceedingly incredible, he said not, 'Simply, we are last,' but, 'God made us last.'

And he was not content with saying 'Last,' but he added also 'Doomed to death;'

that even the exceedingly senseless might be conscious of the incredibility of what was said, and that these were the words of one in pain, and vehemently putting them to shame.

From those very things whereby, whenever there is occasion, he exalts himself and shows himself venerable and makes himself great, from these same things he now puts them to shame, calling himself a condemned man.

So great a thing it is to do all things at the fitting season.

By those 'appointed to death' he here means the condemned, men deserving of ten thousand deaths.

'For we are made a spectacle unto the world, and to angels, and to men.'

What does it mean, 'We are made a spectacle unto the world'? It means: not in one corner, nor in some small part of the inhabited earth, do we suffer these things, he says, but everywhere and among all.

And what does 'and to angels' mean? It is as though to say: it is possible to be a spectacle to men, yet no longer to angels, whenever the things done are of little worth;

but our wrestlings are of such a kind that they are worthy even of the contemplation of angels.

Behold, from the very things by which he abases himself, how he again shows himself great;

and from the very things in which those men take pride, how he shows them to be of no account.

For since to be fools seemed a meaner thing than to appear wise, and to be weak than to become strong, and to be without honour than to be glorious and renowned—and the one lot he is about to cast upon those men, while the other he himself accepted—

he shows that these things are better than those, seeing that through them he turned to the contemplation of themselves not only the assembly of men, but even of the very angels.

For not against men only is our wrestling, but also against the bodiless powers.

For this reason also a great theatre sits watching.

'We are fools for Christ's sake, but ye are wise in Christ.'

Again this too he has said in a way that shames them, showing that it is an impossible thing for these contrary states to coincide, and that things standing so far apart from one another cannot meet in the same persons.

For how is it possible, he says, that you should be wise, while we are fools, in the matters that concern Christ? For since they themselves were beaten and despised and dishonoured and reckoned as nothing, while those men enjoyed honour and were supposed by many to be wise and prudent, on this account he says these things: How is it possible that those who preach such doctrines should be suspected of the very opposite? 'We are weak, but ye are strong.'

That is: We are driven out, we are persecuted;

but you enjoy safety and much attentive care.

But the very nature of the preaching does not admit of this.

'We are without honour, but ye are glorious.'

Here he directs his words against the well-born and those who pride themselves on outward things.

'Even unto this present hour we both hunger and thirst, and are naked, and are buffeted, and have no certain dwelling-place, and labour, working with our own hands.'

That is: I am not recounting old matters, but the very things to which the present moment itself bears witness for me.

For we make no account of human things, nor of outward distinction, but we look to God alone;

which indeed it is necessary that we also do in every place.

For it is not the angels only who behold, but before them the Judge of the contest Himself.

Let us not therefore stand in need of other applauders.

For this is to insult Him, when, running past Him as though He were not sufficient to admire us, we hasten to our fellow-servants.

For just as those who contend in a small theatre seek a greater one, as though it were not sufficient for their display,

so also those who contend in the eyes of God, and then seek the praise that comes from men—letting go the greater and reaching after the lesser—draw down upon themselves a great punishment.

This indeed has turned all things upside down, this has thrown the whole inhabited world into confusion, that we do all things looking to men, and even in good deeds count it as nothing to have God for our admirer, but seek instead the good repute that comes from our fellow-servants;

and again, in evil matters, despising Him, we stand in dread of men.

And yet these very men shall stand with us before that judgment-seat, in nothing profiting us;

but God, whom we now despise, He Himself shall cast the vote concerning us.

But nevertheless, even knowing these things, we still gape after men, which is the first sin.

And while a man is looking on, no one would choose to commit fornication; but even if he be inflamed ten thousand times by the evil, the tyranny of the passion is overcome by respect for men;

but while God is looking on, many not only commit adultery and fornication, but have dared and still dare far more grievous things.

Is not this alone sufficient to bring down ten thousand thunderbolts from above? And why do I speak of adulteries and fornications? For things far lesser than these we dread to do in the presence of men;

Through this very thing all evils have been brought forth, that in things truly evil we reverence not God, but men.

For this very reason too we flee the things that are truly good, since they seem not such to the multitude, not examining

the nature of things, but looking to the opinion of the many.

And in the case of evils, again suffering this same thing, we pursue as good—from the very same custom—things that are not good but merely seem so to the many;

so that from both sides we suffer corruption.

