Works (CSEL) 10

The story of Naboth is old in time, but daily in its practice. For which of the rich does not daily covet what belongs to others? Which of the most opulent does not strive to drive the poor man from his little plot and to thrust the needy out of the bounds of his ancestral field? Who is content with what is his own? Whose mind is not inflamed by a neighbor's possession? Therefore it was not one Ahab who was born, but what is worse, every day an Ahab is born, and he never dies to this world. If one perishes, very many rise up. There are more who plunder than who lose. It was not one poor Naboth who was slain; every day Naboth is laid low, every day the poor man is slain.

Smitten by this fear, the human race now yields up its own lands; the poor man, burdened with his pledge, migrates with his little ones; his wife follows weeping, as though escorting her husband to the grave. Yet she who bewails the death of her own laments less, because, though she has lost the protection of her spouse, she still keeps his tomb; though she does not keep her sons, yet she does not grieve over exiles, nor groan over the fastings of her tender offspring, which are heavier than funerals. How long, you rich, will you stretch out your insane desires? Will you alone dwell upon the earth? Why do you cast out the partner of nature and claim for yourselves the possession of nature? The earth was founded in common for all, for rich and poor alike: why, you rich, do you arrogate to yourselves a private right to the soil?

Nature, which brings forth all men as poor, knows no rich. For we are not born with garments, nor are we begotten with gold and silver. Naked she brings us forth into the light, in want of food, of clothing, of drink; naked the earth receives those whom she has brought forth, and knows not how to enclose the bounds of possessions within the tomb. A narrow turf suffices alike for poor and rich, and the earth, which did not contain the desire of the living man, now contains the whole rich man. Nature therefore knows not how to distinguish when we are born, nor knows it when we die. She creates all alike, she encloses all alike in the bosom of the tomb. Who can distinguish the appearances of the dead? Open the earth again, and, if you can, discover the rich man.

Clear away the mound a little later and, if you recognize him, prove him to have been a rich man — unless perhaps by this alone, that more things perish with the rich. The silken garments and the coverings interwoven with gold, with which the rich man's body is surrounded, are the losses of the living, not the supports of the dead. You receive ointment, rich man, and you stink; you lose another's favor and do not acquire your own. You leave heirs to quarrel. To your heirs you leave a deposit that is more a burden of inheritance than a voluntary benefit, who will fear to diminish or violate what is left. If the heirs are thrifty, they guard it; if they are extravagant, they exhaust it. And so you either condemn good heirs to perpetual anxiety, or you leave bad ones, that they may condemn what you have done. But what do you think, that

that while you live, you abound in all things? O rich man, you know not how poor you are, how needy you seem to yourself, you who call yourself rich. The more you have, the more you seek, and whatever you acquire, you are still in want. Avarice is inflamed by gain, not extinguished. Greed has, as it were, certain steps; the more steps it climbs, the more it hastens toward higher things, whence the fall is grievous for one about to slip. Yet that man was more tolerable when, having less, in the contemplation of his own means he sought only moderate things; with the increase of his patrimony came an increase of greed. He does not wish to be base in his wishes, poor in his desires. Thus he joins two intolerable things together, so that he both increases the ambitious hope of a rich man and does not lay aside the disposition of a beggar.

Indeed the divine Scripture teaches us how wretchedly he is in want, how abjectly he begs. King Ahab was in Israel, and poor Naboth. The one overflowed with the wealth of a kingdom, the other possessed the turf of a narrow plot of soil. The poor man coveted nothing from the rich man's possessions; the king seemed to himself to be in need, because his poor neighbor had a vineyard. Who then seems to you the poor man? He who is content with his own, or he who covets another's? The one is surely poor in appearance of means, the other is poor in disposition. The rich disposition knows not how to be in want, the abundant means cannot fill the heart of the greedy. And therefore the covetous rich man is in the envy of possession and the complaint of poverty. But now let us consider the words of Scripture. 'And it came to pass,' it says, 'after these words.'

'Naboth the Israelite had a vineyard in Israel, near the house of Ahab king of Samaria. And Ahab spoke to Naboth, saying: Give me your vineyard, and it shall be to me for a garden of herbs, since it is near to my house, and I will give you another vineyard in its place. And if it please you, I will give you money for this vineyard, and it shall be to me for a garden of herbs. And Naboth said to Ahab: God forbid that I should give you the inheritance of my fathers. And his spirit was troubled, and he lay down on his bed and veiled his face and ate no bread.' The divine Scripture had related above that Elisha, though he was poor, left his oxen and ran to Elijah, and killed them and distributed them to the people, and cleaved to the prophet.

Therefore these things have been set forth beforehand for the condemnation of the rich man, who is portrayed in this king, in that, having the benefits of God — like this Ahab, to whom the Lord granted both a kingdom and rain by the prayer of Elijah the prophet — he violated the divine commandments. Let us hear then what he says. 'Give me,' he says. What other voice is that of the needy, what other voice of one demanding public alms, than 'Give me'? This is, 'Give me, for I am in want. Give me, for I can have no other means of living. Give me, for I have no bread for food, no coin for drink, no expense for nourishment, no substance for clothing. Give me, for the Lord has given you whence you ought to bestow, but to me He has not given. Give me, for unless you give, I shall not be able to have. Give me, for it is written:'

'Give alms.' How abject these words are, how base! For they have not the disposition of humility, but the burning of greed. Yet in this very debasement, how great is the shamelessness! 'Give me,' he says, 'your vineyard.' He confesses it to be another's, that he may demand what is not owed to him. 'And I will give you,' he says, 'another vineyard in its place.' The rich man scorns what is his own as worthless, and covets what is another's as most precious. 'And if it please you, I will give you money.' He quickly corrects his error by offering money for the vineyard; for he wishes another to possess nothing, who desires to seize everything for his own possessions. 'And it shall be to me,' he says, 'for a garden of herbs.' This then was all his madness, this all his fury, that a space should be sought for cheap garden-herbs.

