Homilies on First Corinthians 14

'For this cause I have sent unto you Timothy, who is my beloved and faithful child in the Lord, who shall remind you of my ways which are in Christ Jesus.'

Consider with me here too the noble soul, hotter and swifter than fire.

For he himself wished above all to come to the Corinthians, sick and factious as they were.

For he knew clearly both how greatly his presence profited the disciples, and how greatly his absence harmed them.

The one point he made plain in the Epistle to the Philippians, when he said:

'Not as in my presence only, but now much more in my absence, work out your own salvation with fear and trembling.'

The other point he shows in this very Epistle.

'Now some are puffed up, as though I were not coming to you; but I will come.'

He was indeed pressing forward and longing to come in person;

but since for the time being this was not possible, he sets them right by the promise of his coming.

And not this only, but also by the sending of his disciple.

'For this cause,' he says, 'I have sent unto you Timothy.'

Of what kind is he? 'Since I care for you as for children, and as one who has begotten you.'

And along with the commendation of the person comes the Epistle itself:

'Who is my beloved and faithful child in the Lord.'

This he said both to display his own love, and to prepare them to regard him with reverence when they saw him.

And not simply 'faithful,' but 'in the Lord,' that is, in the things that pertain to the Lord.

But if to be faithful in worldly matters is a matter of praise, much more so in spiritual ones.

If then he was his beloved child, consider how great was Paul's love, that he chose to be parted from him for the sake of the Corinthians.

And if he was also faithful, he would minister to the affairs blamelessly.

He did not say 'He will teach,' lest they should be indignant, as though learning from him.

For this reason also toward the end he says:

'For he works the work of the Lord, even as I also do.'

'Let no one therefore despise him.'

For there was no envy among the apostles, but they looked to one thing only, the building up of the Church;

and if the one working was of lesser account, they supported him with all diligence.

For this reason he was not content to say 'He will remind you,' but carries the discourse further, wishing to cut off their envy (for Timothy was young):

'Not his own ways, but mine,' that is, my dispensations, my perils, my customs, my laws, my ordinances, my apostolic canons, and all the rest.

For since he had said, 'We are naked and buffeted and unsettled,' 'all these things,' he says, 'he will call to your remembrance, and the laws of Christ, so as to do away with the schisms.'

Then, carrying the discourse yet higher, he added:

referring everything, as is his custom, to the Master, and thereby establishing the trustworthiness of what follows:

'As I teach everywhere in every Church.'

'I have said nothing new to you;'

'to these things all the other Churches also bear witness with me.'

And he calls them 'ways in Christ,' showing that they have nothing human in them, and that with the help from thence he accomplishes all things aright.

Having said these things and healed them, and being about to enter upon the accusation of him who had committed fornication, he again lets fall words full of indignation, not himself suffering this, but setting them right:

and letting go the fornicator, he addresses himself to the rest, not deeming him worthy even of any words from himself;

which is what we do in the case of servants who have given very great offence.

And since he had said, 'I am sending Timothy,' lest by this they should become more negligent, observe what he says:

'Now some are puffed up, as though I were not coming to you.'

For here he lays hold both of those men and of certain others, beating down their arrogance.

For the charge is one of love of rule, having used the absence of the

teacher for the purpose of arrogance.

When, therefore, he is discoursing to the many, observe how he does it in a way that shames them;

but when to those who are the guilty ones, more vehemently.

For to the former he says, 'the offscouring of all things,' and soothing them he says:

'I write not these things to shame you.'

but to these he says, 'Now some are puffed up, as though I were not coming to you,' showing that arrogance is a mark of a childish mind;

for children too become more negligent through the absence of the teacher.

This then he indicates, and also that his presence is sufficient for their correction.

For just as the presence of a lion makes all the beasts to cower;

so also the presence of Paul makes those who were corrupting the Church.

'But I will come to you shortly, if the Lord will.'

