Letters 5.28–5.69

To Didymus the presbyter. In the blessed Aphrodisius, your brother and a presbyter in rank, modesty dwelt in the eyes, persuasion on the lips, wisdom on the tongue; self-sufficiency in the belly, and self-control in what lies below the belly; and, to put it briefly, he was a common treasury and dwelling of almost all the virtues. Since, then, he has been summoned to the heavenly courts, having received rewards worthy of his labours, one should not grieve, but rather rejoice that he is now reaping the prizes of his contests. For the man who pities the departure of the saints from this life would himself deserve to be pitied by all sensible people, just as one who mourns those who have conquered and been crowned would deserve pity and tears. So much for that. Know, then, that only the wealth of virtue rides in safety, provided its owner does not betray the possession to indolence nor fall in love with office. For I think, and not you alone, that those go beyond all audacity who have not so much as touched the athlete's labours and yet strip for the contests that win crowns; men who, not even enrolled among genuine disciples, strive eagerly to run up to the rank of leaders; whose character does not vouch for their place, but whose place is trusted to vouch for their character. For they buy offices in order to insult virtues; they attempt to speak of what they did not deign even to learn, and they dare to command such things as they could not bear even to hear. Who then, under such leaders, will be able to do or even see anything great and noble? Who will not blush to become the hearer of men worn down only yesterday or the day before in taverns or law courts? Which of our enemies will not laugh, and think the whole thing a stage and a play? But since you have written asking what must be done, I say nothing else than this: virtue must be practised, quiet kept, the judgment awaited, and the devil's schemes beaten off. For the enemy of humankind is terrible and many-sided, bewitching some by flatteries and others by fallacies, especially since he does not know how to fight openly (for he would quickly be caught); but often under a show of friendship he hides the poison of sexual immorality. For as if leading man to equality with God, he made him more pitiable than the irrational animals, not only stripping off the advantages he had, but also procuring for him defects he did not have: sweat, I mean, and toil, death and corruption. But since many, hunting down his methods, have shown his siege-engines to be useless, all who have a share in prudence and for whom salvation is a concern must track down his devices and guard against them as far as possible, above all when he baits his hook with a show of friendship; for then he is hard to catch and hard to fight. Since you have also asked about doctrines, know that I once heard a man skilled in understanding the meaning of the evangelists say that they turned about the name of true offspring, establishing that the Son is not a creature. For they said: "To those who believe in his name, power has been given to become children of God"; and: "Whatever you ask in my name you will receive." And of the names of the one who has many names, the title "Son" is more proper than the others, since it shows genuineness and banishes the notion of a creature. It is clear, then, that grace has been given to those who call him Son, but grace does not come to those who dare to call him a creature. Since you have also written about conduct, eager to learn everything at once, I reply briefly: the wise men among the Greeks, who had a reputation with everyone for the dignity and power of their words, wishing to set out what is just, what is fitting, what is lawful and what is good, spent countless words and composed long dialogues no different from labyrinths, and fell so far short of saying anything needful that they confuse their readers even more. But the most divine Word, coming here and stirring up the reasoning implanted in human beings, and fixing each person's own will as the boundary of what is just and fitting, lawful and good, made this clear in a brief saying: "Whatever you wish that people should do to you, do also to them." Then, so that he might not seem to set an unwritten law against the written one, sealing what had been said and showing that he had briefly embraced everything, he said: "For this is the Law and the Prophets." Having in these words, then, the rule of all good things, let what we wish to be done to us by others be done by us to them. Know this too: those who did not use the greatness and beauty of created things as a ground for piety, but even stumbled over them (for not only did they not know the Creator, but they also gave worship to the creatures themselves), these, thinking themselves wise, were shipwrecked on the sea of ignorance. For while the creatures proclaim the craftsman (for neither is a house built without an architect, nor a ship without a shipwright, nor could a musical instrument be put together without one skilled in harmony), they, stumbling over the art rather than over the works of art, struck out the Creator. With such people, then, conduct too has naturally been corrupted. For, casting the Ruler of the universe out of their own soul, they do not refrain from fearlessly doing every kind of injustice and wickedness. Since you also ask about the learned, know that the most divine Word does not reject the learned man, if he orders his own life by reason; but if, philosophizing in words, he should be seen to be unphilosophical in deeds, the Word rightly does not admit such a man either. [Letter 5.29] To Zosimus, Maron and Eustathius. Great and unceasing luxury both trains people for unnatural love and ruins all the health of the body and the nobility of the soul. Stop it, then; and train yourselves to use, if not fasts, then at least self-sufficiency, which is truly a temperate luxury; and the comedy now sung about you by everyone will be gone. But if you throw yourselves into the abyss of lechery, do not be angry with those who mock you, but condemn your own luxury, which, as they say, is not furnished from your own house (for you are bankrupt), but from throwing yourselves upon other people's tables. For if you scatter the mist, then you will see the beauty of self-control, which is now hidden from your sight.