So you do not so much desire to possess these things as useful, as you wish to shut others out. Your concern for the spoils of the poor is greater than for your own profits. You count it an injury to yourselves if the poor man has anything that may be judged worthy of a rich man's possession. You believe whatever belongs to another to be your loss. Why do the losses of nature delight you? The world was created for all, which you few rich men try to claim for yourselves. For not only the possession of land, but the very heaven, the air, and the sea are claimed for the use of a few rich men. This air, which you enclose within your widespread possessions — how many peoples can it nourish! Do the angels have the spaces of heaven divided among them, as you mark off the earth with set boundaries? The prophet cries out:

'Woe to those who join house to house and farm to farm,' and he reproves them for their ineffectual avarice. For they flee from dwelling together with men, and therefore they exclude their neighbors; but they cannot flee, because when they have shut these out, they find others again, and when they have driven away those, they must of necessity come to the vicinity of others; for they cannot dwell alone upon the earth. The birds associate themselves with birds; in the end the sky is often covered by the flight of a great flock; the herd is joined to the herd, the fishes to the fishes, and they count it no loss, but a fellowship of living, when they take to themselves the largest company and seek, as it were, a kind of protection in the solace of more frequent society.

You alone, O man, shut out your fellow, you take in wild beasts, you build dwellings for animals, you destroy those of men, you bring the sea within your estates, that wild beasts may not be lacking, you extend the bounds of the land, that you may not have a neighbor. We have heard the voice of the rich man seeking what is another's; let us hear the voice of the poor man claiming his own: 'God forbid,' he says, 'that I should give you the inheritance of my fathers.' As though he reckons the rich man's money to be a kind of contagion to himself, as if he were to say: 'Your money perish with you, but I cannot sell the inheritance of my fathers.'

You have something to follow, rich man, if you are wise: that you should not sell your field for the price of a harlot's night, nor pour out your right for the cost of a revel and the expenses of pleasures, nor adjudge your house to a game of dice, lest you lose the right of inherited piety. When he heard these things, the greedy spirit of the king was troubled. 'And he lay down on his bed and veiled his face and ate not his bread.' The rich grieve if they cannot snatch away what is another's; if the poor man does not yield his own goods, they cannot conceal the violence of their sorrow. They desire to sleep, they veil their faces, lest they should see anything in the world belonging to another, lest they should know that anything in this world is not their own, lest they should hear that a neighbor possesses anything beside them.

lest they should hear the poor man contradicting them: of such are the souls to whom the prophet says, 'Rich women, rise up.' 'And he ate not,' it says, 'his bread': because he sought what was another's; for indeed the rich eat another's bread rather than their own, who live by plunder and supply their expense by robberies. Or surely he ate not his bread, wishing to punish himself with death because something was denied him. Now compare the disposition of the poor man. He has nothing and knows not how to fast voluntarily except to God, knows not how to fast except from necessity. You snatch away from the poor everything indeed, you take away all, you leave nothing, yet you rich rather endure the penalty of the poor. They fast if they have not; you, when you have.

From yourselves therefore you first exact the penalty before you inflict it on the poor. You therefore by your own disposition pay the hardships of wretched poverty, and the poor indeed have nothing to use, while you yourselves neither use it nor allow others to use it. You dig out gold from the veins of the mine and hide it again. The lives of how many do you bury in that gold! For whom is it kept, when you have read of the greedy rich man: 'He hoards up treasures and knows not for whom he gathers them'? The idle heir waits, the disdainful heir complains that you die too late. He hates the increase of his inheritance, he hastens toward its losses. What then is more wretched, when you do not even leave behind any favor with him for whom you toil?

For his sake you endure hunger through all your gloomy days, fearing the daily losses of your table; for his sake you arrange daily fasts. I myself knew a rich man, going off to his field, who used to count the loaves carried smaller from the city, so that by the number of loaves it might be reckoned how many days he would be in the field. He was unwilling to open the sealed granary, lest anything should be diminished from his store. One loaf was allotted for a day, which could scarcely satisfy the niggard. I have also learned by trustworthy report that, if ever an egg was set before him, he would complain that a chick had been killed. I write this so that you may know that the justice of God is an avenger, which avenges the tears of the poor by your fasting. How religious a fast would it be, if you assigned to the poor the cost of your banquet!

More tolerable already was that rich man, from whose table the poor Lazarus gathered up the things that fell, desiring to be filled; but even his table consisted of the blood of many poor men, and his cups dripped with the gore of many whom he had driven to the snare. How many are slain, that what delights you may be procured! Deadly is your hunger, deadly your luxury. That man falls from the highest rooftops, to prepare ample storehouses for your grain. That man falls from the lofty summit of a tall tree, while he searches out kinds of grapes to bring down, from which wines worthy of your banquet may be poured. That man is drowned in the sea, while he fears lest a fish or oyster should be lacking from your table.

That man, in the wintry cold, while he strives to track hares or to catch birds with snares, is stiffened with frost. That man, before your eyes, if perchance something has displeased you, is beaten to death and bespatters the very banquet with shed blood. In the end he was rich who ordered the head of a poor prophet to be brought to him at table, and could find nothing else with which to pay the dancing-girl her reward, except to order a poor man to be slain. I myself have seen a poor man led away, while he was forced to pay what he had not, dragged to prison because wine was lacking for the table of a powerful man, leading his own sons to auction so that he might for a time defer his punishment — having perhaps found someone who would relieve him in that necessity.

The poor man returns to his lodging with his family, beholding all things plundered, nothing left to him for food, groaning over the hunger of his sons, grieving that he had not rather sold them to one who could feed them. He returns to deliberation, and takes up the resolve of selling. Yet the injury of want and the grace of paternal piety fought together; hunger urged him toward the price, nature toward duty. Ready to die together with his sons rather than to be separated from his sons, he often advanced his step, often called it back. Yet necessity, not will, conquered, and piety itself yielded to necessity. Let us now consider the storms of the father's mind, as he agonizes over which of his children he should first hand over. 'Whom,' he says, 'shall I sell first? For I know that the price of one is not enough for the feeding of the rest.'

This alone is the fruitfulness rich in hardship! 'Whom shall I offer? Whom will the auctioneer of grain look on with pleasure? Let me offer the firstborn. But he first called me father. This is the elder among my sons, whom I fittingly honor as the senior. But I will give the younger. Yet him I embrace with a tenderer love. The one I am ashamed before, the other I pity: for the one I sigh over his standing, for the other his age: the one already feels the hardship, the other knows it not: the grief of the one bends me, the ignorance of the other. Let me turn to the others. The one coaxes me more, the other is more bashful: the one is more like his parent, the other more useful: in the one I sell my own image, in the other I betray my hope. Wretched me, I find not what to do, I have not what to choose. The faces of calamities surround me, a chorus of hardships.'