But to say only this seemed to be a matter of threat;

whereas both to promise the proof from the deeds himself, and to demand it of them—this was the mark of a magnanimous mind.

Wherefore also he added this, saying:

'And I will know, not the speech of them that are puffed up, but the power.'

For their arrogance came not from any achievements of their own, but from the absence of the teacher;

which very thing was also the mark of a contemptuous disposition.

For this reason, having said 'I have sent Timothy,' he did not immediately say 'I will come,' but first having accused them of being puffed up, he then says:

For if he had set it down before the accusation, it would rather have become an excuse of his own, as of one not left behind, and not a threat, nor would this word have been credible;

but now, having placed it after the accusation, he made himself both credible and to be feared.

And observe his firmness and caution.

For he did not simply say 'I will come,' but 'If the Lord will;'

and he does not set a fixed time.

For since it happened that he came slowly, by the uncertainty he wishes to keep them in a state of anxious suspense.

And lest on this account they should again grow slack, he added:

'And I will know, not the speech of them that are puffed up, but the power.'

He did not say, 'I will know the wisdom,' nor 'the signs,' but what? 'Not the speech;'

at once bearing that down by the name, and exalting this.

And for the present he directs his words against the others, those who were supporting the fornicator.

For if he had been speaking to that man, he would not have said 'the power,' but 'the works,' which in his case were corrupted.

And why do you not seek the speech? Not because I am at a loss for speech, but because our things are in power.

Just as in war it is not those who speak much who win the day, but those who accomplish much,

so also here the victory belongs not to those who talk, but to those who do.

'You pride yourself on eloquence,' he says;

but if the contest and the occasion were that of orators, you would rightly be proud on this account;

yet if it is a matter of apostles proclaiming the truth and confirming it with signs, why are you puffed up over a thing that is superfluous and worth nothing, and cannot even contribute anything to the present business? For what could a display of words accomplish toward raising the dead, or driving out demons, or working any other such wonder? But it is these that are now needed, and by these that our cause is established.

'For the kingdom of God is not in word, but in power.'

'Through signs,' he says, 'not through eloquence, have we prevailed, and in proof that our teaching is divine and proclaims the kingdom of heaven, we offer as the greatest demonstration the signs which we work by the power of the Spirit.'

'If, then, those who are now puffed up wish to be somebody great, let them show, when I come, whether they possess any such power;

and let them not parade before me their swelling words;

for that art is nothing to us.'

'What will you? Shall I come to you with a rod, or in love and in a spirit of gentleness?' This saying has in it much that is fearful and much that is kindly.

For to say, 'I will know,' still belonged to one holding back;

but to say, 'What will you? Shall I come to you with a rod?' belonged to one now ascending the teacher's throne, and thence discoursing with them, and taking up all his authority.

What means 'With a rod'? With chastisement, with punishment; that is, 'I will destroy, I will maim';

which is what Peter did in the case of Sapphira, and what he himself did to Elymas the sorcerer.

He speaks henceforth not as one comparing himself with them, but with authority.

And in the second Epistle too he plainly says this same thing, when he says:

'Since you seek a proof of Christ speaking in me.'

'Shall I come with a rod, or in love?' Why—was it not of love to come with a rod? Indeed it was of love;

but because in his great love he shrinks back from punishment, for this reason he speaks thus.

When, therefore, he spoke of punishment, he did not say 'and in a spirit of gentleness,' but 'With a rod.'

And yet that too was done by the Spirit;

for there is a spirit of gentleness, and a spirit of severity;

but he does not wish so to name it, but rather from its kindlier aspect.

For this reason God also, even though He punishes, is in many places said to be merciful and longsuffering and rich in mercy and compassion;

but that He is one who chastises, is said only once or twice and rarely, and even then when the cause presses hard.

Though himself having the authority over both this and that, he makes others lords of it, saying, 'What will you? The matter lies in yourselves.'

