Theodulus the Monk, or Thomas Magister

ANNO DOMINI MCCCXXXII.

THEODULUS MONACHUS OR THOMAS MAGISTER.

NOTITIA.

Theodulus the monk, who by another name is called Thomas Magister, was by nation a Greek, and by country—if we credit L. Allatius—a Thessalonian; he flourished under Andronicus Palaeologus the elder, was intimate with Theodorus Metochites, and dear to the patriarch Niphon, in the year 1311. From his various titles it may be conjectured that he fulfilled various offices, and, as was customary for the Greeks of that age, transitioned from forensic affairs to monastic ^A *hesychia*, and that he attained the summit of both states, sometimes serving as rhetor and master, and as abbot of a monastery.

There exists his *Encomiastic Oration on Saint Gregory the Theologian of Nazianzus*. It is held in manuscript in the Imperial Library of Vienna, juridical codex XII, no. x. There are four *Gratulatory Orations*: the first to Angelus, the *great stratopedarch* under Andronicus the Elder; the second to Theodorus Metochites, the *great logothete*; the third to Niphon, the recently proclaimed patriarch; the fourth to the King of Cyprus. There are seven *Epistles*. Laur. Normannus published the works enumerated thus far, along with his own translation, in Uppsala in 1693, in quarto. A *Collection of Attic Diction* appeared in Greek at Rome in 1517 and 1525, and in Paris in 1532, in octavo, under the name of Thomas Magister, edited by Nic. Blancard, and recently reprinted and enriched with an index of authors at Franeker in 1690, in octavo. The same work exists in manuscript, ascribed to Theodulus Magister, in the Royal Library of Paris, codex 1853. In the same codex there are also contained several of the same Theodulus’s *Declamations*, *Epistles*, and *Orations*, as attested by the illustrious Du Cange in the "Index of Authors" to his *Glossarium Græcum*. Whether these are different from those published by Normannus is a matter of legitimate doubt, since one of them is addressed to Trypho, Patriarch of Constantinople, for whom the historical timeline absolutely demands that Niphon should be substituted.

To him must also be assigned several *Declamations*; the *Oration to the Thessalonians on Peace and Concord*, beginning: *Ou moi dokō tōn pantōn ouden* ("It does not seem to me that any of all these..."); an *Oration delivered on an embassy to the Emperor Andronicus Palaeologus*; an [address] *To the Philosopher Joseph concerning those things which were done in the expedition of the Italians and Persians*; a *Sermon on Saint Euthymius the Wonderworker, Bishop of Madytus*; an *Encomium on the Sea and the universal nature of waters*; and certain other things which, along with those recently published ones we have mentioned above, are held in Greek in a manuscript in the Library of the Residence of the Society of Jesus in Constantinople. Simlerus recounts that various other small Greek works of his lie hidden in a certain library in Italy, namely: *To the Athenians on the Olynthians*; *On the Navigation from Thessalonica to Byzantium, and again from Byzantium to Thessalonica*; *On the Kingdom*, *On the Republic*, etc. Several further *Epistles* are held in manuscript in the Royal Parisian codex 185. His *Scholia* on Aristophanes, Euripides, and Pindar, whose *Lives* he also wrote, as well as certain grammatical works and other things of that sort—partly printed, partly in manuscript—do not belong to this place.

THEODULI MONACHI SIVE THOMAE MAGISTRI LAUDATIO S. GREGORII THEOLOGI

1. ^A I do not think any mortal, by any right, would be angry with me in any way, nor would accuse me of any kind of madness or rashness, if I, neither deterred by the gravity of this cause, nor because I approach the task of treating it as someone ill-equipped, have nevertheless boldly chosen to risk it now, not hesitating to attempt things greater than my own powers. But on the contrary, to sum the matter up in a word, I know well that in the judgment of all, I shall appear to have followed a right course of deliberation, and that there was no other way in which it was necessary to be eager for this manner of task. For when we are all under obligation to take up and extol with words—and to omit nothing whatsoever that pertains to it—those things which we must marvel at and honor most of all; and when, furthermore, the neglect of these things is not without peril; although others, seemingly held back by fear, pass over these same things in silence and refuse to undertake the cause, I alone, as if filled with a certain inspiration or a new strength of mind, have judged that I must speak, and that this task must be accomplished with an incredible zeal. For this very reason, might I not perhaps seem to have earned some extraordinary praise, in that I have judged the honorable and righteous to be of far greater importance than my own personal account, and having disregarded all danger, have deemed it less ^B than this current endeavor—a move which I am now, for its great size, vexed with myself for having so long postponed?

II. And that this is indeed manifest: for when in your panegyric, O supreme pinnacle of theologians, and O man who art preeminent in all things, two things are especially contained—that it is necessary to speak, and that one must preserve what has come to pass—if it were permitted to perform both of these things, everyone would have paid their due, and we would not have had trouble

^A in truth, the plain absurdity is this: that when we are not permitted to do the one, we choose to do neither, but rather fall short on both sides—both from the point of view of those who have a necessity to speak and yet omit it, and from the point of view of our falling short of the dignity required. For when those who are not prepared in that way ought at least to pay according to the other way, since even to speak simply—and not necessarily to speak worthily—is a necessity. For without there being any disgrace to the speakers in the failure (since this is common to all those living in the realm of words), it would be the greatest lack of judgment if, fearing this very thing, we decided to be silent, since there is a necessity to speak, and even to speak for things for which, if it were possible, one would have needed the mouths of Homer throughout all time. Who does not know that you appeared as the head and pinnacle of the human race in words, and virtue, and religious dogmas, and, to speak briefly, in all the most beautiful things, and that you alone hold the first place ^B by the consensus of all, and that for all these things you are celebrated above all others, and you hold everyone as your indebted debtors, yet no one is able to celebrate you as you deserve? For if this could be done, it would have been the work of your own mouth alone. For you alone would have been the athlete suitable to descend into this contest for your own sake. And yet, one must not, for this reason, abandon the duty of celebrating you, nor desist entirely from the whole because we are lacking in some part of it. Rather, on the contrary, we ought to contribute as much as our ability allows, and pay our assigned portion of the common tax. But if we are unable to provide as much as is appropriate, it is certainly not our fault, but you may blame yourself for it, since you have transcended the entire power of speech and are alone inaccessible to those who choose to praise you. Which you yourself, in a certain place ^C, had already declared by a small question: "Who will praise us?" as if foreshadowing what was to come and turning everyone away from this undertaking. Nevertheless, I would not easily say that this silence will be more honorable for you than that attempt at praise. For your virtues, passed over in silence, will not strike men with as much amazement as if everyone were to insist on praising you, and yet these attempts were to be in vain for everyone. But if you truly seek a proclamation worthy of yourself, since you will find no one, I say, to contribute his labor here (for no one is ignorant of how much he is inferior to your praises, whence all will entirely desist), then you will also fall into a kind of enigma in another way, and you will seem to be the same man, both admirable and not: the one, because you truly are such; the other, ^D because you have no admirers or praisers. On account of which I would have believed that, if such eulogies had been less used by men before, they would now be instituted for the first time and would have taken their origin from this example.

^C III. If that is indeed decorous for you—for you would by no means approve of the other—it is necessary that you and yours should dwell in the admiration of men. Now, this is the very property of virtue, of which you yourself deservedly bear the first honours, and because it is most necessary for all who are now present, and for all who shall exist hereafter, that your life be set forth as an exemplar and type of everything beautiful and honest. It would therefore be equitable that you should receive your praises with a just magnanimity, and bear away the proclamation that is not worthy enough of you. For in this way you will have not a few voluntarily contributing their efforts; since all who have any dealings with eloquence will necessarily enter into the fellowship of your laudation—not indeed with the hope of making your affairs more ornate, but of gaining clarity from them. A certain similar thing occurs, I think, regarding the use of the eyes: they gaze upon and look up to the sun, but they add no glory to it; rather, they adorn themselves, by bringing the innate power of sight into action through the help of the sun. Therefore, although we see all the best men, however much they are heralds and witnesses of themselves in that they are good and honest and worthy of being admired by all, nonetheless being praised by others, and receiving this as a kind of reward for their virtue—yet you, by a certain singular prerogative, have received both this and that from yourself: both that you are supremely to be admired by all, and that you yourself enjoy the fruit of your own eloquence, in that you have delivered funeral orations for those who were most closely related to you whenever anyone has met his day, by which you have adorned not them so much as yourself. Or rather, to speak more correctly, you have both made them more ornate by your praises, and have clearly shown what sort of person he ought to be who requests to adorn himself by praising you and all others. These, therefore, are the things which were necessary to be employed for the present undertaking, and which chiefly induced me to arise to speak, and I considered that offense in speaking was altogether more agreeable than silence void of danger; and these things are almost such that I do not easily think anyone will perceive anything more beautiful or more honest, and they are of such a kind that I believe them to be equal and sufficient for the matters themselves.

^D IV. Now, therefore, as I move my hand to the very laudation of this great man, and set about to undertake it, it seems to me that nothing else should be commemorated before his country and those things which pertain to it; nay, rather, that this should be treated before all else, following the traces of nature and the orator’s art, and the desires of both. For that one’s discourse ought to be directed and treated in this manner, the art itself confirms as if by law, and nature likewise adds its own necessity. Since parents are prior to children, and the country to parents, because from it, as from a foundation or underlying root, the races of men themselves arise; therefore, in every respect, it is best and most convenient to the nature of things that we should speak of the country in the first place, then proceed to the parents, and render to them what is right and lawful.

V. Now, the country is indeed of such a kind that it is not only not destitute of any of those things that are wont to adorn cities, but exceeds so greatly in them—

so that, when compared with the most flourishing of all, it may rightly be judged to hold the first place. For the nature of its air is such that it seems to be the most temperate of all the cities anywhere, and it is most abundantly furnished for the yield of produce and animals of every kind, for in every part of its land, the things that grow there are produced in such quantities and of such excellent quality that they satisfy the needs not only of its inhabitants, but also of all their neighbors and those far away. And furthermore, there is such a symmetry of the seasons, and such a favorable condition throughout them, that it is always far removed from the hardships that attend each of them; it partakes only of the abundance of good things, as if it had deliberately chosen for itself what is ultimately beneficial, while leaving other things aside. ^B Cappadocia, adorned with so many and such great blessings, and flourishing to such a degree that even those who, for I know not what reason, are wont to envy all beautiful things, and have in a way made the art of slander their own, have these surely wonderful persons as its laudators; indeed, because they have nothing to say against it, they honor it with worthy praises. It has been enriched with such a multitude of men who are most illustrious for their piety, Christian philosophy, and literary studies, as well as their contests on behalf of the truth and all other qualities that one might call best, that it was not fitting for this land to have been the mother and nurse of any others but these, nor for these men themselves to have come from anywhere else but this land. Rather, it was fitting that both should happen, and that the harmony of this lyre should be completed and, as one might say, fully resolved through all the strings of which this man, whom we now praise, is the first, the middle, and the last. He is so, partly because, although he looked to no such paragon, he yet shone forth in all things, and partly because, after so many other fine and good men, he alone appeared as such a one.

VI. ^C But let it be granted that we know of no one of all mankind who has been such, and let me be permitted—I ask for full liberty of speech—to say that there will not be one in the future; for we know that he reached the ultimate limit of happiness in every virtue. A not inconsiderable part of this is certainly his marvelous good fortune regarding his parents, and that he had such illustrious authors of his entry into life. Although he was in all things greater than they, yet, because he received from his parents the seeds of this excellence and, after the manner of the evangelical sowing, returned them a hundredfold, he has them as partners in his victory and as helpers in his triumph. ^D For, according to his own opinion, “it is most equitable and just to attribute the virtues of offspring to the parent,” and, besides him, the wise affirm that “the author of the crop that is brought forth is he who provided the seed.” Therefore, since he is victorious, it is necessary that his parents are victorious as well. And, which is the main point, that they not only surpass other parents, but in this respect surpass even themselves.

^A VII. For their own virtue was so bright and illustrious that it received a most splendid eulogy from their son; for they were not endowed with some parts of virtue and not with others, nor did they possess one part more and another less, but they grasped all virtues together and in an excellent manner, striving with the utmost effort so that no particle of virtue should be lacking. And for those who were already such in themselves, it was no small glory that they were seen by God as worthy to be the parents of such a great son. Why is this? Because while they might indeed have had some peers in their mode of life, or those who would not easily yield in the equality of their virtue—though not many such—in this particular respect they admit no one among all mankind into the contest. Hence, if it is permitted to say so, Gregory and Nonna, that most blessed pair, ^B both for their equality with their son and for mirroring in a certain way the Most Holy Trinity in order and form, whether as a reward for their goodness, or as a clear symbol of the blessedness awaiting them, or both, received this wonderful son from God, showing in what high value the Giver held both them and him.

VIII. For since it was necessary that their son, who was destined to be the best and most eminent, should lack nothing for complete blessedness, it was fitting that he should acquire similar parents; and for the same reason, it was fitting that the parents themselves, on account of the consummate sanctity of their lives and their proven probity in all things, being among the first in renown and blessedness and most dear to God, should be deemed worthy of such a wonderful offspring, one most like themselves. Thus it happened very conveniently on both sides, and each received from the other what was fitting, and they observed the proper order. For by mutually bestowing and receiving their own virtues, they harmonized so completely that they are mentioned and heard of together everywhere, and they are, as the saying goes, "thrice and four times blessed." ^C Wherefore, whether considered publicly or privately, or individually by themselves, or compared with one another, they are truly admirable and most worthy of the highest praises; for they would not be such, if they were not such; but they are such, because they are such.