To Hermogenes, Theodosius and Aelianus, bishops. Were it not that your extraordinary virtue refutes my words, both in the present (for people know more of it) and in the future (for it will be greater than they will believe), I would have entered the contest of praising you.

To Palladius the deacon. Many say that, because you do not live rightly but wish to cover up your own failings, you follow the wise, hunting for a reputation for love of learning. I would not say that; but having learned by experience that you pretend to search out the hidden sanctuaries of Scripture not for the sake of knowing them but courting glory from men, I shall not answer you, obeying the divine oracle that bids us not give what is holy to the dogs nor throw pearls before swine.

To Isidore the deacon. It is above all in the commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, my namesake, that the wisdom of the all-wise John is treasured up. For I think (and let no one suppose I say it to please) that if the divine Paul had taken up the Attic tongue to interpret himself, he would not have interpreted himself otherwise than that celebrated man has; so adorned is the commentary in its arguments, its beauty and its propriety of expression.

To the same. I once met a holy man whose eye, when he taught, was awe-inspiring and wise. For he had many goads for his words; and his brow, overhanging his eyes, signified the meaning of his teachings. And the whole man, so to speak, breathed benefit, instilling in those who saw him a fierce love of divine wisdom.

To Zosimus, Maron, Palladius and Eustathius. Having learned that, outdoing flesh-eating beasts, and having made among yourselves a peace more grievous than any war, you were not afraid to revile a gentle and kindly man, accustomed to benefit both himself and others, saying to him the things that it befitted you to hear, I wept bitterly for you, because you do not even know whether you are among the wicked. Now that you have learned it, come to your senses.

To Dionysius. I learn that you are most clever at assuming a new appearance and collecting a reputation that does not belong to you at all. If, then, the appearance of virtue seems to you worthy of respect, why do you not practise virtue itself? Do you neglect the fruit and pride yourself on the leaves? For even if, because of the labours, the root seems bitter to some, yet the fruit is sweet and lovely.

To Nemesius. We define those who have trampled on the love of wealth as richer and more kingly than all; let us strive with all our strength to be numbered among them. For even if many have worshipped its tyranny like the image of the Babylonian, let us imitate the courage of the three youths; and even if the sounds of trumpets and pipes and all kinds of music rising to the sky ring round our ears, and the furnace of poverty is kindled, let us not heed the drums or the flutes or the rest of the show of wealth. But even if we must fall into the furnace, let us choose poverty rather than worship that image; and our philosophy will be for us here like a dew whistling in the midst of the flames and bringing forth complete freedom, and there it will give birth to the crowns of endurance.

To Leontius the bishop. If wickedness overcame only some of those who are governed, it would not be so terrible (for one must tell the truth), though it is terrible. But since, creeping on to worse, it also grazes upon some of those who have been allotted the priesthood, and, as you have written (the height of evils and heavier than every calamity), this somehow breeds an excuse for those under them, let those who say such things hear: do not measure your own life against those who are wickedly ordained, but against the commandments. For the judge, being incorruptible, would not accept an irrational excuse, but will say above all that many of the ordained have been approved, to whom you should have paid attention and corrected your own life. "But since you have been caught out as lovers of wickedness, in that you fixed your gaze not on those who excelled but on those who stumbled, they will pay a penalty worthy of what they did, and you, since you dishonoured virtue and embraced wickedness, and neither longing for the kingdom nor fear of hell made you keepers of my laws, will pay the ultimate penalty."

To Abraham the bishop. I greatly wonder at the indolence of the many: while noble and admirable men eagerly endure the labours undertaken for virtue, these will not even bear to hear the words from which the labours of virtue usually spring. Who, then, will believe that they genuinely take up the sweat of virtue, when they see that they hardly admit the words spoken on its behalf? So urge those about whom you have written to hold fast to the reading of the Scriptures; for from there knowledge too is born.

To Isidore the deacon. Many who seemed brave and noble did not withstand even the first assault and skirmishing of temptations; and so, shown to have reaped a reputation for courage among the spectators in appearance only and not in deed, they lowered their brows. That is why, I think, some are allowed to be tempted: to heal the notion that they are great and invincible, and to be driven together into modesty. This is no small benefit to the soul, that the pride of those who could not bear even the trial, not to say the contest, should be quenched. For one who is defeated after many victories may perhaps be pardoned; but one who falls in the very first skirmishes shows a sign of utter weakness, or rather indolence.

