Letters 5.186–5.216

To the children of the Greeks. Young men (for to you who are beginning life one must say nothing unreasonable, but must lay the truth bare), of all things that are or seem good, the greatest and most beautiful is virtue. Those who live with it are to those who have no share in it what those are to the beasts, and what angels are to human beings; they walk through the market-place like angels. For just as lamps suddenly raised in the dark turn everyone's eyes toward themselves, so these men both astonish and enlighten others. And others leave their own affairs and follow their voice rejoicing, and become to them what sheep are to shepherds, allowing them to lead wherever is best; and they, receiving them obedient, expound the future like prophets. For many who take little account of virtue, with whom immediate pleasure and ease count for more than what will profit later, who love the present through greed and injustice and through perversity of character foresee nothing of what comes after, caring only for what is in their hands, say: "Make the present good." But these men, looking to the future, warn beforehand, and when events turn out according to their words they are crowned and proclaimed. While living, they set upright cities that have fallen and adorn those that stand; and when dead they leave behind a goad of longing; for their tombs are famous, their families in honour, and the memory of the righteous everlasting. For they have acquired the nature of virtue, which death cannot touch. Each of the bodily advantages is easily extinguished and has a temporary charm, such as beauty, speed, strength; for when the body perishes, these too necessarily vanish. But virtue alone, since it is nourished in an immortal soul, change cannot touch. So it is fitting to practise virtue with all one's strength, and not to think it enough to seem to practise it. And do not neglect it, gaping after wealth. For wealth is cheaper than virtue; one could easily take it away, either by stealth or by greater strength; but no one could deprive you of virtue, not even if you separated it from the body. By virtue I mean (do not let the sameness of the name mislead you) not courage in war, in which the wicked often have a greater share than the good; nor victory at Olympia, which flies even to chance comers; nor yet cleverness in speech (for Thucydides said well: "Ignorance with self-control is more useful than cleverness with licentiousness"); nor anything else that is dissolved together with the present life; but the virtue that is welded together and completed by self-control and prudence, justice and courage, gentleness and fairness, philosophy and other such things. "But many," they say, "prosper beyond their deserts and are rich without virtue." I agree too; but how this could reasonably turn anyone from virtue I do not see. If someone could clearly show that the two, virtue and prosperity, are prevented by a law of nature from coming together, even so it would not be reasonable to choose wealth before virtue, though perhaps it would grant pardon to indolence that made this its excuse. But since one could find the same people both excellent in mind and illustrious in the present life, why do you flee virtue as if you would certainly have wealth if you do not acquire it? For possessing wealth does not consist in being deprived of virtue. It may often come to virtue as well, divine providence distributing to some according to their worth, and pitying the wretchedness of others. For since they have deprived themselves of the truly good things, the heavenly, I mean, he grants them the temporary ones, and so cuts off their excuse. Consider this: if some prosper when virtue is absent, others may sometimes prosper when virtue is present. Indeed, if one wished to inquire exactly (for even if what is about to be said seems paradoxical, it will nevertheless be said), one would find that throughout all ages true prosperity has been with the sensible rather than with the worthless. By prosperity I mean sufficiency; for ready supply is a slippery slope to licentiousness. You will surely not disbelieve it, since you have ringing in your ears the exhortation of Isocrates, not said idly nor easily refuted, but fortified by truth: "Wealth is the servant of vice rather than of nobility, providing licence for indolence and inviting the young to pleasures." If the many think the opposite, because they busy themselves with apparent rather than real good fortune, it is no wonder. For those who are rich beyond their deserts become better known by that very fact, while those who prosper deservedly give no one cause to wonder, precisely because they prosper deservedly. For the paradoxical produces more talk about itself. That is perhaps why those who prosper undeservedly, though fewer, have won the reputation of being more. Let us suppose, then (for one must also consider what is needful by comparison), that they are equal, and let us consider whether wealth is better with virtue or by itself. Surely the one, when prosperity fails, can take courage in the possession of virtue; but the other, when good fortune is gone, must lie without honour. And let us suppose, cutting off every road of indolence, that these things are separated by nature, that virtue falls to some and wealth to others in separate portions, and that prosperity does not change, as Croesus's did. Who, then, would not choose to be Solon rather than Croesus? Who would not choose to be Plato rather than Dionysius, Socrates rather than Archelaus? And why list many philosophers and compare them with tyrants, whose very memory would have been extinguished were it not for the virtue and wisdom of those men? So, passing over these, let me turn my words to the advisory mode. If, then, virtue is better than money, and true prosperity follows the earnest, and the apparent kind also attends them (even if, because they are deservedly esteemed, they give no cause for wonder, while the worthless, because they are rich undeservedly, are better known and seem more numerous); and if, even were they equal in number, those who prosper with virtue are better; and if, even were these things separated by nature, virtue must be chosen before prosperity: why are we indolent, betraying the crown of virtue? For these and many other reasons, children, one must practise virtue from an early age, and not least, but most of all, for the reason I am about to give. The one who embraces virtue in old age spends all his remaining time trying to rub off the sins of his first, second and third ages of life, and all his effort is spent on this. And often even so it is not enough, if the failings were unpardonable and great; he will depart to the incorruptible Judge bearing the scars of his wounds. But the one who has embraced virtue from an early age does not spend his time on this, nor does he sit as in a surgery treating hard-to-heal sores and thought wretched by passers-by; but from the outset he receives brilliant prizes. The one is content and thinks it enough if he can fight back from all his defeats; the other, from the very starting line, rejoices in trophies and proclamations and joins victories to victories; and like an Olympic victor going from the line through proclamations to the prize, so he will depart to the president and judge of such contests, his head bound with many brilliant crowns. For that after our departure from here there is a divine tribunal which examines not only deeds, nor words, but even thoughts, philosophers, prose writers, orators, poets and historians guarantee. I would have set their sayings in this exhortation, had I not thought it would cast a hidden reproach on you, who have these lessons ringing in your ears. If there is a judgment, as indeed there is, virtue must be practised. And if it seems difficult to some, it will be easy for you if you flee the theatres and the hippodromes, the common bane of the world; or rather not of the world, but of the cities that have such spectacles; or rather not even of the cities, but of those who are willing and surrender themselves to such evils. With all your spirit, then, you must strip for the contests of virtue: those born of illustrious parents, by not disgracing their family; those sprung from humble parents, by making their parents illustrious; the rich, by making virtue their adornment; the poor, their harbour. Let your own fathers respect you; and let the children who come from elsewhere think of you as fathers. For if you live so and kindle the bright torch of virtue, the divine light of Christ will shine on you from heaven and draw you to itself, revealing to you both the kingdom of heaven and the surpassingly brilliant dignity of the saints in it.

