Letters 1

To Eustathius the Philosopher. When I had already grown weary of the assaults of fortune — from which some obstacle has always arisen to prevent my being with you — you wonderfully recalled and comforted me by your letter.

For indeed I had already begun turning over in my own mind whether that which is commonly repeated by the many might be true — that there is a certain necessity and fate which governs both the small and the great affairs of our lives, and that we men are masters of nothing;

or, if not this, that some kind of fortune altogether drives the life of man.

And you will grant much pardon for these reasonings of mine, once you learn the causes which led me to them.

I left Athens because of the fame of your philosophy, disdaining what was there.

I passed by the city on the Hellespont as no Odysseus ever passed the songs of the Sirens.

And I admired Asia indeed, but I hastened on toward the metropolis of the good things within it.

But when I reached your homeland and, seeking you there as the great benefit I hoped for, did not find you, from that point on many and varied occasions of unexpected hindrances befell me.

For either I was bound to fall ill and so be left behind, or, when you set out for the East, I was unable to depart with you, and then, at last reaching Syria after countless toils, I found myself unable to be with the philosopher, who had set off for Egypt.

So again I had to go to Egypt, a long and grievous road, and not even there obtain what I so earnestly sought.

But so ill-starred was my love that I must either travel on to the Persians and press forward as far as possible into the land of the barbarians (for you had gone there too — so great was the spite of the demon!), or else remain seated there in the city of Alexander, which is in fact what happened.

But why need I say much more? At last, now that we are dwelling in the same country, it has still not been possible for me to be with you, hindered as I am by prolonged illnesses;

and unless these become at least somewhat milder from now on, I shall not even be able to be with your eloquence during the winter.

Are these not, as you yourself might say, the works of fate? Are these not the works of necessity? Do these not, well-nigh, surpass even the poets' myths about Tantalus? But, as I said, I have become easier in mind through your letter, and I am no longer of the same opinion.

I say that we ought to give thanks to God when He gives good things, and not to be vexed when He withholds them for a season. And so, for our part, if He should grant that we be together with you, we shall consider this both best and most delightful;

but if He should defer it, we shall bear the loss with equanimity.

For surely He governs our affairs altogether better than we ourselves could foresee.

To Gregory, my Companion. I recognized your letter, just as those who recognize the children of their friends by the resemblance that appears in them to their parents.

For to say that the arrangement of the place is not impressive enough to stir any impulse in your soul toward life with us, before you have learned something of the manner and conduct of life here — this was indeed a thought worthy of you and of your soul, which counts all things here as nothing in comparison with the blessedness laid up for us in the promises.

As for myself, I am ashamed to write of what I actually do here on this remote frontier, night and day.

For I have indeed left behind the pursuits of the city as the source of countless evils, but I have not yet been able to leave myself behind.

But I am like those at sea who, through inexperience in sailing, are overcome and made seasick;

who complain of the size of the ship as producing much rolling, and then, transferring to the ship's boat or the skiff, are seasick and helpless everywhere alike, for the nausea and the bile go along with them wherever they go.

Such, then, is also our own case.

For carrying about with us everywhere the passions that dwell within us, we are attended everywhere by the same disturbances, so that we have gained no great benefit from this solitude.

What we ought, however, to be doing, and from what source it would have been possible for us to hold fast to the footsteps of Him who has led the way to salvation —

For, as He says, "If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross, and follow me" — this is what it is.

It is fitting to strive to keep the mind in stillness.

For just as an eye that is continually turning about, now roving to the sides, now shifting frequently upward and downward, cannot see clearly the object before it, but the gaze must be fixed steadily upon what is visible if it is to make its viewing distinct —

so too it is impossible for the mind of man, dragged about by countless worldly cares, to gaze clearly upon the truth.

For the one not yet bound by the fetters of marriage is troubled by raging desires and impulses hard to restrain, and certain ill-starred passions of love; while the one already yoked together with a wife has a different tumult of cares awaiting him:

in childlessness, the longing for children;

and once children are had, the care of rearing them, the guarding of one's wife, the management of the household, the oversight of servants, losses in contracts, quarrels with neighbors, litigations in the law courts, the risks of trade, the labors of farming.

Every day comes bearing its own darkening of the soul, and the nights, taking over the day's cares, deceive the mind with the same imaginings.

But there is one escape from these things: separation from the whole world.

Withdrawal from the world does not mean being bodily outside it, but rather tearing the soul away from its sympathy with the body, and becoming without city, without home, without possessions of one's own, without friends, without property, without livelihood, without business, without dealings with others, unlearned in human teachings, ready to receive in the heart the impressions that come from divine instruction.

