Letters 1 part 4/11

Since, then, you are to find God to be such toward you as you yourselves prove to be toward the poor, fulfill the will of her who has departed — not in a mean or petty spirit, but with great generosity and eagerness — believing that she is present with you and beholds what is done, and give her rest through your donation, so that you may not only have the money from her but may also obtain the blessing of a mother that establishes the houses of her children; bearing in mind that, as it is written, a small portion with righteousness is better than a larger one with meanness (that I may not say something blasphemous), and that many have endured the sale of whole households for the sake of the churches, while others have given up all their substance and have transacted the finest business of all — becoming poor for the sake of the wealth that is there.

Do not, then, sow sparingly, that you may reap abundantly, but grant this good inheritance both to yourselves and to those most dear to you, withholding nothing of what has been written, but giving or rendering all things with pleasure and cheerfulness as things belonging to God, since this alone will you gain — whatever you spend for the sake of your souls.

Be frugal, then, in other matters and toward others (for I do pray that you may be able to do so, along with kindness), but for us strive in the good contest, in which one shall outdo another in piety and in the blessings from God owed to those who are grateful.

Persuade us, then, that you are genuinely Christian; or rather, having begun from so good, so pious and so just a beginning, from this point be of one mind concerning the rest as well, so that you may rejoice with one another and we with you, in other respects, and especially in this — that you have become a fine example to the whole Church of gratitude in these matters.

To Amphilochius. The command of your inimitable nobility of character is not barbarian, but Greek — or rather, Christian.

But the Armenian, in whom you take such great pride, is thoroughly barbarian, and far removed from our sense of honor.

To Amphilochius. Are you in pain? But I, evidently, am living in luxury!

Or does a son grieve you, being snatched away and honored on account of his virtue, and is it a terrible thing if he will not be present with you to care for you in old age and to render the customary services as is usual? But does not a father grieve me, who has departed from us on that last journey from which he will no longer return to us, nor be seen by us again? Yet we bring no accusation, nor do we demand the consolation that is owed us, knowing that one's own troubles give no leisure to attend to those of another.

For no one is so much a friend and philosopher as to be above the passions and to console another while himself standing in need of consolation.

But you, as I hear, add wound to wound by blaming us, thinking that your son — our brother — is being neglected, or, what is heavier still, that he has been betrayed by us, and that we do not feel the loss which all — both friends and kinsmen — have suffered, and I more than all, I who had set the hopes of my life on him, and regarded him as my only support, my only good counselor, my only partner in piety.

And on what grounds do you conjecture this? If on the earlier events, remember that I even crossed over to you on purpose, disturbed by the report, and was eager to share counsel with you, at a time when it was still possible to deliberate about these matters.

yet you shared with us everything rather than that decision, whether from the same perplexity, or wishing — I know not what.

But if on the later events, in the first place my own suffering did not allow me to meet with you again, and also the honor and piety owed to my father, than which I could make nothing more important — especially since the calamity was so recent, when it was not only impious but not even at all seemly to philosophize out of season and beyond what is human.

and furthermore, we supposed that we had already been forestalled by events, the affairs concerning him having already reached whatever conclusion seemed good to him who governs our affairs.

But now, relieve us of this grief, which, as I persuade myself, is the most unreasonable of all.

And if you think there is more to it, set it before me plainly, so that you may not, in your turn, grieve both us and yourself, and suffer something altogether unworthy of your nobility, by blaming us — who have done no wrong — instead of others; but, if the truth must be told, we have suffered the same tyranny at the hands of our common friends, whom you alone considered benefactors.

To Eusebius of Samosata. When your reverence passed through our homeland, I was not even able to peer out of my chamber, being confined by the most extreme illness.

But it was not so much the illness that grieved me, bringing with it the fear of the last things, but that I was being deprived of your sacred and good meeting — having such a desire to see your honored face as was fitting for one who needed healing of the wounds of the soul, and who hoped to obtain this from your perfection.