IX. To this must also be added that which follows: it is not at all directed to the injury of the great Gregory’s father, as someone might perhaps suspect, but rather adds a great heap of glory to the man and bears witness to a certain great virtue. For although he seemed to oppose God in his former opinions regarding holy things, yet by those things which he exhibited to be seen in his very works, he appeared in a certain way to be acting with Him; and while he held all other things in his mind, he seemed to provide, in the very facts themselves, a hidden signification of our religion, so that he was ours in the affection of his actions no less than he was alien in the worship of sacred things. For he possessed a soul preoccupied by ^D the heresy of the Hypsistarians, which he had grown into as a kind of portion of his paternal inheritance; afterward—O the wonderful judgments of God!—He "who makes all things and transforms them," by His will alone, caused him to condemn and hate that heresy as most wicked; and not only to be content to leave it behind, but even to excise it entirely from his memory, so that not even the slightest part of it...

^A might be found in his mind. And so genuinely and with such sincerity—just as if he had advanced to Christ on two feet—did he commit himself to both piety and the dogmas of piety, of which he was most staunchly and admirably a champion, that he received as a reward, as it were, the pastoral oversight of the rational sheep of Christ, and became a teacher and instructor of others in those very things of which he himself had previously been ignorant. By all these means, he clearly demonstrated that he had not been known as an impious man because of any wickedness or corruption, nor, as some do, through contention and perversity of mind, preferring falsehood to truth; but because, lacking knowledge of what one must think, he did not perceive how he should flee the very things he had proposed for himself to follow.

X.

XI.

^A were to be despised, as being nothing for those who live for things beyond what is seen; but looking only to the intelligible beauty, and longing for this at every hour, she adorned her soul with many and various forms of virtue and considered that she should do all things. Through which it is possible to find this, and to acquire admiration; and indeed she did find it, and was no less admired than the man himself. For just as they practiced a mutual communion of virtues, which is the only communion that is truly admirable and sustains the things that come to pass, and as they stood to each other in the place of a head, he according to the voice of Paul ^B as husband, and she as a guide and teacher of piety to him, and a leader to Christ, they were objects of emulation to all in all things. Thus they were possessed of piety, and thus of good character, and life and resolve, and to speak generally, of everything that brings praise. Certainly, all looked to them as if to certain living pillars, not only of exact knowledge of God, but also of living well and conducting themselves according to virtue.

XII. Such, then, were they, and such was their state; but if the tree is known by its fruit, ^C according to the divine oracle, and this is a clear proof of whichever disposition it may be—whether good or evil—the excellence of these persons is made manifest even in this way. For if, even without the child, they possessed so much virtue that they were sufficient for each other’s adornment, what then must we think of them when the child was added? For where, even if they had not possessed a high opinion of themselves from their own merits, they would rightly have arrived at this from the child alone—when this also was added to him, and they received the glory that comes from him together with their own—how could they not shine forth in all respects? And this all the more, since for some it has happened that they have had glory from a child, even if not to such a degree, but to have a child who is also an admirer—this increase of glory we know has happened to none since the memory of man, if you exclude these. With the best of rights, for it was fair that those who alone had brought forth such a child should alone receive from the son such a reward of upbringing; ^D as if the fates had destined for them a peculiar novelty in all things, and had wished them to experience greater things than any for which any examples existed: just as this, too, is evidently of the same, as they say, school, that the beginning of the birth for him was not the same as it was for others, nor according to the prevailing custom of nature, but from divine providence and the predictions of the Holy Spirit, as the account will soon show.

XIII. For since the parents had for a long time desired male offspring, and were burning with such an ardent longing for this child, that they had not only...

^A their desire's spark could no longer endure, but they accounted all their other possessions as nothing, provided only this one thing were lacking; what then came to pass? Namely, that which first, and solely, and above all things ought to have been done: they took refuge at the great and wonderful tribunal, and with God, who is able to provide these things; and they prayed for this with such fervor and with such propitious hopes, that they not only believed with unwavering faith that they would obtain what they desired, but they promised that, even before receiving it, they would consecrate it to God; and they anticipated the gift, as one might say, with the very voices of the Spirit—for they well knew, both because of their ^B intimacy with virtue and their frequent attainment of their prayers, that they would receive this even more abundantly than they wished. Nor were they disappointed of their hopes; indeed, they even surpassed them in the event. For the mother was informed at night through an angel concerning the child, indicating what sort he would be, and that such a wealth of grace would attend him that not only in action and contemplation, and in the whole host of virtues, would he be able to excel other men, but also in the power of his words, and in other things, and in the ability to philosophize worthily—with God and through the divine inspiration from above—concerning God and divine things, he would leave but few to approach near to him. ^C And both of these things were confirmed by both: the parents' reputation for virtue was established by the fact that they were deemed worthy of such oracles; and the distinction of the child was proven by the fact that he was given to them in such a way. For if he were not destined to be a wonderful man, he would not have had such a birth; and they would not have been heard so magnificently, had they not possessed as their ally the witness of their own way of life.

XIV. In this way, O divine and holy head, and intimate beholder and witness of the great mysteries of God, you were dear to God even before you were brought into the light: not separated from the mother’s womb as was Paul, ^D but long before that, as you were to be thereafter, you were predestined and foreknown to God, who sees all things before they come to pass, so that you might come into life, through the entreating of your parents, as a certain common good for the human race! But as to whether the subsequent events correspond, and whether you truly proved to be worthy of such a destination, and whether you are not rather much more admirable, inasmuch as these were but certain beginnings and preparations, while the true struggles, demonstrations of works, and heroic actions were to follow—who among mortals is there who does not know this? Or rather, who that is instructed in the knowledge of these things does not admire them all the more and congratulate you, and, of all people, cast his vote for you alone? But yet, not to dwell on this; for it must now be shown that he who had thus emerged into the light in such an unusual way, thereafter had a life-progress no less singular and new.

XV. For surely, while he was a youth and lingering in those very early stages of life, he did not choose to live, nor to be overcome by the ways of those of the same age, by which that age is captured and subdued; now by preferences, and plaudits, and meadows, and groves, and the delights of gardens...

and the racing of horses, and the watching of theatrical shows. Far from him were the madness for hunting, or the training in the handling of arms, or the knowing how to draw a bow skillfully and shoot at a target; nor did he practice dicing, or dancing, or playing ball, or doing other things of this kind in which youth for the most part delights—to nothing of which did our Gregory give any thought at all. He was, in fact, very far removed from them, having bidden a long farewell to all these things, as being, in his judgment, more characteristic of the vicious affections of a base soul than of true disciplines. On the contrary, he devoted himself entirely to the most grave and beautiful things of all, which are held in the highest esteem by God and men, and he embraced the contemplation and diligence that these require with such assiduity that he considered these alone to be his own delights, and he reaped the rewards of his labor. Then, which is the greatest thing of all, he did not apply himself to these studies in turns and by shifts—neither now to one, nor then to the other—but treated both at the same time, because he understood the mutual relation and association of their operations, since the duties of virtue cannot be rightly performed until their rationale has been discerned through accurate reflection; conversely, learning ^B bereft of virtue and moral probity does not appear to be learning, but, so to speak, a sort of irrational teaching. If, however, the conjunction of these things is of great importance, then they must be embraced by us with the greatest zeal at the same time, if we desire not only to become greater than ourselves, but even to become entirely similar to God.

XVI.

^A united and joined these two appropriately, with the result that for him the greatest human excellences were produced. Thus, to speak briefly, he drove [his progress] to the summit of all logical learning, and attained things which for others were acquired only with great labor and difficulty, with such ease that it appeared he had not even learned them, but had recognized them by recollection, and had taken them up again as if they were pre-cognized. So much so that in his case alone the saying of the wise Samian could appear to hold ground: that "learning is recollection."

^B XVII. But as for the "encyclical and introductory" elements of speech—and when I say this, I include poets—his fatherland had already provided them to him, with great abundance and surplus, to be thoroughly studied, eagerly pursued, and mastered, being well-suited for this, and able to bestow them upon those of its own. But furthermore, to obtain the ability to speak well, and to be a skilled rhetorician in assemblies, and to possess the power to persuade everywhere and with every manner of justice—now counseling the best courses, now defending those who were wronged, and standing before the laws and confirming their authority; and, greatest of all, to know both how to craft discourses and how to judge them, and how to preserve what is being done in every place—this rhetoric, so capable of such great and lofty things, and in the words of the poet being ^C an "immense protection and pillar" for life, and a mediator of enviable happiness for those familiar with it, and one that shows those who know it to be extremely worthy of zeal—he acquired this by going into Palestine and spending time in the schools there, which were most of all concerned with this art. And he increased and adorned what he had received with the greatness of his own mind, in such a way that his orations seemed to be something new and extraordinary, marveled at by all, but leaving no hope of emulation for anyone.

XVIII. And since he desired to obtain also that which is the greatest and most beautiful and most perfect of all things, and without which no one among all men could be wise, even if he excelled in all others, not possessing that which is greatest of all—and the greatest of all is philosophy, as being the art of arts and the science of sciences—he judged that for the sake of this he must leave Palestine and proceed to the city of Alexander, which was renowned ^D not only for beauty and position and size, and for all those things of which cities boast, but also for being well-furnished with learning at that time, and so greatly admired for its excellence in these matters that it drew and called to itself from every quarter all others, and those who had any sense of speech and learning, so that they might partake of its education and discourses, and furthermore of the books deposited in the public treasuries, which possessed every kind of Muse, being as numerous as were scarcely to be found in all of Greece, which

rendered the city all the more desirable to those who chose to labor for learning. Having therefore gathered in a short time the best that was there, and having left behind, so to speak, nothing outside of himself and his own desire to learn, since he beheld Athens, the mother and nurse of all wisdom, from afar in his thoughts, and desired it still more—both for the sake of what he did not yet possess, and for the sake of adorning those things he already had—he set out from there as quickly as possible and pressed on toward the path that led him thither. ^A

XIX. And so, having boarded an Aeginetan ship—for these people are very skillful in maritime matters—he was conveyed out into the deep, rejoicing with those who rejoiced. At first, they experienced nothing difficult, nor did they have any reason for complaint; on the contrary, everything was calm and tranquil for them—sky, clouds, sea, air—in a word, there was security on all sides. But then, as if by the turning of a potsherd, things changed to the opposite. For, as they were crossing the Parthenian Sea, with nearly half of the voyage completed and thus also half of the course of safety, this intolerable and—if we are to believe the sailors—most savage storm suddenly broke upon them. ^B Immediately the sea was stirred up as if in a cauldron, agitated with great force both upward and downward, and nowhere could it find rest. The vessel, now lifted on high, now plunged beneath the waves, by reason of the surges and the frequent, continuous, and most violent dashing of the waves, cast no small fear of impending doom upon those sailing. To the rest, not only was death itself imminent, but the burden of perishing in the waves seemed most horrible; both of which they abhorred, for although they knew that one or the other was necessarily destined to happen to them someday—whether now in this manner or later in another—still, as was natural, they were anxious for their safety and their lives. ^C Remembering each of those who were nearest to them, and having these as the attachments to their own calamity, they filled everything with tears and lamentations and could find nowhere to turn or what to attempt. But for Gregory, these things were no less grave; yet something much heavier—indeed, the very ultimate of all evils, and surpassing all consolation—was the fact that, because he had not yet been initiated into the most holy mysteries of religion, nor had he received the legitimate seal of divine intimacy, he found himself in danger of losing God Himself miserably and falling away from His glory entirely. ^D

XX. For just as to be deemed worthy of the baptism is, according to Paul, to have put on Christ, and in another way to have become Christ, anointed by water and by the Spirit, so it is absolutely necessary that whoever has not attained that lustration should be separated from Christ. And what could occur that is more dreadful than this? Not only for him who was consecrated to God even before he was conceived, and who afterward dedicated his mind, and life, and speech, and action—

^A but also to anyone at all who is in possession of his mind and reason, and whom it does not escape that, even if he were to hold the whole world under his command and rule, and alone possess all the gold that is under the earth and above it; and even if he were to surpass in happiness all who are, who will be, and who have been of mankind, it would in no way profit him when his soul is in danger.