For we too are lords of both this and that—both of falling into hell, and of attaining the kingdom;

since God has so willed it.

'For behold,' He says, 'fire and water;

wherever you will, you may stretch out your hand';

and, 'If you be willing and hearken to Me, you shall eat the good things of the land.'

But perhaps someone will say, 'I am willing.'

And no one is so senseless as not to will;

'but the willing does not suffice for me.'

And yet it does suffice, if you will as you ought, and do the deeds of one who wills.

And let us, if it seems good, exercise this point on other examples.

For tell me, does he who wishes to take a wife content himself with willing? By no means; but he also seeks out matchmakers, and asks his friends to keep watch with him, and gathers money.

Again, the merchant, sitting at home, does not content himself with willing, but hires a ship, and enlists sailors and oarsmen, and borrows money, and busies himself about a market and the prices of wares.

How then is it not absurd that men should display such zeal for the things of earth, yet, when about to trade for heaven, content themselves with willing alone? Or rather, not even display this with the fitting zeal? For he who wills as he ought lays hold also of the things that lead to that which he wills. Indeed, when hunger compels you to be nourished, you do not wait for the food to come to you of itself, but do everything to gather your sustenance;

and in thirst, and in cold, and in all other such things alike, you are active and drawn up in array for the care of the body.

This, then, do also concerning the kingdom, and you shall assuredly attain it.

For this reason God made you self-determining, that you might not afterward accuse God as though bound by necessity.

But do you, for the very things in which you have enjoyed honor, feel resentment? For indeed I have heard many saying:

'Why did He make me lord of virtue?' But how ought He to have led up to heaven one who is sleeping and drowsy, and reaching after vice, and living in luxury and gluttony? Yet then you would not have departed from vice.

For if now, when a threat lies before you, not even so do you depart from wickedness;

if He had also set heaven before you as a prize, when would you ever have ceased, becoming yet more slothful and far worse? For neither will you be able to say this, that 'He showed the good things indeed, but did not help';

for indeed He promises you great alliance.

'But virtue,' he says, 'is burdensome and grievous, while with vice much pleasure is mingled;

and the one is broad and spacious, but the other narrow and afflicted.'

Is it, tell me, throughout, or from the beginning, that both are such? For even against your will you say these things which you say in favor of virtue;

for if there were two roads, the one leading to a furnace, the other to paradise, and the broad were that leading to the furnace, but the narrow that leading to paradise, which road would you rather choose? Even though you now, in contentiousness, gainsay it, yet against things so fully agreed on, even if you are utterly shameless, you will not be able to gainsay.

That this is rather to be chosen—the one having a difficult beginning, but not so the end—I will try to teach you from the things at hand.

And, if you will, let us first handle the crafts;

they have a beginning full of toil, but the end is profitable.

'But no one,' he says, 'has laid hold of a craft without having one to compel him.'

'For when the youth is his own master,' he says, 'he will rather choose to live in luxury at the beginning, and at the end to suffer countless evils, than to endure hardship in the outset, and afterward to reap the fruits of those toils.'

Therefore to choose such things belongs to an orphaned mind and a childish slothfulness;

but to choose the opposite belongs to understanding and manliness.

So then we too, if we were not children in mind, should have been made like, not to that orphaned and senseless one, but to him who has a father.

We must, then, cast out the childish mind, and not lay the blame on the things themselves;

and set the charioteer over the conscience, who will not suffer it to be given to gluttony, but to run and to strive.

For how is it not absurd, that children should with hardship be led at the beginning to matters whose openings are indeed toilsome, but the end good;

while we ourselves should be disposed just the opposite in spiritual matters? And yet, even in the affairs of this life it is by no means certain that the end will be good.

For untimely death, and poverty, and false accusation, and change of circumstances, and many other such things, have often, after many toils, caused men to be deprived of the fruits.

And even if those who pursue them succeed, they will reap nothing great;

for together with the present life all those things are dissolved as well.