To Aegyptus the presbyter. We consider the soul divine, but not a portion of the most divine and royal nature; and immortal, but not of one essence with the nature that is without beginning and is the Creator. For if it were a part of that ineffable nature, it would not have sinned or been judged. But since it undergoes these things, it would rightly be believed to be a work of the highest essence, and not a part; so that the divine nature may not be caught judging, or rather condemning, itself.

To Evangelius the deacon. Just as the best sculptors measure out the proportion beyond which the work oversteps proportion, so too the craftsmen of virtue ought not to overstep proportion. For vices stand beside the virtues on either side, contriving to deceive the lover of virtue. For example, piety is the head, foundation and base of good things; but impiety and superstition lie in wait for it on either side, the one by deficiency, the other by excess. And beside courage stand rashness and cowardice, wishing to do the same. So the man of good repute must dishonour the vices and choose the virtues, and not, deceived by the appearance of the virtues, fall into the vices lying in wait.

To Isaiah. Those who spend time with you say that you are full of both anger and pride. If that is so, put a rein on your anger, so that it does not leap ahead of reason and quench even your spirit. That is why, as they say, you raise your brows up to your temples.

To the same. Since your former opponent at law, defeated by what he has suffered, has not yet overcome himself so as to consent to be healed, do not stop making your defence by letters; for you do well to heal well what was done badly. We too, pouring gentle words over him, are trying to heal his passion.