Perhaps to many what has been said seems rather obscure;

it is necessary therefore to state it more clearly.

Whenever we commit fornication (for we must begin from the things already spoken), we fear men rather than God.

Since therefore we have thus subjected ourselves to those men, and made them our masters, and since many other things also seem to these masters to be evils which are not evils, those things too we flee likewise.

For instance, to live in poverty seems to many to be a shameful thing;

and we flee poverty, not because it is shameful, nor because we ourselves are persuaded of this, but because it seems shameful to our masters, and them we dread.

Again, to be dishonoured and to be held in contempt and to be devoid of all power seems likewise to the many to be a thing of much shame and meanness.

This again we flee, not condemning it in ourselves, but because of the verdict of our masters.

Again, from the opposite side too we endure the same injury;

for to be rich seems to be a good, as also do pomp and reputations and to be looked upon with admiration;

and this again we pursue, not here either having examined the nature of things, that it is truly noble, but being persuaded by the opinion of our masters.

For our master is the populace;

and the great crowd is a cruel master and a harsh tyrant.

For it does not even need to give us a command in order to be obeyed by us, but it is enough only that we know what it wishes, and even without a command we yield;

with such great goodwill do we treat it.

And God, though every day threatening and admonishing, is not heeded;

but the great and disorderly and rabble crowd has not even need of a command, but it is enough only to show with whom it is pleased, and we straightway obey in all things.

And how, one says, might a man escape these masters? If he take on a mind greater than theirs, if he examine the nature of things, if he condemn the verdict of the many, if before all else, in things truly shameful, he train himself to fear not men but the sleepless Eye, and again, in good things, to seek the crowns that come from Him.

For in this way we shall not endure them in other matters either.

For he who, whenever he succeeds, does not judge those men worthy to know of his good deeds, but is content with the verdict of God, will also make no account of them in adverse things.

And how, one says, shall this itself come to pass? Consider what a man is, and what God is, and whom you are forsaking and to whom you are fleeing for refuge, and you will quickly set the whole matter right.

A man lies under the same sin as you, and the same judgment and the same punishment;

a man is made like unto vanity, and has no upright judgment, and stands in need of correction from above;

a man, dust and ashes, even if he praise, will often praise at random, either to gain favour or out of enmity;

and if he slander and accuse, again he will do this from the same disposition.

But God is not so; rather, His verdict is unassailable, and His judgment is pure.

And for these reasons we ought always to flee for refuge to Him;

and not for these reasons only, but because He also made you, and spares you most of all, and loves you more than you love your very self.

Why, then, forsaking the One who has a wondrous praise to bestow, do we take refuge in a man, who is nothing, who is empty, who is worthless? Does he call you wicked and defiled, when you are no such thing? For this all the more pity him, and weep that he is corrupted, and despise his opinion, because the eyes of his understanding have been blinded.

For the apostles also heard these things, and laughed to scorn those who slandered them.

But does he call you good and virtuous? If indeed you are such, do not in the least be puffed up by his opinion;

and if you are not such, despise it all the more, and regard the matter as a mockery.

Do you wish to learn how the judgments of the many are corrupted and worthless and deserving of laughter—some of them the judgments of madmen and those out of their senses, others the judgments of suckling children? Listen from the beginning.

I will set before you judgments not only those of the common people, but also those of men reputed to be the wisest, of the lawgivers from the beginning.

For who among the many would seem to be wiser than one deemed worthy to legislate for cities and peoples? And yet to these wise men fornication seems to be nothing wicked, nor worthy of punishment.

At any rate none of the outward laws punished it, nor haled a man into court on this account;

but even should someone hale a man to court for these things, the many laugh, and the judge will not endure it.

Dicing again is free from any punishment at their hands, and no one ever paid a penalty for these things before them.

Drunkenness and gluttony are not only no accusation, but among many are even reckoned a mark of merit;

and at the soldiers' banquets there is great rivalry in this practice, and those who most of all need a sober mind and a vigorous body are the very ones who most surrender themselves to the tyranny of drunkenness, dissolving the body and darkening the soul—yet none of the lawgivers punished this sin.

What is worse than this madness? Do you then desire the good report of men in such a condition, and not rather bury yourself out of sight? For even if all such men admired you, ought you not to be ashamed and to hide your face, being applauded by the judgments of men so corrupted? Again, blasphemy seems to the lawgivers to be nothing dreadful;

at any rate no one who blasphemed God was haled into court and paid a penalty.