To Taurus the prefect. Know well, you sanctuary of sagacity, that if you make the best of your friends, those, I mean, who are nursed on truth and are superior to money, partners in your office (for it is generally hazardous to moor so great a mass of affairs on one anchor), you will make your rule an aristocracy by the virtues of those who help you. [Letter 5.41] To Lampetius the deacon. Divine things seem foolishness to the natural man; since in one who is not willing first to be persuaded that the kingdom of heaven exists, love for it cannot be born. [Letter 5.42] What is terrible is not that the man who, as you say, has wronged you should pay the penalty rather late, but that, having paid it rather quickly, he should later be shown not to have done wrong, which has often happened. So do not hurry to demand a penalty, but to test whether he truly did wrong; for you will suffer no harm from delay, but from haste, if you demand a penalty from one who did no wrong, you will yourself be badly wronged.

To Dorotheus, a man of rank. Here, my good man, it is not possible for both to go together, I mean severity of punishment and duration. For the one wars against the other, because the nature of the body, being corruptible, cannot bear their combination. But there, when incorruption has forced its way in and banished corruption, this conflict too would be resolved, so that the extremity of the torments neither drives out the strength of the body nor sends the body into non-existence, …

To Serenus the deacon. Just as many people, though they think health of body the greatest good, take no great care of it (for by preferring pleasant things to beneficial ones they miss it), so too people who praise virtue run away from the road that leads to it.

To Anatolius the deacon. Wine, if drunk at the right time and in moderation, being honoured, becomes a cause of gladness. But if it is abused, it avenges the insult and exacts penalties from those who insulted it, procuring them laughter, shame, ridicule and bruises. [Letter 5.46] Not only the body must be untouched, but the glances of the eyes too, which for this reason we call "maidens" (pupils), must be virgins, and must not be trusted to feast shamelessly and without restraint on the beauty of others, lest from looking they be led on to the act. [Letter 5.47] Since one must judge your mind from your letters, I perceive that you gladly endure the labours undertaken for virtue and think its fruits great, but are disheartened at being thought unfortunate by people; so I have decided to write a few words. Without realizing it you are vexed at things in which you ought to rejoice. For if you do not doubt that you will have a great fruit from God for your devotion to virtue, why does people's suspicion trouble you, even if we grant that they suspect this? That they think so I shall try to show very easily. For even if you alone of those who have practised virtue had suffered such things, the suspicion would not even then have been true; but those who hate the good would have had at least a shadow of shamelessness. But if you are neither the first nor the only one to have fallen into such misfortunes, but almost all the best people, not only among Christians but, if we must include everyone and quench your despondency, also of old among Jews, Greeks and barbarians, why are you distressed? For if they too, like noble athletes, continued to be beaten, wounded, drenched with blood and familiar with death, why do you harm yourself by despondency and make your opponent stronger? You do the same as if you said: "For what reason does the opponent strike none of the spectators, but only the man who enrolled himself and entered the stadium?" Do not, then, be distressed at suffering such things as those also suffered "of whom the world was not worthy"; but rejoice that, as you have shared in the contests, so you will share in the glory and the proclamation of victory.

To Harpocras the sophist. It is better, when insulted, to bear it in silence and to practise philosophy; but what you have done is not without elegance either. For when you had been badly treated by wicked and counterfeit men, Zosimus, I mean, and Maron, Eustathius and Martinianus, you thought it bitter to punish them by the verdict of a court, and abject to bear it in silence; so you pursued the insulters with a penalty of words, limiting their punishment to jests, which usually bite the guilty but do not put them in danger. I judge, then, the reasoning that led you to begin writing to be better than the writing itself. I would advise you to add the rest too: to bear it nobly and to keep your tongue free of accusation. For even if those men deserve to hear these things and worse, it does not befit you to say them, since your tongue is a sanctuary of purity.