And the preparation of the heart is the unlearning of the teachings that, through evil habit, had previously taken possession of it.

For it is not possible to write upon wax without first smoothing away the marks already imprinted upon it, nor is it possible to set divine doctrines before the soul without first removing from it the preconceptions arising from habit.

For this purpose solitude affords us the greatest benefit, lulling our passions to rest and giving reason the leisure to cut them out completely from the soul.

For just as wild beasts are more easily overcome once they are stroked into gentleness, so desires and wrath and fears and griefs — the venomous evils of the soul — once lulled to rest through stillness, and not driven wild by continual provocation, become more easily overcome by the power of reason.

Let the place, then, be such as ours indeed is, free from intercourse with men, so that the continuity of one's ascetic practice may not be interrupted by anything from outside.

And the ascetic practice of piety nourishes the soul with divine thoughts.

What, then, is more blessed than to imitate on earth the choir of angels —

as, the moment the day begins, one hastens to prayer to honor the Creator with hymns and songs, and then, once the sun has fully risen, turns to one's tasks, with prayer accompanying one everywhere, and seasoning one's labors with hymns as though with salt? For the consolation of hymns bestows upon the soul a cheerful and untroubled condition.

...of men, a thing which by nature is especially apt to relax the tension of the soul.

For the mind, when it is not scattered upon outward things, nor poured out through the senses upon the world, returns to itself, and through itself ascends to the contemplation of God;

and being illumined round about and within by that beauty, it comes even to forget its own nature, the soul no longer being dragged down by concern for food or anxiety for clothing, but, having leisure from earthly cares, transfers the whole of its zeal to the acquisition of eternal goods;

considering how temperance and courage may be rightly attained by him, and how justice and prudence, and all the remaining virtues, which, being subdivided under these general kinds, suggest to the earnest man the fitting performance of each of the duties of life.

And the greatest road toward the discovery of duty is the study of the God-inspired Scriptures.

For in these are found the precepts for our actions, and the lives of the blessed men, recorded and handed down, lie before us like living images of conduct according to God, set forth for the imitation of good works.

And so, in whatever matter each person perceives himself to be deficient, by dwelling upon that particular example, as though from some common infirmary, he finds the remedy suited to his own ailment.

And the lover of chastity continually unrolls the history concerning Joseph, and from him learns deeds of chastity, finding him to be not only self-controlled with regard to pleasures, but also firmly disposed toward virtue as a settled habit.

And he is taught courage by Job, who, when his life had turned to its opposite — becoming poor instead of rich, and childless instead of blessed with fine children, all in a single moment of time — nevertheless remained the same man, preserving throughout an unhumbled disposition of soul; nor, even when his friends who had come to comfort him instead trampled upon him and aggravated his sufferings, was he provoked to anger.

Such, too, was Moses, who rose up with great wrath against those who sinned against God, yet with a gentle soul bore the slanders directed against himself.

And in every case, just as painters, when they copy a portrait from another portrait, gaze frequently at the model, and strive to transfer its character into their own work of art, so too must the one who is earnestly striving to make himself perfect in every part of virtue look to the lives of the saints as though to living, moving statues, and make their goodness his own through imitation.

Prayers, in turn, succeeding the readings, receive the soul made fresher and more vigorous, stirred by longing toward God.

And prayer is good when it produces in the soul a vivid awareness of God.

And this is the indwelling of God: to have God established within oneself through remembrance.

Thus we become a temple of God, when the continuity of remembrance is not interrupted by earthly cares, when the mind is not thrown into confusion by unexpected passions, but the God-loving soul, having fled from all things, withdraws unto God and, driving away whatever summons us to wickedness, occupies itself with the pursuits that lead to virtue.

As for the pitch of the voice, the middle tone is to be preferred, so that it neither escapes the hearing through faintness, nor becomes burdensome through excessive loudness.

One should first examine within oneself what is about to be said, and only then make the word public.

Be affable in your dealings with others, gentle in conversation;

not hunting after pleasantness through jesting, but possessing gentleness through kindly encouragement.

Always rejecting harshness, even when it is necessary to rebuke.

For by first humbling yourself through lowliness of mind, you will thus become readily acceptable to the one who is in need of care.

And a humble and abased disposition of mind is followed by a downcast eye bent toward the ground, a neglected appearance, unkempt hair, soiled clothing;

so that what mourners do by deliberate practice appears in us spontaneously.

Let the tunic be drawn close to the body by a girdle;

yet the girdle should not be worn above the hips, for that is womanish;

nor should it be loose, so that the tunic hangs slack, for that is slovenly;

and let the gait be neither sluggish, so as to betray a laxity of soul,

nor again hasty and hurried, so as to suggest that its impulses are rash.

