Orations (other than the Theological Orations) 18.32–18.42

Such, then, are the things common to both. But I think some of those who know his affairs well have long been wondering that we have dwelt on these things as if they were all we had for praise, while we have put aside the memory of the difficulties of the times, against which he can be seen to have taken his stand, as though we either did not know of these or did not think them great. Come then, let us add these too to what has been said. Our time produced a first evil, and I think also a last: the emperor who apostatized both from God and from reason. Thinking it a small task to subdue the Persians but a great one to subjugate the Christians, and persuaded at the same time by the demons who led him, he left no form of impiety untried: persuading, threatening, using sophistry, drawing people to himself not only by his tricks but also by force. Yet he could not escape notice, whether he disguised the persecution with sophistical devices or openly used his power, so that we might be caught one way or the other, either deceived or forced. Who is found to have despised him or worked for his overthrow more than my father? Of his contempt, among many other signs, there is this: the archers and their commander whom that man sent against our holy houses, either to seize or to overturn them. For when the commander, after attacking many others, came here too with the same arrogance and demanded the church with his orders, he was so far from accomplishing anything he wished that, had he not quickly yielded to my father, whether he understood of himself or listened to someone’s advice, he would have gone away with his legs torn to pieces, so fiercely did the priest boil against him with anger and zeal for the church. And how could anyone more evidently have worked for his overthrow? Publicly he struck the accursed man with prayers and supplications of the whole people, not even fearing the times; privately he drew up the nightly battle line against him, wearing out that aged and tender flesh by sleeping on the ground, and watering the floor with tears, for almost a whole year; and he practised this philosophy before the knower of secrets alone, trying to hide it from us because of the unostentatious character of his piety, as I said. And he would have escaped notice altogether, had I not once come in suddenly, seen the signs of his sleeping on the ground, asked those around him what they were, and learned the mystery of the night. [33] Another story of the same time and the same courage. The city of Caesarea was in tumult over the appointment of a bishop, one having departed and another being sought; and the tumult was hot and not easily settled. For the city is by nature especially contentious in this matter, owing to the fervour of its faith, and the prestige of the see increased the rivalry. So matters stood, and some of the bishops were present to give the city its bishop. The people were divided into many parties, and different people put forward different candidates, as usually happens in such cases, as each happened to have friendship with some or reverence toward God; at last the whole people agreed, and, seizing one of their leading men, chosen for his life but not yet sealed with divine baptism, against his will, and with the help of a military force then stationed there, they set him on the bema, brought him to the bishops, and demanded that he be consecrated and proclaimed, mingling force with persuasion; not very orderly, but very faithfully and fervently. And here one cannot say whom the occasion showed to be more distinguished and more God-fearing than he. For what happens, and how far did the tumult go? The bishops were forced; they purified him, proclaimed him, and set him on the throne, by hand rather than by judgment and disposition of spirit, as was shown by what followed. For when they had gladly got away and were masters of their own judgment, they took counsel together (whether spiritual counsel I do not know, but they took counsel nonetheless) to regard nothing that had been done as valid, nor the installation as approved, alleging the force against him, though he had been forced no less than they, and seizing on certain words as having been spoken at the time more rashly than wisely. But the great high priest and just examiner of affairs neither joined those who took this counsel nor approved their judgment, but remained unbending and undefeated, no less than if he had not been forced at all. For, since the force was common to all, he held that those who accused must be accused in turn, or those who pardoned must be pardoned, or, what was more just, that they could not be acquitted even by acquitting him. For if they deserved pardon, so certainly did he; and if he did not, still less did they. For it was much better to run the risk then and resist to the very end than to plot afterward, and especially at that time, when it was better to end existing enmities than to devise new ones; for this was the situation. [34] The emperor was present, raging against the Christians; the ordination was the object of his anger; the man put forward was threatened; the city stood on a razor’s edge, either to exist no longer after that day, or to be spared and meet with some kindness. For to what had provoked him over Fortune, whose temple had been pulled down in a time of prosperity, there was added the innovation concerning the man, as though public property had been plundered. The governor of the province was seeking how to please the occasion and how to do my father harm, being in any case not well disposed toward him, but at odds with him from political rivalry. He summoned the consecrators by letter, as if to accuse them, no longer quietly, but now adding some threat, as though the emperor demanded it. Then, when a letter came to my father too, he was not afraid at all, and did not hesitate even a little (let us consider his boldness, how great it was and with how much spirit, from what he wrote back): “We, most excellent governor,” he says, “have one examiner and king of all that we do, the one who is now being warred against. He will examine this ordination too, which we have performed lawfully and in a way pleasing to him. As for you, if you wish to force anything else, it is very easy; but this no one will take from us: to defend what has been done as rightly and justly done; unless you lay down this law too, you for whom it is not lawful even to peer into our affairs.” The recipient himself admired this letter, even if he was angry for a little while, as many who knew his affairs well reported; it also checked the emperor’s onslaught and freed the city from danger, and, I would not be wrong to add, freed us from shame. This was the deed of the bishop of a small city, whose see held second rank. Is it not much better to hold first place in this way than to speak from loftier thrones, and to prevail in deeds rather than in titles? [35] But his last deed in order, and first and greatest in power, who is so far outside our world as not to know it? The same city was again in tumult over the same matter, the one who had been so rightly forced having very soon been taken up and departed to God, for whom he had contended nobly and manfully in the persecutions. And the tumult was the more unreasonable the hotter it was. For the man who stood above the rest was not unknown, any more than the sun among the stars; he was very evident both to all the others and especially to the select and purest part of the people, both those of the bema and our Nazirites, with whom alone, as far as possible, such appointments ought to rest, and then there would be no evil in the churches; and not with the wealthiest and most powerful, or with the impulse and unreason of the populace, and especially with the most venal among them. As it is, I am in danger of thinking the public offices better ordered than ours, to which divine grace is ascribed, and fear a better administrator of such things than reason. For who of the right-minded would have gone to another, passing over you, divine and sacred head, inscribed on the hands of the Lord, unmarried, without possessions, almost without flesh and blood, next after the Word in words, wise among philosophers, above the world among the worldly, my companion and fellow worker, sharer of my soul (if I may say something bolder), partner in life and in education? I would have liked my discourse to be free, describing you among others, and not to be forced to say such things in your presence, holding back most of them for fear of being suspected of flattery. But to what my discourse set out to say: the Spirit knew his own (how could he not?), but envy opposed him; and the rest I am ashamed to say; would that I could not even hear others say it and carefully mock our affairs. Let us pass this by, as rivers pass the rocks in the middle of their stream, honouring with silence what deserves oblivion; and let us go on to what follows in the discourse. [36] He knew precisely the things of the Spirit, being himself a man of the Spirit; and therefore he thought it necessary to think nothing low, nor to fight according to factions and prejudices, giving more to favour than to God, but to look to one thing only, the benefit of the churches and the common salvation. For this reason he wrote, admonished, and united the people and the priests, both the others and those of the bema; he testified, voted, and ordained even before he was present; he gave his grey hairs authority over others’ affairs as if they were his own. And finally, since the ordination had to be canonical and one was lacking from the number of those who were to proclaim it, he tore himself from his couch, crushed by old age and disease, and rushes to the city with youthful vigour, or rather is carried there, his body dead and barely breathing, convinced that if he had to suffer anything, that zeal would be a fine burial offering for him. And here too a sign occurs that is not disbelieved: he is strengthened by the toil, grows young with eagerness, manages, marshals, enthrones, and is escorted back, using his litter no longer as a coffin but as a divine ark. And the long-suffering which I just finished praising he showed here even more. For when his fellow ministers could not bear the shame of defeat and the old man’s power in affairs, and for that reason were angry with him and reviled him, he was able by his endurance to rise above them too, finding gentleness his greatest ally, and not reviling in return when reviled. For what was dreadful, he thought, if, having conquered in deeds, he put up with being defeated by the tongue? So by his long-suffering he won them over too, taking time as well as an ally of his judgment, so that they apologized, fell at his feet, and turned their indignation into admiration. They were ashamed of their former conduct, and treated him as patriarch, lawgiver, and judge, casting away their hatred.