Reflecting on these things then, and turning these considerations over and over in his mind while such a great danger was hanging over him—and the storm was not slacking, but rather rising to its highest pitch, with no crevice for escape anywhere, almost no hope left, and things being balanced on the razor's edge—what does he do, I ask, and what remedy does he devise for the terrible situation? Having despaired of any human ingenuity whatsoever, and having persuaded none of those present to give heed to any such thing, he decided that he must flee for refuge to God alone, who finds a way through impassable things and creates and transforms all things by His will alone, and to entrust his salvation to Him. He knew well that if He should ever allow us to fall into certain calamities—whether to deter a present vice, or to cut off a future one, or to punish one already committed (for I omit the divine trial that happens at times to some)—He nevertheless permits this so that we may return to a good way of life, and He is more concerned for our preservation than desiring vengeance; and hence He soon embraces His accustomed kindness, and does not at all endure to forget to show mercy, nor to restrain His compassions in anger. For He is kind and gentle toward the human race, and this is more in keeping with His nature. ^B

XXI. Therefore, calling God to mind for these and all the wonders from the beginning of time which He has wrought and continues to work out of His great mercy, and adding to these his own petition from a heart in deep anguish, since he had God's philanthropy as an intercessor and ally in his prayers, he thus enjoyed the benefit of his prayers, both he himself and the others who were with him. So it was that not only was he saved through himself, but through him others were saved and granted to the whole world as a savior and champion of piety, and a fellow combatant in the finest deeds, and a guide to God; and through him the others were granted to God. For the majority of them were almost all unbelievers, who, having escaped from the danger beyond all expectation, and in such a novel manner, immediately converted to Christ and became an addition to our assembly. For the swelling of the waves did not subside bit by bit, nor did the storm abate slowly and by degrees, as one might say; but, O the greatness of Your miracles, Christ! No sooner said than done, as the saying goes: the prayer and the full deliverance were simultaneous, so that, if I may speak properly, they did not seem to have experienced any storm at all. ^{C D}

XXII. Moreover, a new miracle was added to the miracle.

^A For in that same night, as it was afterwards revealed, the parents, divinely inspired regarding the danger of their son, were filled with anxiety as was natural, and they employed whatever means of support they had, fervently supplicating and doing everything to rescue him from the danger. And indeed, having obtained what they had requested, they knew clearly—not only because every sense of distress immediately departed, but because they were filled with an ineffable joy—that this was a clear sign of the boy's welfare and of how much concern God had for him as well as for them. Such then was the voyage, and in such a state it occurred; ^B so grievous and harrowing a matter it appeared to all, that had those things which it threatened truly come to pass, it would not have been worthy of any remembrance; yet it became thereafter of such great value, that it should not be passed over in silence by posterity, being the principal cause of so many and so great benefits, while it compelled others indeed to come from darkness into light and to be adopted to their Savior through the bright bath of regeneration—offering up this very sacrament of faith as a kind of ransom for their salvation—and rendered Gregory not a little better and more constant, who thus renewed the vows of his mother and dedicated himself wholly and in good faith to God.

XXIII. But now, as this discourse has been brought to this stage, and is about to enter upon Athens itself, and to weigh the arrival of the man there, I am at a loss as to how I shall rightly and orderly institute and perform it; for, on the one hand, since the discourse has chanced upon the mention of these things, it is not ^C entirely allowed for us to pass them over, for the events themselves compel the necessity of speaking, since we have proposed to ourselves to render all things and each one in its own proper sequence. On the other hand, since our ability to describe these same things is by no means equal to his own (in the *Epitaph on Basil*), that very consideration almost recalls us from touching upon them in any way; for it is the peculiar gift of Gregory alone both to excel other men in noble deeds and to commemorate them with a certain divine grace; for he alone was in truth, "A good orator of words, and a doer of deeds." (1) But I will say only this: that our man and Basil, the best of men, lived at Athens with each other and with the Athenians, ^D such that they were held in far greater admiration and honor among them than any other guests who had ever resided in that city; and this was due both to the merit of their own intellect and virtue, and because everyone spontaneously deferred the first place to them in all things. Furthermore, they themselves strove not only that each might be the other’s self, but that each might be and be considered by the other as more than either was to himself; to such a degree was a new example of the most intimate familiarity shown to human life through them; or rather, just as in all other things, so in this too they excelled, as if they could not bear anything less than to show the excellence of their own nature by all examples, and to bear away the prize in whatever matter it might be.

XXIV. Having been so affected and disposed, and since Basil was about to depart from there and return to his own country,

^A Gregory could no longer bear it with equanimity, nor could he maintain the tranquility of his philosophy, but shuddered at the very mention of his departure. Here, indeed, the genuine and deeply rooted nature of their bond was most clearly demonstrated, as well as how highly they were prized by the Athenians themselves. For, surrounding one another and clinging together, and both becoming, as it were, one body—moved by the power and inspiration of their mutual love, and also because the Athenians poured much oil upon this fire of theirs with their words and deeds—they so clung and were held together, and neither held the other differently than he held himself, that it seemed sweeter to both to breathe out their soul while clinging to the limbs of their friend than to be severed from him in any way. Until, both vanquished by necessity itself, as was fitting, and also ignorant and persuaded that they would see each other again and converse in a very short time, and that what they had long ago determined concerning the holier philosophy and the flight from material substance would soon reach its desired end, they at last reluctantly separated. But this, which was of such a nature, is enough. As for what we have especially to say about our Gregory, which commends him above all his other gifts and lifts him above other mortals—as the first of all goods and that with which he was singularly adorned—this I shall now, as I am able, embrace in words. For although I have set out to speak of all our matters once, I have by no means set out to speak of them according to their dignity; nothing could be less true. Provided only that we speak in good faith, if this excellence should also be added, it would indeed contribute greatly to the splendor of the oration; but if not, it will contribute nothing, as they say, to the oration itself.

XXV. ^C Now, that anyone has been a participant in all the most beautiful things and has embraced them all equally, I do not know if this has happened to anyone within the memory of man; and so we can produce no one who has advanced through everything and attained all things rightly. Some, indeed, have labored excellently in one or another kind of the best arts, and others likewise in several; but one who has applied himself to all is not easily found. Nevertheless, if anyone has advanced to such a fortune, this man was certainly to be admired for his singular progress, and he alone was most worthy to enjoy all that happiness in its entirety. But since you have fully drunk in wisdom for us, together with all other things—not only our own, that of the Christians, in which you hold the first place, and which those men of servile and truly illiberal and abject mind, while they do not fear to attack it, convict themselves of being bereft of reason, because they are affected in a highly irrational way toward those things of which an account ought rightly to be held—but also, you hold not some part of this wisdom, but the very idea of it in its totality, so to speak. What opinion is it appropriate to have of you, and by what name shall we address you? Whether as a man more than human, and as it were the ultimate boundary of our entire nature? Or as some divine and human[—]

^A essence, completely unique and strange, composed of all parts of virtue, and expressed from no exemplar, nor destined to be an inimitable exemplar to others, but the first and only one shown to mortals, like the sacred bird, as they say, so that on all sides crowns are owed to you? And there is nothing among the most beautiful things that does not provide material for your praises, and wondrously set sail for your glory. But in truth, that you abstained from no matter pertaining to the store of virtues, but embraced all these things so simply that no other person [could attain] any single virtue, is the loudest proof of your incredible familiarity with God, and that through this divine fellowship you yourself almost became God. Of which fellowship, even if it might perhaps seem absurd to say it, you were a partaker in this way even before you began to exist and to be numbered among men.

XXVI. For if God foreknew those whom He would perceive as being noble and good and well-worthy of Himself, He predestines them even before they are received or born, and pledges them as some huge benefit and future authors of all public dignity for the age. But you were of those whom He likewise foreknew as by far the best, and for that reason He predestined you; so it is likely, or rather it is absolutely necessary, that not only at the time I mentioned were you dear and familiar to God, but also that you were an excellent craftsman of every virtue, to use a word. Indeed, predestined for the sake of virtue, you became highly admirable and loftier than all others, and a man, indeed, of such a kind that even if you had not been predestined, you would have deserved to be predestined; for you alone grasped and fulfilled together what were granted to all others individually. ^B

XXVII. Moreover, attempting to speak of your eloquence, I would wish to attain your eloquence and the vigor of your oratory, so that I might commend it according to its merit; for you are indeed the one, if the matter is to be summarized, who did not labor differently in all forms of oratory than in some one. Again, you have handled each one so perfectly and accurately that it is not easy to see in which you most excel, and to which the first prizes among you should be attributed. For you did not think that your mind should be applied to philosophy alone, while omitting oratory, nor, on the contrary, did you imagine that all your labor should be spent on the art of oratory, while despising philosophy. ^C

XXVIII. Nor, again, did you have a system of both, but you had one only in part, such that a full and complete use of neither discipline was yours in its entirety; but thinking both of these to be parts of one reason, and knowing the one Word of yours to be passing through all things, you so devoted yourself to these studies that you nonetheless gave heed to eloquence while philosophizing, and in turn cultivated philosophy while practicing oratory, and were admirable in both. And in this part you far excelled yourself, as you neither despoiled the studies of philosophy of the oratorical faculty, nor left this [oratory] itself destitute of the protections of philosophy, but adorned each with the mutual ornaments of the other. ^D

XXIX. Yet what is it that I say? For thus Hermes, according to Aeschylus…

joined these things together, so that he lets the philosophy of the speakers be surpassed by their rhetoric, or rather, the philosophers by their philosophizing, and the orators by their rhetoric; but also those who are skilled in both, by the fact that he himself shines forth among them in a distinguished manner, and is, moreover, a poet. So great is the abundance of these graces in him, and so much does he participate in them, that he is not only in no way inferior to the fame garnered from the sources I mentioned—but rather, the same praises are due to him; for even if those others were entirely absent, with only the poetic art remaining to him, he would have undoubtedly possessed from this one source as much solid glory as he has now attained from all of them together, and he would have been equally supreme.

XXX. For who is there, upon encountering the poems of our author, ^B who is not immediately roused in spirit, and becoming entirely possessed by that pleasure, is not held fast by it, unable to be torn away? He desires to linger in them forever, and by no means to depart from them, but also to pass a most magnificent judgment upon them—such a one as no one has yet passed regarding any of the poets of the ancient age, however celebrated for their praise. At the same time, he admires the grace of the poems and their vast quantity, and is ^C captivated and bound by an ineffable power, as if by that "divine sound," to speak with the poet, of which he understands the nature, though he is unable to describe it. For this requires experience, not words, to be understood. But this I do affirm and contend alongside all others: that the quantity of his poems in no way blunts their beauty, but rather, because the quantity everywhere preserves that beauty and magnitude, it nowhere and in no way falls short of them. Rather, it results in the whole being one continuous body, ^D which, from head to foot, preserves its own consistency; so that the beauty is rendered much more desirable and sweet by the quantity, and the quantity, in turn, because of the associated supreme elegance, produces satiety in no one. But he alone has also perfected the omnigenous art of his poems, and the variation of rhythms and meters, so that all are moved to admiration and wonder, and desire to imitate him, though they are not, as is natural, able to do so any more successfully.

XXXI. For there is not, truly there is not, anything of those things that tend to bestow an adornment upon discourse and render it more sweet, of which our artisan has not proven himself an even greater master, surpassing all others, and he alone has embraced and possessed all those things which distinguish others individually. For whether you hold in the highest regard a productive abundance of ideas—namely, those which are acute, apt for persuasion, and distinguished by much variety—or...

whether you look to the most noble, pure, precise, and Attic-style conduct of language in every respect; or to the successive alternations of tropes, the speed, the turns, the masterful innovations, or indeed the precision of structure and the orderly rhythm, and beauty united with a graceful dignity and character; and in addition to these, and along with them, the harmony of all parts and the music that animates the whole body of the discourse: if, I say, you seek all these, in the orations of Gregory alone you will find them in the most excellent degree. ^A Yet in this, where that which is greater resides and where it shines more brightly, you would never be able to discern which: for each part seems at first glance, by its very appearance, to be better and to surpass the rest; yet they are immediately proven to be equal, and written with the same care and divine impulse of soul, surely surpassing whatever of the kind is found in others, and yet surpassed by one another.

XXXII. For just as the sun does not cast its rays more on some places and less on others, but moves at an equal and similar pace through all, and fills the universe with the same brilliance, so also our author everywhere pursues that which especially stands out in his own work, and strives to be equally excellent in all things, as if bound by a certain necessity he had set for himself, so that he might nowhere and in no way relax from that highest sublimity of his. ^B Whence it comes about that whatever admiration is owed by all alike, both to poets and to orators, he alone most deservedly claims for himself. For whereas others attained to these things only in part, he has traversed them all; and just as he far surpasses others in all his own works, so in this regard he surpasses even himself. For he strove with such intensity that he was never in the slightest degree lacking in any approved and graceful idea of oratory, nor again did he yield in integrity of life to one whom he might have as his peer in the faculty of speech; indeed, he labored even to raise and adorn the very art of eloquence to a higher pinnacle, and to cast a better and more illustrious glory about it.

XXXIII. For if anyone who has most perfectly cultivated any art whatsoever, even those held in dishonor and deemed sordid, thereby equally ennobles that art with his own praise, what, I ask, must be said of you, who alone have attained every liberal art in such a way that no one else has attained even one? ^C You have likewise learned and perfected each one so successfully—both by exercising those things that were already discovered and handed down above all other men, and by further discovering and developing many more excellent things—that from this we see not only that these disciplines are sought after with keener zeal and held in higher esteem, but also that if by any chance they had been removed from the world, they could certainly have been restored and recalled to life again by you and your writings, no worse than they had been found in times past. ^D

XXXIV. Anyone might perceive this opinion of mine more accurately from the following fact. For if one were to examine the forms of both rhetoric and philosophy,

whether you ^A scrutinize the segments of oratory and philosophy, you will find him to be the supreme craftsman of all, and one far more wondrous and excellent than the very first masters of each. For he possessed the practical, the contemplative, the theological, and, furthermore, the dialectical parts in a supernatural manner. And as for the rhetorical skill, which you happen to possess, he was more formidable than all others, now in panegyric, now in advisory discourse, and now in employing the judicial ^B style—or at times even all these together. Of this, your speeches are wealthily sufficient witnesses; in them, one can see these forms most brilliantly expressed, and those things not only move everyone to admiration, but convince them that you should be called simply the tongue and mind of wisdom. This is done with not a little more accuracy than anyone named Anaxagoras—whom the ancients gave that name because he penetrated the natures of things just like a mind detached from its own body. ^C Regarding astronomy, geometry, and the other disciplines connected to them, I have this to say: although our man was as skilled in them as anyone who ever lived, and had learned how these things are constituted—for nothing was left unattempted or unexamined by that wise man—he was very far, indeed light-years away, from using all of them. Rather, he made use of some and not others, retaining those that were most probable and necessary, while leaving the rest to others as being too far removed from religion and our own faith. In this, he is no more to be admired for what he chose than for what he rejected. Just as a physician possesses ^D equal knowledge of all medicines, both of those that are salutary and those that are pestilential, yet he abstains from the latter as though he were entirely ignorant of them—while those that benefit the sick, oppose the disease, and aid his craft he claims as familiar and his own, applying his mind to them and by this very act giving proof that he is both skilled in healing the sick and a masterful judge of the rest—so too, while not acting in vain or rashly, he pursues in every way what is opportune and native, while rejecting what is foreign or harmful.