The one purpose of clothing is to be a covering for the flesh, sufficient for both winter and summer.

Let neither brightness of color be pursued, nor fineness and softness in its make.

For to seek after fine colors in clothing is equal to womanly adornment, which women practice by dyeing their cheeks and hair with a borrowed bloom not their own.

Moreover, the tunic ought to be of such thickness as not to need a companion garment to keep the wearer warm.

Let footwear be cheap in cost, yet fully meet the need without deficiency.

And, in short, just as in clothing it is fitting to esteem what is necessary, so too in food, bread will fulfill the need and water will relieve thirst for one who is healthy, along with whatever side dishes made from grains can preserve bodily strength for the necessary needs.

One should eat without displaying rabid gluttony, but preserving everywhere what is steady and gentle, and self-controlled with regard to pleasures;

nor should the mind at that time be idle regarding the thought of God, but should make the very nature of the foods and the constitution of the body that receives them an occasion for glorifying God;

how the various kinds of food, suited to the particular nature of bodies, have been devised by him who orders all things.

Prayers before food, that we may become worthy of God's provisions, both those he gives now and those he has stored up for the future.

Prayers after food, containing thanksgiving for what has been given and petition for what has been promised.

One hour appointed for food, recurring at the same point each cycle, so that of the twenty-four hours of the day and night, this one alone is spent on the body;

and let the ascetic occupy the remaining hours in the labor of the mind.

Let sleep be light and easily shaken off, following naturally from a measured diet, and deliberately interrupted by concerns about great matters.

For to be overpowered by deep torpor, with the limbs so relaxed as to give leisure for improper fantasies, makes those who sleep in this way exist in a daily death.

But what dawn is for others, this midnight is for the ascetics of piety, since the quiet of the night especially bestows leisure upon the soul, while neither eyes nor ears convey harmful sounds or sights to the heart, but the mind alone by itself is present with God, correcting itself by the remembrance of its sins, setting for itself limits for the avoidance of evil, and seeking the cooperation of God for the perfecting of what it earnestly pursues.

I regarded it with caution, as though it were announcing some public matter, and while I was undoing the wax, I was as afraid, looking at it, as any Spartan under indictment would fear the Laconian scytale.

But when I had opened it and gone through everything point by point, I was moved to laugh;

partly out of pleasure, at having heard nothing untoward;

since you do not write to us out of your official position, but in your accustomed manner, and you relax nothing of your zeal for letters, but, as Plato says, having withdrawn as it were behind some strong wall amid the winter storm and hail of affairs, you fill your soul with no disturbance;

or rather, so far as it depends on you, you do not allow others to be disturbed either.

Such, then, are your affairs — so great and admirable to those able to perceive them, and yet again not admirable to one who judges them in light of your whole purpose of life.

But hear also our affairs, which are both extraordinary and yet happen to us as a matter of course.

A certain rustic man, one of those living near us at Annisa, when a household servant of mine had died, without saying that he had any contract with him, without coming to me, without making any accusation, without requesting to receive anything with my consent, without even threatening to use force if he did not receive it, suddenly attacked our house together with some others of like recklessness, beat and battered the women who were guarding it, broke down the doors, and carried off everything — taking some things himself, and setting the rest out for plunder to whoever wished.

In order, then, that we may not be the utmost limit of weakness and seem to everyone a fit object for attack, I beg you to bring to bear now also the zeal you have shown in all our affairs.

For only in this way could our freedom from trouble be preserved, if we were allied with your energetic action.

It would be sufficient justice for us if he were arrested through the district magistrate and shut up in prison for a short time.

For indeed we are indignant not only over what we have suffered, but we also need security for the future.

TO OLYMPIUS. What are you doing, my admirable friend, driving our beloved poverty, the nurse of philosophy, out of her remote dwelling? For I think you would even be liable to a suit of ejectment brought by her, should she ever gain the power of speech, on the ground that I chose to live with this man — one who now praises Zeno, who, having lost everything in a shipwreck, uttered nothing ignoble, but rather —

'Well done, Fortune,' he said, 'you are driving us into the philosopher's cloak!'

and now praises Cleanthes, who for hire drew water from the well, whereby he both sustained his own life and paid the fees of his teachers.

For these and similar reasons our housemate Poverty might reproach you, now that she has been evicted by your great gifts; and she might add some threat as well, saying:

'If I should catch you here again, I will make your former Sicilian or Italian luxury seem as nothing.'

'So exactly will I take vengeance on you with my own resources.' So much, then, for that; but I was glad to hear that you have already begun your treatment, and I pray that you may benefit from it.

It would befit your holy soul to have a service of the body that is free from pain.

