書信集 第 1 章 第 6/11 段

but if you judge this to be a wrongdoing, then for the sake of God, whom he serves, and of our gray hairs, which you know to be held in reverence by many who fear the Lord, grant, I beseech you, this favor to us and to the whole clergy, and make favorable for yourself your hopes toward God, by freeing this man from harassment.

And you will receive in return no less than what you give (if I may be so bold as to say so) — our prayers.

To the Same. I am so disposed, if I must write the truth, as to shun every assembly of bishops, because I have never seen a synod come to a good end, or bring about a resolution of evils rather than an increase of them.

For always there is contentiousness and love of power (but let not this writing make you think me tiresome), and these beyond all telling;

and one would sooner be charged with wickedness for sitting in judgment on the evil of others, than actually resolve

their case — I who am almost always at my last gasp, and can be of no use to myself for anything.

To Olympius. This is heavier to me than my illness — that being ill I am not even believed, but am ordered to undertake so long a journey and to be thrust into the midst of tumults, from which I was glad to withdraw, so that on this account I almost feel grateful to the suffering of my body.

For a quiet life free of affairs is more precious than distinction amid affairs.

This I wrote also recently to the most admirable vicarius, having received the same order;

and now let your magnanimity also deign to write on our behalf, since we have you as a trustworthy witness of our illness.

And I am persuaded also by the loss which I have now suffered, in not even being able to hasten to you and enjoy your company — a governor so gracious and so admirable in virtue, that even the beginnings of your rule are more honorable than the good repute which others achieve only by the end of theirs.

To Saturninus. You demand, I know well, the offices of friendship, even though writing might otherwise seem too bold.

For to those outside you grant authority, but to us you grant freedom of speech, as a good fellow-servant toward those deemed worthy to draw near to God.

All is well with us, by God's help, except for one thing — anxiety over the churches, so greatly troubled.

Whatever contribution you can make to them, do not hesitate to promote our common concord both in word and in deed, since again there is a synod of bishops, and again there is fear lest even now we be put to shame, this one too coming to a bitter end, just as the former one did.

As for our own affairs, we shall leave them to God, who knows all things, both to know and to judge, since we gladly yielded to envy and to those who wished it, having withdrawn — not from something good, as many suppose, but from something very perilous — and having come, as it were, out of a terrible and violent storm into some calm and safe harbor.

To Victor. Not that we are bold in writing now, but that we are slothful in not having written sooner — or rather, not even that;

for we lack the means by which we might write, though how greatly, you may imagine, we have longed to do so — living in the countryside far from our monastery, and there tending to our bodily health.

But now, since the occasion allows, we both address you and ask that the honor you used to grant us when present, you would also grant us now in our absence, and not hesitate to comfort us by letters, as we suffer greatly from the separation.

And since again there is a synod, again a contest, and this in the midst of enemies who watch all our affairs closely, give your hand to the common settlement, as being a part of the Church that is not the least, and do not overlook everything being consumed by the conflagration that now besets the Church.

But whatever instrument of extinguishing you can bring, bring it, and exhort the others as well, so that your own affairs too may prosper, as the common good fares better.

To the Same. Truly you are a victor, and in all things the best of men, O admirable one.

For having conquered your enemies with arms, as long as it was possible, now you conquer all men by your goodness.

Bid him, then, take courage, in token of our friendship, which we trust will avail him in the measure that you hold it in honor.

To Sophronius. We practice philosophy in quietude;

this is the wrong that those who hate us have done to us — would that they had done us some other such wrong instead, that we might rather acknowledge them as benefactors,

...to suffer, and, though suffering nobly, to be wronged.

Such, then, are our affairs.

And even if we do not persuade others, we wish you at least, above all, to know these things, to whom we gladly render an account of our affairs — or rather, we are confident that you already know, and are able to persuade those who are ignorant.

But let it be your whole earnest endeavor, I beseech you, now at least, if not before, to bring to harmony and unity the divisions of the world that stand so ill apart, especially if you should find that they are divided not for the doctrine of the faith, but for their own petty-mindedness — which is what I myself have observed.