But even if it was the work of my sins that I missed meeting with you at that time, now, through your goodness, it is possible for me to obtain some correction of what grieved me.

...a blessing from God as provision for the way, both in this my present life and in the age to come.

For that so great a man, one who has contended thus for the faith of the Gospel, and has endured such great persecutions, and has prepared for himself such boldness before God the giver of justice through the endurance of afflictions — that this man should deign to become our protector through his prayers, I am persuaded, has as much power as it would have for me if it came from one of the holy martyrs.

Wherefore I beg you, without fail, to remember your Gregory, in those matters in which I pray to be worthy of your remembrance.

Blessed is he who has been deemed worthy to draw near to you; but more blessed is he who has set upon his sufferings for Christ and his labors for the truth such a crowning finish as few of those who fear God have attained.

For you did not display your virtue untested, nor did you sail upright only in a season of fair weather and pilot the souls of others; but you shone forth amid the hardships of trials, and you became loftier than your persecutors by nobly departing from your native land.

And others possess their ancestral soil, but we possess the city above.

others perhaps possess our throne, but we possess Christ.

O what a transaction — by disdaining such things, what things we have gained!

For God will not abandon us to the end, nor will he overlook the right teaching as it is being persecuted, but according to the multitude of our sorrows, his consolations will gladden us.

This, then, we both believe and pray for.

But you, I beg, pray on behalf of our lowliness.

And as often as opportunity arises, do not hesitate to bless us through letters, and to make us more cheerful by revealing your own affairs — as you have now also deigned to do.

To the Same. Both by writing and by remembering us you gladden us, and, what is greater than this, by blessing us in your letters.

But we, if we were worthy of your sufferings and of your contest waged for Christ and on account of Christ, would have been deemed worthy, coming even as far as you, to embrace your reverence and to receive a pattern of endurance amid sufferings.

But since we happen to be unworthy of this, being troubled by many afflictions and occupations, we do what is second best.

We send greeting to your perfection, and we ask that you not grow weary of remembering us.

For it is not only a benefit to us to be deemed worthy of your letters, but also a boast before the many and an adornment, that we have a place in the regard of a man so great in virtue, and possessing such close kinship with God that he is able to draw others also into kinship with God, both by word and by example.

To Julian. I have many just claims to friendship with you, and if nothing else, our studies, than which nothing is more revered or more intimate to most men.

But there is no ground for enmity, nor may there ever be.

For whatever grievances you have against our brother Nicobulus, or from Nicobulus, are no more mine than the affairs transacted among the Indians.

insofar as I am not pleased with any of the things that have taken place.

Do not, then, charge these things to my account, nor on this account resolve upon anything worse concerning yourself.

But the loving-kindness which you promised to the poor, bring this to fulfillment.

And moreover, free from the census-registration all the clergy around me whom I have requested exemption for, bearing in mind that it is exceedingly absurd that others should consecrate their entire property to God, while you are not willing to be kind even without cost; and that in other cities all those attached to the sanctuary have been granted exemption, but to us not even those who attend upon and serve me — and this from you, our closest kin, whom perhaps we would not put to shame by such a request.

But it was not possible to meet, since illness drove me forth to Tyana to seek treatment, until a more suitable time.

But in our place you have God, present and helping the poor, who is far more to be revered than our presence.

To the Same. You called us to the monastery — and rightly so — as partners in the deliberation concerning the equalization of assessment.

For indeed the matter requires no small consideration.

As for me, had I happened to be in good health, I would most eagerly have come to meet you.

And I will come, whenever it is possible, God willing.

But for now, I fulfill through a letter the office of my presence.

I know that you are of holy parents, and have grown up from your earliest years in the fear of God.

Whatever, then, you know to be advantageous to you, both for good repute and for the safety of your soul, these things you will obviously do, even if we ourselves do not write about them.