From the same zeal came also his resistance to the heretics, when they campaigned against us with the help of the emperor’s impiety, intending to subdue us too and add us to the others, almost all of whom they had already enslaved. Here too he contributed no small share, both by himself and, perhaps, through us, whom he set on those most savage beasts like hounds of good breed, training us for piety. I find fault with you both (and do not be at all annoyed at my frankness; I will burst out with what pains me, even if rather bluntly): that when I was disgusted with the evils of life, and in love with solitude as much as anyone of our time, I think, and striving as fast as I could to escape this common storm and dust and to reach safety, you somehow carried me off and handed me over to this vulgar marketplace that plots against souls, under the fair name of the priesthood. From this some evils have already befallen me, and others are expected; for having suffered already makes one somewhat despondent about the future, even if reason persuades otherwise and suggests what is better.

Nor would I pass over this among his excellences. He was enduring in everything and stronger than his frame. Suffering from his last illness, which attacked him together with old age, and that a long and dangerous one, he had sickness in common with other men; but this was no longer common, but very much his own, and consistent with his other marvels: there was no time when, though pressed hard by his suffering, often during the day and sometimes every hour, he was not strengthened by the liturgy alone; and the suffering withdrew as if banished by command. Having lived nearly a hundred years, beyond the limits David sets for our time, and forty-five of them in the priesthood, the measure of a human life, he then ends his life in a good old age. And how? In the words and posture of prayer, leaving no trace of vice, but very many memorials of virtue. Therefore the reverence for him on the tongues and in the minds of all is greater than for a man; and it is not easy to find anyone who remembers him and does not also embrace his image, as Scripture says, laying a hand on his mouth. Such was his life, and such the completion and perfection of his life.

