Foolish conversations do men carry on the moment they withdraw from Thy presence, O my Wisdom. The faithless speak of works, the workless speak of faith.
And every man belittles what he does not have, and what he has he cries abroad in the marketplace.
As long as Thou, O Lord, fillest my house with Thy life-creating breath, I always forget to ask: which weighs more — faith or works? The moment I offend Thee, and feel myself abandoned by Thee, I enter with anger into the conversations of men, and take this side or that.
For without Thee I am like a weathervane on a chimney, that rattles with the wind. When the wind of faith rises in my soul, I stand with those who have abandoned works and taken their stand for faith; when the wind of activity rises in my soul, I hold the side of those who have abandoned faith and taken their stand for works.
But in Thy all-stilling presence there is no wind, no wavering, and no dividing of things. I neither feel faith nor see works, but only Thee, the Living One, do I feel and see. Truly Thou art not my faith but my vision. And Thou art not my working, but I am Thy working. And again I say: Thou art not my faith, but I am Thy faith, and Thy trust.
And so I teach the talkers around me: he who has true faith in the Living God prefers to keep silence. And he who works the true work of God prefers to keep silence. But he who pieces together his own faith with his own mind gladly quarrels about faith. And he who does his own work, and not God's, gladly boasts of works.
In a man of faith there is a deep silence in the soul, deeper than the silence at the bottom of the sea. For the Wisdom of God is born and dwells in deep silence.
In a worker of the work of God there is a deep silence on the tongue, deeper than the silence of iron in the heart of the mountain. For he who works another's work listens for commands and carries them out, and listens again, and has no time to speak.
I say to those who believe in works: is not my prayer a working and a remaking of my very self? Is not the whole world within me, from its beginning to its end, and all the poverty and uncleanness of the world? Truly I am not without the helping of the poor in my soul — the healing of the sick and the casting out of the unclean from my own soul.
I say to those who believe in faith: do I not awaken faith in my neighbors by the good works that I work?
Is not my work in the world the song of my faith, the psalm of one saved among the unsaved? Who will stop the song in the throat of an overflowing soul? Who will stifle an overfull spring, that it flow no more? Do the fairies who guard the spring quarrel with the fairies in the stream that flows from it, over whose water is more useful? Truly, were there no spring, there would be no stream.
O my Lord, withdraw not from me, lest my soul expire from empty quarrels. Silence in Thy presence fattens my soul; conversations in Thine absence make it lean and waste it away to chaff.
I listened one last time to the quarrels of men, and waved my hand, and went away. Behold, it is not the truly believing who quarrel with the true workers of Thy work. No, it is a feud of servants, with little faith and with much ill will. It is the men of little faith bickering with the world's errand-runners. It is a withered spring quarreling with a dried-up stream.
While they were full, both sang one and the same song of joy, and in joy called out to one another.
It is the man of evil faith quarreling with the doer of evil works. What communion have I with them? What binds me to them but pity, that they have fled from Thy radiance?
Fill the house of my soul, O Life-creating Spirit, that I may go blind and see not the wrathful faces of the quarrelers, and go deaf to their foolish conversations.
They have fled from Thee, O my Joy; that is why they carry on foolish conversations.
I pray to Thee and bow before Thee: bind my soul to Thee with thousands of rays of sunlight, that it may not flee from Thee, and plunge into the cold abyss.