Thus your power would also bring you its reward;

and our withdrawal would be less painful to us, if we should appear not to have seized upon it in vain, but to have willingly cast ourselves into the sea, like that Jonah, so that the storm might cease and those sailing might be safely saved.

But if they are nonetheless still storm-tossed, at least our part has been contributed.

For piety has joined us together, and the good repute of virtue, which we have learned in you, who have shown clearly that 'Greek' and 'barbarian' is a difference of bodies, not of souls, and a separation of places, not of characters or of moral choices.

May it come to pass that many of our own race would imitate your nobility of character; I know that then all things would go well for us, both public and private.

I beseech you: just as with your own right hand and wisdom you nobly dissolve the war from without, standing on our behalf, so also resolve our own war, so far as it lies with you, striving that the outcome may be peaceful for the bishops now assembled.

For to come together often, yet find no end of our evils, but always to add troubles to troubles, is a greater shame — as you yourself also know.

To the Same. I have long desired to address your honor, and thanks be to God, who has given the occasion.

And seeking how I might repay the one who delivers this letter to you, I found this to be the best course — to commend him to your authority.

I ask that, for our sake too, you be pleased to look with some favor upon him, who is both mine and yours;

a fellow-lodger of mine, but a soldier of yours (I mean Theodore, who now comes to you through us), so that he too may perceive the honor with which we have always been honored by you, and with which we are still honored even now.

To Bosporius. I used to think that an apology was owed to me by you also for former matters — so old-fashioned and foolish a person am I.

But since you do not cease making war on us, but continually build upon your former deeds and devise fresh insults upon insults — for what reason I know not, whether hating us, or gratifying others by our dishonor — these things I shall leave to God both to know and to judge, from whom nothing that exists is hidden, as the divine Scripture says, even though we obscure the face of truth for the sake of decorum before the many.

But we bring good news to your piety;

we have been overcome, and, if God grants it, we shall not hesitate to care for the Church so far as we are able (since this is what you strive for, especially as the time presses urgently on account of the expected inroad of the enemy, as you yourself write);

but we shall devote this lowly body to God, as long as it holds out and we have strength, so that we may not bear the burden of being thus condemned by you, and denounced by the whole clergy with every kind of lament for oppressing us, seeing the Church neglected and the multitude struck, as though we disregarded the affairs of the Church;

nor may you continue longer to wear yourselves out in dishonoring us.

And this we shall do by your prayers, if you yourself hesitate over the leadership of the Church, as you yourself say, and as circumstances persuade.

For it is better to die amid those cares than these, since in any case one must suffer hardship, God so shaping our affairs;

our affairs, and those of all who hope in Him — may He Himself now also bring to the mind of your Perfection the knowledge of the dishonor with which we have been dishonored by the lord bishops in the matter of the votes, who agreed to the appointment, yet thrust us aside.

For I shall certainly not blame your piety, who have but lately come to be involved in these affairs, and are, naturally, ignorant of most of the history concerning us.

Nor do I wish to trouble you at greater length, lest I seem burdensome, just now at the beginning of our friendship.

But what, upon deliberating with God's help, now lies before us, this we make known.

For I withdrew from the Church at Nazianzus neither as despising God, nor as disregarding the little flock (for may no philosophic soul ever suffer such a thing!), but first, as bound to no such office by any formal charge, and second, because I had been worn down by illness and judged myself insufficient for such cares.

Since you too were burdening me, reproaching my withdrawal, and I myself could not bear the outcries raised against me by all, and the times were harsh, threatening us with an incursion of enemies to the harm of the common good of the whole Church, in the end I was overcome — a defeat painful to the body, but perhaps not evil for the soul.

I give over this lowly body to the Church, for as long as it may be possible, judging it preferable to suffer anything whatsoever in the flesh, rather than to be smitten in spirit, and to smite the multitude, who have formed a worse opinion of us because of what they themselves are suffering.