But if someone steals a garment, or cuts open a purse, his sides are pierced through and he is often given over to death;

yet the one who blasphemes God is not called to account by the outward lawgivers.

And if a man having a wife defiles a slave-girl, it seems to be nothing to the outward laws, nor to the many.

Do you wish to hear yet other things again that display their folly? For these things they do not punish, but other things they even enact into law themselves.

What then are those things? They gather theatres, and bringing in there choruses of harlot women and boys who have been prostituted and outraged in their very nature, they seat all the people on high, thus beguiling the city, thus crowning those great kings whom they ever admire for their trophies and victories.

And yet what is colder than this honour? What is more distasteful than that pleasure? From these, then, do you seek praisers of your deeds? And do you wish, tell me, to enjoy the good report of dancers and effeminates and mimes and harlot women? And how would these things not be the utmost derangement? For gladly would I ask them:

Is it a terrible thing for the laws of nature to be overthrown, and for lawless couplings to be introduced? By all means they will say that it is terrible;

at any rate they even seem to punish this lawlessness.

Why then do you bring in those catamites? And you not only bring them in, but even honour them with countless and unspeakable gifts? Elsewhere you punish those who dare such deeds, but here you spend money upon them as upon common benefactors of the city, and feed them from the public treasury.

Why then do you train them? Why then do you honour kings by means of the dishonoured? Why do you break the necks of the cities? Why do you spend so much upon them? For if they are dishonoured, the dishonoured ought to be driven away.

And for what reason did you make them dishonoured? As praising them, or as having condemned them? Clearly as having condemned them.

Then, as having condemned them you make them dishonoured, but as though they were honoured you run to see them, and admire and praise and applaud? And what need to speak of the sorceries in the horse-races, of those in the contests of wild beasts? For those things too are full of every madness; they train the people continually to have a merciless and savage and inhuman disposition, and exercise them to look upon men being torn apart and blood flowing down and the savagery of beasts confounding all things.

And all these diseases the wise lawgivers introduced from the beginning, and the cities applaud and admire them.

But, if you will, leaving these things aside—which are openly and confessedly absurd, though they did not seem so to the outward lawgivers—let us come to the solemn observances,

let us come to the ordinances, and you will see that these too have been corrupted by the opinion of the many.

For marriage seems to be an honourable thing both to us and to those outside;

but when marriages are celebrated, there come to pass so many ridiculous things as you shall presently hear.

For the many, held fast and deluded by custom, do not even discern the absurdity of these things, but stand in need of others to teach them.

For there are dances and cymbals and flutes and shameful words and songs and drunken revels and carousings, and much of the devil's rubbish is then brought in.

And I know indeed that I shall seem ridiculous in laying hold of these things, and shall incur much charge of folly among the many, in moving the ancient customs;

for, as I said before, great is the delusion of custom;

but nevertheless I will not cease saying these things.

For perhaps, perhaps, even if not all, yet some few will approve of us, and will choose to be laughed at along with us, rather than that we should laugh together with those others a laughter worthy of tears and of much chastisement and punishment.

For how would it not be worthy of the utmost condemnation, that a virgin kept in the bridal chamber throughout, and taught from earliest age to be modest, should suddenly be compelled to pour out all her modesty, and from the very prelude of the marriage be trained in shamelessness, and be set forth in the midst before licentious and unseemly men, fornicators and effeminates? For what evil will not be planted in the bride from that day forth? Shamelessness, boldness, effrontery, love of unfitting glory;

for they will even wish to have all their days such as these.

Hence women become extravagant and prodigal, hence shameless, hence come to them ten thousand evils.

And do not tell me of custom.

For if it is wicked, let it not be done even once;

but if it is good, let it always be done.

For tell me, is fornication not wicked? Shall we then permit this to happen even once? By no means.

Why? Because even if it happen once, it is wicked all the same.

So that the decking out of the bride in this fashion, if it is wicked, let it not be done even once;

but if it is not wicked, let it be done always.

What then, he says, do you disparage marriage, tell me? God forbid;

I am not so mad, but rather the things that are wrongly dragged in along with marriage—the cosmetic paints, the pencilling of the eyes, and all the rest of the fussy vanity.

For from that day she will gain many lovers, even before the one who is to dwell with her.

But many will admire the woman for her beauty.