XXXV. Thus, I do not believe that I have worthily or fully enough explained his excellent command in the art of speaking and his extreme wisdom, and how, in this respect too, he has traveled far beyond all others by a long interval. I have done so only to the extent that the most brilliant splendor of the sun might be somewhat shown through certain dark and meager rays. For we all know for certain that this is so, and we affirm it with a loud voice; but as to what those things truly are, or their actual nature, I do not think any one of the greatest orators could easily express it. Indeed, the excellent craftsmanship of our orator’s discourses surpasses all the powers of eloquence. For just as all others fall below his muse, and no one of all men would now or in the past dare to contend with him for the prize—with no better hope than one who might claim to jump over his own shadow—in the same way, all labor in vain and with futile effort to speak of his eloquence as it deserves.

^A XXXVI. But the time has now arrived to mention his return to his homeland, and to show how, on the one hand, led by his innate love for his parents, he easily disregarded the highest peak of glory; and how, on the other, the Athenians judged it among the greatest of matters to keep him tied to themselves for all time. For once he had most perfectly absorbed the things for the sake of which he had approached the city—more successfully than any other person known to us—and had fulfilled his aim and was fully possessed of his design, he decided to depart from Athens and return to his domestic hearth, since nothing else remained that might retain him in those places. For he was urged on by the longing for his own parents, and before that, and after that, by the vow of a holier life which he had long since dedicated to God, and by those great promises and plans. He rises, therefore, and leaves Athens, that home of oratory—though he was truly the home of that craft—and returns happily and rejoicing to his fatherland and his own kin, leaving the Athenians with as much grief for his departure as he would have brought them joy had he been persuaded to remain among them. For since they were employing all possible schemes to keep the man permanently—offering him the sophistical and professorial chair, and bestowing upon him the first and greatest honors—how, pray, do you believe they felt as he departed? Yet, although they could not prevail upon him to stay, they did not for that reason let him go entirely; rather, by whatever means they could, they signified that in not having retained the man, they had, by their own judgment, suffered a great loss, and could scarcely bear it. And that this contempt of themselves they not only did not take too grievously, but on the contrary, one and all, they took to breathing the name of our subject, and having the mention of his name as a delight for their tongues—bearing all other things more readily than to depart even in the slightest from the employment of his memory and his praises—is surely made clear by the way they held him with no less intensity, even though they did not physically hold him; for they held him in the finest and most appropriate place: in their own minds. This, in my judgment, was something far more glorious for our subject than the statues formerly erected to Harmodius and Aristogeiton; for those stood placed in the public forum, whereas ours was enshrined in the souls and minds of all. Time consumed the former, but ours persists through every age, vigorous and flourishing, uttered and heard with the greatest admiration in the discourse of mortals, just as if he were one of the greatest of their trophies: Marathon, Salamis, and noble Artemisium. ^C Accordingly, even while absent, he was so fervently honored by the Athenians that he was regarded in a singular way, more admirable than all the most excellent men, and he was on everyone's lips as by far the leader of them all. Furthermore, they were so attached to the absent one and clung to him, and hung so uniquely upon his graces, that they seemed not only to act as if he were present, and to look upon him and to ^D converse with him, but even to pour out their very souls in the discourses concerning him, and to live in him rather than in themselves—since a kind of soul of his seemed, so to speak, to be present among them: leading some and establishing them in God; confirming and strengthening others, and placing them once for all upon a firm foundation; and, simply put, gathering and organizing both these and those with divine counsel and doctrines, rendering them fit to live the true and only life.

^A XXXVII. When our subject returned to his homeland in this manner, he was first deemed worthy of the most holy sacrament of divine baptism—which makes us immune to all evils, completely washes away every stain of sins, and reconciles us to God—and he received the grace of that laver, though he had been adorned with it no less even before. He gave necessary thanks to God for the fact that he saw his home again and was restored to his parents; and because he had become a partaker in the greatest thing of all, had been initiated into the great mysteries of the faith, and was now among the number of those who had perfectly fulfilled the sacred rites of religion, he gave back to God far greater and manifold thanks—as was right, inasmuch as it was a greater benefit to be thus adorned, and this joy had more illustrious causes. Soon thereafter, he set for himself a certain rule of life, not only not inimitable to the general run of mortals but, I might almost say, inaccessible to everyone, namely, that he himself would not—even if there were the utmost necessity—use an oath throughout his entire life, nor would he incite others to do so; for to be ready to resort to oaths leads, in his opinion, to perjury, which—as I and, I think, everyone would agree with one voice—one should call not only a rejection of God, but also an insult. And this law he guarded so religiously until the very last day of his life, as if he had bound himself by an oath at the beginning to keep it. ^B

^C XXXVIII. Furthermore, our parents—especially since they were worn out by age, and the passage of time, and ill health, and the troubles arising therefrom, and not least by the long absence of their son, and such a son as they surely had no other, nor did almost any of all mankind—when he appeared with his very presence, he refreshed them, and made them stronger than their former selves, so that they seemed to be ranked among those in the prime of life, as if he had breathed new strength and vigor into them (as the poets say), just as the Tishbite prophet once restored a soul to the son of the woman of Sarepta. ^D Indeed, such as they were before, he so refreshed them, and in this way made them, as it were, so forget their age that they became like young men instead of old.

XXXIX. But as for his country, who would not deservedly admire it—not just because of its singular benevolence toward our subject (I do not speak of this now, for it is indeed attested by all votes and points everywhere, as it was admired and applauded by all, embracing his affairs as their own), but most especially because of those things which were practiced upon his return? For so were all upon his return, and they were so filled with such great joy and revelry when they saw him, that if even

one were to desire it, he would not be able to demonstrate this; such was the abundance of their delight, and of their inability to restrain themselves. And yet, why do I say this? For such a hold had he upon them, and so had he captivated them by his mere presence, that they received him, not only with uplifted hands, as they say, but with their whole heart and mind, and with all that one might name, escorting him in public, proclaiming him, singing his praises—what was it they did not say, what was it they did not do? Or rather, while they said and did everything, they still felt they were far from rendering what was due. For they did not think they were seeing the man they had known before, but believed that he whom they beheld had descended from heaven to earth for the sake of their own happiness; for this reason, they worshipped and observed him as something beyond the nature of mortals. Although that great man, contemplating things higher than human understanding—for he had transcended the mortal peak and was adorned with virtues greater than human—counted the acclamations and applause of the people, and the whole accumulation of such popular praises, as of no account at all, regarding these things as mere trifles and as fodder and snares for base souls, and for those who cling more stubbornly to the earth and are unworthy of their own nobility; yet those studies which lead to heaven, and which are able to make men not only partakers of heavenly things but, I would almost say, gods out of men—these were his perpetual care and meditation, to these he was uniquely devoted, and in these he spent his life. For he strove not to be praised, but to be called blessed; the former is held by all to be claimed for certain external goods, while praise for the latter is rendered for those things which are practiced out of virtue. But enough of this.

XL.

^A so that he might live with God and with himself in solitude more correctly.

XLI. Beginning, therefore, by completely tempering himself against all earthly and material perturbation, and establishing for himself a standard of life that was most restricted and contracted, he judged that the practice of a more rigid discipline should be embraced, and that he should resist the necessities of nature itself almost more than nature can endure; for he gave himself over excessively to fasting and vigils, and to all other afflictions of that kind, and he tormented his little body and subdued it with the harshest servitude, and wore it out with voluntary miseries, and compelled it to obey the better part in all things, so that while still walking with his body, he justly seemed to be set free from it and to have surpassed the human lot. Next, being ^B addicted to the one mode of action according to the mind, he grasped after God and divine things with the most ardent desire, so that in Him, plainly, according to the opinion of Paul 13, "he lived and moved and was," and, neglecting himself entirely, he rejoiced in Christ no less than he drew breath itself. For he was so completely dead to the world and to the things of the world—to the point that he did not even wish to preserve a memory that such things ever existed—that he lived "the life hidden in Christ" 14. Enjoying, by the help of Christ, the graces of Christ, and perceiving in them the most sweet delights of the soul at every moment of time, he contemplated God Himself as much as he was able, set Him before himself as present, and by this very means put to flight all opposing and troublesome things.

XLII. Therefore, if these most holy exchanges with the divine numen exist by means of a life led piously and religiously, and if this leisure cannot be prepared ^C otherwise than by the despising of all human things, then surely it is incumbent above all else upon those who have taken up the counsel of living more holily to apply themselves most studiously to this, if they desire in good faith what they wish to attain. For when this leisure has been provided as a foundation or root, the mind is set free from the trammels of external things, as is likely, and having been returned to itself, it reflects upon its former blessedness, and upon what it was once and what it has now become. Preparing to repair this loss, both to become again what it had been and to return to itself, it attempts everything, and, as far as is permitted, leaves nothing unattempted; so that, with the mind itself divinely illuminated and the soul then purified, and the body rendered pure and chaste, the two extremes may in this manner meet in one—which is the first and at the same time the third—being transformed, ^D evidently, into that one, through the firm induction of the soul into both of the extremes, so that from an economy and temperance of this kind, and from an unwavering and perfect negligence of terrestrial things, those three things become one and are joined to God, as though coalescing from three suns into one. In this way, therefore, having become a man who is not carnal, not animal, but spiritual in every respect, and "what is divine in him"—

"—even the nobility which is his by nature—he rejoices, and he rejoices in those things in which he previously rejoiced, then feels pain at those things through which he acted foolishly. And so much for this. ^A

XLIII. But I must now turn my discourse again to the commemoration of his religious quiet, ^B and the precedence which must be preserved for it. Enjoying this to the full, the great man deemed these two things to be of supreme importance and applied his mind to them: namely, that he devoted himself with the keenest zeal to the reading of the sacred and divinely inspired volumes, and from them gathered whatever was most excellent into the sacred storehouse of his mind, so that he might easily have them ready at hand—partly to examine divine matters and to penetrate as far as it is granted to a mortal to reach into these highest contemplations, and partly to stop the mouths of those who dared to disseminate most pestilential opinions and who lacerated the divine nature with sacrilegious lips, to strike shame into them, and to convict their dogmas as sheer nonsense. Furthermore, he engaged in all genres of religious exercises as if they were one single thing, and followed through with each of them so perfectly that he seemed to have concern for that alone; for he reckoned these labors according to God as a pledge of the heavenly kingdom, while at the same time he desired to restrain the passionate disposition of the treacherous flesh and, on the contrary, to raise up the sense of the spirit. He decided that he had to exert himself to such a degree in this matter that he considered such labors to be a sort of idle relaxation, and the rewards of these labors to be more real than the labors themselves, being well aware of whither they lead and what and how great are the goods they produce of themselves. Thus, indeed, he knew how not only to labor, but also to labor most in those things in which one most ought to labor. For he was exceptionally skilled—nor do I know if any other was his equal—in accurately examining and observing the motions of the soul and the thoughts of the heart, and such things as the mind itself brings forward, and in judging them with an exact balance, so as to approve some and not others. Moreover, he possessed a ready ability to encounter the machinations, snares, and arts of the evil one—or rather of the villain—so skillfully and dexterously, that he would turn these very same things most righteously against his own head, and reduce everything to nothing; for the enemy attacks a man at first from the right and with familiar things, but in the end strives toward the furthest left, and hastens our ruin by means of pleasure. For by deceiving us with this slick and smooth ^C bait, he persuades us to pursue the things we ought to flee, and to treat as a strait of Sicily those things which one ought to embrace with intent zeal as the best and most salutary for the mind.

XLIV. Furthermore, he studiously gave his effort to being, above all else, a person filled with a contrite and humble heart and with great modesty and submission, beyond everyone else, and none—

^A of human concerns touched him; but he so thoroughly despised even the affections of physical companionship that he was content to live with a single tunic, and used the bare ground itself to rest his weary limbs, believing himself to have abundance when he had nothing, or rather, more truly, to possess all the best things when he possessed nothing of these lower things. With his mind lifted upward, he already possessed by hope what it was most needful of all to possess, and he deemed himself to be in the greatest delight even when he was suffering from want. As for drink, he judged that which he drew into his soul, during the hours of divine contemplation—far sweeter than any nectar—to be the most welcome. He made his whole life a meditation on death, living only that life which exists in the Spirit, the sort of life that such men live.

XLV.

XLVI.