This is a beastly madness, to choose whom you should hand over. The very wild beasts, when they perceive danger threatening their offspring and themselves, are wont to choose which they should set free, not which they should offer up. How then shall I distinguish the affection of nature, how shall I forget, how shall I strip off a father's mind? How shall I set up the auction of my son, with what speech shall I bargain the price, into whose hands shall I deliver my son into servitude, with what eyes shall I look upon him serving, with what kisses shall I bid farewell to him as he departs, with what words shall I excuse the deed? 'Son, I have sold you for my food.' More deadly therefore now is the table of the poor man than of the rich. The one sells strangers, I sell my own: the one imposes necessity, I bring forward my own will. That the cause may be more excusable, I will add:

'Son, you shall serve for your brothers, that food may be sought for them.' And Joseph too, sold by his brothers into servitude, afterward fed both them and his father. He will answer: 'But his father did not sell him, but wept over him as lost, but afterward too. He himself came into the power of a rich man and could scarcely be freed. Afterward his race served the riches of Egypt for a long age. Sell me last, father, on this condition, that the rich may not buy me.' I am stuck fast, I confess; but what shall I do? I will sell none. But while I consider one, I shall see all perishing of hunger. If I hand over one, with what eyes shall I see the rest, suspicious of my impiety, lest I sell the others too?

With what shame shall I return home, how shall I enter, in what disposition shall I dwell, I who have denied myself a son whom no disease consumed, whom no death took away? With what conscience shall I look upon my table, around which so many sons clothed it like young olive plants?' These things the poor man bewails in your presence, and avarice stops your ear, nor is your mind softened by the horror of the pitiable deed. The whole people groans, and you alone, rich man, are not bent, nor do you hear the Scripture saying: 'Lose money for the sake of a brother and a friend, and do not hide it under a stone unto death.' And because you do not hear, therefore Ecclesiastes cries out, saying: 'There is an evil sickness which I have seen under the sun, riches kept for the harm of him who possesses them.'

But perhaps you may return home and confer with your wife, that she may urge you to redeem the one who was sold. Nay rather she will urge you to provide a woman's finery, with which you could free the poor man even for a small sum. She will impose on you the necessity of expenses, that she may drink from a jewel, sleep in purple, recline on a silver couch-frame, load her hands with gold, her neck with necklaces. Women delight even in fetters, provided they are bound with gold. They do not think them burdens, if they are precious; they do not deem them chains, if a treasure glitters in them. Even wounds delight them, that gold may be inserted in the ears and pearls hang down. Gems too have their weights, and garments their chills. One sweats among the gems, one freezes in silks:

yet the prices please, and avarice commends what nature shuns. Emeralds and jacinths, beryl, agate, topaz, amethyst, jasper, sardius they seek with the utmost frenzy. Even if half a patrimony be demanded, they do not spare the expense, so long as they indulge their greed. I do not deny that there is a certain pleasing brilliance in those stones — but stones nonetheless. And they themselves, polished against nature, warn us, that as they laid aside the roughness of the rocks, rather the rigidity of the mind should be polished. 'What artisan could add a single day to a man's life? Whom have riches redeemed from the netherworld? Whose sickness has money soothed?' 'A man's life,' it says, 'is not in abundance.' And elsewhere: 'Treasures profit nothing to the unjust, but justice delivers from death.'

Rightly does David cry out: 'If riches increase, set not your heart upon them.' For what do they profit me, if they cannot free me from death? What do they profit me, if they cannot be with me after death? Here they are acquired, here they are left behind. Therefore we speak of a dream, not of a patrimony. Whence the same prophet says well of the rich: 'They have slept their sleep, and all the men of riches have found nothing in their hands' — that is: the rich have found nothing by their works, who have contributed nothing to the poor. They have aided no one's want, they could find nothing that profited toward their own advantage. Consider the very name. The pagans call Dis the ruler of the netherworld, the arbiter of death.

They call him both Dis and rich, because the rich man knows not how to bring anything but death, he whose kingdom is of the dead, whose seats are infernal. For what is the rich man but a certain insatiable whirlpool of riches, an insatiable hunger or thirst for gold? The more he draws in, the more he burns. 'He who loves silver,' it says, 'shall not be satisfied with silver,' and below: 'and indeed this is the worst sickness; for as it came, so also it departed, and its abundance labors after the wind. And indeed all his days are in darkness and mourning and much wrath and sickness and anger,' so that the condition of slaves is more tolerable; for they serve men, but he serves sin; for 'whoever commits sin is a slave of sin.'

Always in snares, always in chains, never free from fetters, because always in crimes. How wretched a servitude, to be a slave to sins! He knows not the offices of nature itself, nor knows the changes of sleep itself, nor enjoys the sweetness of food, whose servitude is in no respect exempt; for 'sweet is the sleep of the laborer, whether he eat little or much,' but for the man sated with riches there is none who lets him sleep. Greed rouses him, the sleepless care of snatching what is another's drives him on, envy torments him, delay vexes him, the barrenness of unfruitful yields disturbs him, abundance makes him anxious. Whence to that rich man, whose possession brought rich fruits, who thought within himself, saying: 'What shall I do, since I have nowhere to gather my fruits?' And he said:

'I will do this: I will pull down my barns and build greater, and there I will gather all that has grown for me, and I will say to my soul: Soul, you have many goods laid up for many years; rest, eat, drink, be merry.' God answered: 'Fool, this night they require your soul of you; and the things you have prepared, whose shall they be?' Not even God Himself permits him to sleep. He breaks in upon him as he thinks, He rouses him as he sleeps. But neither does he himself suffer himself to be at rest, who is troubled over his abundance and amid the plenty of his fruits utters the voice of one in need. 'What shall I do?' he says. Is not this the voice of the poor man, of one who has no means of living? Needy of all things, he looks here and there, he searches his lodging, he finds nothing for the use of nourishment.

He considers that nothing is more wretched than to be wasted by hunger and to die for lack of food; he seeks shortcuts to death and searches out the more tolerable torments of dying; he snatches up a sword, suspends a noose, kindles a fire, tries out poison. And amid these things, doubtful what to choose, he says: 'What shall I do?' Then, recalled by the sweetness of this life, he desires to recall his resolve, if he could find the substance of living. He looks upon all things bare, all things empty. He says: 'What shall I do? Whence comes my nourishment, whence my clothing? I wish to live, if I have how I might sustain this life — but with what food, with what supports?' 'What shall I do,' he says, 'since I have not?' The rich man cries out that he has nothing: this is the speech of poverty: he who abounds in fruits complains of want.