TO NECTARIUS, A LETTER OF CONSOLATION. Not yet had three or four days passed since I was struck by hearing of the unbearable calamity — and I was still in doubt, because the messenger of the distressing news had not been able to relate to us clearly what had happened, and because I prayed that it might not be true, being reluctant to accept what was being rumored — when I received a letter from the bishop, clearly confirming the dreaded report.

At this, what need is there even to say how much I groaned and how many tears I shed? For who is so stony-hearted, or so entirely outside human nature, as to bear what happened without feeling, or to have his soul seized by only moderate grief? The heir of a splendid house, the support of his family, the hope of his fatherland, the offshoot of pious parents reared amid countless prayers, in the very flower of his youth, has been snatched away out of his father's very arms, and is gone.

What nature of adamant would these things not be sufficient to dissolve and bring to sympathy? So it is no great wonder if this evil has touched us too to the depths, since from the beginning we have been wholly attached to you, and have made both your joys and your sorrows our own.

And yet it seemed that up until the present time you had suffered but few griefs, and that in most respects your affairs were flowing smoothly with the current;

but suddenly, through the malice of a demon, all the prosperity and brightness of that household has vanished, and we have become for the world a somber tale to tell.

If, then, we wish to lament over what has happened and to weep, the span of our life will not suffice us; and though all people should groan with us, they will not be able to make their mourning equal to our suffering;

rather, even if the very streams of rivers became tears, they would not suffice to complete a lament worthy of what has happened.

If, however, we are willing now to bring forth the gift of God which he has stored up in our hearts — I mean sound reasoning, which in times of prosperity knows how to set limits for our souls, and in gloomier circumstances knows how to bring us to remembrance of human affairs, and to suggest to us both what we have seen and what we have heard — namely, that life is full of such sufferings, and that examples of human misfortune are many, and, above all, that it is a commandment of God that those who have believed in Christ should not grieve over those who have fallen asleep, because of the hope of the resurrection, and that great crowns of glory are laid up by the Judge of the contest for great endurance —

if we allow reason to sing these things over us as a charm, perhaps we might find some measure of relief from the evil.

For he himself knows how he apportions what is beneficial to each person, and why the boundaries of our lives are unequal.

For there is a certain reason, incomprehensible to men, on account of which some are taken away from here sooner, while others are left behind to struggle longer in this painful life.

Therefore in all things we ought to worship his loving-kindness and not be resentful, remembering that great and celebrated saying which the great champion Job uttered, when he saw his ten children crushed at a single table in the brief turning of a moment;

'The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away;'

'as it seemed good to the Lord, so it has also come to pass.' Let us make this wonder our own;

for equal reward is given by the just Judge to those who display equal deeds of virtue.

We have not been deprived of the child, but have given him back to the One who lent him;

nor has his life been destroyed, but it has been changed for the better;

the earth has not hidden away our beloved one, but heaven has received him.

Let us wait a little while, and we shall be together again with the one we long for.

He has merely gone ahead and taken his lodging first, but we shall all travel this same road, and the same resting-place awaits us all.

May it only be granted us to become like him in purity through virtue, so that, through guilelessness of character, we too may attain the same rest as those who are infants in Christ.

TO THE WIFE OF NECTARIUS, A LETTER OF CONSOLATION. I was on the point of remaining silent toward your propriety, reasoning that, just as even the gentlest of soothing remedies causes pain to an inflamed eye, so also to a soul afflicted by heavy grief, even a word that brings much comfort seems somehow to be troublesome, when it is offered amid such acute pain.

But since it occurred to me that my words would be addressed to a Christian woman long instructed in divine things and well prepared to face human affairs, I did not think it right to omit what is incumbent upon me.

I know what manner of heart mothers have; and when I especially consider your own kindness and gentleness toward all, I reckon how great the pain is likely to be under the present circumstances.

You have lost a son whom, while he lived, all mothers counted blessed and prayed that their own sons might be like him, and whose death they mourned as though each had buried her own child in the earth.

His death has become a blow to two homelands — both ours and that of the Cilicians.

With him that great and illustrious family has collapsed together, shaken to the ground as though its support had been taken away.

O encounter with an evil demon — how much harm it has had the power to work!

O earth, compelled to receive so grievous a calamity!

Perhaps even the sun, if it has any perception, shuddered at that grim spectacle.

And what could anyone say that would equal what the soul's helplessness suggests? But indeed our affairs are not without providence, as we have learned in the Gospel, that not even a sparrow falls apart from the will of our Father; so that, if anything has happened, it has happened by the will of him who created us.

But who has ever resisted the will of God? Let us accept what has happened;

for by being resentful we neither correct what has happened, and we destroy ourselves as well.