But here we do not even run for such cold and perishable things, nor do we fear concerning the end, but the hope after our departure hence is both greater and more secure.

What excuse, then, will there be? What defense, for those unwilling to strip themselves for the toils on behalf of virtue? But they yet ask:

'Why is the way narrow?' And yet you do not deem it right that any of the fornicators and the drunkards and the lewd should enter into the earthly palaces;

And yet you claim that men should be brought into heaven itself along with their reckless ease, their luxury, their drunkenness, their greed, and every kind of wickedness? And how can such things deserve any pardon? IV.

But that is not what I am saying, he replies; rather, why was virtue not made a broad and easy road?

And indeed, if we are but willing, it is exceedingly easy.

For what, tell me, is easier: to break through a wall, seize what belongs to others, and afterward be cast into prison, or to be content with what one has and be freed from all fear? And yet I have not even said the whole of it.

For what, tell me, is easier: to steal from everyone and revel in luxury for a brief time, only then to be racked and scourged forever, or to live a short season in honest poverty and thereafter enjoy delight without end? Let us not yet examine which is more profitable, but for now which is easier.

And which is more pleasant: to see a good dream yet be truly punished, or to see a grievous dream yet truly live in delight? Is it not perfectly clear that the latter is preferable? How then, tell me, do you call virtue a rough road? It seems rough only when measured against our own slothfulness.

But that it is in fact light and easy, hear what Christ says:

'My yoke is good, and my burden is light.'

But if you do not perceive its lightness, it is plain that you do not possess a vigorous resolve.

For just as, when this is present, even heavy things are light, so when it is absent, even light things are heavy.

For what, tell me, was sweeter and less toilsome than the table of manna? Yet the Jews grew discontented, though they enjoyed such delicate fare.

What is more bitter than famine, and than the other hardships which Paul endured? Yet he leaped for joy and rejoiced and said:

'Now I rejoice in my sufferings.'

What then is the cause? The difference of disposition.

If, then, you form this disposition to be what it ought to be, you will see the easiness of virtue.

What then—does it become such merely from the disposition of those who pursue it? someone asks. Not from disposition alone, but it is also by nature something of this kind.

For if the one were toilsome throughout and the other throughout the opposite, then one of the faint-hearted might reasonably say that the latter is easier than the former;

but if they have beginnings—the one hard, the other pleasant—while their ends are again the reverse of these, and the ends are boundless, the one bringing pleasure and the other heaviness, which, tell me, is easier to choose? Why then do not the many choose the easy one? Because some are without faith, while others, though believing, have a corrupted disposition and would choose the transient.

Is that, then, easy? It is not easy, but is the mark of a feeble soul.

And just as those in fever long for cold drink—not because it is more pleasant to indulge briefly than to be wholly consumed by heat, but because they cannot restrain their unnatural craving—

so that, if someone were to lead them to their punishment together with the pleasure, they would never choose it.

Do you see how wickedness is not easy? And if you wish, let us examine this very same point once again in the actual affairs of life.

For what, tell me, is more pleasant and more easy? But again let us not judge matters by the craving of the many;

for one must reckon not from the sick, but from the healthy.

For even if you show me ten thousand men in fever seeking what is contrary to health and afterward choosing to be punished, I will not accept that choice.

What then, tell me, is easier: to crave much wealth, or to be greater than this craving? To me at least this latter seems so;

but if you yourself do not believe it, let us bring the argument to the facts themselves.

Let there be one man who craves much and another who craves nothing;

which then, tell me, is better and which more honorable? V.

For this is agreed, that the latter is more honorable than the former;

and about this we are not now inquiring, but rather who lives an easier and more pleasant life.

For the lover of money will not even enjoy what he possesses;

for what he loves he would never bring himself to spend, but would gladly cut himself to pieces and give up his own flesh rather than his gold;

whereas the one who despises riches has thereby already gained this: to enjoy what he has simply and with great freedom from care, and to set himself above his possessions.