'I have not,' he says, 'where to gather my fruits.' You might think he were saying: 'I have no fruits whereby I must live.' Is he blessed who is endangered by abundance? Nay rather this man is more wretched by his fruitfulness than the poor man, whose danger is from want. The latter has something to excuse his hardship, he has indeed the injury, but not the fault: this man has none whom he may accuse besides himself. 'And he said: This I will do, I will pull down my barns.' You might think he still were saying: 'I will open my barns, let those enter who cannot endure hunger, let the needy come, let the poor go in, let them fill their bosoms. I will pull down the walls that shut out the hungry. Why should I hide what God makes to abound for me to bestow?'

'Why should I shut up with the bars of gates the grain with which God has filled the whole circuit of the fields, which is born and abounds without a keeper?' The hope of the greedy is vanquished, the old barns burst with new harvests. 'I had less and saved in vain; more has been born. For whom do I gather? While I lie in wait for the increase of prices, I have lost the use of benefits. How many souls of the poor could I have preserved with last year's grain? These prices would delight me more, which are reckoned not by coin but by grace. I will imitate holy Joseph by the proclamation of humanity, I will cry out with a loud voice: Come, you poor, eat my loaves, spread out your bosom, receive the grain.

The fruitfulness of the rich man, the abundance of the whole world, ought to be the fertility of all.' But you indeed do not say this, but you say: 'I will pull down my barns.' Rightly do you pull down those from which no poor man returns laden. They are barns, the receptacles of iniquity, not the supports of piety. Rightly does he pull them down, because he knows not how to build wisely. The rich man destroys his own, who knows not eternal things; he destroys his barns, who knows not how to divide his grain, but only to shut it up. 'And I will build greater,' he says. Unhappy man, dispense to the poor even that which you spend on the cost of building. While you flee the grace of liberality, you pay out the losses of building. And he added: 'There I will gather all that has grown for me, and I will say to my soul: My soul, you have many goods.'

The greedy man is always wasted by the plenty of his yields, while he reckons the cheapness of provisions. For fruitfulness is universal, but barrenness alone is profitable to the greedy. He delights more in the excess of prices than in the abundance of supplies, and he prefers to have alone what he might sell together with all. See him fearing lest the heap of grain should overflow, lest, redounding above the barns, it should be poured out upon the poor, and an occasion of some good be acquired for the needy. He claims for himself alone the offspring of the lands, not that he himself may wish to use it, but to deny it to others. 'You have,' he says, 'many goods.' The greedy man knows not how to name as goods anything but what is profitable. But I yield to him, that those things may be called goods which pertain to money.

Why then do you make evils out of goods, when you ought to make goods out of evils? For it is written: 'Make to yourselves friends of the mammon of iniquity.' To him therefore who knows how to use them, they are goods; to him who knows not how to use them, rightly they are evils. 'He has dispersed, he has given to the poor, his justice remains forever.' What is better than this? They are goods, if you bestow them on the poor, whereby you may make God your debtor by a certain usury of piety. They are goods, if you open the barns of your justice, that you may be the bread of the poor, the life of the needy, the eye of the blind, the father of orphaned infants. You have the means whereby to act — why do you fear? With your own voice I confront you. 'You have many goods laid up for many years'; you can abound both for yourself and for others; you have a public fruitfulness: why do you pull down your barns?

I show you where you may better guard your grain, where you may fence it in well, so that thieves cannot carry it off from you. Lock it away in the heart of the poor, where no weevil consumes it and no decay corrupts it. You have storehouses in the bosoms of the needy; you have storehouses in the homes of widows; you have storehouses in the mouths of infants, that it may be said to you, 'Out of the mouth of infants and of sucklings you have perfected praise.' These are the storehouses that endure forever; this is the granary that no future plenty can pull down. For what will you do over again, if still more is born to you in the year that follows? You will then tear down these too which you now make ready to build, and you will build greater ones. For God gives you abundance either to overcome your greed or to condemn it, so that you may have no excuse:

But that which He willed should be born through you for the benefit of many, you reserve for yourself alone—nay, you even take it away from yourself; for you would keep it more truly for yourself if you shared it with others. For the fruits of good deeds return upon those very ones who bestowed them, and the grace of generosity comes back to its author. Indeed it is written, 'Sow for yourselves unto righteousness.' Be a spiritual farmer; sow what may profit you. A good sowing is in the heart of widows. If the earth returns to you fruits more abundant than it received, how much more will the recompense of mercy repay you many times over what you have given! Moreover, O man, do you not know that the day of death may forestall the earth's yield, but mercy shuts out the onset of death?

Already they stand ready who demand back your soul, and do you still put off the fruits of your works? Do you still measure out long times for yourself to live? Fool, this night they require your soul of you. Well does He say 'this night.' By night the soul of the greedy man is demanded back: it begins in darkness and persists in darkness. For the greedy man it is always night; but day belongs to the righteous, to whom it is said, 'Truly, truly I say to you, today you shall be with Me in paradise.' But the fool is changed like the moon, while the righteous shall shine like the sun in the kingdom of their Father. Rightly is he convicted of folly who has placed his hope in eating and drinking. And therefore the time of his death is pressed upon him, according to what is said by those very ones who are slaves to the belly, 'Let us eat and drink, for tomorrow we shall die.'

Rightly is he called a fool who supplies bodily things to his soul, since he stores up what he knows not for whom he keeps it. And therefore it is said to him, 'The things you have prepared, whose shall they be?' Why do you daily measure and count and seal them up? Why do you weigh your gold and balance your silver? How much better it is to be a generous steward than an anxious guardian! How much would it profit you to be named the father of many orphans, rather than to have countless coins sealed up in a purse! For money is left behind here, but grace is carried with us to the Judge of our deserts. But perhaps you say what you commonly are wont to say: 'We ought not to give to one whom God has so cursed that He has willed him to be in want.' But the poor are not the cursed, since it is written:

'Blessed are the poor, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.' Not of the poor man, but of the rich, Scripture says, 'He who hoards up the price of grain shall be cursed.' Furthermore, do not inquire what each one deserves. Mercy is not wont to judge by merits, but to relieve necessities, to help the poor, not to scrutinize their righteousness; for it is written, 'Blessed is he who considers the needy and the poor.' Who is it that considers? He who has compassion on him, who recognizes him to be a partner of the same nature, who knows that the Lord made both the rich man and the poor man, who knows that he sanctifies his own fruits if he deals out from them some portion to the poor. Therefore, since you have the means to do good, do not delay, saying, 'Tomorrow I will give,' lest you lose the opportunity of giving.