Let us not accuse the just judgment of God.

We are too ignorant to test his ineffable judgments.

Now the Lord is taking from you the proof of your love toward him.

Now the time is present for you, through endurance, to receive the portion of the martyrs.

The mother of the Maccabees saw the death of her seven children and did not groan nor let fall an ignoble tear, but giving thanks to God because she saw them being released from the bonds of the flesh by fire and sword and the most grievous torments, she was judged well-approved before God, and celebrated in song among men.

Great is the suffering, I too say; but great also are the rewards laid up from the Lord for those who endure.

When you became a mother, and saw the child, and gave thanks to God, you certainly knew that, being mortal yourself, you had begotten a mortal.

What then is strange, if the mortal one has died? But what grieves us is that it happened before its proper time.

It is unclear whether this was in fact untimely, since we do not know how to choose what is beneficial for souls, nor how to set the appointed limits of human life.

Look around at the whole world in which you dwell, and consider that all things seen are mortal, and all are subject to decay.

Look up to the heaven —

even this, too, shall one day be dissolved.

All the stars together, land animals and creatures of the water, the beauties that surround the earth, the earth itself — all are corruptible, all a little while later will no longer exist.

Let the contemplation of these things be a consolation for what has befallen you.

Do not measure the suffering by itself alone —

for so it will appear unbearable to you —

but by comparing it with all human affairs, from this you will find its consolation.

But above all, I have this strong word to say: spare your husband;

do not make the calamity more grievous for him by consuming yourself with grief.

that there is need of it in view of the present circumstances.

I pray, then, that the Lord himself, touching your heart with his ineffable power, may produce light in your soul through good thoughts, so that you may have from within yourself the resources for consolation.

TO GREGORY, HIS FRIEND. Not even then, when I was writing to your eloquence, was I unaware that every theological utterance falls short both of the thought of the one speaking and of the desire of the one inquiring, because speech is by nature somehow too weak to serve the things conceived in the mind.

If, then, our understanding is weak, and our tongue is inferior even to that, what else ought we to expect regarding what has been said, except to be charged with poverty of words? Yet on this account it was not possible to pass over in silence the matter under inquiry.

For there is a danger of betrayal in not readily giving answers concerning God to those who love the Lord.

As for those things, then — whether they seem to be sufficient, or whether they need some more precise addition — they require their own proper occasion for correction.

But for the present we urge you, as we have already urged before, to devote yourself wholly to the advocacy of the truth and to the impulses that come from God upon your mind for the establishment of the good, being content with these and seeking nothing further from us, who, being far inferior to what is supposed of us, harm the argument by our own weakness rather than add any strength to the truth through our advocacy.

TO THE CAESAREANS, AN APOLOGY CONCERNING HIS WITHDRAWAL. Often have I wondered what feeling you have come to have toward us, and from what cause you have become so captivated by our littleness — small and slight, and perhaps possessing nothing lovable — that you urge us with words, reminding us of friendship and of our homeland, as though endeavoring, with a father's tender affection, to turn certain fugitives back again to yourselves.

For my part, I confess that I have become a fugitive, and I would not deny it; but the reason you may now learn, since you are indeed eager to know it.

At first, indeed, struck by the unexpected event, like those who are suddenly and utterly dismayed by sudden noises, I did not keep hold of my reasoning, but fled far off and lodged for a considerable time away from you; then afterward a certain longing for the divine doctrines, and for the philosophy concerning them, stole in upon me.

'For how,' I said to myself, 'could I master the vice that dwells within me? And who could become for me a Laban, to deliver me from Esau and to train me toward the loftiest philosophy?' But since, with God's help, we have to the best of our ability attained our aim, having found a vessel of election and a deep well — I mean Gregory, the mouth of Christ — grant us, I beseech you, a little, a little time, we ask; not because we are enamored of a sojourn in the cities (for the evil one's contrivance of deceit for men by such means has not escaped us), but because we judge our meeting with holy men to be of the greatest benefit.

For in speaking of, and hearing more frequently about, the divine doctrines, we acquire a habit of contemplation not easily cast off.

And such, then, are matters concerning us.

But you, O heads most divine and most beloved of all to me, guard yourselves against the shepherds of the Philistines, lest someone should secretly stop up your wells and muddy the purity of the knowledge concerning the faith.

For this is always their concern: not to teach the more guileless souls from the divine Scriptures, but to distort the truth by means of outward wisdom.

'Holy, but not eternal' — is not this plainly the mark of a Philistine, spitefully begrudging the sheep of our patriarch, that they should not drink of the pure water that springs up into eternal life, but should rather draw upon themselves the saying of the prophet: 'They have forsaken me, the fountain of living water, and hewn out for themselves broken cisterns that are not able to hold water' — when it is necessary instead to confess God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit, as both the divine oracles themselves and those who have understood them more sublimely have taught? But to those who reproach us with tritheism let this be said: that we confess one God, not in number, but in nature.

