Letters 25–37

To Athanasius, bishop of Ancyra. 1. Some of those who have come to us from Ancyra have reported to me (and they are many, not easy even to count, but all saying the same thing) that you, dear head (how shall I put it in words of good omen?), do not remember us very kindly, nor in your usual way. Nothing human astonishes me, be sure of that, and no one's change is unexpected to me, since I long ago learned the weakness of nature and how easily it turns to its opposite. So if something of ours has altered, and instead of the former honor there are now reproaches and insults concerning us, I do not make much of it. But this seemed to me truly strange and extraordinary: that you should be the one so disposed toward us as to be angry and indignant with us, and even, as the report of those who heard it goes, to utter some threat. At the threats, to tell the truth, I laughed outright; I should be a mere child indeed if I feared such bugbears. But this seemed to me both alarming and worthy of much concern: that your exactness, which we believed was preserved, as in few others, as a prop of orthodoxy and a seed of the ancient and true love for the comfort of the churches, should have shared so far in the present state of things as to give more weight to the slanders of chance persons than to your long experience of us, and to be led without proof into suspicion of absurdities. And yet why do I say suspicion? For one who is indignant and utters threats, as they say, seems to have shown the anger not of a man who suspects but of one already clearly and incontestably convinced. 2. But, as I said, we lay the cause on the present times. For how much trouble would it have been, my admirable friend, in a short letter to speak with me about what you wished, as one alone with one alone; or, if you did not trust such things to writing, to send for me to come to you? And if you had to speak out at all costs, and the irrepressibility of your anger allowed no delay, you could surely have used as the bearer of your words to us one of your friends who are by nature able to keep secrets. But as it is, whose ears among those who visit you on any business whatever have not been filled with the report that we write and compose certain mischiefs? For this is the word they say you used, those who report your sayings word for word. For my part, though I have turned my mind in many directions, I find no way out of my perplexity. So that something like this has even occurred to me: that perhaps one of the heretics, maliciously putting my name to his own writings, has grieved your orthodoxy and led you to utter that word. For surely you would not have brought that reproach against what we have written against those who dared to say that the Son is unlike God the Father in essence, or against those who blasphemed that the Holy Spirit is a creature and a thing made, you who have endured those great and famous contests on behalf of orthodoxy. You yourself could resolve our perplexity, if you would openly declare what moved you to your grievance against us.

To Caesarius, brother of Gregory. Thanks be to God, who has shown his wonders in you too, and has saved you from so great a death for your homeland and for us your friends. It remains, then, that we not be found ungrateful or unworthy of so great a benefit, but proclaim God's marvels as far as we can, and sing the praises of the love for mankind that we have experienced in fact; and that we render thanks not by word only, but also become in deed such as we are persuaded you now are, judging by the wonders worked in your case. And we urge you to serve God still more, always increasing in fear and advancing toward perfection, so that we may prove prudent stewards of the life for which God's goodness has preserved us. For if it is a command for all of us to present ourselves to God as alive from the dead, how much more for those who have been lifted up from the gates of death? This would best be accomplished, I am convinced, if we were willing always to keep the same mind that we had in the time of danger. For surely the vanity of life came home to us then, and how nothing human is trustworthy or secure, since it so easily changes. And, as was natural, some repentance arose in us for the past, and a promise for the future, if we were saved, to serve God and to take care of ourselves with all exactness. For if the imminent danger of death prompted any thought in us, I think that you then considered either these things or something very close to them. So we stand liable to pay a necessary debt. Rejoicing at God's gift, and at the same time concerned for the future, I have ventured to remind …

To Eusebius, bishop of Samosata. When, by the grace of God and the help of your prayers, I seemed to recover a little from my illness and gathered my strength, then winter came on, shutting us up at home and forcing us to stay where we were. For even though it came much milder than usual, it was enough to hinder me, not only from traveling through it, but even from being able to peep out of my room a little. Yet even this is no small thing for me, to be thought worthy to converse with your Godliness by letter and already to find rest in the hope of your replies. And if the season permits, and some time of life is still left us, and the famine does not make the road impassable for us, we may quickly obtain our desire through your prayers, and, finding you at your hearth, fill ourselves at full leisure with the great treasures of the wisdom that is in you.