Delay concerning another's deliverance is dangerous; it may happen that while you put it off, he dies. Rather run ahead before death, lest perchance greed should hinder you even tomorrow and your promises be cheated. But why should I say, why do you delay your generosity? Would that you did not hasten to plunder! Would that what you have coveted you did not extort! Would that you did not seek another's goods! Let pass what is denied you; bear patiently what is refused; do not listen to that Jezebel, who is greed, saying with a kind of overflow of vanity, 'I will give you the possession you desire.' You are sad, because you wish to consider the measure of justice, so as not to snatch another's goods; 'I have my own rights,' she says, 'I have my own laws. I will bring false accusation, to despoil; and so that the poor man's possession may be seized, his life shall be assailed.'

For what else is described in that history but the greed of the rich, which is an empty overflow, that snatches all things away after the manner of a torrent and carries off what will profit no use at all? This is Jezebel—not one, but manifold; not of one time, but of very many times. To all she speaks as she spoke to her husband Ahab: 'Arise, eat bread and come back to yourself. I will give you the vineyard of Naboth the Israelite.' And she wrote a letter in Ahab's name, and sealed it with his ring, and sent the letter to the elders and the freemen who dwelt with Naboth. And in the letter it was written:

'Proclaim a fast, and set Naboth as chief of the people, and set two men, sons of iniquity, opposite him, that they may bear false witness against him, saying, He blessed God and the king; and lead him out and stone him.' How plainly is the custom of the rich set forth! They are grieved if they do not snatch away what belongs to others; they renounce food, they fast—not to lessen sin, but to commit a crime. You may then see them assembling at the church, dutiful, humble, assiduous, that they may obtain the carrying out of their wickedness. But God says to them, 'This is not the fast I have chosen—not if you bend your neck like a hoop and strew ashes and sackcloth beneath you; not even thus shall you call a fast acceptable.'

'Not such a fast have I chosen,' says the Lord. 'But loose every bond of injustice, dissolve the obligations of violent dealings, release the broken into remission, and tear up every unjust contract. Break your bread to the hungry, and bring the needy who have no roof into your house. If you see one naked, clothe him, and you shall not despise the household of your own seed. Then shall your morning light break forth for you, and your healing shall speedily arise, and righteousness shall go before you, and the majesty of God shall surround you. Then you shall cry, and God shall hear you; while you are yet speaking, He shall say, Behold, I am here.' Do you hear, O rich man, what the Lord God says? And you come to the church not that you may bestow something on the poor, but that you may carry it off.

You fast, not that the cost of your banquet may profit the needy, but that you may gain spoil from the destitute. What do you want with a deed and a paper and a seal and a contract and a legal bond? Have you not heard, 'Loose every bond of injustice, dissolve the obligations of violent dealings, release the broken into remission, and tear up every unjust contract'? You offer me tablets; I recite to you the law of God. You write with ink; I rehearse to you the oracles of the prophets inscribed by the Spirit of God. You compose false testimonies; I demand the testimony of your own conscience, which you cannot escape or evade as your judge, whose witness you cannot refuse on that day when God shall reveal the secrets of men.

You say, 'I will tear down my granaries.' The Lord says, 'Rather let whatever is within the granary be assigned to the poor; let these storerooms profit the needy.' You say, 'I will build greater ones, and there I will gather all that has come to me.' The Lord says, 'Break your bread to the hungry.' You say, 'I will take away the poor man's house.' But the Lord says that you should bring the needy who have no roof into your house. How do you wish, O rich man, that God should hear you, when you think God ought not to be heard? If the will of the rich man is not gratified, a scene is staged, an injury to God is reckoned, if the rich man's petition is refused. 'He blessed God and the king,' she says—the two persons set as equal, that the affront might be equal. 'He blessed,' she says, 'God and the king.'

Lest the word 'cursed' should offend the rich man and he be wounded by the very sound of the term, the blessing is named in place of the curse. Two witnesses of iniquity are sought. With two witnesses Susanna was assailed; two witnesses also the synagogue found, to hurl false charges against Christ; with two witnesses the poor man is killed. So they led Naboth out and stoned him. Would that it had been permitted him at least to die among his own! Even his very burial the rich man begrudges the poor. 'And it came to pass,' it says, 'when Ahab heard that Naboth was dead, he rent his garments and covered himself with sackcloth. And it came to pass after these things that Ahab arose and went down to the vineyard of Naboth the Israelite to take possession of it.'

The rich grow angry and bring false accusations, that they may do harm, if they do not obtain what they have desired. But when by their slanders they have done harm, they pretend to grieve; sad, however, and as though mournful—not in heart but in countenance—they come forth to the place of the plundered possession and enjoy it by the wickedness of their oppression. By this the divine justice is stirred, and with deserved severity it condemns the greedy man, saying, 'You have killed and taken possession of the inheritance. Therefore in the place where dogs licked the blood of Naboth, in that very place shall dogs lick your blood, and harlots shall wash themselves in your blood.' How just, how severe a sentence—that the bitterness of death which he brought upon another, he himself should be forbidden to dissolve by the horror of his own death!

God looks upon the poor man left unburied, and therefore He decrees that the rich man should lie unburied—so that he who thought there was no need to spare even the dead might himself, though dead, pay the misery of his iniquity. And so his corpse, drenched in the gore of its own wound, in the very semblance of a funeral betrayed the cruelty of his life. When the poor man endured these things, the rich man was being convicted; when the rich man underwent them, the poor man was being avenged. But what does it mean that harlots washed in his blood—unless perhaps it was so that a certain harlotry might be shown to have lain in that savagery, that the king's treachery or his bloody luxury might be exposed; he who was so given to luxury that he craved a vegetable, so bloodthirsty that for a vegetable's sake he killed a man? A worthy penalty consumes the greedy man, a penalty worthy of greed.