^A circumference, lines going toward the center, as long as they are distant from it, as is natural, are also distant from one another; but when they have come together at the center, they necessarily unite with each other. Thus, that each one possesses a relationship in a spiritual way, being joined to others, is a clear proof that they were joined to God beforehand; for without this, that other [union] would not have happened. If, therefore, it is impossible for those who are joined together, as I have said, not to be joined beforehand to God, and likewise impossible for those who are joined to Him not to be joined to each other of necessity, then whenever you see some people joined to one another, conclude that they are joined to God; and whenever, again, you see them joined to God, believe that they are also joined to each other as is natural—for each ^B is a clear proof of the other.

XLVII.

^A XLVIII. But what should have been said above all else, and which almost escaped me although I was especially eager to state it, shall be supplied by me in this place, since it has been omitted until now; and it will be a distinguished subject for praise. For when Basil — having been seized by some sort of discouragement against the former bishop (Eusebius) and having immediately abandoned Cappadocia, retired toward Pontus, and was there practicing that sublime, divine philosophy worthy of such a man — meanwhile the pestilential fury of Arius had prevailed to such an extent that it not only subjected the entire Church to itself and ravaged it, supported as it was by the vast resources of the emperor, ^B flying everywhere and able to do anything; but it also dared to invade Cappadocia, which was otherwise unshaken, firm, and almost adamant, and trusted that it would overthrow it by the resources of its own impiety; partly because of the inexperience of the prelate who was then in charge, who was almost still a novice in divine matters and who was not sufficiently competent in spirit and strength for such struggles, but much more because the great trumpet of the Church, Basil, was absent. But what was happening in this situation? And what was the most powerful remedy in these evils? ^C

XLIX. Truly, Gregory, judging his philosophy, and his quiet, and his soul free from perturbations, and his attention, and his meditation of heart, and his mind’s eye nowhere distracted, and all other things of this kind to be of no value compared to this, so that he might bring needed aid to his laboring fatherland and extend his right hand to it while it was in danger in the matter of religion — or rather, to all the remaining Churches, for he knew that if the fatherland’s Church were doing well, those others would necessarily be in a healthy state as well — therefore, he was no longer going to create delays or procrastinate the matter, but rather, as fast as his feet could carry him, he hastened toward Pontus, where, having met with the great Basil, and having persuaded him to pay no heed to any other concerns where God was in danger, he urged him on, ^D instructing him in all other things, since God himself was as it were impelling him, as it is in the poet.

L. Thus, then, both of them enter the battle, and they rise up with a noble impetus to this admirable struggle. For upon returning to Caesarea from Pontus, and having settled everything beautifully with the bishop of that Church—namely, that they should remove every fiber of dissension, and being joined to each other in the closest intimacy, being nearly one and the same—they thereafter joined battle with the enemies so strenuously and bravely, and in a manner worthy of the Holy Spirit with whom and for whom they were fighting in the ranks, that they put them to such flight that the greatest admiration surrounded our own men, while ignominy surrounded their adversaries, who, because they now acknowledged that they had been defeated by their own admission, were vehemently vexed and ashamed, to such an extent that our men had vanquished not only the whole faction, but also the emperor himself, who indeed inflated his cheeks greatly and carried himself insolently and spread terrors far and wide with his threats, but did not succeed in the least against their thunders, even though he nearly a thousand times…

^A rattled and turned everything upside down, and [« in excelsum iniquitatem loquebatur », +] (Ps. LXXIII, 8) and with the most absurd novelties of words and his own dogmas perverted the orb of the earth, naturally bringing the Creator of created things down into the order of created things, and, O, the unspeakable impiety! putting the Lord Himself among the servants.

LI. However, may I be permitted, with your indulgence, auditors, to frame my discourse as I see fit, and to indulge somewhat in higher philosophical arguments, and first of all to sketch out, as it were in outline, the greatest virtues of the Man. For since, as Plato teaches [+] (Cf. De Repub. IX) and as the reality itself confirms, there are three parts of the human soul: one which is partaker of mind and reason; another in which dwells the heat of emotions; and a third which is stirred by the allurements of pleasures; it was fitting that there should likewise be three chief and most extensive virtues, as they take their beginning entirely from these. But now they add justice to them, knowing that the virtue of the reasoning part is prudence, and its vice is folly; and again, of the emotional and appetitive parts, for the one, temperance and self-control regarding pleasures; and for the emotional part, courage and gentleness; and the vice of both, for the one, ^B cowardice and irascibility, and for the appetitive part, the most ruinous profligacy. And for the whole soul, virtue, justice, and furthermore liberality and magnanimity, and vice, injustice, illiberality, and abject low-mindedness. Thus, even if there are only three parts of the soul, in the manner we have said, it is necessary that four virtues exist, and that justice be added to prudence, courage, and temperance. Among these virtues, prudence holds the order, as the root of the others, and the source and cause, and the only one able to guide them properly and govern and hold them together, and not allow them to wander outside the prescribed bounds, but to keep them within their own nature. For it is not enough only to know these virtues, but it is necessary further to know the manner in which one must pursue and grasp them.

LII. Since these things are thus arranged, it would not be easy to say in which of these virtues our subject excelled most, for he earns equal points everywhere, as he seems to pursue all ^C as one, and not one differently from all as a whole. And prudence was so familiar to him that he easily took the first place not only among his peers, but also among all who had lived before him, and triumphed over the entire long span of the ages, and was admirable in two ways especially: both because he surpassed his own age, and because he surpassed it to such a degree that none could be ignorant of it. For first, by what he himself determined and accomplished in the most noble way of all men for his own sake—I speak of what he does—he clearly confirms our opinion: namely, he was not led by any desire for empty glory, power, ^D and pride, nor did he embrace the treacherous and fugitive Plato—that leader of crimes and destroyer of all good things, to speak in the manner of a certain poet—nor did he have regard for any other whatsoever, inasmuch as he knew how to lead away those who were clinging to God: but the great and much-contested thing, and the only thing that is truly divine, virtue, as if some…

chosen companion to himself—judging the gold beneath the earth and above the earth not worthy to be compared with it, according to the dictum of Plato—he led a life of great ease, occupying himself entirely with communion with God. ^A

LIII. Then, in the composing of orations, who among mortals has ever appeared so fecund, and keen, and acute, and subtle? Who has so tempered sweetness with variety, and by that method transported the listener into stupor? Who has ever been so readily and beautifully instructed for all things that come into deliberation and action, so that neither did his counsels diverge from what is consistent with reasoned calculation and what is upright and safe, nor did his actions yield to his counsels, but they mutually agreed with each other in all things? For as to what happened at Sasima—namely, that although he had not accepted the beginnings of the pontificate with reluctance, offering no resistance or opposition whatsoever, owing to the very great reverence held for him who was proposing and anointing him, he nevertheless soon left these things behind and let them go, and made no effort at all concerning them—how could this not be the act of a man who, I think, was endowed with incredible prudence and who, while seeming of the greatest value to all, was indeed such? Yet, he would not bear the blame at the hands of others for some new intrigue in this matter, whether by his friend [Basil] or anyone else, nor would he allow himself deservedly to be reproached if he, who could have served the whole world most illustriously, ^C were to keep himself confined in a corner so stifling, squalid, and turbulent, and utterly contemptible on all sides, and of no account whatever, as if he were grudging mankind the use of his own goods.

LIV. Furthermore, who has ever known more happily and correctly than our own saint how to increase the goods he already possessed and make them greater and more plentiful; or, if he did not possess them, to sagaciously contrive, discover, and procure those that might be acquired; or, conversely, to use contraries for things of an opposite nature? Again, if to possess perfectly all that is ancient, and to have attained an exquisite knowledge of such things, and to be unwilling to leave outside his own understanding almost nothing of what was said and done beautifully by the ancients—as far as it fell to him—is usually held in great esteem: to whom, I ask, of all mortals, has such an abundance of these things been present, so that on that account he could be compared with our own? Thus, from those things which he left aside as well as those which he held, having obtained them by the felicity of his genius, and because he had become, so to speak, full of all good things—to express the matter in a single word—it was his lot to be held in high repute, and he truly came to possess wisdom beyond those whom one might name, and [he alone] to profess knowledge of things that are and things that shall be…

^A and [I add] regarding those things that were in the past—and as for things to come, I add this on the authority of Gregory himself, who in one place calls himself "prophetic" and a "foreseer of future things."

LV. But even though we have been able to discourse so copiously regarding the prudence of our subject, and the clear excellence—or superiority, or by whatever other name I should call it—which he displayed in this regard, we have at the very least [the same ability] to speak of his fortitude and his patient endurance of all things, or ^B if not precisely equal to that, then only slightly less. Yet even here, there is so much and so great material to be found that it is most difficult to do justice to the subject with suitable words. For [consider] the man who used an incredible magnanimity throughout the whole span of his life, who so fashioned his entire soul to be constant and noble, and so entirely superior to all worldly things, that neither did he submit himself in a slavish manner to pleasant things—those things that seem to possess grace but in reality are of no value and worth nothing—nor did he allow himself to be troubled or cast down in spirit by crises brought on from without, or by dangers that arose, or by any adversity whatsoever, nor was he seized by any sort of distress. On the contrary, he regarded such trials as a touchstone ^C of life, a test, and an effective exhortation to embrace a more rigorous philosophy. Furthermore, he not only did not pursue praises and honors, but even when they were offered, he rejected and loathed them as true plagues of the soul. Again, he paid no heed to those who sought to despise and scorn him, or who studied to attack him with insults—not, as someone might perhaps say, because he despised them as worthless, being himself a slave to pride, but because he was entirely impassive and everywhere maintained a mind cleared of the overweening arrogance of those things from which the passions of the soul are constituted. This is the man, and this is the one we all know, who even in these matters has taken the prize for his concession [of forgiveness]. Witnesses to this will be Maximus and that other man who snatched up a sword and plotted a most wicked crime in his heart. ^D Yet that man later approached Gregory, and having exposed the whole context of his crime not without heavy sighs, he suppliantly asked for forgiveness, and found him so mild and benign that he was immediately moved by that event to make amends for his faith in return, and by that duty to compensate for the pardon of his crime he had obtained. As for Maximus, who had been in the most glowing favor with our subject and had first held the place of honor with him—the cause of which is known to no one; but afterwards he turned into such a monstrous enemy of Gregory, and committed such foul crimes against him, that he was deservedly condemned for a capital offense—[Gregory] not only did not exact the due punishment, nor took vengeance on his enemy, but he even deemed the man worthy of pardon, thinking this to be his own duty, while the snares and the crimes were of the other man, and of that man's own way of acting and purpose. Such was the excellence and dignity of our subject’s soul.

^A

LVI. Furthermore, he embraced temperance from childhood—that virtue which is by far the most excellent, and which, more than any other, places men in the council of the heavenly angels—in a way that I suspect no other man known to us has done. He perfected this task to such a degree that he became victor not only over shameful bodily movements and every voluptuous affection, but he was also essentially dead to this fleeting life; so that as he lived his life with a material body, he did so no differently than if he had been devoid of matter. And he was rightly so, since to abhor those lures of the passions—that is, to be most rightly prepared to undertake the healing of the soul, and to fully embrace those goods which endure forever—means to disregard altogether whatever will not endure for long after a short time. ^B

LVII. Thus, he abstained from more delicate food in general, and hating all luxury, he held temperance in the highest regard. And just as he simply rejected unpraiseworthy desires, so he was devoted only to spiritual things. He gave to his stomach only as much as would suffice to sustain life: for he did not endeavor to live so that he might be fed more luxuriously—that is, so that he might more freely enjoy pleasures—but rather, so that he might not reach the end of his life before his time and lose the crowns which he was to have from his labors, had life been granted to him for longer. In the beginning, he allowed himself a little; but as for banquets, wines, the noisy clamor of parties, carnal pleasures, and satiety—the parent of insolence—and all such servile and detestable trifles, he could not even bear to hear them mentioned. For what had he to do with such things, he who, both by the holiness of his life and by his constant contemplations, had long since been carried upward, and who busied himself with his God in his innermost thoughts? Indeed, darkness can never be joined to light, nor does cold agree with heat any more than that. Nor can one to whom his own salvation and the attainment of the heavenly life are of the greatest concern be attached to such things or apply his mind to them at all, since he is one who looks always toward the heights and the heavenly things in all his life, and acts in a manner consistent with the sacred philosophy. Such, truly, was this man of ours, as one who had ordered all bodily pleasures to keep to themselves, and who turned away from such enchantments as if from some most foul pollution. He lived most intimately with chastity alone, with temperance, and with frugality of life; he cleansed and purified the eye of his soul by all means possible, keeping it keen and sharp at all times in order to receive most rightly the illuminations of the movements of his mind, and to enjoy the kindred light which God is accustomed to bestow upon those who are instructed in this way, and so that he might purely and holily associate with the purest Divinity and be joined in intimate communion. For it is a sacrilege, as Plato teaches, for these things to agree with one another in any other way, and for the impure to be deemed worthy of the conjunction of the pure. ^{C D}

LVIII. And these things, then, have been said thus far concerning temperance. Nor do I see what need there is for me to add anything more.