Knowing these things, then, join in prayer with us, and accept our resolve;

and it is perhaps no worse to add this too: be formed also toward piety.

To Olympius. Again I write, though I ought to be present;

but from you comes my confidence, O arbiter of spiritual things (to say first what is first), and corrector of public affairs, both gifts being from God;

who have received as the reward of your piety this — that affairs go according to your mind, and that you alone attain what is unattainable by others.

For understanding and courage guide your rule — the one discovering what must be done, the other easily accomplishing what has been discovered.

And the greatest thing is the purity of one's hand, by which all things are set right.

Where is unjust gold for you? It never even came into being, having been condemned to exile from the outset, like some invisible tyrant.

And where is enmity? It has been condemned.

And where is favor? Here you incline a little (for I shall accuse you slightly of this), but it is in imitation of God's love for mankind — which even now Aurelius, your soldier, entreats through us; him I call a foolish fugitive and a prudent suppliant, because he has placed himself in our hands, and through our hands, in yours, presenting, as it were, some royal image — our grey hairs and the priesthood, which you have often professed you revere.

Behold, this hand brings him to you — this hand that bears the offering and sheds no blood — a hand that has written many praises of you, and will, I know, write still more, if God should prolong your rule — I mean both yours and that of your colleague in your office of justice.

TO THE SAME. Again it is a time for kindness, and again I am bold, entrusting to a letter an appeal concerning so great a matter.

For my illness makes me bold, since it does not even allow me to go forth;

for it does not permit me a decorous approach.

What, then, is my petition? Receive it from me gently and kindly.

But it is far more terrible for a city to die — a city which kings founded, and time established, and a long succession of ages has preserved.

Consider that this city, through us, falls at your feet; let her have a voice, let her be clothed in mournful garb, let her hair be shorn, as in a drama, and let her address these words to you:

'Do not join with time in assailing me, nor destroy what the Persians left behind.'

It is more fitting for you to raise up cities than to tear down those that have grown weary.

Become a founder of cities, either by adding something to those that exist, or by preserving the one that exists.

Do not endure that a city should exist only until your rule, and after you exist no longer;

nor bequeath to time so wretched a tale — that she was once numbered among cities, only to leave behind an uninhabited waste, a place once a city, now known only by its mountains, cliffs, and forests.' Let these, then, be the deeds and words which this fashioned city addresses to your kindness.

But receive from us, as from friends, this counsel:

be willing to correct those who have transgressed the ordinance of your authority — for on this point we presume nothing on their behalf, even though it is said that the audacity did not arise from a common deliberation, but from the thoughtless impulse of certain youths;

but remit the greater part of your anger, and employ a greater reasoning;

they grieved exceedingly for their mother being put to death; they could not bear to be called citizens and yet be without a city; they went mad, they transgressed the law, they despaired of their own safety — the extraordinary nature of their suffering made them out of their minds.

Is it then necessary, because of this, that the city should no longer be a city? By no means, O admirable one; do not let this be recorded of you.

But honor all the citizens, and the councillors, and the officials who entreat you;

for consider that the calamity touches all of them alike, even if, because of the greatness of your authority, they keep quiet, groaning as though submerged beneath the waters.

Honor also our grey hair, for whom it would be terrible if, having once possessed the great city, we should now not even have a city, and if, after your rule, both the temple which we raised for God and our loving care for its beauty should become a dwelling-place for wild beasts.

For it is not simply that, if statues are thrown down, this is a terrible thing — though it is terrible to others too;

nor should you think that our concern is about these things, we whose zeal is for better things; but whether, together with these statues, an ancient city — one that has produced something splendid — will be thrown down while we are still alive to see it, we who are honored by you and reckoned to have some influence.

But this is all we shall say concerning these matters.

For even if we should say more, we should find nothing stronger than your own reasoning, by which so great a nation is governed — and may it be governed to even greater and grander things, and to even greater offices of rule.