To the church of Neocaesarea, a letter of consolation. 1. What has happened called for our presence in person, both to join you, his nearest ones, in paying honor to the blessed man, and to share in the dejection at the loss from the very sight of the sadder things, and to take part with you in the necessary deliberations. But since there are many obstacles to bodily meeting, it remained to share the present circumstances with you by letter. The man's marvels, for which we especially reckon the loss unbearable, would not fit within the measure of a letter; and besides, it is untimely to bring our speech to the multitude of his great deeds when our soul has so sunk under grief. For which of his qualities is such as could slip from your memory, or be thought worth passing over in silence? To say everything at once is impossible; and to speak of a part, I fear, would amount to a betrayal of the truth. Gone is a man who most clearly surpassed those of his time in all human goods together: the prop of his homeland, the ornament of the churches, a pillar and ground of the truth, a buttress of faith in Christ, a safeguard to his own people, most formidable to opponents, a guardian of the ancestral ordinances, an enemy of innovation, showing in himself the ancient form of the church, and shaping the appearance of the church under him on the pattern of the ancient constitution, as though from some sacred image, so that those who were with him seemed to be with those who shone like lights two hundred years and more ago. So the man brought forward nothing of his own, no invention of a newer mind; but, according to the blessing of Moses, he knew how to bring forth from the inner shrines of his heart good treasures, “old of old, and old from before the new.” For this reason he was honored with precedence in the assemblies of his peers not by his age, but by the antiquity of his wisdom he enjoyed the first place above all by common consent. How great the profit of such guidance was no one would need to ask who looks at you. For you alone, of those we know, or at least with very few, passed your life without storm under his steering in so great a winter and tempest of affairs. For the gale of heretical spirits, which brings drownings and shipwrecks to easily overturned souls, did not touch you. And may it never touch you, O Master of all, who gave your servant Gregory, who from the beginning laid the foundation of the church, the grace of the longest freedom from disturbance. Do not you betray it in the present time; do not, by excess of lamentation and by giving yourselves up to grief, surrender the times for necessary action to those lying in wait. But if you must lament at all (as I do not say you should, lest we be made like in this to those who have no hope), then, if you think fit, like a mourning chorus that has set its leader at its head, weep over what has happened more harmoniously with him. 2. Yet, even if the man did not reach extreme old age, still, with respect to the length of his presidency over you, his life was not lacking. He had so much of the body as to show the strength of his soul in his pains. Perhaps one of you might reply that time brings to those who have experienced it an increase of affection and an addition of love, not an occasion for satiety, so that the longer you have experienced his benefits, the more you feel his departure; and that to the devout even the shadow of a righteous man's body is worth everything. And may many of you be of this mind (for I myself do not say that you should be indifferent toward the man); but I counsel you to bear the grief as men. For whatever can be said by those bewailing the loss does not escape me either. Silent is the tongue that flooded our ears like rivers; and the depth of a heart hitherto comprehensible to no one has flown away, slighter than dreams, as far as men are concerned. Who foresaw the future more keenly than he? Who, with a character of soul so steady and firm, was able to meet events faster than lightning? O city, already overtaken by many sufferings, but by none so damaged in the very vital points of its life! Now your fairest ornament has faded; the church is mute, the festivals are gloomy, the sacred council longs for its leader, the mystical words await their interpreter, the children their father, the old men their contemporary, the magistrates their chief, the people their champion, those in need their nourisher. All, calling on him by the most familiar names, each raise a lament fitting and proper to him for their own grief. But where is my speech carried by the pleasure of tears? Shall we not come to our senses? Shall we not be ourselves again? Shall we not look to the common Master, who, having permitted each of the saints to serve his own generation, called him back to himself at the appointed times? Now in season remember his words, he who in his preaching to you always warned you, saying, “Beware of the dogs, beware of the evil workers.” Many are the dogs. Why do I say dogs? Rather, grievous wolves, hiding their guile under the appearance of sheep, are tearing Christ's flock apart all over the world. You must guard against them under the oversight of a watchful shepherd. It is yours to ask for him, keeping your souls pure of all contentiousness and love of preeminence; it is the Lord's to reveal him, who, from the great champion of your church Gregory down to this blessed man, adding one to another and always fitting them together, as in a setting of precious stones, has given your church a beauty marvelous indeed. So we must not despair of what follows either. For the Lord knows those who are his; and he may bring forward those perhaps not expected by us. 3. I have long wished to end my words, but the pain of my heart does not allow it. I charge you, by the Fathers, by the right faith, by this blessed man, to rouse up your souls, each judging what is being striven for to be his own concern, and thinking that he himself will be the first to enjoy the outcome of matters either way; not, as happens with most, pushing the care of common things onto his neighbor, so that then, when each in his own mind neglects affairs, all unawares draw on themselves a private evil through negligence. Receive these words with all goodwill, whether as the sympathy of neighbors, or as the fellowship of those who share the same faith, or, what is truer, as from men obeying the law of love and avoiding the danger of keeping silent; being persuaded that you are our boast, as we are yours, for the day of the Lord, and that through the shepherd who will be given you we shall either be united more closely by the bond of love or be wholly separated, which God forbid, nor will it be, by God's grace; nor would I myself now say anything ill-omened. This we want you to know: that although, because of certain prejudices, as he himself assured us, we did not have the blessed man working with us for the peace of the churches, yet in our agreement in faith with him, and in always calling on him as a partner in the contests against the heretics, we have never on any occasion fallen short, as God and the men who have experience of us are witnesses.