But if we too must contribute something, this we make known: that in place of some other kind of conduct which Christian souls offer to God, this task now lies before you.

And you will store up great treasure for yourself by caring for the common good, and by correcting also whatever was badly arranged before this.

But one thing, and the greatest, for security (which you must also guard as first in importance): to take as fellow-workers those whom you know to excel others both in understanding and in character.

For what use is it to be a good helmsman, if one employs wicked oarsmen? To the Same. I have your promise, and I take courage from the character on account of which I also have the gift.

Now above all, the great discharger of debts knows the measure of gifts given and gifts returned.

But if it also lies with us to arrange such matters, from us comes the offering, from you the loving-kindness.

To Eutropius. What is this? Eutropius, the great one, is counted among our own!

and we hear of it, but we do not enjoy it.

And that famous Tantalus — what else was he but this, wasting away with thirst in the midst of springs? You, then, as you write, long for a meeting with us, and you do well to do so.

For it was fitting that you, being what you are, should not disdain your friends, but even in passing on your journey should do good to us, and should honor, after your office, those things which you thought worthy of honor while you were still ruler.

But how do you suppose I am disposed, and what state of soul do I have — longing no less, if not more, as is reasonable (for what is more revered is more desired), yet fettered by illness? Be to me that Egyptian remedy — whether it was a word, or something else — with which Homer, in his poem, medicates souls in their griefs.

And how will you become this? First, by forgiving — for what is good is ready to forgive.

and next, by instructing us through whatever you write, since indeed we have had occasion to admire you as a ruler of virtue rather than of mere authority.

To the Same. Let one person praise one of your qualities, another a different one; in any case you will suffice, being divided among many tongues.

But I shall speak of that which I have admired most.

You possess so much nobility of character and eloquence that this alone suffices to make you friends: to be reputed such a man.

Indeed, among all those whom you have honored, being such as you are, when you held the most exalted throne — while it still carried its burden of envy — and met me by chance in Asia, if you recall at all (and I know you do recall, being so great a soul both in matters of friendship and in your perfection in all things), you received me most gladly along with everything else, and you bade me write, honoring my discourses.

And not only this, but you also thought it fit to write first, imitating good teachers of writing, who train their pupils by demonstrating much to them.

This, then, you have now done, and done well;

and for the future do not hesitate to show favor, even should the thrones again bear you aloft (for they will bear your office, not your virtue;

for indeed you have nothing left by which to be exalted with regard to virtue, having already come to its very peak).

But even while attending to public affairs, do not neglect those of friends, after the manner of the Homeric young men who, in the midst of war, attend earnestly to matters of friendship, since with this too your Homer diversifies his poetry.

Be deeply stung by your griefs.

For if we grieve less, they are less grievous.

It is nothing terrible if the heretics have revived and, emboldened by the spring, have crept out of their lairs, as you write.

They will hiss a little, I know well, and then they will sink back down, being warred against both by truth and by circumstance — and all the more so, the more we entrust everything to God.

To the same. Concerning the things you have written about, our disposition is this:

we are neither vexed when disregarded, nor do we rejoice any less when honored.

For the former we are worthy of, but the latter belongs to your generosity.

Forgive the brevity;

for assuredly, even if these words are few, they are longer than silence.

To the same. Even while remaining here, I travel abroad with you through love;

for longing makes all that is ours common with you.

And I have many hopes, trusting in God's love for mankind and in your prayers, that everything will turn out according to your mind, and the storm will resolve into a gentle breeze, and God will give you this as the reward of your orthodoxy: to prevail over those who insult you.

Most of all, then, may we see you soon and receive you back as we pray.

But if you should be delayed, circumstances so shaping things, do not refuse at least to gladden us with letters informing us of your affairs, and to offer, as usual, prayers concerning us.

May the good God grant that you be healthy and of good cheer in all things — you who are the common support of the Church.

To Vitalianus. We do not correspond with you continually.

The reason is that there are many around you, and among them some in whom we take least pleasure.

