The Devastation of Plague

Those who are neither men nor women, but claim to be truthful in word For the one part they do not remain, and the other part they have not yet reached. For what they are, they do not remain in character, and what they again desire wickedly, they are not by nature, but an enigma and a riddle of intemperance in passions: men to women and women to men.

And what would anyone say of the shameful diseases of the Asmatas, affecting the limbs that feminize the tone of the heart, the flutes, and the dances of prostituted bacchanals, in which even the thrice-afflicted enjoy old age? Are these things, then, worthy of praise and of spectacle and of pleasure, or of tears and of groans? Laughter tyrannizes, and nature is adulterated, and the varied flame of pleasures is kindled. And theaters of dishonor are built, so that the diseases do not even hide in shame, but become contests of evil teachings.

And you, loathe these things, so that you may not use maidens, fleeing all corruptions of the eyes, so that you might guard the maidens for me as virgins. And flee even more from the impure spectacles of the gluttons, whose god is the belly. For being slaves of the belly, they serve the most shameful disease of the evil masters.

And the bitter mistress of the rest of the members sits within, feeding limbs like beasts, greedily devouring the honors; a belly of intemperate beasts, greedily devouring the bodies of its own members. Ignorant men are spectators of these passions. And even if a man flees the beasts, they groan as if they themselves had been played with more than the beasts and were sitting in vain. But when a man is cast off and narrow-mouthed, crying bitterly and being disgraced by dust, the pity of all spectators has fled from the sight, and with pleasure the greatest roar, if they see the flows of blood. For they rejoice seeing what ought to be mourned, and they enjoy with beasts a tendency of favor, and they command those who are being seized, more than they are being carried, as if they were carrying themselves and the flesh of men.

Allied with beasts. For the wicked are indeed slaves to the food of their own members and again food for beasts, living in loathsomeness and dying miserably, having such a bitter end to life.

As for the flesh, some is buried there, while some is being torn away by beasts on the road, and others are half-eaten, wandering about, singing with various turns, imagining there is still time for flight and dreaming of a race. Do not, indeed, behold with a single eye the contaminations of flesh, nor shall you be nakedly seeing men dead, surrounded by beasts, running to graves, and relatives lying dead.

And truly, the spectacle of chariot races, which seems more recent to many, is also this plague and a disease of souls. It scatters cities, brings the people into factions, teaches strife, touches the mouth with insult, cuts the friendships of citizens, destroys lineages, shames the elderly, makes the young weep, kindles hatreds among the dearest, and treads down laws.

And of these evils, it dares an even more lamentable evil. It moves sorcerers with the appearance of allies helping to victory, and it feeds disease upon disease. For when they are burned into hot passion, they run straight to the sorcerers themselves. And they, in turn, call upon demons to be co-workers with them in falls, destructions, and murders. For an army rejoices in evil demons.

Therefore, clearly, the glory of the chariot races, which seems a festive spectacle by day, is the destruction of souls, a battle of bodies, and besides this, a certain damage to property. How many houses has it suddenly scattered? How many wealthy people has it forced to beg? And how many cities, which previously lived in good law, has it suddenly overthrown? For as a rising faction needed the hands of the people for murders, it filled the cities with men by the sword of law, feeding cities with fire and iron, slaughtering the slaughters with murders, murders. Who then...