… the news of the evil that had happened, most grievous. But when we had recovered a little from the speechlessness we suffered, like those whose ears are stunned by a great clap of thunder, we have now of necessity groaned over what has happened, and in the midst of our lamenting we have sent you this letter: not for the sake of consolation (for what word could be found to heal so great a disaster?), but to signify to you, as far as possible, the pain of our heart by this utterance. Now I needed the lamentations of Jeremiah, or of any other of the blessed men who bewailed with feeling the greatness of a disaster. A man has fallen who was truly a pillar and ground of the church; or rather, he himself has been taken up from us to the blessed life and is gone, but there is no small danger that many may fall with him now that this prop has been removed, and the unsoundness of some may become manifest. Closed is a mouth of just boldness and of gracious words for the building up of what is truly moved in God. Oh, how often (for I will accuse myself) I was indignant with the man because, wholly given over to the desire to depart and be with Christ, he did not prefer to remain in the flesh for our sake! To whom shall we now entrust our cares for the churches? Whom shall we take as a partner in our griefs? Whom as a sharer in our joy? Oh, the terrible and gloomy desolation! How exactly have we become like a pelican of the wilderness! Yet the members of the church that were joined together under his presidency as by a soul, fitted into one fellow feeling and close fellowship, are kept firmly by the bond of peace in their spiritual joining, and will be kept forever, God granting this, so that the works of that blessed soul, all that he labored for the churches of God, remain firm and immovable. But the struggle is not small, lest some strifes and divisions spring up again over the election of a president and overturn all his labor at once through some chance quarrel …

To Eusebius, bishop of Samosata. If I were to write in order all the causes by which I have been held back until now, though very eager to come to your Godliness, I should fill out a story of endless length. I pass over the successive illnesses, the severity of the winter, and the press of business, as these are known and already made clear to your Perfection. But now I have been deprived, because of my sins, of the only consolation I had in life, my mother. Do not laugh at me for lamenting orphanhood at my time of life; but forgive me for not bearing tolerably the separation from a soul to which I see nothing equal among those left. So my illnesses have returned again, and again I lie on my bed, tossing on a very little strength, and almost every hour awaiting the necessary end of life. The churches are in much the same state as my body: no good hope appears, and affairs are always sliding toward the worse. Meanwhile Neocaesarea and Ancyra seem to have successors to those who departed, and are quiet until now. Nor have those who plot against us been permitted so far to do anything worthy of their rage and bitterness. And we plainly attribute the cause of this to your intercessions for the churches. So do not grow weary of praying for the churches …

To Eusebius, bishop of Samosata. The famine has not yet released us; so we must stay in the city, either for administration or for sympathy with the afflicted. That is why not even now could I share the journey with our most reverend brother Hypatius, whom I can call brother not merely as a courtesy but because of our natural kinship, for we are of the same blood. How he suffers is not unknown to your Honor; but it grieves us that every hope of relief for him has been cut off, since those who have the gifts of healing have not been allowed to work any of their usual effects on him. So he calls again on the help of your prayers. Be pleased, then, to give your usual protection, both because of your own compassion toward the sick and because of us who intercede for him; and, if possible, to summon the most devout brothers to you, so that he may receive care under your own eyes; or if this is impossible, deign to send him on with letters and commend him to those further on.

… at once arranged them to advantage. And now the matter has come to this: on one side the poverty of a Christian, on the other the meddling of one of the market people. So it occurred to me to make this known to your goodness, praiseworthy in every respect, so that, honoring the man whom you have known of old, glorifying the Lord, who takes to himself what is done to his servants, and honoring us, who are your special friends, you may both speak to the count of the treasury as is fitting about him, and devise, by your own understanding, a way of release from these insolent and intolerable annoyances. 2. Surely no one is so ignorant of the man as to suspect anything unbecoming of him, as though he were putting on a show because he clings to his money. The proof of his generosity is near at hand. He is glad to give up the remains of his property to the treasury, so that his property may be taken over, and the advocate of the treasury may answer those who attack him and demand the proofs, since we are unfit for such things. For your Perfection may learn that, as long as it was possible, no one went away disappointed of what he wanted, but each obtained what he sought without trouble, so that many even regretted not having asked for more from the beginning; and this above all has multiplied his persecutors. For, looking at the example of those who went before, one after another follows on as a false accuser. Against all this, then, we urge your Dignity to take your stand, and, as one checks a stream, to cut off the continuance of these evils. You know how you will help in the matter, so as not to wait to be taught the way by us, who, through inexperience in the affairs of life, do not know even this, how we might obtain release. Be, then, yourself both counselor and protector, finding the form of help by your own great prudence.