To Eutonius the deacon. One must contend for those nurtured in virtue, but not make a display of it to them, for two reasons: so as not to make them complacent, and to escape the suspicion of flattery. That is why I did not write before. But since, having learned it from others, you have written, blaming my silence and wishing to know exactly what happened, know that when your opponent at law was flowing on at length, since he set out from rhetorical training, and a roar of praise was rising for him from those present, who did not know your excellence, I mentioned a few of the advantages you possess (for perhaps it is not easy to mention them all), and changed the matter round so completely that he leapt away blushing and the hearers sang a recantation. [Letter 5.50] The one who trusts in God rides on the greatest, brightest and most unfailing hope; the one who trusts in man rides on a slender, weak and slippery hope that usually fails. So sensible people must hold fast to the first as to a sacred anchor, and keep away from the second. [Letter 5.51] I greatly wonder at those who gladly do everything that the common enemy of all, the devil, wants, and then ask why all good order has perished. For if they would drive away their excessive and incurable indolence, they would, I well know, drive away with it any need to ask such questions.

To Harpocras the sophist. The monody you have written on Martinianus and Zosimus, Eustathius and Maron, as men not yet dead but always dying in sin, and having their souls buried in their bodies as in tombs, even if it has been composed truly and fittingly, will not be sent to them by me. For I would not become the cause of a war for you; they are said to be implacable and untamed beasts. If it were an exhortation, I would have sent it; but since it is a lament of a single kind, I did not think it right to send it. But if you yourself really wish it, send it, so that, if a truceless battle should arise, you may not have anyone else to lay the blame on.

To Martinianus, Zosimus, Maron and Eustathius. One of those who are highly educated and have climbed to the summit of virtue has composed a monody on you. A monody (for I know you do not know this either) is a lament of a single kind, having neither impersonation nor character-drawing. And what is more, others lament those who have fallen away from philosophy, but he has lamented you as accursed men who have never even tasted it, presenting you as committing every kind of sin, both speakable and unspeakable, and asserting that not one of the parts of virtue has ever entered your minds. And, to say the greatest thing (I shall not stop before I say it), each person who reads the monody turns away from you as from grievous beasts, avenging demons and enemies of our common nature, but blames him, because he attempted but could not attain exactness. So greater than every word and writing does your wickedness seem to all. For each one, ridiculing some sin of yours that he left out, thinks that he was defeated in daring to compete in words with your wickedness. For he considers your sins too great not only for pardon but even for punishment. And he reproaches you because, neither compelled by examples nor likely to have imitators, you have driven into such wickedness as none of the most learned will be able to reach in words. But as men who have done what none of those ever notorious for lawlessness did, acknowledge it, even if late.

To Heron the deacon. The life of the accused usually makes some accusations incredible. Often, indeed, a good man, merely by being seen, without making any defence, has not only wiped off every accusation and slander but has even gone away crowned with praises. If, then, you want your enemies to pay the penalty, practise virtue. For the praises woven for you by everyone are heavier and more bitter to them than any punishment. [Letter 5.55] If some of those you drive as a charioteer, full of madness and foam, do something wild and against the rein, pull them back and curb them, so that they are not carried over the cliffs. But if you perceive that they are lovers of money, always say: What is this new and irrational madness of avarice, in which what is added becomes fuel and kindling for the desire for more? For always receiving, it is never filled; like some many-headed hydra sending food with countless mouths to an insatiable belly, it craves so much more of it, as if it had received nothing at the beginning. Who, then, in his right mind would choose to be a lover of this thing, which here punishes its captive by never being satisfied, and there sends him to the unquenchable fire?

To Dometius. The many think blessed, not the man who is wholly without experience of the troubles that usually befall human beings (for that is impossible), but the one who has shared in few of them. For because of the multitude of misfortunes that pour over most people, they define as blessed the one who has met with few. But we count blessed the one who has suffered much here but borne it nobly, rather than the one who has suffered little; for crowns are woven to match the wrestling bouts, and prizes follow the contests. [Letter 5.57] Stain, pollution, abomination, and every other manifest disgrace: these are the names some go about calling you, wretched Zosimus. Neither the occasion nor your suffering can silence them, while all who hear them testify that they are saying little instead of much, and decent things instead of shameful ones. See, then, how you may silence them; and you will silence them if you stop your insatiable indolence.

To Epiphanius the deacon. Hope in the invincible right hand of him who steers all things not only brings forth the enjoyment of things to come, but also lightens present labours. For one bears contests more easily when given wings by the hope of crowns. If, then, it fights beside us and is our ally here, and there adorns and brightens us with crowns and makes us admired among angels and men, let us embrace it and have it as our companion at home and at table.

To Theon the presbyter. Do not be too astonished or amazed if Zosimus, sprung, as you say, from a slave's root, shows off and thinks nothing moderate. For unexpected prosperity usually turns the foolish to insolence.