Finally, Jezebel herself the dogs and the birds of heaven devoured, that it might be shown that the burial of the rich man becomes the prey of spiritual wickedness. Flee therefore, O rich man, from such an end. But you will flee such an end, if you flee such an outrage. Be not Ahab, so as to covet your neighbor's possession. Let not that deadly greed, Jezebel, dwell with you, who persuades you to bloody deeds, who does not call back your desires but drives them on, who makes you even more wretched once you have possessed what you desired, who makes you naked even when you have become rich. For everyone who has abundance judges himself the poorer, because he thinks whatever is possessed by others is lacking to himself. He is in want of the whole world whose desires the world cannot contain;

but to him who is faithful, the whole world is a wealth of riches. He flees from the whole world who, considering his own conscience, fears to be caught out. And so Ahab said to Elijah—according to the history; but according to the hidden meaning, the rich man says to the poor man—'Have you found me, O my enemy?' How wretched the conscience that grieved at being betrayed! And Elijah said to him, 'I have found you, because you have done evil in the sight of the Lord.' That man was a king, Ahab king of Samaria; Elijah was poor and in need of bread, who would have lacked the substance of his food had not the ravens supplied him nourishment. So cast down was the conscience of the sinner that it was not lifted up even by the pride of royal power.

And so, as though vile and degenerate, 'You have found me, my enemy,' he says, 'and have caught in me the things I believed were hidden. None of the secrets of my mind escape you; you have found me, my wounds lie open to you, my captivity is at hand.' The sinner is found out when his iniquity is exposed; but the just man says, 'You have tried me with fire, and no iniquity was found in me.' Adam, when he was hiding, was found; but of Moses no burial place at all was found. Ahab was found, Elijah not found; and the wisdom of God said, 'The wicked shall seek me and shall not find me.' Hence also in the Gospel Jesus was sought and not found. Guilt therefore betrays its own author. Hence also the Tishbite says:

'I have found you, because you have done evil in the sight of the Lord,' for the Lord hands over those guilty of sin; but the innocent He does not deliver into the power of their enemies. Thus Saul was seeking holy David and could not find him; but holy David found king Saul, whom he was not seeking, since the Lord delivered him into his power. Wealth therefore is captive, poverty is free. You are slaves, O rich—and a wretched servitude indeed—you who are slaves to error, slaves to desire, slaves to greed, which cannot be satisfied. It is a kind of insatiable whirlpool, more rapacious as it swallows what is poured in, and after the manner of a well it is fouled when it overflows with mire, gnawing at earth that will profit it nothing. By this example too it is fitting that you be warned.

For a well, if you draw nothing from it, is easily corrupted by sluggish idleness and degenerate stagnation; but when worked, it grows bright to the sight and sweet to the taste. So too a heap of riches piled up is sandy: by use it is beautiful, but by idleness it is held useless. Draw off, then, something from this well. Burning fire water will quench, and almsgiving will resist sins; but standing water quickly breeds worms. Let not your treasure stand still, nor your fire. It will stand in you, unless you turn it away by the works of your compassion. Consider, O rich man, in how great fires you are. Yours is the voice that says, 'Father Abraham, tell Lazarus to dip the tip of his finger in water and cool my tongue.'

To you, then, accrues whatever you have bestowed on the needy; to you grows whatever you have diminished. You feed yourself with that food which you have given to the poor, since he who has mercy on the poor is himself fed, and the fruit is already in these things. Mercy is sown on earth, it sprouts in heaven; it is planted in the poor man, it springs up with God. 'Say not,' says God, 'Tomorrow I will give.' He who does not allow you to say 'Tomorrow I will give,' how should He allow you to say 'I will not give'? You do not bestow on the poor from your own, but you repay from His own; for what is common, given for the use of all, you alone usurp. The earth belongs to all, not to the rich; yet fewer are those who do not use their own than those who do. You repay a debt, then; you do not bestow what is not owed. And therefore Scripture says to you:

'Bow down your soul to the poor man, and pay back your debt, and answer peaceably in gentleness.' For why do you grow proud, O rich man? Why do you say to the poor, 'Touch me not'? Were you not conceived in the womb and born from the womb, just as the poor man was born? Why do you boast of the lineage of your nobility? You are wont to recount even the origins of your dogs as of the rich, and to proclaim the pedigree of your horses as of consuls. 'That one was begotten of that father and brought forth of that mother; that one glories in such a grandsire; that one exalts himself with his great-grandfathers.' But none of this helps the runner; the palm is not given to nobility but to the race. The vanquished is the more disfigured, in whom even his nobility is endangered.

Beware therefore, O rich man, lest the merits of your forebears blush in you—lest perchance it be said even to them, 'Why did you rear such a one? Why did you choose such a one for your heir?' The heir's merit lies not in gilded ceilings nor in disks of porphyry. That praise belongs not to men but to metals, in which men are punished. Through the needy gold is sought, and to the needy it is denied. They labor to seek; they labor to find what they know not how to keep. Yet I marvel why you, the rich, think yourselves to be boasted of for it, since gold is rather the material of offense than a grace meriting commendation; for gold too is a wood of stumbling, and woe to those who pursue it.

Indeed, blessed is the rich man who is found without blemish, who has not gone after gold nor hoped in treasures of money. But as though he could not be found, one desires that such a man be pointed out to him. 'Who is he?' it says, 'and we will praise him; for he has done what we ought rather to admire as something novel than to recognize as something common.' And so he who could be proved in riches—he is truly perfect and worthy of glory. 'Who is he,' it says, 'who could transgress and has not transgressed, and could do evil and has not done it?' Gold, therefore, in which is so great an enticement to error, commends itself to you not so much by its own grace as by men's punishment. Or do spacious halls exalt you, which ought rather to prick your conscience, because, while they take in crowds, they shut out the voice of the poor?

Although it profits nothing for that voice to be heard, which even when heard profits nothing. Furthermore, does not your very hall of shame admonish you—you who by building wish to surpass your own riches, yet do not outdo them? You clothe walls, you strip men bare. A naked man cries out before your house, and you neglect him; a naked man cries out, and you are anxious with what marbles you may clothe your pavements. The poor man seeks money and has none; a man begs for bread, and your horse champs gold beneath his teeth. But costly ornaments delight you, while others have no grain. How great, O rich man, a judgment you take upon yourself! The people hunger, and you lock up your granaries; the people lament, and you turn over your gem.