^A Now, therefore, as our ability allows, we shall bring forward some things concerning the justice of this supreme man, and with these we shall adorn our discourse, not with that other discourse. For this virtue is divided into two parts, one toward God and the other toward men; the latter is properly called justice, while those things which refer to God lead to holiness. If you seek to know in which of these two he is better judged to merit greater praise, you will find him inferior to himself in neither; for he proceeds with an equal and similar step in both, having embraced each with as much zeal as I think no one else has shown for either. For he observed the divine commandments so scrupulously, as if they had been first ratified by a certain law for him alone, as one who was to be the first both to observe them and to teach them to the rest. And he dealt with men as one who was not so much advocating for laws, but rather as if he were a lawgiver himself, or more truly as if he had been sent first by God to mortals, in order that he might rightly order the life lived on earth and compose troubled affairs. But we must not yet speak of these things, for we must first speak of divine matters, and then afterwards of all other matters of such a kind, as we are bound to do. What, therefore, is owed by us especially to God, and of which we are all debtors? Piety, without doubt; then love, and the true knowledge of Him, and—you will tell me—true honor and fear, and that we should strive toward Him in our mind by day and night, spurning ^B and altogether neglecting present things; furthermore, if ever it should be necessary, that for the sake of God, if it were in any way possible, we should willingly suffer even a thousand deaths.

LIX. Who, moreover, is more reverent of the Divinity than our subject? Who serves the Lord with a more religious fear, or shines forth more brilliantly through all these things? He who had received the seeds of piety toward God from his mother, an excellent and most holy woman, did indeed bring them forth to the hundredfold, so that afterward he became an admirable minister and helper to God Himself, and both by words and by deeds gave help so magnificently and clearly, that posterity can rightly use these same weapons against those who, regarding the Divinity, which transcends every notion of essence, contrive I know not what disparate partitions for It, and wickedly divide that which is simple and indivisible, and strive to overturn Its coessential nature, so that God may seem to be one and the same with some created thing, or rather, neither of these, since It cannot be both at once. Furthermore, I know no other man ^C who was endowed with a similar fear of God; but this one thing I know well, and all others know it too: that Gregory so surrendered himself to sorrow and tears that he strove by assiduous prayers with God that both he and others might be saved, or if not that, at least that all others might be saved, according to the example of Paul 15, with himself alone excluded. Thus, therefore, he held his neighbor not only as himself, but even above himself, and in every way preferred him. He did this rightly, both fulfilling and exceeding the commandment, and performing both with the same spirit. And ^D he who did this toward men, and held this intention, what dangers would he not have undergone for Christ, for whose sake he treated others in this way? And indeed, that too, of a soul strictly intent and always stretched toward God—to have Him always before his face, according to the

16th Psalm—to sustain neither acting, nor contemplating, nor even choosing to speak of anything at all outside of what was pleasing to God; but rather to refer everything completely to God, and to concede absolutely nothing to his own calculations or to the desires of his own mind, nor to settle upon things that they might suggest.

LX.

LXI.

^A For, seeing all things immediately, he is emboldened—and the cry comes to me—to boast that he was even superior to the others, or rather, that he was not outdone by the angels. For though he was inferior to them in substance because of his body, in all other respects he was equal to them; or rather, he even surpassed them, showing himself, even while burdened with matter, to have conquered those whose work he excelled.

LXII. Since, therefore, he was altogether such a man, and strove in this way to reach the ultimate limits of every virtue—so that he might strike with wonder and hold captive all who beheld him, and persuade them to use those things which are commonly said to be of greatest value—both appearing to be and actually being, by his own nature, a man of such character, he also became for others a guardian of their salvation. And he was such an admirable initiator and participant in the work, a companion and helper in attaining salvation, that he placed their glory before his own, declaring it—in accordance with Paul—to be more joyful. He ceased not to admonish, exhort, instruct, and persuade them to think nothing of vices, but to hold the duties of virtue in proper regard and to make that their sole concern, being himself a pattern of every virtue, and becoming, in short, all things to all men that he might win all for Christ. ^B He, therefore, being thus disposed in both respects, truly fixed and established the limit of righteousness for himself and for others, distributing to each as was just and meet, and having so rightly accounted for his talent that he was most worthy to receive as a reward, not ten cities—as the divine oracle has it—nor countless thousands of cities, but the very kingdom of heaven.

LXIII. I had intended to conclude here my remarks concerning the general virtues and to make no further mention of those that follow after and are of a later order; for just as species are contained within their genera, and individuals within species, so, having treated the superior virtues as far as it was in our power, we felt that we had essentially included these as well in our discourse. However, lest the same result befall us in this matter as befalls those who discourse subtly about human nature while taking no account of individual men, or those who, having set out to praise a body of exceptional beauty, speak only of its most precious and loveliest parts in summary, but omit the beauty of the individual limbs and their harmonious composition with one another, for this reason I shall undertake this task too, to the best of my ability, supported by the customary help of the holy man. ^C Humility, therefore—the cause of all good things, and without which none of the virtues could ever stand—I know not if anyone has ever admired or loved more, or rather, has longed for more than he.

^D [alt-version omitted]

καὶ ^A προσέσχεν· ὃς οὕτως ἀντὶ πάντων τε καὶ πρὸ πάντων τὸ κατ᾽ αὐτὴν ἐποιεῖτο, καὶ τοῦ παντὸς τιμώμενος καὶ χρώμενος ἦν, ὡς μὴ μόνον γῆν καὶ σποδὸν ἑαυτὸν καὶ τὰ τοιαῦτα καλεῖν, καὶ πάντας ἑαυτοῦ προὔχοντας ἔχειν, ὧν πᾶσι πάντως τοῖς ἄλλοις αὐτὸς ὑπερεῖχεν, ἀλλὰ καὶ τοῖς ἔργοις τοὺς λόγους μάλα πιστοῦσθαι· τὸ γὰρ τῆς μάλιστ᾽ ἀπολουμένης ὑπερηφανίας τοσοῦτον ἀπέχειν, ὅσον καὶ τῆς εἰς Θεὸν βλασφημίας, μεγίστης δηλαδή ταπεινοφροσύνης ἐστὶν ἐπειλῆφθαι· ὡς μήτε τῶν ἐλαχίστων μηδενὸς τὸ παράπαν καταφρονεῖν ἀξιοῦν, καὶ πάντων ἐθέλειν ἔσχατος εἶναι, ἵνα γένηται πρῶτος.

ΞΔ´. Οὕτω δ᾽ ἔχων καὶ ἅμα τὸν ταῦτ᾽ εἰρηκότα ^B Δεσπότην εἰδὼς, τὴν ὅτι πρᾷός ἐστι καὶ ταπεινὸς τῇ καρδίᾳ συναίσθησίν τε καὶ γνῶσιν, ἀνάπαυλαν ψυχῶν ὁριζόμενον, καὶ προσέτι τοῦτον αὐτὸν δούλου μορφὴν εἰληφότα, ἵνα τὴν ἐλευθερίαν αὐτὸς ἀπολάβω, καὶ πρὸς τὴν προτέραν ἐπανήκω μακαριότητα· τοσούτων τοίνυν εἰς ταπεινοφροσύνην παρακαλούντων, πῶς οὐκ αὐτὸ τοῦτο καὶ αὐτὸς ἔμελλεν εἶναι, καὶ πᾶσιν ἐν συντριβῇ καρδίας καὶ πνεύματι ταπεινώσεως χρῆσθαι, καὶ κατὰ τὴν τοῦ Θεοῦ καρδίαν ὡς εἰπεῖν πολιτεύεσθαι; Ἀνθ᾽ ὧν αὐτός τε τοῦ τῆς ταπεινοφροσύνης ὡς οὐκ οἶδ᾽ εἴ τις ἐπέβη, καὶ ταύτην ἐκόσμησεν, ὡς διὰ τοῦτον μᾶλλον αὐτὴν, ἢ δι᾽ αὐτὴν τοῦτον θαυμάζεσθαι· καὶ ὡς ἀληθῆ λέγω, δῆλον ἐκεῖθιν.

ΞΕ´. Εἰ γὰρ τὸ μόνην ταπεινοφροσύνην ἀσκεῖν, ἑτέρωθεν δὲ μηδαμόθεν ἔχειν ἐγκαλλωπίζεσθαι, πρὸς ἔπαινον φέρει, ὅταν τις ὡς οὗτος παντοδαπὴν ἀγαθῶν ἔχων φοράν, θαυμαστῆς τινος ἐκπλήξεως, καὶ παιάνων παρὰ πᾶσι τυγχάνων, ^C ἔπειτα δήπου ταπεινοφρονεῖν οἴηται δεῖν, καὶ ταύτης ὑπὲρ τοὺς μηδέν τι τοιοῦτον ἑαυτοῖς συνειδότας ἀντιποιῆται, οὐχ ἑαυτὸν μᾶλλον, ἢ ταύτην σεμνύνει καὶ περιφανεστέραν καὶ καλλίω τοῖς ὅλοις ποιεῖ. Τῆς δ᾽ αὖ πρὸς τὸν πλησίον ἀγάπης καὶ τοῦ πᾶσιν αὐτὸν σπλάγχνα χρηστότητος καὶ εἶναι καὶ γίγνεσθαι, τεκμήριον ἐναργές· μάλιστα μὲν τὸ τοῦ Θεοῦ καθάπαξ ἐξῆρθαι καὶ τοῦτον ἐξ ὅλης δήπου ψυχῆς καὶ διανοίας φιλεῖν· αὐτό τε γὰρ τοῦτο καὶ τὸ τοῦ πλησίον ἀντιποιεῖσθαι, ἀλλήλων τὰ ἐξ ανάγκης ἔχεται, καί πως ἑκάτερον ἑκατέρῳ συμπράττει· καὶ οὔτε Θεὸν ὡς ἔφην ἔνι φιλεῖν μὴ τῷ πλησίον ὡς εἰκὸς κεχρημένον, οὔτ᾽ αὖ τούτου φροντίζειν ὡς δεῖ τὸν ἐῤῥαστωνευμένως πρὸς ἐκεῖνον ἔχοντα· ἀλλὰ δεῖ λόγον ἑκατέρου τὸν γιγνόμενον ἴσχειν, ^D καὶ ὥσπερ ἐκεῖνο καὶ τοῦτο σπουδάζειν· εἰ δὲ μὴ τοῦτο, πῶς ἐκεῖνο;

I do not see how one ^A who does not render due benevolence to his neighbor, nor again has the care for him that he ought, can be anything but negligent towards God. For it is altogether just and fitting that the account of both be considered, and that just as that love of God is to be embraced, so too must this care for one’s neighbor be embraced with the utmost zeal; if it is neglected, I cannot see how the former can by any means be retained. For, he says, "He who does not love his brother whom he has seen, how can he love God whom he has not seen?" He then confirms the same marvelous and, according to reason, unexpected desire for the common salvation of men, which we have mentioned.

^B LXVI. And in that he gave the first place in achieving this to all others rather than to himself—than which certainly no one, I think, could offer a more noble specimen of genuine charity, and in which he who is loved may well rejoice—who could fail to marvel? For if the sum of every good is the attainment of eternal salvation—as it is, without any controversy—and salvation cannot be obtained otherwise than with God as our helper, however zealously we all may practice virtues, and however many rivers of sweat and tears we may pour forth, how does he who renders God propitious to others through his prayers more than to himself not surpass every measure of benevolence? And ought we not to marvel at him and congratulate him for such a calling? But if you also add that he was so disposed toward his enemies that he honored them no less than his own life and person, as they say, and indeed loved and cherished them, and wished them all good things, nay, even counted them among those who had deserved well of him—partly because they had provided him with the material for the greatest and most difficult work in Christian philosophy, and partly because by this they made God more propitious and benign to him, since those who were held bound by the most grievous punishments for their crimes and sins experienced such lenity and benevolence from him—if you add this to the previous examples, it will be a third proof of charity, in my opinion, in no way inferior to the rest, but rather entirely genuine and very similar. ^C

LXVII. But the beneficence towards the poor—of which our discourse "On Loving the Poor" stands like a column reaching to the heavens, and which is a kind of legislative decree for one well-disposed towards the needy, and especially towards those weighed down by disease—that same discourse sufficiently proves this: that he never possessed anything at all, not the smallest fragment of gold or silver, nor any other worldly possessions, but whatever he obtained he partly yielded to those who flew to seize it, and partly poured out upon the needy, retaining for himself only certain tattered rags, and those truly most vile, and quite appropriate for a religious life, along with a few books. To these are added fasts, and sleeping on the ground, and nocturnal vigils maintained with stubborn posture, and assiduous and ardent prayers, and groans, and tears, and sweats, and in sum, whatever makes and completes the character of a religious and holy man, of which our subject was clearly an exemplar and model to others. ^D

LXVIII. But I, setting these aside, as things that everyone knows most thoroughly, pass onward to the great and venerable...

stadium of perpetual virginity; and I shall show here, too, our athlete as one crowned with the wreath of victory. For since he saw that this virtue not only stands above all other virtues, but even above the divine commands and precepts, and that it makes one run on a level with the angels, he became so gripped by it and acted so decisively in acquiring it, that just as he was superior to others in all his deeds, so too did he tower over himself from this point forward. He practiced a purity of body and soul with a superhuman self-control exceeding all others. And as for sin [*] — which, lurking in our members and having gained a foothold, rebels against the soul and, taking the governing mind as a kind of captive slave, drags it down to things it should not do, rendering the mind, so to speak, mindless — he thrust these things entirely from his memory. ^B LXIX. For it is impossible—it is indeed impossible, I say, nor has it ever happened at any time, nor will it ever happen in the future—that those who choose to live in luxury and who serve their appetites and gluttony should keep the lusts of the body subdued and remain free from impure disturbances; it is no more possible than for one who falls into fire not to experience the heat of its flame. For although some of these people may appear to live chastely and temperately on the outside, they are nevertheless in their innermost thoughts among the number of those who have defiled themselves with obscene desires; and although they may provide to others an appearance of unblemished virginity, they are, in the part I have mentioned, tormented by the disease of incontinence. But whoever determines to maintain this splendor of holy purity whole and intact, it behooves him, and is indeed absolutely necessary, to have a soul so clean and integral, and so free from such passions, that he does not allow even the slightest impression of ugly thoughts to touch it, if that be possible. For in this way, he will be pure, as far as he can be, in soul and in body, which is what he seeks. ^C LXX. Therefore, so that I may return again to my subject, Gregory bestowed such care and effort in this matter (for I return again to my suggested theme) that he made the palm of victory uncertain for him who derived his surname from virginity—the one who is considered the greatest of all for us, the Theologian (John the Evangelist)—or rather, in the same way that he approached him in the unfolding of the mysteries of the Divinity, so too in this he drew very near to him, becoming no less acceptable to God, so that both walk, as it were, at an equal and similar pace, and receive from everyone the greatest acclamations and applause everywhere. Now, therefore, since I have summarized the virtues and set forth the supreme excellence which in all things our subject possessed, I believe that what I have laid out thus far has not been done in a way that is altogether unequal to the task; so that what Plato once pronounced about Aristophanes can now be transferred by me with better right to this our subject: namely, that the Graces, searching for a bright ^D temple of all virtues that would never succumb, found the soul of Gregory.