But if you should purge yourself of the crowd and take virtue as your housemate, you will see even the lame run, as the proverb says.

For this we both promise, with God's help, and will do.

To Gregory of Nyssa. This too was reserved for my wretched life: to hear of Basil's death and the departure of that holy soul, which departed from us in order to come to dwell with the Lord, having made this the study of his whole life.

But I, among other things, have been deprived also of this, because even now I am still in a bad and quite dangerous bodily condition: to embrace the holy dust, and to be present with you as you philosophize fittingly, and to console our common friends.

For to see the desolation of the Church, shorn of such glory and stripped of such a crown, is neither bearable to sight nor tolerable to hearing, for those at least who have understanding.

But you, it seems to me, though there are many friends and many words of consolation, would be consoled by nothing so much as by yourself and by the memory of that man;

you two who have become for all others an example of philosophy, and as it were a spiritual measuring-line both of good order in prosperity and of endurance in griefs, since philosophy knows these two things: to manage good fortune with moderation and misfortune with dignity.

These things from us to your honored self;

and it is no wonder that you, still being unstricken and inexperienced of our sufferings, find such things hard to bear.

But we, as having experienced more numerous evils and having shared in such insult, might reasonably be considered credible in advising your piety of what grey hair teaches and reason indicates.

But perhaps it is better to be long-suffering, and by what we suffer to give to many an example of long-suffering —

teaching many, as deed does — a silent exhortation.

We consider it a great thing to exact justice from those who have wronged us;

a great thing, I say (for this too is useful for the correction of others), but far greater and more godlike than this is to endure patiently while suffering.

For the former restrains wickedness, but the latter persuades men to be good, which is far better and more perfect than merely not being wicked.

Let us consider that a great task of loving-kindness lies before us, and let us forgive the wrongs done to us, so that we too may obtain forgiveness, and let us offer goodness in advance in exchange for goodness.

Phinehas was called zealous, because he pierced through the Midianite woman together with the fornicator and removed reproach from the sons of Israel;

but he was praised even more because he prayed for the people when they had stumbled into sin.

Let us too, therefore, stand in the breach and make atonement, and let the plague be stayed, according to what is written, and let this be reckoned to us for righteousness.

Moses too was praised, because in his great grief on behalf of the Israelite he slew the Egyptian;

but he was admired even more because he healed through prayer his sister Miriam, who had become leprous on account of her murmuring.

The Ninevites are threatened with destruction, but they buy off their sin with tears.

Manasseh was the most lawless among kings, but among those saved through lamentation he is the most conspicuous.

"What shall I make of you, Ephraim?" says God,

and a shielding protection is added.

What is swifter than loving-kindness? The disciples ask for fire from Sodom against those who were leading Jesus away, but he refuses such vengeance.

Peter cuts off the ear of Malchus, one of the insolent men, but Jesus restores it.

And what of the one who asked whether one must forgive a brother who has sinned seven times? Is he not thereby convicted of pettiness? For to the "seven times" is added the "seventy times seven."

And what of the debtor in the Gospels, who did not forgive what had been forgiven him? Is he not therefore made to pay back more bitterly? And what of the pattern of the [Lord's] prayer? Does it not seek to transact forgiveness by means of our forgiving? Having so many examples, let us imitate the loving-kindness of God, and let us not wish them to learn from us how great an evil is the repayment of sin for sin.

Do you see the sequence of God's goodness? He legislates first, then he exhorts, promises, threatens, reproaches, raises the threat again, restrains, threatens once more;

and when he is at last compelled, he inflicts a blow, and this by degrees, opening up room for amendment.

Let us not, then, ourselves strike all at once (for this is not safe), but having disciplined by fear, let us conquer by loving-kindness, and let us gain them as debtors of piety through their conscience, rather than tormenting them with wrath.

Let us not wither a fig tree still able to bear fruit; let us not condemn it as useless and as occupying the ground in vain — a tree which perhaps the care and diligence of a skillful farmer will heal.