To Dorotheus, deacon and physician. Since you wished to learn by examples something clear and agreed both by the sacred Scriptures and by the wiser of those outside, I shall try, as far as I can, to say much in few words. Since, then, you said, "How is it clear that incorporeal things are less subject to affection and stronger than bodies?", I say: as much as bodies near to incorporeality are stronger and less subject to affection than the denser bodies, so much are incorporeal things less affected not only than the densest but also than the finest bodies. For example, rock is denser than water; so when broken it is no longer joined, but water, when divided, unites again when brought together. For the finer it is, the less it is affected. And air (for one must go on to a finer example) cannot even be separated; if it is shut up in a jar or a wineskin and thrown into the deep, it does not stay there, but rises to the surface and floats, seeking the surface and hunting for what is akin to it. If, then, air is finer than water, and water than rock, and therefore less affected, why do you wonder if incorporeal things are stronger? Look then at the soul, which is not seen (for it is invisible), yet gives strength and vigour to the body; when it departs, the body not only remains dead but even dissolves. And in medical remedies too (for one must also draw the proof from your own art), the power, being incorporeal, is stronger than the body. So when it has done its work and departed, the plaster lies utterly useless. For if the incorporeal power residing in it did not fly away after doing its work, why do you change the remedies while the materials remain? But it is clear that the remedy lives while the power is in it, and dies when that has departed.

To Lampetius the bishop. On receiving the letter of your learning, full of exhortation and breathing benefit, Gothus the uneducated (for so it is right to call him), how he was disposed I cannot say exactly; but you yourself could infer it from the signs that blossomed on his face. For, smiling gently, he showed on his face a pleasure that overcame his anger.

To Aquila, Ammonius and Orion. Many, my good men, who expected to do to their opponents here as much as or more than they had suffered, suffered worse than what they had suffered at the beginning; not because justice was defeated, but because it was stored up brilliantly for the life hereafter. So we must rather repay those who treat us badly with quiet and philosophy. For there justice will certainly determine what is just, and it shows the trials here to be occasions for crowns.

To Palladius the deacon. If what has been reported about you is true, you may perhaps make up a plausible defence, but you will not speak the truth; but if it is false, write the defence, and we shall plant it in the ears of those who ridicule you. And if you stop your luxury, which proceeds to every irrational impulse, I think they will sing a recantation even before the defence. [Letter 5.195] To Isaiah. You do not escape notice, most clever wrongdoer; that is why you flee straightforward justice and take refuge in procedural objections, which were devised to help the wronged, not to let wrongdoers escape. Knowing, then, that you have been found out, make your defence directly.

To Theon the bishop. As much as I surpass others in the honour I have with you, so much will I try to surpass the rest in goodwill. For it would be absurd to be ranked before others with you, and to keep silent about your affairs along with those not so honoured. Since, then, you have written that Eusebius, the bishop of Pelusium, is quick to impulse, ready to seize what belongs to others, swift to be provoked and slow to make due return, and, in short, both is and is thought to be without control over all servile passions, keep yourself, if you wish to be well thought of, undefiled by such reproaches. For it is absurd for you to be caught in the same things for which you blame another who has fallen into them, for one teeming with sores to want to be another's physician, and to do the things of which you are a bitter accuser.

To Isidore the deacon. Since your understanding has written that the Jews too had the dignity of adoption (for it is written: "Sons I have begotten and raised up, but they have rejected me"; and: "You have forsaken the God who begot you"), I say that I do not find at all, from the testimonies you have brought, that the honour is free or pure, but that it is interwoven with accusation. So that if he had not wished to accuse them, he would not have proclaimed the honour you speak of. If they had not stumbled, they would perhaps not have obtained the title; but he yoked the honour to the reproach as an occasion for a greater accusation. For, reproving them and wishing to expose their insensibility, he wove the honour into the charge; or rather, from the honour he showed the accusation to be too great for pardon. But about those under grace the son of thunder cries out: "But to as many as received him he gave power to become children of God." Behold, honour without accusation; behold the dignity of adoption; behold the watchword of the senate above the world. The Saviour, bringing it forward again and again, said: "So that you may become like your Father in heaven"; and: "Your heavenly Father knows what you need before you ask him." He himself, then, the cause of adoption, proclaims the dignity everywhere. And he who from a Jewish battlement became a siege-engine of the gospel, showing that this honour was confirmed in deed, said: "For you did not receive a spirit of slavery to fall back into fear, but a spirit of adoption, by which we cry, Abba, Father. The Spirit himself bears witness with our spirit that we are children of God; and if children, then heirs, heirs of God and fellow heirs with Christ." What an honour! How high he has raised those who lay on the ground! For the Apostle shows at once both the meanness of the Jews and the magnificence of Christians, which we would do right to guard with all our strength, so that we may not fall from the dignity and be punished more grievously, as not having been improved even by so great an honour.