But it is necessary for your magnanimity to know this concerning those who fell into trouble beforehand: that they are utterly wretched and cast off, and had no part in the disorder of those who sinned, as many who were present at the time assure us.

In view of these things, deliberate on whatever you deem expedient, both with regard to the glory that comes from this world, and with regard to the hopes that come from the world to come.

But we shall bear whatever befalls us — not without grief, indeed, but we shall bear it;

for what else, indeed, could we do? But if the worse course should prevail, we shall grant ourselves this one favor alone: we shall shed tears upon the city that once was.

TO THE SAME. Although the longing to meet with you is ardent, and the need of those who entreat is great, yet my illness is unconquerable.

Respect our grey hair, which you have already respected, doing well, and many times over.

Respect also this infirmity, to which the labors undergone for God's sake have likewise contributed a part — if I may speak somewhat boldly.

And for this reason, spare the councillors, who look to us as having freedom of speech with you.

And spare the others who are under our care.

For indeed no harm comes to affairs from kindness, since by fear you accomplish more than others do by punishments.

And in return for these things, may it be granted you to find such a Judge as you yourself prove to be toward those who entreat you and toward us who intercede.

TO THE SAME. What does suffering much and faring well grant to men? It teaches kindness and inclines one toward those in need.

For there is no such instruction toward mercy as having oneself previously received kindness.

This has happened to me as well;

I learned compassion from what I suffered.

I shall draw upon your kindness on behalf of another's affairs.

I write this on behalf of the presbyter Leontius, or rather, of him who was once a presbyter;

who, if he has suffered what is proportionate to what he has done, let us stop here, lest the excess become an injustice;

but if something is still owed in punishment, and the requital for the outrage has not yet been fully matched to his sins, grant this to us, and to God, and to the tribunal, and to the common assembly of priests among whom he was once numbered — even though he has now shown himself unworthy both by what he has done and by what he has suffered.

If, then, we persuade you, this is best;

but if not, we bring to you a more venerable intercessor, one who shares with you both your office and your good repute.

TO THE SAME. Haste is not everywhere praiseworthy.

But since we have come to a strait of time, and it is necessary to make known what has been found by the inquiry, we shall indeed make it known.

And the words indeed are on their side, but the intention of heart — I do not know whether it is not also, in some measure, on this one's side, as the tear indicates.

You yourself, then, will clearly do what your own justice, and God who directs you in all things, dictate.

But I would most gladly give my opinion to my son Verianus, that he should pass over many of the intervening matters, on condition of not ratifying the bill of divorce, which is altogether displeasing to our laws, even if the laws of the Romans judge otherwise.

For it is absolutely necessary that justice be preserved — which is also what we pray that you may always both say and do.

TO VERIANUS. Executioners do nothing terrible;

for indeed they are servants of the laws;

nor is the sword unlawful, with which we punish the wicked;

but nevertheless, the executioner is not praised, nor is the blood-red sword welcomed with pleasure.

So neither do we consent to become hateful, through having the divorce confirmed by our hand and tongue.

For it is better to become mediators of union and friendship than of separation and the dissolution of married life.

This, it seems to me, is also what the most admirable governor had in mind when he entrusted to us the inquiry concerning your daughter — as to those who could not approach the dissolution harshly or dispassionately.

For it is clear that he put me forward not as a magistrate, but as a bishop, and made me a mediator in the misfortune that has befallen you.

I entreat you, therefore, to grant something to my timidity;

and if the better course prevails, make use of us as servants of your will, and we rejoice to be commanded in such matters;

but if it is the worse and more perverse course, one which even to this day we have never undertaken, seek out another who is more suited to it.

But I have no leisure — even though I know in every respect that you are most precious to me — to offend God, for the sake of gratifying your friendship, God to whom I must render account of every movement and thought.

But we shall believe your daughter then (for the truth shall be spoken) when she is able, having cast off her reverence for you, to speak the truth openly.

For as it is now, her plight is pitiable;

for she divides herself: to you, her words; to her husband, her tears.