Unhappy man, in whose power it lies to defend the souls of so many from death, and yet there is no will to do it! The gem of your ring could have saved the life of a whole people. Hear plainly what kind of acclamation befits a rich man. 'I delivered,' he says, 'the poor man from the hand of the mighty, and the orphan who had no helper I helped. The blessing of him that was perishing came upon me, and the mouth of the widow blessed me. I put on righteousness; I was an eye to the blind and a foot to the lame; I was a father to the weak.' And further below: 'Before my doors no stranger lodged, but my door was open to everyone who came. And if I have sinned unwittingly, I did not hide my fault, nor did I stand in awe of the multitude of the people so as not to declare it in their presence. If I have suffered the weak to go forth from my door with empty bosom...'

He also recalled that the bond he held of his debtor he gave back torn up, without recovery of the debt. For why should I unfold even those things—that he says he wept over every sick man and groaned, when he saw a man in necessity and himself in good things, but that the days of evils were then more truly his own, when he perceived himself to have abundance and others to be in want? If he says this, who never made the widow's eye to waste away, who never ate his bread alone and did not give to the orphan,

whom from his youth he nourished, fed, and reared with a parent's affection, who never despised the naked, who covered the dying, who warmed the shoulders of the weak with the fleeces of his own sheep, who did not oppress the orphan, who never delighted in riches, who never rejoiced at the downfall of his enemies—if one who did these things began to be in want from the heights of riches, if from so great a patrimony he carried back nothing but the fruit of mercy alone, what is to become of you, who know not how to use your patrimony, who amid the heights of riches endure days of beggary, because you give to none and relieve none? You are therefore the guardian, not the lord, of your means, you who bury gold in the earth. You are surely its servant, not its master. But where your treasure is, there is your heart also.

So you have buried your heart in the earth with that gold. Rather, sell the gold and buy salvation; sell the precious stone and buy the kingdom of God; sell the field and redeem for yourself eternal life. I urge true things, because I build up the words of truth. 'If you wish to be perfect,' He says, 'sell all whatever you have and give to the poor, and you shall have treasure in heaven.' And do not be saddened when you hear this, lest it be said to you too, 'How hard shall they who have money enter into the kingdom of God!' Rather, when you read these things, consider that death can snatch these from you, that a superior power can take them away; and further, that you are asked for small things in exchange for great, perishable for eternal, treasures of money for treasures of grace. These corrupt, those abide. Consider that you do not possess these alone.

The moth possesses it with you, the rust possesses it, which consumes money. These partners greed has given you. But see what debtors grace gives you: 'The lips of the righteous shall bless him who is generous with bread, and the testimony of his goodness shall stand.' It makes God the Father your debtor, who, for the gift by which the poor man was helped, pays interest as the debtor of a good creditor. It makes the Son your debtor, who says, 'I was hungry and you gave me to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me to drink, I was a stranger and you took me in, naked and you covered me.' For what has been bestowed on each of the least, He says was bestowed on Himself. You know not, O man, how to build up riches. If you wish to be rich, be poor to the world, that you may be rich to God.

He who is rich in faith is rich toward God; he who is rich in mercy is rich toward God; he who is rich in simplicity is rich toward God; the rich in wisdom, the rich in knowledge are rich toward God. There are those who abound in poverty and those who are in want amid riches. The poor abound, whose deep poverty has abounded in the riches of their own simplicity; but the rich have been in want and have hungered. For not idly is it written, 'The poor of the rich shall be made rulers, and their own servants shall lend to their masters,' because the rich and the masters sow superfluous and evil things, from which they gather no fruit, but reap thorns. And therefore the rich shall be made subject to the poor, and masters shall lend spiritual things from their servants—just as the rich man begged that poor Lazarus might lend him a drop of water.

You too, O rich man, can fulfill this saying. Be generous to the poor man, and you have lent to the Lord; for he who is generous to the poor lends to God. Beautifully does holy David, in the seventy-fifth psalm, singing a hymn to God written 'unto the Assyrian'—that is, against the Assyrian of spiritual wickedness, the empty and vain prince of this world—begin thus: 'God is known in Judah.' That is, not among the rich, not among the noble and the powerful, but in a soul that confesses Him God is known. 'And in Israel,' he says, 'great is His name'—not among princes and consuls, but in him who sees God; for he himself is Israel, in whom a deep faith was able to attain to the knowledge of God.

'And His place,' he says, 'was made in peace,' where a tranquil disposition is tossed by no waves of diverse desires, troubled by no storms of greed, set ablaze by no fires of riches to be sought. He it is who gazes upon eternal things and dwells in Zion, shattering all the instruments of spiritual wars, breaking the bows by which the devil, aiming his fiery darts, is wont to brand grievous passions upon the breasts of men. But those darts cannot harm the just man, to whom God is light, and who is so far from the horror of murky shadows that the adversary can have no place in him—he who is wont to pour himself even into princes.

As he poured himself into Judas the traitor, cutting down, as it were in a forest of trees, the gates of faith, that he might have entry into his heart and possess the tabernacle of the eternal name dedicated by the gift of the apostolate conferred upon him. So that wicked usurper cuts down the gates, to enter violently; but the Lord, as a loving master, illumines His little servants, and by their shining merits and the brightness of their virtues He lights up the darkness of this world. This grace, with God, those possess who are peaceable and meek, grounded in the sober tranquility of their mind; but the foolish in heart are troubled, and they are themselves the authors of their own agitation, because they are rolled about in the heat of their desires and toss upon a kind of surging sea. Who these are, he showed expressly by saying:

'all the men of riches.' 'All,' he said; he excepted none. And well did he call them 'men of riches,' not 'the riches of men,' to show that they are not the possessors of riches but are possessed by their own riches; for the possession ought to belong to the possessor, not the possessor to the possession. Whoever therefore does not use his patrimony as a possession, who knows not how to be generous to the poor and to dispense, he is the little slave, not the lord, of his means, because he guards another's goods like a servant and does not use his own as a master would. In such a disposition, then, we say that he is a man of riches, not the riches of the man.

For understanding is good to those who use it; but he who does not understand, that understanding certainly cannot claim grace for itself, and therefore, lulled by the sleep of drunkenness, he fell asleep. Men of this kind, then, sleep their own sleep—that is, their own sleep, not Christ's, do they sleep. And those who do not sleep the sleep of Christ do not have the rest of Christ; they do not rise with the resurrection of Christ, who says, 'I slept and rested and rose again, for the Lord shall sustain me.' In this world too they slumber who are deemed worthy of heavenly rebuke—they who have mounted horses they could not rein in. We read elsewhere, when the Church or the soul speaks, 'The chariot of Amminadab set me.'