LXXI. While the blessed man was still in such a state, and was still occupied with the schools of contemplation in Pontus, letters arrived from his father, urging his arrival so strongly that nothing else in the world seemed to hold any importance. For his son Caesarius had departed this life in a foreign land, and had left behind no heir to his affairs—neither wife nor children, for he had never engaged in marriage—and accordingly, according to the law, his entire estate devolved upon those who had given him birth. But since the father, both by reason of old age and infirmity, and because of the gloom that had seized him on account of these events, was unable to manage affairs or to withstand and contend against the envious people who were pressing upon him and swooping down upon what was alien to them as if it were their own—the reason being that Caesarius had been a treasurer of the imperial funds, and consequently there were some public moneys that could be claimed, which needed to be accounted for—he was forced to summon Gregory from there to himself, as he was skilled in handling such matters. And he, deeming it a most improper thing not to obey his father, and also knowing that my Jesus was subject to his parents, was there at once—not, indeed, entirely of his own will, yet in a way also of his own will: unwilling, insofar as he preferred to remain in quiet and not to be involved in troubles; but of his own will, insofar as he was to care for the soul of his brother and relieve his father of his distress.

LXXII. And so, having set all these things in order rightly and as was necessary, so that, according to Isaiah, every mountain and hill of slander might be brought low, and the crooked might become straight; and having eulogized his brother and his sister Gorgonia with funeral orations that moved all to astonishment and wonder, he also assisted his father in a twofold manner: by ridding him of the difficulties arising from these matters, and by correcting the innovation he had made against the consubstantial nature of God. For while he was absent in his quiet, the sole faction holding the opinions of Arius, having intercepted him and ensnared him with specious and twisted arguments, and having, as it were, deranged his mind, persuaded him to join with them against the Consubstantial, and by letter to renounce his former view and agree with those who dogmatize that the Son is of "similar substance" (omoiousion). Thus he was separating himself from the consubstantial Trinity, at least as far as his own consent went to it, and separating others from himself and his own communion—both those who practiced the solitary life and looked constantly toward God, and all who cared for piety and the duties consistent with it. When the great man found him in this state, he was naturally pained and distressed at the change, and he grieved on his account that he had been brought to this—so as to tarnish not only the nobility of his life in all things fair and his success in virtue, but also the reputation concerning him that was held by all. ^{A B C D}

^A LXXIII. When he perceived that his father was stung by the goads of repentance and had given himself over entirely to sorrow, at the same time believing that he had fallen into this deception out of pure simplicity of heart—since what has once been done cannot be undone—the son immediately received him with the bowels of kindness, comforted him, turned him away from his error and back to the truth, and committed him to the Holy Trinity even more fully than before. He instructed him thoroughly and taught him how he ought to lay hold of It in a genuine manner, and to remain within the boundaries of the Fathers, without advancing so much as a step beyond them. It behooves all those who are pupils of piety to recognize these limits, but especially those who have been appointed as bishops and pastors of the Churches by merit, for it is expected that they are able to teach others as well. For the others will render an account only for themselves, whereas these men will render an account for both themselves and those over whom they preside. For indeed, it is in no way sensible that one who ought to teach others what they should believe and do should himself be ignorant of these things, while holding the position of a teacher and yet remaining in reality among the disciples. ^{B C}

LXXIV. Thus, most opportunely, he guided his father by his counsels; and he brought back again to the true light the very person who had been the cause of his own birth into the light, even though that man had wandered somewhat from it, performing the duties of a good and sincere son and repaying the benefits he had received from his father with greater and more abundant ones. For to recall a soul wandering in error and to save it (cf. Jas. 5:20) is a benefit far greater than any other, of whatever name or measure it might be. Furthermore, those who had alienated themselves from the parent—having put on a divine zeal—he brought back into concord with him and reconciled them through the effectiveness of his own speech and spirit, binding them together for the future, and joining both sides together in such a way that the magnitude and swiftness of that union made the previous division seem unbelievable. For since the father, upon hearing the son's opinion, immediately concurred with him without any resistance, and even went so far as to condemn himself for what he had done, seeking from God with most abundant tears pardon for this defection of his from his former course—from this it was clearly understood that he had not embraced those things out of malice or any crafty wickedness, but from a guileless integrity of heart that had persuaded him those ways were more righteous. Thus, the guilt for that error was to be imputed not so much to his intent as to his incautious simplicity and to the crafty deceivers. I judge that this work of his is by no means to be considered of less value, involving labor and sweat, and is in the highest degree glorious and honorable, than that admirable life of leisure or the lifelong austerity and frugality, or—to put it better—none of those things is as glorious and honorable as bringing those who are at odds and warring over the cause of God to reach for concord, to embrace peace, and to be called thereby the sons of God. ^D

^A LXXV. What happened then? The father, despite Gregory’s reluctance, anointed him with the holy oil of priesthood and honored him with the dignity of a presbyter. He thus showed him to be a minister of Christ, one who had been fulfilling these duties even before his ordination. For he was sacrificing—not the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world, but a sacrifice of praise to God. He was sacrificing himself with constant labors and toils, and by making his life a meditation on death—a living, holy, acceptable, and consecrated sacrifice, even from before his birth. This is, I would say, the only sacrifice that is more pleasing to God and of greater value to Christ, who was sacrificed for our sake. Having in this way co-opted his son into the college of priests, the father strove for one thing only: to keep him with him perpetually, never allowing him any power to go elsewhere. He wanted him to be his right hand in all matters from then on, so that he might both share in the governance of the entrusted flock and be considered, as it were, a second self to the Church, and at the same time serve as his staff and the support of his old age—in a word, to be everything to him.

LXXVI. For indeed, since the natural vigor of his body had been dissolved by such a long life—for he was about ninety years old—he was no longer able to make proper use of himself or serve others; rather, he stood in need of a great deal of outside assistance, consolation, and soothing, and required someone who might, as it were, sustain and revive him. Our saintly man, according to the ancient proverb, while granting one thing, declined the other. For just as he considered nothing more burdensome or less suitable for himself than to be entangled in cares and business that would withdraw him from the blessed quiet of philosophy, so, conversely, he considered it a not insignificant part of piety and the worship of God—who commanded that parents be honored—to agree with his parents' will, to be an aid to them, and to refuse no hardship for their sake; thus, he was ready for everything. ^C

LXXVII. However, after a few days he returned to Pontus and to the quiet that was familiar and dear to him, only so far as to examine himself thoroughly and to teach others by his example that the greatest and most holy things are not to be touched rashly on the spur of the moment. Soon after, before the appointed day, he hurried back to his own, and surrendered himself entirely to his father and to his father's city, becoming, by his erudition and eloquence, a kind of salutary remedy for his fatherland, the solace of his father's old age, and the greatest and most excellent relief for the distresses arising therefrom. Immediately, by adorning the feast with an impromptu oration and celebrating it with becoming praise, he explained the reason for his flight and recounted it in a way that made it appear both plausible and pleasing to God, while also commending his father's incredible magnanimity toward the citizens, which is to be held in the highest esteem. ^D

^A LXXVIII. Now, once great Basil had attained the pontificate of the Church of Caesarea, it came to pass—as one might not absurdly call it—that even our own great Gregory became, as it were, a casual work of Basil’s hand and design, and was promoted as bishop of Sasima in this way: for since the whole of Cappadocia was originally a single province, and was recognized and established under one primary shepherd, it was then divided into two, not only at the level of the civil administration but also its ecclesiastical metropolises, namely Caesarea and Tyana. Something of this sort occurred which one might call neither sound nor, for that matter, according to God’s will; yet it was, in the outcome which it achieved, truly admirable; though, in the way it was originally conceived and executed, it was ill-advised and contrary to what was right and fitting.

^B LXXIX. For it seemed to the prelate of Tyana to be just and reasonable that spiritual jurisdiction should be divided alongside the civil and public ones, and that he should assert for himself, as being naturally owed by that arrangement, certain places under his own power and authority. This, however, was not at all approved by Basil, who indeed allowed the Tyanean Church its own free jurisdiction provided that it did not usurp anything else beyond that, since all the rest, by ancient pontifical right, was attributed to the Church of Caesarea. Therefore, Basil occupied the whole of Cappadocia with many bishops, so that no town or village fit for pontifical oversight was left vacant, with this specific goal: that from this there might exist a more extensive and thorough care of souls; and further, that with each bishop holding his own see and defending it as best he could, an end might necessarily be put to the strife, and the Church of Caesarea might recover what was its own—besides Tyana itself—since the Tyanean prelate would not be able to stand against so many.

^C LXXX. But while Basil conceived this and carried it out in a praiseworthy manner, astonishing everyone with the cleverness of his discovery—both by wisely gathering back together the region that had been foolishly divided, and by shaming those who had brought it about through malice toward him—in one thing alone did he seem not to have acted well or in a manner worthy of himself: that he made Gregory one of such a list and of this very movement, and placed that great voice of the Word, which echoes to all the ends of the earth, at Sasima; acting much as if someone were to propose to shut up the sun in some lowly corner of the earth.

^D LXXXI. If, to deprive one’s friends—however few they may be—of what is fair and suitable is by no means considered honest or laudable, how could it be anything other than altogether inconsistent and full of injustice, when one who loves another with an almost frantic devotion, and is no less loved in return—someone who, in every respect and from every point of view, is supreme and worthy of admiration—is not then...

^A one who possesses such knowledge entitled to enjoy honor? This incident, which then occurred regarding Gregory, astonished everyone; for they expected that great things would certainly be obtained by him from Basil, and that whatever was fitting for the one to give and the other to receive would be granted. But seeing only slight things—things so far beneath their most holy bond and the expectations of others that no one would have believed they could happen before they took place, and once they had occurred, they seemed incredible and shrouded in obscure confusion—Basil appeared ^B so contrary to all human hope that he was seen neither to have honored Gregory, as an altogether distinguished man who had surpassed all others, with the honors he deserved, nor even—if nothing else—to have wished to observe the laws of friendship toward him, but to have treated him just like the others. By this, he did not so much dishonor Gregory as he did himself. Unless perhaps one might defend Basil in this way: that it was not out of contempt for his companion, nor out of obliviousness to their extraordinary mutual agreement and the promises made from the beginning, nor again out of ignorance of the true worth of which Gregory was altogether deserving, that he came to hold this opinion of him; but because he desired to retain the man with him perpetually, and to feed his eyes and mind with his presence and company, and not only to enjoy hearing his most sweet voice and tongue, but also to partake of those discourses of his in which he took such pride—surpassing everyone else of that day in his own—since he could not achieve this in any other way. Driven by a most ardent longing for Gregory, he decided to employ these new machinations, knowing clearly the greatness of his soul and his regard for himself. In these virtues, our own [Gregory] so excelled, that while Basil should have shown such a duty toward him—namely, deferring to Gregory far above all others, so as not to count him among the number of these new prelates—he himself performed this duty to Basil in a greater measure, for the very reason that, being called to the aforementioned inauguration, he did not gainsay it, nor did he flee—as Basil would undoubtedly have done if Gregory had had to do anything of that sort to him; by this he showed how much he valued the authority of the other, and that he set the other's glory far before his own. ^D LXXXII. But do not say: "Why then did Gregory immediately withdraw from there?" It was God who impelled him to this as well as to that; he both yielded to the office at first, and then he fled again—which demonstrated the supreme moderation of our Gregory’s soul, and at the same time prevented the world from being deprived of such a man, such as I remember never to have seen at any time, one who ranged through all things beautiful, nor did I wish to see him and his most exquisite arts of speech hidden and kept in an obscure and most wretched place, and almost extinguished, like some great torch deprived of suitable fuel.