To Olympius. This was what I used to say, as though from some prophecy, since I find you gracious in everything and insatiably enjoy your mildness: that I fear I may exhaust your benevolence on behalf of others' affairs.

For behold, this is my contest—if indeed it is mine, being the contest of those who belong to me—and I do not make my plea with the same freedom of speech.

For to plead on one's own behalf, though more advantageous, is yet more humbling.

Moreover, I am wary of satiety, as it dissolves pleasure and stands opposed to all good things.

Such, then, is the case, and I judge it quite rightly.

Nevertheless, taking courage both in God, whom I serve, and in your magnanimity in doing good, I have ventured to make this supplication.

Nicobulus, whose only offense is that, on our account, he has become an object of envy and more outspoken than is proper.

Granted, let the one now warring against us be the most just of men.

For I am ashamed to bring an accusation, before your righteous tribunal, against one on whose behalf I formerly contended;

but I do not know whether it will appear just to you that penalty should be exacted from one man for the sins of others—sins, moreover, not his own, nor even committed willingly—from him who so roused his household servants and grew so indignant that he yielded to his accuser more readily than the accuser himself wished.

But must Nicobulus, or his children, be reduced to slavery, as it seems fit to those who malign him? I am ashamed of the pretext for this calumny and of the occasion, if it should come to pass while you are governor and we have influence with you.

Is it now, when private affairs are being harmed, that the public good is served, that the town councils are increased? By no means, most admirable sir; let not such a thought occur to your integrity.

But perceiving, with the winged swiftness of your mind, the malice from which these things arise, and having regard for us, your admirers, show yourself a benevolent judge to those who are set in motion by this affair, as one who today judges not men only, but virtue and vice themselves;

and it is this—rather than the particular case—that rulers such as you, distinguished in virtue and benevolence, ought to consider.

And for this you shall have from us not only our prayers—which, unlike most, I know you do not disdain—but also this: that your governance will be proclaimed with renown to all who know us.

To Asterius. What is more just than God? And yet, though he is the maker and master of all, he makes for himself a chosen people and calls it Israel, and is not ashamed that on this account he might be thought unjust.

What wonder, then, if we too, caring for all who are under our hand and protection, are especially attached to the son of Nicobulus, whom we know as both the caretaker of our old age and the nurse of our sickness, and whom we have set beneath us as a prop and staff for our infirmity? Him we place under your hands, and through yours, under those of the governor—thinking it altogether monstrous that others should be freed, through our intercession, even from the gravest charges (and foremost among them those who are now our bitter accusers), while this one cannot be freed even from mere calumny; and that the honor which we obtain among strangers we should fail to obtain for our own household, but suffer the same fate as eyes, which see all other things but do not see themselves, or as those springs that lie deep and, without watering what is near, give drink to what is far off.

Granted that the deeds ventured by the servant boys are terrible, or even more than terrible;

just as, on the other hand, perhaps nothing—or only something trivial—will be found, unless we are constrained by the shortness of time for examination.

But what has this to do with the masters, who have had no share in anything that has happened? Or what reason is there that penalty for another's sins should be exacted from others, and that public concerns should now be attended to, when one's own affairs are causing distress? To the Same. 'What is this?' you will perhaps say;

'Gregory again, for us? Letters again? Requests again?' Oh, the insatiable appetite which we ourselves have provoked!

By no means, most admirable sir; may you not feel this way.

For to whom do harbors belong, if not to those tossed by storms? And to whom do remedies belong, if not to the sick? May we not be deprived of these—and all the more, inasmuch as we are believed to have influence with you.

For we no longer merely ask, but claim as our due, since one favor is ever calling forth another.

Nicobulus is beset by calumnies—which is to say, we ourselves are;

so employ all your friendship, understanding, and power, with God's help, on behalf of our affairs.

For fire-bearing iron does not need many strikes of the flint to bring forth the fire hidden within it;

rather, it is struck, and immediately the fire flashes forth.