And what of that? For if she is chaste, she will scarcely escape wicked suspicion;

but if she is careless, she will quickly even be taken captive, having taken that day as an occasion for licentiousness.

But nevertheless, though there are so many evils, when these things do not take place, they who are nothing better than cattle call the matter an insult, and make it a dreadful thing that the woman should not be displayed to many, nor set forth as a common spectacle to the onlookers.

And yet one ought to reckon the things that take place as an insult and a laughing-stock and a farce;

since even now I know that they will condemn us for much folly and laughter;

but I will bear the laughter, whenever some gain may come of it.

For indeed I should be ridiculous if, while exhorting others to despise the opinion of the many, I myself before all others should be mastered by the passion.

not by day only, but even in the evening, men drunken and stupefied and inflamed by luxury, who prepare to gaze upon the beauty of a virgin's countenance.

And not even at the house, but through the market-place also they parade her for display, escorting her with torches in the deep evening, so as to display her to all, doing nothing else by their doings than exhorting that henceforth all modesty must be stripped away.

And they do not even stop at these things, but lead her along with shameful words;

and this is a law among the many.

And runaway slaves and floggable rascals, ten thousand of them, ruinous fellows, thereafter utter with all impunity whatever they please, both against her and against the man who is to dwell with her;

and nothing solemn, but all things full of unseemliness.

Will the bride, then, gain a fair teaching of chastity, seeing such things and hearing such things? And there is a certain diabolical rivalry among those who give such exhortations, to outdo one another

in the eager ambition of insults and shameful words, by which they put to shame those who come together; and those went off victorious who flung out the more numerous insults and the greater obscenities.

And I know indeed that I am a burdensome and irksome and troublesome fellow, as one who cuts off some pleasure of life.

For on this account I mourn, that the distasteful things have been reckoned to be a kind of pleasure.

For how is it not distasteful, tell me, to be insulted and reviled, to be dishonoured by all together with the bride? And if one man of the market-place speaks ill of your consort, you set ten thousand things in motion, and think life not worth living;

but when in the presence of the whole city you behave unseemly together with her who is to dwell with you, you rejoice and preen yourself? And of how great madness is this? But the thing is a custom, he says.

For this above all is worthy of lamentation, that the devil has shut up the matter under the guise of custom.

For since marriage is a solemn thing, which holds our race together and is the cause of many blessings, that wicked one, stung by it and knowing that it stands as a bulwark raised against fornication, brings in through another door every kind of fornication.

Indeed, many virgins have been put to shame amid such assemblies;

and even if this does not happen everywhere, it suffices meanwhile for the demon that there be those words and those wicked songs, and that the bride be made a public spectacle, and the bridegroom paraded through the marketplace.

Then, since these things take place in the evening, so that not even the darkness may serve as a curtain over these evils, many torches are brought in, which do not allow the shamefulness to lie hidden.

For what does the great crowd want? What does the drunkenness want? What do the pipes want? Is it not perfectly clear that it is so that not even those who are indoors and plunged in deep sleep may be ignorant of these things, but, roused by the pipe and leaning down from above over the railings, may become witnesses of that comedy? And what should one say of the songs themselves, which are full of every wantonness, ushering in monstrous loves and unlawful unions and the overthrow of households and countless tragedies, and having much of the name of the lover and the beloved man, and of the loving and the beloved woman? And what is yet harder, that virgins too take part in these, having stripped off all modesty, in honor—or rather in outrage—of her who is being wed, drinking away their own salvation, and behaving unseemly amid wanton youths with disorderly songs, with shameful words, with satanic music.

Do you then still ask me, tell me, whence come adulteries? whence fornications? whence the ruin of marriages? But the well-born and the respectable, he says, do not do these things.

How then do you laugh me to scorn, when you yourself, before me, know this law? For if the things done are good, then let those women also do them.

For because these women live in poverty, are they therefore not also virgins, and ought they not also to take care of chastity? But now a virgin dances in a public theater of wanton youths—tell me—and does she not seem to you more dishonorable than the harlot? And if you say that it is serving-maids who do these things, not even so do I release you from the accusation;

for neither ought it to have been permitted to these either.

For from these very things all the evils are born—that we take no account of our household servants;

but it suffices, as an excuse for contempt, to say, 'He is but a slave,' and 'They are but serving-maids;'

and this, though every day we hear that in Christ Jesus there is neither slave nor free.