And since a memorial of his magnanimity had to be left to the world, what should it be rather than this church, which he raised to God and to us, using a little help from the people but bringing most from his own means? It is a work not worthy of silence: in size beyond most, in beauty beyond almost all. Its eight equal straight sides meet one another; it rises aloft with the beauty of pillars and two-storeyed porticoes, and the sculptures upon them do not fall short of nature; it flashes from above with its vault, and lights up the eyes with rich fountains of light, truly a dwelling place of light; it is encircled by ambulatories of the most splendid material, set at equal angles and enclosing a large space in the middle; and it shines forth with the graces of its gates and porches, welcoming from afar those who approach. And I do not yet speak of the outer ornament: the beauty and size of the squared stone, joined to a hair’s breadth; both the marble in the bases and capitals at the angles, and the local stone, in no way inferior to the foreign; the many and varied bands, projecting and interwoven, from foundation to summit, which, by bounding the sight, rob the beholder. How could words present in brief a work of so much time and labour and so many hands? Or will it suffice to say this much: that while many works, private and public, adorn other cities, this one alone has been able to make us famous to most people? Such, then, is the church. And since a priest was needed too, he provides this too from his own house; whether one worthy of the church I cannot say, but he provides him. And since sacrifices too were needed, he adds these as well: the sufferings of his son and his endurance in hardships, so that God might have from him a rational whole burnt offering, a spiritual victim in place of the sacrifice of the law, well consumed. [40] … for which you laboured …, this praise as a send-off, or rather as a funeral oration? Do you grant peace to the discourse, in the old manner, and set its limit here, avoiding surfeit, so that it may be moderate? Or do you seek some addition? You set the limit, I know, for it is enough. But allow me to add this: make known to us where in glory you are, and the light around you; receive your yoke-fellow shortly, and the children whom you buried before you; receive me too into the same tents, when I have suffered in this life a little more, or nothing more; and before those tents, into this sweet stone which you set up for us both, honouring here too your priest and namesake. And forgive my discourse, both what was left out and what was added for your sake. And may you guide safely, above all, the whole flock and all the bishops, whose father you were called; and especially the one whom you forced and tyrannized over, in a fatherly and spiritual way, so that I may not blame you entirely for the tyranny.

And you, what do you think of us, judge of my words and movements? If these things have been said sufficiently and worthily of your desire, give your vote, and we accept it; your vote is in any case God’s. But if what I have said falls far short of his glory and your hope, the ally is near. Let loose your voice, awaited for his excellences like seasonable rain; in any case he has you in his debt for the greatest things, as one shepherd another, and as a father his son in grace. What wonder if he, who thundered to the world through you, should himself enjoy something of your voice? What remains? To join the spiritual Sarah, the yoke-fellow and contemporary of our great father Abraham, in the philosophy of funeral consolation.

The nature of God and of men is not the same, mother; or rather, the nature of things divine and things earthly is altogether different. With them are changelessness and immortality, both of being itself and of all that belongs to being; for what belongs to the firm is firm. But how is it with ours? It flows and perishes, and takes now one change, now another. Life and death, at any rate, as they are called, though they seem to differ most from each other, somehow pass over into each other and take each other’s place. For life, beginning from corruption, our mother, and travelling through corruption, the continual passing away of the present, ends in corruption, the dissolution of this life; while death, bringing release from the evils here and often leading over to the life above, I do not know whether it should properly be called death, since it has its fearfulness in name rather than in fact. And we are in danger of suffering an irrational passion, fearing what is not fearful and pursuing as more desirable what deserves to be feared. There is one life, to look toward Life; one death, sin, for it is the destruction of the soul. The other things on which some pride themselves are a vision of dreams mocking reality, and deceitful phantoms of the soul. If we think so, mother, we shall neither pride ourselves on life nor grieve too much at death. What terrible thing, then, have we suffered, if he has passed from here to the true life? If, freed from turmoil, dizziness, surfeit, and the shameful tribute, we shall be with things that stand and do not flow, small lights dancing around the great Light? [43] But does the separation grieve you? Then let the hope gladden you. Is widowhood dreadful? But not to him. And where is the good of love, if one gives oneself the easier things and assigns to one’s neighbour the harder? And what is dreadful at all for one who will herself be released shortly? The appointed time is near; the grief is not lasting. Let us not weigh down the lightest things with ignoble thoughts. We have lost great things, for we had great things; to lose belongs to all, to have had is given to few. Let not the one bend you, but let the other console you; for it is more reasonable that the better should prevail. You bore the loss of children still in their prime and fit for life most courageously and philosophically; bear also the laying aside of an aged body already weary of life, even if the vigour of his soul kept his senses quite unimpaired. But do you need someone to care for you? Where then is this Isaac of yours, whom he has left you in place of all? Ask of him the small things, the guiding hand and service; give him in return the greater: a mother’s blessing, your prayers, and the freedom that comes from them. Are you indignant at being admonished? This I praise; for you have admonished many, all whom long time has brought under your understanding. The discourse is nothing to you, most philosophic of women; let it be a common consolation for mourners, so that they may know that they are human beings mourning human beings …