Let us not, perhaps through the malice and envy of the Evil One, destroy in so short a time so great and celebrated a work, but let us wish rather to appear loving of mankind than rigorously exacting, and lovers of the poor more than lovers of strict justice;

nor let us give heed more to those who inflame us to this than to those who restrain us, and, if nothing else, let us consider the shame of it, should we appear to be contending against the poor, who have this great advantage: that even if they do wrong, they are pitied on account of their misfortune.

Now imagine all the poor, and those who care for the poor, falling at your feet, and all the monks and virgins entreating you on their behalf.

If it seems to you a terrible thing to be dishonored by them, let it appear far more terrible that these, exhorting you thus, should go unheeded.

And as for the good Paul, may God forgive him what he insolently did against us.

To Theoteknos. We know that it is difficult, while the wrong is still recent and anger still boiling, for reasoning to be accepted;

for anger and grief are blind, especially when righteous indignation is present.

We too have been insulted along with you and are no less indignant; for this reason we may fairly counsel you not to suffer dishonor.

And if you wish, add that we have suffered such things as no other man has.

But let us not, on this account, wrong ourselves, nor let us hate piety to a degree that is not to our advantage.

A wife is a great thing, and a daughter precious, but these are not yet more precious than the soul.

Consider that you were only recently deemed worthy of grace and cleansed of your sins by the washing, and it is no ordinary danger to defile that gift with blood and again to need another cleansing.

Let us not, then, plot against ourselves, nor cast away our boldness before God, by showing ourselves bitter toward those who have wronged us and being indignant beyond measure.

Let us leave the man to God and to the punishments that come from thence;

but let us secure for ourselves a merciful judge, by showing ourselves merciful, and let us forgive, that we may be forgiven.

And let not a vain reasoning deceive you, [the thought] that to prosecute justly is blameless, and to hand over the transgressor to the laws.

There are laws of the Romans, and there are also laws of ours.

But the former are immoderate and harsh, proceeding even as far as blood;

but ours are kind and merciful, and do not permit us to indulge anger against wrongdoers.

Let us abide by these and follow them, so that, having granted small things (for life here is small and worth nothing), we may receive great things from God in return: his loving-kindness and the hopes that come from him.

TO SIMPLICIA. You praise our holy and common father — the buttress of the faith, the rule and standard of truth, the very embodiment of piety, the grey head full of wisdom, the one who surpassed the measures of human life and virtue, the faithful servant and great high priest, the mediator of God and men, the dwelling-place of the Spirit;

In this you do rightly, since every word falls short of that holy and blessed soul — unless affection deceives me, or passion mingled with longing.

But this I have greatly wondered at concerning you: how you praise him as a saint and pay him due honor to this extent, and yet attempt to undo his work — as though he were among the unholy, and especially deserving of insult, one of those who lived and passed away in vain.

For if you are laying claim, as to your own slave, to the fellow-shepherd, and pursuing this petty gain, I cannot find how to commend it, to put it mildly, and this is utterly unworthy of your magnanimity.

For how is it not absurd to honor the Divine with gold and silver and with the superfluities of one's possessions — wherein, perhaps, the motive of display exceeds that of piety — yet, for the sake of a priest, to be willing to damage the Church altogether and to plunder the holiest of her dedicated offerings? But if you are vexed because we did this on our own authority, without reminding your nobility of it or giving your generosity the occasion, you might indeed say something just, and the feeling would be human;

but know that there is now for you a greater opportunity for generosity than there was at that former time, inasmuch as to forgive it to those who have already received it is more generous than to give it in the first place.

In the former case you seemed to be bestowing favor on God alone, but in this case also on us, his servants, who have been deemed worthy to bear his name.