To Harpocras the sophist. Just as an excellent painter, painting a proud horse with its neck held high, ambitious to make it all but breathe and vying with nature, puts spirit into it together with the bridle and makes it stand as if of its own will, so your learning has clearly engraved for us in words the spirit of the man, so that readers see the man himself rather than the letters.

To the same. When the man I do not wish to name (may he not be worthy of writing or remembrance) received the letter of your excellence, he smiled a deadly, grinning smile, as he usually did whenever he was filled with anger; and he set his hand to a dreadful contest, which might perhaps have been carried out, had he not himself become a prize for the church's laws.

To Ophelius the scholasticus. I greatly admire ancient Sparta, which forbade its chaste women to adorn themselves; for it thought this befitting courtesans, who devise snares and nets to hunt licentious young men. For a woman who seems decorous and chaste, if she does this, parades her own disease. Proclaiming against this, divine Scripture urges women who aspire to godliness to adorn themselves not with gold and pearls or costly clothing, but with good works. And if one must consider the matter itself, I say that necklaces, gleaming stones and collars work against both the plain and the very beautiful: the plain they expose, the beautiful they detract from. The plain they expose, showing them to be worse; from the beautiful they detract, for people stop speaking about the women and talk about their ornaments.

To Elaphius the bishop. A terrible love of words has burst into people's souls at this time; of words, I mean, that can delight hearers, not bring them to their senses; not spiritual but sophistic, not apostolic but Demosthenic, not prophetic but contentious; not able to gladden the soul, but accustomed to charm the ear; not living because inspired by the speaker's deeds, but echoing into dead ears for their eloquence. What, then, must be done? Must one keep silent and say nothing? But that is dangerous. Must one speak? But the speech ends not in benefit and the display of works, but only in applause. Yet even if this is so, it is better, I think, to speak and not be heard than not to speak and be charged: "Why did you not deposit my money with the bankers, so that when I came I could have demanded it with interest?" Let him who can, then, speak, so that the account he gives to the Judge may concern the hearers.

To Olympiodorus. Leave aside, wise man, the chatterers about the heavens, the sophists of the sky and the hunters of words, who have nothing more than words, and devote yourself to practical virtue, which makes its lovers blessed. And if you think it more right to follow the opinions of the ancients, leaving the others aside for now, I shall offer as the guarantor of my words the man they themselves proclaim the wisest of all men. What, then, does Xenophon say about him? "No one ever saw Socrates doing, or heard him saying, anything impious or unholy. For he did not discuss the nature of all things, as most of the others did, examining how what the sophists call the cosmos is constituted and by what necessities each of the heavenly things comes about; but he even showed that those who think about such things are fools. And first he examined with them whether they come to think about such things because they believe they already know human things sufficiently, or whether, neglecting human things and examining divine things, they think they are doing what is fitting. And he wondered that it was not plain to them that it is not possible for human beings to discover these things; since even those who pride themselves most on speaking about them do not hold the same opinions as one another, but behave toward one another like madmen." So Xenophon wrote; and Plato, more eloquent than all the others and knowing Socrates best of all, established the same as Xenophon in almost all his dialogues. If, then, he, or rather they, both practised and said and wrote that one should practise the practical life (for this, as Plato too thinks, is the finest road leading to piety and ending in a broad spaciousness) …

To Cassian. Thoughtless (aboulos) and unwilled (aboulētos). "Thoughtless" and "unwilled" are not the same. The first signifies what is unconsidered, the second what is involuntary; the first looks to acting, the second to suffering. For the one is an unconsidered act, the other a suffering under compulsion.

To Ausonius. Let the dispute hang on a trial; let the trial test the proofs; let the testing define what is right; let the definition be written; let what is written be ratified; let what is ratified be confirmed by deeds; let all skirmishing depart, and let friendship dance, to which nothing is equal, whether for virtue, good repute or gladness …

To Philetrius. You were bound, then, being named either after friendship or after being wounded by friendship, to bring others into it too. For see, even us, who are far away and have never met you, you have driven wild with love for you by letters and wounded so deeply that we cannot forget you even for a moment.