If, then, the soul is a chariot, see whether the flesh be the horse, and the driver the vigor of the mind, which governs the flesh and curbs its motions, like certain horses, with the reins of prudence. They slumbered, then, who mounted the pleasures of the body, governing them with no control. Hence too he chose to call them 'riders' rather than 'horsemen' or 'drivers.' For the driver, with discipline and skill, drives the horses according to his own judgment, whether to urge them on as they run, or to turn back the untamed, or to recall the wearied, or to bring round the gentle according to his will. Hence, when Elijah was taken up and borne as it were to heaven on a chariot, Elisha cried out to him, 'Father, father, the driver of Israel and its horseman!'—that is:

'You who governed the Lord's people with good guidance, by the merit of your steadfastness received these chariots, these horses that run toward divine things, because the Lord approved you as a governor of human minds; and therefore, as a good charioteer, victor in the contest, you are crowned with an eternal reward.' In the prophet Habakkuk also it is read, said to the Lord Himself: 'You shall mount upon your horses, and your horsemanship is salvation'; for He drove His apostles, whom He directed through diverse regions, that they might preach the Gospel throughout the whole world. 'You shall mount,' it says, as the ruler of the horses, not as a mere rider. For the horseman also mounts, but to govern, not merely to sit, since the idle and slothful man cannot bring forth the advance of a drowsy mind. But of the horseman it is read:

'And the horseman shall fall backward, awaiting the salvation of the Lord.' For since no one is without a fall, even if someone as a horseman should fall and be bent down by some earthly vices, yet if he does not cast away the hope of rising again, relying on the divine mercy he attains to salvation. But of the rider there is a manifest sign that he is held blameworthy, when Moses himself says in the song of Exodus, 'The horse and the rider He cast into the sea.' And in Zechariah the Lord spoke, saying, 'I will strike every horse with madness, and its rider with folly.' He did not say only the horse, but also the rider, just as you have in Exodus too: 'the horse and the rider.'

For where there is a rider who cannot govern his own horse, the horse too is borne headlong and, with untamed fury, is dragged into precipices and dangers. Why then do you trust in horses, O rich? A horse is a vain thing for safety. Why do you applaud in chariots? These trust in chariots and these in horses, but we shall be magnified in the name of the Lord. They are bound and have fallen, but we have risen and are set upright. Do not love things that neigh; do not, O rich, be roused by the snorting of lust. Terrible is the Lord, whom no one—however mighty and rich—can resist; He hurls down heavenly judgment. It is good that you now be quiet and, ceasing from outrages, revere the power of the Lord. Therefore it was said to the parricide Cain, 'You have sinned;

be still,' that he might set a limit to his sin. Let your thoughts confess to the Lord. Do not say, 'We have not sinned.' Paul said, 'Although I am conscious of nothing in myself,' yet he added, 'but I am not justified by this.' And you too, even if you are conscious of nothing, yet confess to the Lord, lest there be anything that escapes you. For he who confesses to the Lord and applies even the remnants of his thought to confession shall celebrate a festal day of the mind in secret, and shall feast—not in the leaven of malice and wickedness, but in the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth. And so, in conclusion, the prophet, turning to you, says: 'Pray and render to the Lord your God'—that is:

Do not dissemble, O rich men — the day is at hand — pray for your sins, and render up as gifts a return for the benefits you possess. From God himself you have received what you offer; what you pay back to him is his own. 'My gifts,' he says, 'and my offerings' — that is, the gifts you offer to me are gifts that are mine; I gave them to you and bestowed them. And so the prophet says: 'You have no need of my goods; therefore I offer you what is your own, since I have nothing that you have not given.' It is faith that wins favor for our gifts; it is humility that commends what is offered. By faith Abel offered to God a more excellent sacrifice; the offering of Abel pleased God above the gifts of his brother Cain — because he prevailed by faith. For why is the poor man's sacrifice more pleasing than the rich man's? Because the poor man is richer in faith, more abundantly endowed by his sobriety.

And though he is poor, he is among those of whom it is said: 'To you shall kings bring gifts.' For the Lord Jesus is not delighted by those clad in purple who make offerings, but by those who govern their own impulses — who by the rule of the mind hold dominion over the wantonness of the body. Pray therefore, O rich men! You have nothing in your works that can please. Pray for your sins and your shameful deeds, and render gifts to the Lord your God. Render them in the poor, pay them out in the needy. Lend at interest through that destitute one, whom you cannot otherwise appease for your shameful deeds. Make him your debtor whom you fear as your avenger. 'I will not take calves out of your house,' he says, 'nor he-goats out of your flocks, for all the beasts of the forests are mine.' 'Whatever you offer,' he says, 'is my own. For the whole world is mine.'

'I do not demand what is mine; there is something of your own that you can offer — the zeal of devotion and faith. I am not delighted by the ostentation of sacrifices; only this, O man: offer to God a sacrifice of praise, and pay your vows to the Most High.' Or surely, if it please, let us take it thus. Since he said that the rich had fallen asleep in their sleep, he sent ahead rebukes of the Lord against them. He wove in terror, he proclaimed a power which not even the rich can withstand. Turning to all he says: 'Let the rich slumber, let the rich be rebuked; but you, pray and render to the Lord your God, all you who present gifts round about him' — that is, give thanks, O poor men, for God is no respecter of persons. Let those others heap up riches, lay up money, pile high treasures of gold and silver;

but you, pray, who have nothing else; you, pray, who possess this one thing alone, which is more precious than gold and silver. Render your gifts, you who do not depart from the Lord, you who are round about him, since you who were made afar off have been brought near. But those who seem to themselves to be near through riches and power have been set far off by reason of avarice. For no one is on the outside save him whom his own guilt has shut out — as it cast Adam out of paradise and shut out Eve — and no one is afar off save him whom his own shameful deeds have banished.

Therefore you who are set near, pray and render gifts to him who is terrible, who takes away the spirit of princes, terrible to the kings of the earth — for the reason that he is not bought off by any reward of the rich, nor swayed by any haughtiness of the powerful; who weighs out the penalties of guilt; who, the more he has bestowed on anyone, the more he exacts from him. To Saul, while yet a private man, he gave a kingdom; but because Saul did not keep the commandment, he lost both kingdom and spirit. Many kings of the nations, on account of their treachery, he made captives from the people of the fathers; and — to speak now of the history we have set before us — it was he who commanded that Ahab, a king ungrateful for heavenly benefits, be so slain that dogs licked his wounds.