Do not, therefore, be angry either at him or at us;

for he has been the victim of compulsion, not the doer of wrong; and as for us, what wonder is it if, trusting in your kindness, we proceeded to this, and at the same time relied on the common vote of the whole district? And if some cast that vote out of favoritism or malice, they themselves would know it, and would render account to God;

for it is not for us to know this, nor to pry into everyone's intentions;

but for us — how could it have been easy to turn them away, or how could we have overlooked so many tears, or the desolation of the district, so long untended and without a shepherd, lacking spiritual oversight? But this, above all, should be clear to you: that those who agreed then but now deny it are doing a thing neither pious nor becoming of free men.

undoing their own word, and fearing men rather than God.

Suppose, again, that these men will say — out of mere compliance — that they changed their position out of fear of you; and much more truly one might say:

since it is inevitable that they should always be at fault, and go hunting for false and cunningly-devised excuses.

But if these things seem to you rightly said, and yet you demand an account of our stewardship (for I hear this too, though you did not make this charge in your letter), let this be demanded justly and humanely, and we shall raise no complaint;

for neither is it pleasing to us that the equity due to masters should be infringed.

What, then, remains? Is it perhaps that the man is taken to be unworthy, and that you censure the appointment on this account? For this, somehow, is the more respectable charge to bring.

But my answer to this is simple and easy.

We leave no one under accusation unexamined, not even if he is very much a friend or of good birth — for nothing is more to be revered than God and the canon — nor shall we leave this man unexamined either.

But if anyone has any accusation to bring, let it be, if you wish, with you present and sharing in the judgment;

but if not, then even in your absence, let him be examined before us; and if he is found innocent, even though he be a slave, let him be acquitted;

since the same God is Father of both slaves and masters, and justice is not determined by rank.

But if he should be found guilty, then he will be condemned by his own sin.

And thus neither will the canon be outraged, nor will he who has departed be dishonored (for what concerns us personally is perhaps to be disregarded, as though we were worth nothing), and you yourself will escape an evil suspicion — namely, that, being estranged from us and from the sound faith, you are contriving these things sophistically rather than nobly, moved by one motive but aiming your blame elsewhere.

This I advise you not to suffer to happen, as being neither holy nor becoming;

nor, having dishonored our laws, to take refuge with outsiders, nor to persist in contending with us, but rather to pardon us, if we have done something too simply on account of the freedom of grace, and to accept being nobly defeated rather than basely conquering by opposing the Spirit.

TO PHILAGRIUS. You ask how things are with us.

I no longer have Basil, I no longer have Caesarius — the brother in spirit and the brother in body.

My bodily state is wretched, old age hangs over my head, cares entangle me, troubles assail me, friends prove faithless, the Church lies without a shepherd.

The good things have perished, the evils stand exposed, the voyage is made in the night, no beacon-light anywhere, Christ is asleep.

What must I endure? The one release from my troubles is death.

And even what lies beyond is fearful to me, when I judge it by what is here.

By no means, O admirable friend — do not feel this way.

For their course is compelled, whereas your circuit follows God, and it is a settled thing that you do good to many, even though you are not fixed in one place.

Unless one should also blame the sun for running its course, scattering its rays and giving life to everything it visits, or, in praising the fixed stars, should disparage the wandering ones — whose very wandering is harmonious.

TO ALYPIUS. I am writing you this, my first letter, and bringing you a petition, so that on this account too I might justly obtain from you what I am about to report.

What, then, do I report? The excellent Palladius, as I hear, is tearing apart our estate in your region with violent incursions, and there is no one to help it.

It would be good for you, then, to care for the man especially when he is present, but much more when he is absent, lest our affairs be utterly lost — ruined and dissipated for want of anyone to check the damage — and lest even those now contending over it gain nothing, since they will no longer have the prize of the struggle.

TO THE SAME. I commend you for caring for our affairs;

I further commend you for letting us know by letter that you are doing so.

For the one you do as a favor to justice, the other as a favor to us.

May you always be seen adding something further to your zeal, that we may admire you all the more.