Which then is more pleasant: to enjoy one's goods without anxiety, or to live under wealth as one's master, not daring to lay a hand on anything of one's own? For it seems to me to be like this: as if certain men, each having a wife and loving her exceedingly, did not treat their wives alike;

but the one is permitted both to touch and to consort with his wife, while the other is not even allowed to come near her.

Let me put it yet another way, showing the pleasure of the one and the despondency of the other.

The lover of money will never cease from this craving, not only because he cannot lay hold of everyone's goods, but also because, whatever he encompasses, he counts as nothing that he possesses it;

but the one who despises riches will regard all these things as superfluous, and will not punish his soul with endless cravings.

For nothing is so productive of punishment as a craving after enjoyment that is deprived of its object—which above all also reveals a perverted disposition;

the one who craves money and has acquired more of it is disposed as though he possessed nothing—such is his condition;

could there be anything more tangled than this disease? And this is not the only dreadful thing, but also that, even while possessing, he does not seem to himself to possess the very things he holds, and mourns as though he had them not;

and even if he should seize everyone's goods, he is all the more distressed;

and if he acquires a hundred talents, he grieves that he did not get a thousand; and if he gets a thousand, he is stung that it was not ten thousand;

and if he gets ten thousand, he is cut to the heart that it was not ten times that much;

and his ever-increasing possession becomes for him an increase of poverty;

for the more he gets, the more he craves.

Therefore the more he gets, the poorer he becomes;

for the one who craves more is the poorer.

So when he has a hundred talents, he is not yet exceedingly destitute;

but when he gets a thousand, then he becomes the poorer;

for one may now say that he stands in need no longer of a thousand as before, but of ten thousand.

But if you call craving without attaining it a pleasure, you seem to me to be quite ignorant of the nature of pleasure.

That such a thing is not pleasure but punishment, let us examine by bringing it to yet another instance.

When we are thirsty, we take pleasure in drinking not for any other reason than that we put an end to the thirst; and drinking is a pleasure for this reason, that it delivers us from a great torment—I mean the craving to drink. Is this not plain to everyone?

But if we are always to dwell in such a craving, we shall be no better off, in respect of punishment, than the rich man in the story of Lazarus;

since for him too this was the punishment—that, craving vehemently a small drop, he had no one to supply it;

which is exactly what the lovers of money seem to me to suffer continually, and even like that man;

being like one who longs to enjoy that drop and yet does not attain it;

for their soul burns more fiercely than his.

And well did someone say that the lovers of money are like men afflicted with dropsy.

For just as those men, carrying much water in the body, are all the more inflamed with thirst;

so also the lovers of money, carrying about much wealth, crave still more.

And the cause is that neither do the former have the water in its proper places, nor do the latter have their craving within its proper bounds of reason.

Let us therefore flee this strange and empty disease, let us flee the root of all evils, let us flee the hell that is already present;

for the craving after these things is itself a hell.

Unfold, then, the soul of each—of the one who despises riches and of the one who does not despise them;

and you will see that the one resembles the madmen, wishing neither to see nor to hear anything;

while the other is like a harbor freed from the waves, and is a friend to all, just as that other is an enemy.

For if anyone takes from him, he is not grieved; and if again anyone gives to him, he is not puffed up; but there is in him a certain liberty that possesses all boldness and freedom from fear.

And the one man is compelled to flatter and dissemble before all, while the other is compelled to do so before none.

If then the lover of money is both poor and cowardly, both dissembling and hypocritical, and full of fears and of much vengeance and punishment, while the one who despises wealth enjoys all the opposite things, is it not perfectly clear that virtue is the more pleasant? And we might have gone on to the remaining evils, through which it is shown that no evil possesses pleasure, had not much already been said by us before.

Knowing these things, therefore, let us choose virtue, that we may both enjoy the pleasure here and attain the good things to come, by the grace and lovingkindness, and so forth.