To Didymus the scholasticus. Some say that the eldest of your sons is at odds with the youngest, and that you know but pretend not to know. Lay aside quickly, then, your willed ignorance, and try to reconcile them in friendship, lest some incurable evil be born; for contentiousness gives birth to nothing good. So that, as after providence you became the cause of their being, you may also become the cause of their well-being.

To the same. Just as enmity somehow makes abuse from enemies easy to accept, so friendship beats it off and hurls it back …

To Orion. I was delighted beyond measure to learn of your excellent change; and I trust that you will very quickly rub off the disrepute that formerly came to you from wickedness, take up the adornment of virtue, and have a celebrated fame, proclaimed by all here and crowned there by the Judge.

To Peter the scholasticus. I will not vote against or pronounce against a man whom I have neither heard nor judged; but if he is tried and convicted, then the verdict will be brought against him. [Letter 5.210] To Zosimus the presbyter. If you do not wish to heal, and even worsen the wounds of the poor, why do you make the contest harder for those fighting with the hard-to-tame and hard-to-fight beast of poverty, appropriating the contribution given them by the merciful for their food? Why do you think you enjoy it, filling your insatiable belly from such gains? Look up a little, recovering from such derangement. Say to yourself: if the one who does not give his own possessions in almsgiving is sent into the river of fire to be tortured unbearably, what will the one suffer who appropriates the possessions of the poor? If the one who does not give his own will not be pardoned, where will the one go who plunders what is given? If you had devised this new robbery, or rather this crime worse than grave-robbing, compelled by poverty, you would have had at least a trace of a shameless defence. But since in luxury and frolicking you crush the misfortunes of others, which you ought to lighten, what defence will be left you? What mercy? What pardon? I have sent this, having almost mixed the ink with tears. Perhaps you may come to know yourself, stop wronging the poor, propitiate the Judge, and fill us with gladness at your repentance …

To Theodosius the presbyter. A man especially devoted to the most divine religion, who sets great store on meeting those who pursue the same things, has arrived there too. Be a good guide to him, so that, seeing you and the other images of virtue, he may satisfy his longing.

To Ausonius the corrector. Since a man of the market-place, wishing to make trouble for a man who lives a quiet life, has dragged him into court, deign quickly to prevent him from doing wrong (for you will do him a favour), and send the other back to the countryside, to enjoy what his beloved farming returns.

To Zosimus the presbyter. One must not bewitch the hearers by speech, my good man, but win the onlookers by action; for it is the character of the persuader that commands respect, not his words. The one shames, the other annoys. What I want to say, I shall tell you. A man adorned with virtue was pouring out much against you, saying many things but wondering at one: how, being a stain on the church, you think fit to ask in your prayers for a stainless life. "If he contributes his own part," he said, "let him ask; but if he is able to defile others by his most shameful deeds, for what reason does he pray to receive what he does not wish to have?" I blushed as I listened, fixed my eyes on the ground, and could not even open my mouth; but those present crowned him with loud applause, blaming him for one thing only, that he had not been able to speak worthily of your want of discipline. Consider, then, how you may rub off this ridicule.

To Paul the presbyter. Speak to those you meet not about small and trivial things, but about things worth saying. For many, thinking you talk nonsense, quickly go away, readily blame you, and swiftly persuade others.

To Daniel the presbyter. Do not let it hinder your course toward virtue, blessed man, that the foul and God-hated Zosimus, as you have written, dares to act as priest; rather let this very thing strengthen you to believe that there is certainly a judgment, in which what is fitting will be allotted to each. For if all received their due here, some their rewards and others their wages, the doctrine of the judgment would be superfluous. But since many worthless men prosper and many earnest men are passed over, the very thing that causes the disturbance ought to remove the disturbance and confusion, namely, that to each will be rendered what is fitting. For God, being just, would not overlook these things happening, unless he were going to demand an account of words, deeds and thoughts afterward, and to assign honours to some and punishments to others.

To Strategius the monk. Expect me soon (God willing, be it said) at the monastery; for I shall come to see your godliness before all else, and to embrace Theodosius, admirable in every way, a friend of long standing and greatly honoured by me.