But you do not despise a horse or an ass, but do everything so that they may not turn out worthless;

yet do you overlook slaves who share the same soul with you? And why do I speak of slaves, when it is even a matter of sons and daughters? What then comes after these things? Grief must straightway come in, since all those first things are being pulled down;

and often the greatest loss is also brought about, when amid the throng and the tumult certain precious pieces of gold are lost.

Then after the wedding, if ever a child is born, here again we shall see the same folly, and many signs full of laughter.

For indeed, when the child must be named, letting go of naming it after the saints—as the ancients did at the first—they light lamps and give them names, and make the child namesake of the one that has lasted longest, thereby conjecturing that it will live a long time.

But if the child chances to meet an untimely death (as often happens), great will be the laughter that follows from the devil, because he has made sport of them as of foolish children.

And what should one say of the amulets and the little bells hung from the hand and the scarlet thread and the other things full of great folly, when one ought to hang nothing else about the child but the safeguard that comes from the cross? But now this cross is despised—the cross that turned the whole world about, and dealt the devil a grievous blow, and overthrew all his power;

yet to weft and warp and the other such charms the safety of the child is entrusted.

Shall I tell you something else more laughable than this? But let no one condemn us for untimeliness, if our discourse proceeds even as far as these matters.

For he who wishes to cleanse away the rottenness will not shrink from first soiling his own hands.

What then is this laughable thing? That which seems to be nothing at all (for this is why I groan), yet is the beginning of madness and of the utmost derangement.

The women in the bath—nurses and serving-maids—taking up mud, and smearing it with their finger, mark it upon the child's forehead;

and if one asks, 'What does the mud mean? what does the clay mean?' 'It turns aside the evil eye,' she says, 'and witchcraft and envy.'

Bless me, the strength of the mud and the power of the clay—how great is the might it has!

It turns aside the whole battle-array of the devil.

Will you not hide your faces for shame, tell me? Will you not understand at long last the snares of the devil—how from the earliest age, little by little, the devil introduces his own contrivances? For if the mud does this, why do you not also do the same upon your own forehead, being a man and come to full stature, and having more of those who envy you than the child does? Why do you not also besmear your whole body with mud? For if upon the forehead it has such strength, why do you not smear your whole self with mud? These things are laughter and satanic buffoonery, overturning those who are deceived not only into mockery but even into hell.

And that these things should be done among the Greeks is nothing to wonder at;

but that among those who worship the cross, and who have partaken of ineffable mysteries, and who profess so lofty a philosophy, this shamefulness should prevail—this is what is worthy of many lamentations.

God has honored you with spiritual chrism, and do you defile the child with mud? God has honored you, and do you dishonor yourself? And when you ought to inscribe the cross upon the forehead, which affords an invincible safeguard,

yet you, forsaking these things, fall down into satanic folly? And if to some these things seem trifling, let them learn that they are the cause of great evils, and that not even the small things did it seem right to Paul to overlook.

For what, tell me, is a smaller matter than a man's covering his head? Yet see how great zeal he shows about it, and with what vehemence he forbids it, saying many other things, and that a man dishonors his head.

And if he who covers his head dishonors his head, does not he who smears it with mud also make the child an abomination? For how, tell me, does he bring it to the hands of the priest? How do you deem it fit that a seal be set upon the forehead by the presbyter's hand, where you have smeared the mud? Not so, brethren, not so; but from the earliest age fence them about with spiritual weapons, and train them to seal the forehead with the hand;

and before they are able to do this with their own hand, do you yourselves imprint the cross upon them.

And what should one say of the other satanic observances at the time of birth-pangs and childbirths, which the midwives bring in to the hurt of their own head? And those at death and at each funeral—the wailings, the irrational lamentations, the folly at the tombs, the fuss about the graves, the untimely and ridiculous swarm of the mourning women, the observance of days, of comings-in and goings-out? Is it, then, the glory that comes of these things, tell me, that you hunt after? And how is it not the utmost folly, that men so corrupt in their judgments, and doing everything at haphazard, should seek after glory,

when one ought always to flee for refuge to the sleepless Eye, and, looking to His verdict, to do and to say all things? For these men, even if they praise, will be able to profit us nothing;

but He, if He approve of what is done, will both make us glorious here, and in the day to come will impart to us the ineffable good things;

which may it be for us all to attain, by the grace and lovingkindness of our Lord Jesus Christ, with whom to the Father together with the Holy Spirit be glory, dominion, honor, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.