Nor will you yourself need a longer exhortation, especially since it is on our behalf, and since the one persuading you is such as I am, and you are so genuine a partner in office.

I will say one thing, and briefly:

others used to receive benefits through our intercession, but this favor we now need for ourselves—and let this all the more move your Eloquence to compassion.

To Georgius. That which is sick is to be healed, not broken.

How, then, our fellow deacon Euthalius, respecting neither his rank nor honoring their close relation, crushed the wretched Philadelphius with chains and blows—as the marks of the blows also show—this I have wondered at.

Do not, then, treat what has happened lightly, but come yourself and set before us what has taken place.

Let the deacon also be present, both to answer the accusation and to receive a ruling concerning the livelihood of the one who was injured.

For we will not tolerate such an outrage being perpetrated almost before our very eyes.

To Asterius. I rejoice both in writing, and in being blamed for not writing, whenever that happens;

for even your accusations are gracious.

And yet I know that I have written often, and about many matters, and indeed have obtained what I requested of you.

And if nothing else, the multitude of those who have benefited testifies, on my behalf, to the letters I have written.

But if you are more generous in friendship than one could even pray for, while I am more timid in making requests, then you may keep the first place in virtue, and let there be pardon for me, who avoid what is burdensome—since the saying of the wise man teaches that due measure in all things is best.

Nevertheless, thanks be to God, who has entrusted to you the doing of good, thus setting over us a benefactor and colleague we hold in common.

For indeed, even now, by this letter I commend to you our brother and fellow deacon George, a man exceptionally dear to us and most useful to the Church, requesting that he receive support in the matters wherein he is at odds with certain persons, and that he not be swept away by their tyrannical dealing.

To Nectarius. Many rightly conjecture the disposition of your mind;

or rather, they do not merely conjecture, but do not disbelieve us when we press our claims eagerly—namely, that you consider us worthy of no small reverence and honor.

One of these is our most honored son George, who, having fallen into many losses and being quite worn down by his affairs, finds a single haven of safety: to be brought to you through our mediation, and to obtain some measure of kindness from the most honored Count of the Household.

or, if you prefer, through us—to whom, I know, it is well established that you grant everything, and you prove it by your very deeds.

For sickness holds me fast; it has already withdrawn me swiftly from the Church, and now renders me entirely useless, as I am forever at my last breath and increasingly crushed by these affairs.

If, then, the province had some other head, it would be necessary to cry out and appeal to that one;

but since your reverence stands preeminent, it is necessary to look to you.

Take thought for your Church in whatever manner you wish, and do not overlook her as she suffers treatment unworthy of herself.

For to pass over other matters, you will learn from my lords, my fellow presbyters—Eulalius the chorepiscopus and Celeusius, whom we have expressly sent to your reverence for this purpose—what the Apollinarians, now attacking us, have done in part, and in part threaten to do.

And to check these doings belongs not to my age and infirmity, but to your keen judgment and power, since God has given you, among other gifts, the strength needed for the common defense of the Church.

and if you act justly, may the Lord smell from you a sweet-smelling savor;

but if unjustly, may the Lord grant forgiveness.

For thus it is reasonable for me to speak concerning you, since we have been commanded to bear even when we are wronged.

Yet just as you are masters of your own resolve, so too am I of mine.

No longer will Gregory the burdensome be a burden to you.

I will withdraw to God, the only one who is pure and without guile.

These things I have ordained for myself;

for the proverb grants that only fools stumble twice against the same stone.

To Olympius. To us you remain a governor even after your governorship—for we judge such matters differently than most people do—because you possess within yourself, all gathered together, every virtue befitting a ruler.

For many of those enthroned on high are, to me, ranked below—as many as their office makes base, and slaves to those they govern;

but many are lofty and exalted, even though they stand in a lower position, as many as virtue raises on high and renders worthy of greater offices.

But what is this to me? The great Olympius is no longer with us, nor does he hold our helm;

we are undone, we are abandoned, we have become once more a second Cappadocia, having become first through you.