To Aburgius. Who knows so well as you how to honor an old friendship, to respect virtue, and to share the pain of the suffering? Since, then, our most God-beloved brother Gregory the bishop has been overtaken by troubles that are hard to bear in any case and especially contrary to his character, it seemed best to us to take refuge in your protection and to try to find from you some release from these distresses. For it is an unbearable misfortune for a man who is neither suited nor willing to be forced to plead in lawsuits, for a poor man to be asked for money, and for one who long ago decided to pass his life in quiet to be dragged into public and made the object of popular clamor. Whether you judge it useful to speak with the count of the treasury, or with some others, is a matter for your understanding. [Letter 34] To Eusebius, bishop of Samosata. How could we keep silent at what is happening? Or, unable to endure it, how could we find words worthy of what is taking place, so that our voice may not be like a groan, but a lament that sufficiently expresses the weight of the evil? Tarsus too is lost to us. And this is not the only terrible thing, unbearable as it is; there is something harder still: that a city so great, so well placed that it links the Isaurians, the Cilicians, the Cappadocians, and the Syrians through itself, should have become an incidental casualty of the madness of one or two men, while you delayed, deliberated, and looked to one another. The best course, then, following the device of physicians (and I have great abundance of such examples, because of the illness that lives with me), who, when the greatness of the pain exceeds measure, contrive insensibility to suffering for the patient, would be to pray for our own souls also an insensibility to these evils, so as not to be held in the grip of unbearable pains. Nevertheless, wretched as our state is, we have one consolation: to look to your gentleness, and to soothe what is grieving in our soul by thinking of you and remembering you. For just as for the eyes, when they have looked intently at bright things, it brings some relief to turn back to the blue and green among colors, so for our souls the remembrance of your gentleness and harmony is like a soft touch that takes away the pain; and especially when we consider that you have done all that lay in your power. By this you have shown sufficiently to us men, if we judge matters fairly, that nothing has been lost through any fault of yours; and with God you have gained for yourself a great reward for your zeal for what is good. May the Lord grant you to us and to his churches for the benefit of our life and the correction of our souls, and may he deem us worthy once more of profitable meeting with you.

Without address, on behalf of Leontius. I have written to you about many matters as being my concern, and I shall write about still more. For it is neither possible to fail those who ask, nor can we refuse the favor. Yet there is no one closer to me, nor more able to refresh me by any kindness he receives, than our most reverend brother Leontius. Treat his house as you would if you found me myself, not in this poverty in which I now am, with God, but possessed of some wealth and owning lands. For it is plain that you would not have made me poor, but would either have preserved what I had or increased my wealth. This, then, we urge you to do for the aforesaid house of the man as well. Your reward for everything will be the usual one from me: prayer to the holy God for your labors, since you are good and noble, and anticipate the requests of those who ask.

Without address, asking for help. The presbyter of this place, I think, has long been known to your Nobility as my foster brother. What else, then, must I say to move your kindness to look on him as one of your own and help him in his affairs? For if you love me, as indeed you do, you will plainly choose to refresh with all your power those whom I count as myself. What, then, do I ask? That his old assessment be kept for him. For he toils not a little in serving us for our livelihood, since, as you yourself know, we have nothing of our own but are content with what belongs to friends and relatives. So look upon this brother's house as mine, or rather as your own; and in return for your kindness to him God will give you, your house, and all your family his accustomed help. Know that it is a great concern of mine that the man should suffer no harm from the new assessment.

Without address, on behalf of a foster brother. I am beginning to be wary of the number of my letters. I am forced to speak out against my will, unable to bear the pressure of those who make demands on me. I write nevertheless, having no other way of getting free of them than giving letters to those who keep asking them of me. I fear, then, that since many bring letters, our brother So-and-so may be thought one of the many. For I admit that I have many friends and relatives in my homeland, and that I myself have been placed in the rank of a father, because of this office to which the Lord has appointed us. But this man, the son of my nurse, is my one foster brother, and I pray that the house in which I was brought up may remain in the same state, so that the visit of your Decorum, which benefits everyone, may not become an occasion of grief to this man. But since even now I am supported from that same house, having nothing of my own but being content with what belongs to my dear ones, I urge you to spare the house in which I was brought up as one who preserves for me the supply of my sustenance. And may God count you worthy of eternal rest in return. This, however, most true of all, I wish your Decorum to know: that most of the slaves were given him by us, our parents providing them, as payment for our nurture. And the payment is not an outright gift, but use for life; so that, if any burden falls on them, he may send them back to us …