For everything that is called one in number is not truly one, nor is it simple in nature;

but God is confessed by all to be simple and uncompounded.

Therefore God is not one in number.

We say that the world is one in number, but not one in nature, nor is it in any way simple.

For we divide it into the elements of which it is composed: fire and water and air and earth.

Again, man is called one in number.

For we often say 'one man.'

But he is not simple, being composed of body and soul.

Likewise we will also say that an angel is one in number, but not one in nature, nor simple;

for we conceive the hypostasis of the angel as substance together with sanctification.

If, then, everything that is one in number is not one in nature, and that which is one in nature and simple is not one in number, and we say that God is one in nature, how do they introduce number upon us, when we altogether banish it from that blessed and intelligible nature? For number belongs to quantity, and quantity is bound up with corporeal nature;

for number belongs to corporeal nature.

But we have believed our Lord to be the creator of bodies.

He, therefore, who confesses the Son of God or the Holy Spirit to be subject to number, or a creature, unwittingly introduces a material and circumscribed nature.

By 'circumscribed' I mean not only that which is contained by place, but also that which he who was about to bring it from non-being into being had already comprehended in his foreknowledge — that which it is also possible to comprehend by knowledge.

Every holy being, therefore, which has a circumscribed nature, also has holiness that is acquired, and is not incapable of receiving evil.

But the Son and the Holy Spirit are the fountain of sanctification, by which all rational creation is sanctified according to the measure of its virtue.

And yet we, according to the true doctrine, call the Son neither like nor unlike the Father.

For each of these is equally impossible to say.

For 'like' and 'unlike' are predicated according to qualities, but the divine is free of quality.

But confessing the sameness of nature, we also accept the term 'consubstantial,' and we avoid composition, since God the Father, who is God according to essence, has begotten God the Son, who is likewise God according to essence.

For from this the term 'consubstantial' is demonstrated.

For he who is God according to essence is consubstantial with him who is God according to essence — since even man is called 'god,' as in, 'I said, you are gods.'

And the demon too is called 'god,' as in, 'the gods of the nations are demons.'

But some are so named by grace, others falsely; whereas God alone is God according to essence.

But when I say 'alone,' I mean the holy and uncreated essence of God.

For 'alone' is said both of a particular individual and, simply, of a nature universally.

Of a particular individual, for example — take Paul: that he alone was caught up to the third heaven and heard ineffable words which it is not lawful for a man to utter.

Man — his days are as grass.

For here it signifies not some particular man, but human nature universally.

For every man is temporal and mortal.

In this way we also understand those sayings spoken of the divine nature: 'Who alone has immortality,' and 'To the only wise God,' and 'No one is good but God alone.'

For here 'one' signifies the same as 'alone.'

And again: 'You shall worship the Lord your God, and him alone shall you serve.'

And: 'There is no God besides me.'

For the words "one" and "only," said of God in Scripture, are not spoken in contradistinction to the Son or the Holy Spirit, but in contrast to those who are not gods, yet are falsely so named.

As in, "The Lord alone led them, and there was no foreign god with them."

And, "The children of Israel put away the Baals and the groves of Ashtaroth, and served the Lord only."

As in, "For though there be that are called gods and lords many, yet to us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things."

But here we are inquiring why, having said "one God," he was not content with that expression (for we have said that "only" and "one," said of God, signify [His] nature), but also added "Father," and made mention of "Christ."

I suspect, then, that Paul, the chosen vessel, did not think it enough merely to proclaim that the Son is God and the Holy Spirit is God — which he made clear through the expression "one God" — unless he also, by adding "Father," indicated the One from whom are all things, and by the mention of "Lord" signified the Word through whom are all things, and again, by further including "Jesus Christ," declared the incarnation, set forth the passion, and made manifest the resurrection.

For the name "Jesus Christ" displays to us these very ideas.

For it was his purpose that, having completed the [saving] dispensation — after the resurrection from the dead and the ascension into the heavens — he should permit them to proclaim him as Jesus the Christ.

Such also is the meaning of, "That they might know you, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom you have sent," and of, "Believe in God, and believe also in me" — the Holy Spirit everywhere safeguarding our understanding, so that in advancing toward the one we might not fall away from the other, and that, attending to the theology, we might not despise the dispensation, lest impiety befall us through what is lacking.

As for the words of divine Scripture which our adversaries take up and twist to their own understanding, putting them forward to us for the diminishing of the glory of the Only-begotten, let us examine them thus, unfolding their meaning as far as we are able.