To Hierax the deacon. We greatly deceive and mislead ourselves if, doing none of the things that those who wish to win must do, we expect to prevail over those who do everything that those who are going to win must do. For it is the same as expecting those who sleep and snore to prevail over those who are awake and striving, and the indolent and idle to master those who leave nothing undone.

To Marcian the presbyter. Sayings that need much testing and long examination are made clear not by assertion but by demonstration. For there is need of construction, of a sustained argument and of proof, so that they may receive a clear interpretation. If anyone thinks that by asserting he has used demonstration, he has pitched his tent outside the assembly of the wise.

To John the deacon. If teachers and fathers, giving up flattery as most harmful and ruinous, hold fear over their pupils and their children, we too, if we are sensible, ought to turn away from flatterers more than from those who insult us. For such honour does greater harm than insult to those who are not on their guard, and this passion is harder to master than that one.

Without address. Virtue alone is sufficient to adorn its possessor. None of those in office has his honour in himself; he holds his dignity in his subjects. But the lover of virtue has his glory both in himself and beyond the reach of theft.

To Hierax the deacon. The one who eats only enough to end his hunger, and wears only enough to be decently covered, prepares his body as a good vehicle for the soul, easily handled rudders for the helmsman, well-fitting arms for the soldier, and a tuneful lyre for the musician. But the one who fattens it with luxury and beautifies it with clothes makes it skittish, inflames it to monstrous desires, makes it softer, ruins its good condition, dissolves it with great sluggishness, and makes it an enemy of the soul. So stop doing both the one and the other.

To the same. It was not idly, my good man, that he who fashioned our hearts one by one laid down the law that we must not look licentiously at a woman, but to rid us of trouble. For since it is much easier not to look at a beautiful woman than, having looked and been wounded, to draw out the arrow and heal the wound, he gave this command. For the contests are lighter at the outset (or rather there is no need of a contest at all) for the one who does not open the doors to the enemy nor receive his seeds. If, then, it is possible to set up the trophy without coming to grips, why do you cause yourself needless trouble? For not looking does not involve as much sweat as mastering oneself while looking; or rather, the first is not even a labour, but the great toil springs up after the sight. When, then, the gain is very great and the labour small, why do you throw yourself into the impassable sea of desire? For the one who does not look will prevail not only more easily but also more purely. For as the one who looks gets free with greater labour and with a stain, if indeed he gets free, so the one who has not looked is also pure of desire.

To Ophelius the grammarian. Not everything that seems to us advantageous is also profitable. For many who have defeated many did their opponents no harm, but put themselves in the worst state. That is why the man who said, "Blessed is he whose arrow … falls …", seemed to have missed the truth. For he ought, if he was wise, to have said: "Blessed is he whose arrow falls where it is profitable for it to fall." For many, having attained enviable and brilliant success, have from it driven themselves into worse evils; for, priding themselves on their first successes, they attempted their second ventures more rashly. But many who failed were profitably taught not to undertake the most troublesome ventures. Since, then, to know and to give what is profitable belongs to divine providence, let us ask these things from it, and be content with what is given, even if it seems contrary.

To Heron the presbyter. Just as the man who is always thirsty, even if he lies beside rivers and springs, will feel no gladness, because he cannot quench his passion, so the one who craves more, even if he has countless treasures, will never feel pleasure, because he does not know satiety. But the one who keeps himself within the boundary of need will never be caught by this incurable disease, but will live in cheerfulness and joy, and will remain uncaptured by the other passions by which the man who is always craving is caught. For it is not having much but needing little that makes people uncapturable and sets them in complete safety. For the former, even if he is not wronged, has his fear in full bloom, since he can be wronged. But the latter, for the most part, cannot be wronged; and if he does seem to have been wronged, he will be in a far better state than those who have not been wronged, and in greater exultation, since he also expects the rewards of philosophy.

To Eutonius the deacon. Do not wonder or think it a riddle, what I said to you before, that temptations often grant the soul release and freedom from troublesome and servile passions. For just as in the case of the three youths the fire not only did not touch them but even served to loose their bonds, having the destruction of the iron as the limit of its activity, so temptations too, cutting away indolence and bringing people back to sobriety, loose many from the bonds of sin.

To the same. A hope that hangs on another's misfortune and not on one's own virtue is slippery; for such a hope will easily vanish. But if someone has the pledges of safety from his own resources, he will be uncapturable and stronger than those who plot against him. [Letter 5.70] To the same. Do not think about how no one may wrong you, but how, even if someone wishes to, he may not be able to. And this is born from nowhere else than from holding to what is needed and not craving more. For the one who longs for more is easily captured by all, both by people and by passions.