And let the first to be set before us be, "I live because of the Father."

For this is one of the arrows shot up to heaven by those who use it impiously.

Here, I think, the saying does not name the eternal life [that the Son has of himself] (for whatever lives because of another cannot itself be life-in-itself, just as that which is warmed by another cannot itself be heat-in-itself —

but our Lord has said:

"I am the life"), but rather this life lived in the flesh and come to be within this present time, which he lived because of the Father.

For it was by his own will that he came to dwell in the life of men, and he did not say:

"I lived because of the Father," but rather, "I live because of the Father," clearly indicating the present time.

And that this is what is signified, we shall know from what follows.

And, "He who eats me," he says, "shall live because of me."

For we eat his flesh and drink his blood, becoming partakers, through the incarnation and the sense-perceptible life, of the Word and of Wisdom.

For by "flesh" and "blood" he named his whole mystical sojourn among us, and indicated the teaching composed of the practical, the natural, and the theological, by which the soul is nourished and is meanwhile prepared for the contemplation of the things that are.

And this, perhaps, is what is signified by the saying:

"My Father is greater than I."

For this saying too is used by ungrateful creatures, the offspring of the evil one.

But I believe that this very expression also declares that the Son is consubstantial with the Father.

For I know that comparisons, properly speaking, are made between things of the same nature —

as one man is called greater than another, one man more righteous than another, one bird swifter than another.

If, then, comparisons are made between things of the same kind, and the Father is said, by way of comparison, to be greater than the Son, then the Son is consubstantial with the Father.

But there is also another meaning laid up within this saying.

For what is astonishing if, being the Word and having become flesh, he confessed the Father to be greater than himself, seeing that he also appeared inferior in glory to the angels, and inferior even to men in outward form? For it is said, "You made him a little lower than the angels."

But he who was made "a little lower than the angels" —

And, "We saw him, and he had no form nor comeliness, but his form was lacking beyond all the sons of men."

He endured all these things because of his great love for mankind toward his own creation, that he might save the lost sheep and gather in the one that was saved, and that he might bring back, whole again, to his own homeland the man who had gone down from Jerusalem to Jericho and on that account fallen among thieves.

Just as if someone were to blame the physician because, bending down over the sufferings, he shares in the foul odor, in order that he may heal those who suffer.

And yet nothing escapes the notice of true Wisdom;

for all things came into being through it.

Nor indeed has any man ever been ignorant of what he himself has made.

But he arranges this for the sake of your weakness, so that those who have sinned may not fall into despair, as though no time remained for repentance because the appointed limit is short; nor, again, that those who have long been warring against the opposing power might desert their post because of the length of time.

He therefore provides for both, by means of this feigned ignorance:

for the one, shortening the time on account of the good fight; for the other, storing up a season for repentance on account of his sins.

And yet, though in the Gospels he numbered himself among those who do not know, on account of the weakness of the many, as I have said, in the Acts of the Apostles, speaking privately to them as to those who were mature, he says, excepting himself:

"It is not for you to know the times or the seasons which the Father has fixed by his own authority."

Let this, then, be said according to the first, more elementary, approach, in a somewhat coarser [i.e., more literal] manner.

But now we must examine the meaning of the saying in a more elevated way, and knock at the door of knowledge, in the hope that I might be able to rouse the master of the house who gives spiritual bread to those who ask him — since it is friends and brothers whom we are eager to feast.

The holy disciples of our Savior, having attained, as far as is possible for men, to a contemplation beyond [ordinary] vision, and having been purified by the Word, seek after the end and long to know the final blessedness — the very thing which our Lord declared even the angels, and himself, do not know: calling "day" the exact comprehension of the concepts of God, and "hour" the contemplation of the unity and oneness [of the Godhead], the knowledge of which he assigned to the Father alone.

I suspect, then, that it is said that God knows about himself that which he is, and does not know that which he is not.

For God, who created us, is not injustice and wickedness.

If, then, it is said that God knows about himself that which he is, and does not know that which he is not; and if our Lord, according to the concept of the incarnation and the more elementary teaching, is not the final object of desire — then our Savior does not, in this sense, know the end and the final blessedness.

"But not even the angels," he says, "know" — that is, neither the contemplation that is in them, nor the principles of their ministries, are the final object of desire.

For even their knowledge is coarse in comparison with "face to face."

For when we no longer perceive God as in mirrors, nor through things foreign to him, but come to him himself as the only and the one, then we shall also know the final end.

For they say that the kingdom of Christ is all knowledge that is bound up with matter, while the kingdom of God and the Father is the immaterial [knowledge] and, as one might say, the contemplation of the very Godhead itself.

But our Lord himself is also the end and the final blessedness, according to the concept of the Word.

For what does he say in the Gospel? "And I will raise him up on the last day" — calling "resurrection" the transition from material knowledge to immaterial contemplation, and calling this knowledge, after which there is no other, the "last day."

For then our mind rises up and is roused to a blessed height, whenever it beholds the unity and oneness of the Word.

But since our mind, having grown coarse, has become bound to dust and is mingled with clay, and is unable to gaze steadily upon bare contemplation, it is led by means of the ornaments akin to its own body, and so comes to understand the works of the Creator, coming to know these for the time being from their effects — so that, growing little by little in this way, it may one day be strong enough to approach the very Godhead itself unveiled.

And it is according to this same concept, I think, that both "My Father is greater than I" and "It is not mine to give, but it is for those for whom it has been prepared by my Father" were spoken.

For this is also what is meant by Christ's delivering up the kingdom to God the Father — being the firstfruits and not the end — according to the more elementary teaching, as I said, which is to be understood with reference to us, and not with reference to the Son himself.

That these things are indeed so may be seen again from this: when the disciples asked, in the Acts of the Apostles, "Will you at this time restore the kingdom to Israel?" he says:

"It is not for you to know the times or the seasons which the Father has fixed by his own authority."

That is to say, the knowledge of such a kingdom does not belong to those who are still bound to flesh and blood.

For the Father has laid up this contemplation in his own authority — calling by "authority" those who are under his authority, and by "his own" those who do not partake of ignorance of the lower things.

But do not understand "times" and "seasons" as sensible ones, but as certain intervals of knowledge brought about by the intelligible Sun.

For it is Jesus who prayed:

For God, being one, coming to be in each, unites all, and number is destroyed by the advent of the One.

And thus I have applied myself to this saying, according to the second attempt.

But if anyone should speak better, or reverently correct what is ours, let him both speak and correct it, and the Lord will reward him on our behalf.

For no envy lodges among us, since it was not for the sake of contentiousness or vainglory that we undertook this examination of the sayings, but for the benefit of the brethren — so that these earthen vessels which hold the treasure of God might not seem to be deceived by men of stony heart and uncircumcised, armed with foolish wisdom.

Again, through wise Solomon, in the Proverbs, it is said that he is "created":

"For the Lord," it says, "created me."

And he is called 'the beginning of the ways' of the gospel that lead us to the kingdom of heaven — not a creature according to essence, but one who has become 'the way' according to the economy.

For 'to have become' and 'to have been created' signify the same thing.

For just as he became 'the way,' and 'the door,' and 'shepherd,' and 'messenger,' and 'lamb,' and again 'high priest' and 'apostle,' each of these names being applied according to a different sense.

What, then, would the heretic say again concerning the God who is called 'unsubjected,' and who 'became sin' for our sake? For it is written:

"When all things are subjected to him, then the Son himself also will be subjected to him who subjected all things to him."

Do you not fear, O man, that God is called 'unsubjected' on your account? For he makes your subjection his own, and when you resist virtue, he calls himself 'unsubjected.'

So too he once said that he himself was the one being persecuted,

when he wished to bind those who belonged to Christ.

And again, when one of the brethren was naked, he calls himself naked.

"For I was naked," he says, "and you clothed me."

And when another was in prison, he said that he himself was the one confined.

For he himself took up our infirmities and bore our diseases.

And insubordination too is one of our infirmities, and this also he bore.

But the enemies of God also seize upon the saying, "The Son can do nothing of himself," to the ruin of those who hear it.

But to me this very saying declares most of all that the Son is of the same nature as the Father.

For if every rational creature, being self-determining and having an equal inclination toward the worse and the better, can do something of itself, whereas the Son cannot do anything of himself, then the Son is not a creature.

And if he is not a creature, he is consubstantial with the Father.

And again, none of the creatures can do all that it wills.

But the Son, in heaven and on earth, has done all that he willed.

And again, all created things are either composed of contraries or are receptive of contraries.

But the Son is righteousness itself, and is immaterial.

And if this is not so of him, he is consubstantial with the Father.

Let this examination of the sayings that have been set forth, then, according to our ability, be sufficient for us.

Let us now proceed at last, with our argument, against those who set themselves against the Holy Spirit, casting down every proud height of thought that raises itself up against the knowledge of God.

You say that the Holy Spirit is a creature.

But every creature is a slave of the one who created it.

For, it says, "all things are your servants."

And if he is a slave, then he possesses his holiness as something acquired;

and whatever possesses holiness as something acquired is not incapable of receiving evil;

but the Holy Spirit, being holy in essence, is called the fountain of sanctification;