^A LXXXIII. Therefore, obeying the divine pronouncement, he immediately departed from Sasima; and he sought out a place much fuller of rest and tranquility. Then again, Nazianzus held him, as a very great helper to his father whenever he might have need of him, and one who applied such intense effort here that, on the one hand, his father would not receive any offense whatsoever from any matter, in any way, nor would he himself omit anything of what it was possible for him to do; but rather, he showed toward him every form of care, both visible and invisible, and in short, contributed to him in all things from every quarter, in such measure as if he had bound himself by the most fearful of oaths—and he brought all these things about both joyfully and with complete willingness. He did so the more, in such a way as not to seem to be contributing at all, but as if these things were being contributed to him by others; and he thought that he himself was receiving benefits from his father rather than that he was honoring his father. Thus, even beyond what was reasonable, he rendered what was reasonable to him, and he surpassed the ordinary order in his desire to observe what was occurring; for he strove as though to surpass even himself in these things, and to show himself better at every turn; and he prepared his father in the abundance of benefits he bestowed upon him, not only to take a kind of forgetfulness of ^B old age and diseases and the difficulties stemming from them, but even to consider that these things were profitable for him on account of these very benefits.

LXXXIV. So it was that, while his father was still surviving and beholding the sun, he had shown such great regard; but after he had passed away and was no longer numbered among those living in our world, he showed no less. Indeed, he conducted himself in these matters in such a way as to remain consistently true to his own character, and not to bring dishonor upon his former deeds by those that followed; rather, that I may repeat the same words again, as much regard as he had for his father while he was still surviving ^C and beholding the sun, such the same regard he had for him when he was dead and no longer numbered among those living in our world. And yet, what is this that I am saying? For it is possible to see something here much greater, since that former thing was during the actual time of life; or rather, at the final retreat of old age, near the very closure of life, that had occurred, but this is to remain for all men: "As long as the water of the sea flows; as long as the trees bring ^D forth leaves." For above the services rendered to his father when he was afflicted by a deathly disease—services equal to those, and to be held in the next place by their own right—he added a greatest and most exquisite funeral gift, a funeral oration, the most grateful and sweet-smelling of odors, by which he commended not only the father’s memory to posterity and the happy cultivation of all virtues, but also, as was fitting, consoled his mother, his own kin, and all of Nazianzus; for it was a common grief, and one [held] by all simply and by each individual, and concerning soul, and intellect, and life, and the world, and things beyond the world; and what [constituted] things present, which are not [truly] existent, and what the things to come, and indeed...

having philosophized most beautifully of all regarding the departure of the man from here, and having persuaded them not to be troubled and to lament excessively at the departure of this blessed man from this life, but rather, believing that departure to be a journey to God, or an approach, or a return, or whatever term anyone might choose, to be rejoicing and to rejoice with him over this, as [he who was] dearer to God than all others and ranked in the first place among those of such a faction. He did not think it was necessary to stop his consolation there, nor that this alone would suffice to signify him, but rather to remain ^A with his mother until the very end, caring for her, ministering, performing the things that were fitting, bringing to bear, so to speak, every supply of providence; and when the allotted portion of life removed her from here and brought her back to the God she had desired from the very beginning, who is there who does not know that by the way he honored her, he astonished everyone? Not as one might say, honoring a mother, but rather as one beloved of God, and betrothed to Him even before her calling.

LXXXV.

LXXXVI.

Pontine region, and what other places he knew to be suitable for purifying his soul and for instructing it in other spiritual matters, and—if it is not too grand a thing to say—for making it like to God. These were his cares and reflections at that time; but God, who governed his life, ordained them otherwise. He would no longer have him, to speak in the words of the Gospel, «hidden under a bushel, but placed upon the lampstand,» so that he might be a great light to the world and a most conspicuous torch to all those living under the heavens.

LXXXVII.

^A he set upon them mightily and with such a preparation of the Spirit that he not only overcame them in strength and overturned them, and «cast down every height raising itself against the knowledge of God,» but they were no longer in need of a second struggle, since they were once and for all overcome and defeated, and thoroughly despaired; so that they were not even able to be shameless, nor did they have the strength even to look back upon the rays of truth and the bolts of that man’s words. In public, indeed, they dared not at all to babble and speak freely of their impiety; they knew that this would be of no advantage to themselves, and that they would be, as the saying goes, «kicking against the goads. A child who has suffered has learned.» But privately and among themselves, they did not cease «to speak iniquity against the High One,» and to move their all-daring tongues against the Divine. They did not withdraw, but, still holding to the same madness and remaining as equal and similar as the Ethiopian in the proverb who never turns white, they were pulling every rope, and contriving and doing everything so that, having made away with the holy man, they might use the same means and with much greater success retrieve their defeat. I pass over their slanders against him, and their great and senseless audacity, and hatreds, and evil deeds, and envy, and their snares laid now in the open and now in secret, and the stones cast at him, and the death planned by them but prevented by God; I pass over all these things, since he himself did not even recall any of them to mind, but rather, as befitted a valiant champion of the truth, rejoiced to be sprinkled with these as if with roses. ^{B C}

LXXXVIII. But that which, of all things, is most especially worthy of mention and speech, and worthy of most attentive minds and ears, I shall say. For when «the clouds had passed away by the far-shining brightness» of his doctrines and words, and the gloom of the heretical faction had been dispelled, and ours prevailed, and «the weak were girded with strength,» and those who fought for the majesty of the Holy Spirit were acting freely—here it is not easy to tell what joy took hold of the pious, and what and how great were the hymns of praise they offered to God: that the whole force of that pestiferous doctrine had almost vanished, dissolved like a spider’s web, and that that unconquered tyranny of the emperor had finally come to an end, the tyranny which, «if it were possible, would have led astray even the elect;» and that the Church, «which He obtained with His own blood,» for whom all word and all mystery were given, was seen to be flourishing and strengthening, and becoming many times greater than herself by the multitude of those joining her from time to time, and that the salty and unlawful innovations and notions concerning God, like some soul-destroying…

^A malady, were washed away by the sweet and welcome liquid of a better instruction, they forthwith took refuge and passed over with their whole heart and soul into the sincere, pure, most sweet faith, which is the chiefest cause of attaining heavenly things. In its place, that which they had previously held to be impious and illicit, they were led to abandon for right thinking and the embrace of true and genuine doctrine, which they imprinted so accurately and deeply upon their own souls that they did not merely stand unshakable, with their footsteps firmly fixed upon the "rock of faith," but also showed themselves excellent teachers ^B and molders of those who subsequently joined them in these matters.

LXXXIX. Then subsequently, when the most excellent and praiseworthy emperor (for this was the Great Theodosius, having been so named for these very acts) and the whole assembly of the pious were exerting every effort and every supplication that a man so great might accept the pontificate of that Church, and might henceforth be its champion, and a most firm rock, destined to break and repel the surge of heresies—a man who, even before he was created pontiff, had been all these things to the Church, and had long been most worthy of that office, and truly the only one qualified, who could render her superior to any trials whatsoever, and could infuse into the souls of all, as if molten, every good habit and the yearning for every virtue—after he at length finally, and with great difficulty, yielded and consented, having decided it was no longer right to resist stubbornly, and regarding this altogether as a divine vote and suffrage, for had it been otherwise, he would never have been divinely warned from the beginning to come to Constantinople.

After he had therefore agreed in this manner, and by the support and suffrage of the emperor, which was indeed supreme and ^C of the greatest magnitude, he ascended the pontifical cathedra and set about administering the affairs of piety most strenuously, bravely, and with singular dexterity. Presently, all those who were planning to retaliate against those petulant tormentors of theirs, and to exact from them penalties for the injuries they had previously suffered, were laboring by every means they could to attach this most holy man to their side and to promise their cooperation in the matter, being well aware of what authority and influence he held with the prince, while at the same time they allowed the memory of what they had endured to stir in their sick hearts like a smoldering fire, not permitting this agitation of spirit to subside.

But Gregory, with a mild and most humane voice, first attempted to restrain their ardor and impulse, saying: "Do you not know of what spirit you are [Luke IX, 55]," that you should rush into such deeds? Then, what great and admirable praise for magnanimity you will obtain, if, being content with the sole power of vengeance, you grant them pardon for their offenses? Finally, what is most ^D important and of the highest favor…

^A should be held in esteem, if we counsel them kindly and humanely, they will soon be better in their disposition, and will of their own accord surrender themselves wholly to our Church, from which they were severed through vice; but if, which I abhor, we punish them more severely, they will cherish their impiety with all the greater obstinacy, and will perish utterly in everlasting destruction, “for whose sake, however, Christ died.” 40 How much holier and more divine, therefore, is the former course than the latter, and so much the more are they to be aided by us rather than neglected; if, indeed, their salvation is a care to us, as it ought to be no otherwise a care to us than as are the members and joints of our own body. Thus he, not only for his own people, but for the enemies of Christ himself, so that they might be saved, took the greatest thought, whom he was accustomed to call “the wandering little sheep”; for it was necessary to search for it with his own footsteps, to save it, and to bring it back to the original pastures and fold with all his might.

^B XC. He, therefore, who thus strove for gentleness and moderation, and for humanity diffused toward all men, as scarcely any other person at all did, persuaded such individuals to be of this same mind, lest while they sought to pay back to the authors of their injuries what they considered a just retribution, they should themselves fall into the crime of excessive vindictiveness, as those who set out to heal evil with another evil, but rather, by the greatness of their soul, “overcoming evil with good,” 42 might deserve well of those who had unjustly harmed them. And this not only for the reason that charity is by far the leader of the other virtues, without which, according to the judgment of Paul, 43 labor is spent in vain and to no purpose on all other things—whether you speak of mercy toward the needy, or of blood poured out for Christ, or if someone be a skilled interpreter of divine mysteries, “and have the power to move mountains from their places”—but even because the possession of charity is the compendious possession of all virtues. For just as when someone decides to enter into friendship with anyone, they wish them all good and happy things, in the same way, whoever has a proper regard for his own soul, and values it most highly, must necessarily cultivate all the virtues, so that by their benefit he may become master of his own salvation. But in addition to all these things, this must necessarily be held, that whoever desires to be of God, must by all means strive for the likeness of God as much as he can: and one becomes like to God when he exercises charity toward men in good faith. “Be ye therefore,” he says, “merciful, as your Father also is merciful”; 44 for by this name of Father he is indeed more delighted than by any other; it is evident, therefore, that he who is not merciful, even if he has rightly performed the remaining duties of the virtues, will nonetheless be furthest excluded from God, because in these very things he follows what is clearly contrary to God. ^C “For what fellowship hath light with darkness, or what communion hath Christ with Belial?” 45 For Belial has an immortal hatred toward us, whence also he has this name. But Christ was led to the cross by love for us. And as for the thing which no one would refuse to hear about and detest from his enemies themselves, would you wish this for yourselves? Then how is it not the height of madness that such a thing [should happen]?

and dependent solely upon our own faculty of choice, you are bringing upon yourselves—to fasten your own noose of your own accord? Having ^A inserted this sense of mind into those who were the persecutors and oppressors of his own people, and having blunted their fury with the gentle medicines of his humanity, he even further exhorted them to the pursuit of every other virtue, and warned them not to neglect any of these excellent things; but rather to consider that it was worth the great effort to follow the very footsteps of nature, and to do what is right; and, on the contrary, to turn the mind away from wickedness, which is both contrary to the order of nature and depends solely upon the free will of man; and to utterly dismiss that which, of course, we used wrongly from the beginning, when we fell away from the virtue natural to us, and departed into malice, which is contrary to nature, and committed transgression, with our mind, naturally, having been despoiled of its rightful dominion, and rule given over to the flesh alone, whence we ourselves have become thoroughly earthly and submerged in the mud of matter. But enough of this.

XCI. Concerning his manner of life and his teaching.

^B When, therefore, he first judged that those things should be practiced by himself, of which he was the advisor and author to others, he thus had everyone sufficiently obedient; and since he had them ready for obedience, he likewise had them acting in the same way: not perfectly, indeed, but to the extent that it can be conjectured; for he alone of all whom we know, both in word and deed, was inimitable. As the Emperor ^C observed him being revered by all, and now being proclaimed a "pillar of pure religion and a singular ornament," now a "divine seed," and "a dew of Hermon descending upon the mountains of Zion," for souls melted by the heat of impiety; partly, also, as a "standard of theology and a rule of sacred dogmas," "destroying every height that is exalted against the knowledge of God," and partly, to speak briefly, a "public prytaneum of every good," distributing all things suitably to all and to each individually, and offering to each what is fitting and appropriate; since he had perceived that he was such a great man, and understood this by the consenting praise and applause of all good people—for everyone had their own triumphs and their own crowns, which belonged to us—he was affected by these things not a little more than by the majesty of his own power and the great state of his imperial fortune, and gave ^D the greatest thanks to God, who had brought forth the supreme pontiff Gregory through his own work especially. Nay, he even congratulated the city, which had been deemed worthy of such a bishop, or if you prefer, the whole world, when "his sound went out into all the earth, and his words to the ends of the world," and he congratulated Gregory himself, in that he had obtained a capacity most abundant, most beautiful, and equal to his nature, and the material for bringing into the light and demonstrating the vast power of the inspiration and movement of the Holy Spirit by which he was borne, and the inexhaustible treasures of heavenly wisdom, with which, being divinely endowed above all others, he was able to enrich others also.

XCII. Now, just as the Emperor remained fixed upon our Gregory alone, above all others, and admired him alone, so he himself was no less lifted up by reciprocal and equally clear praises, and was a sharer of heavenly praises.

was held, as if he who had rendered the greatest service to the whole human race, and had adorned with the greatest benefits the men whom the earth sustained anywhere; whence he is celebrated as the most august and holy of all emperors: and this not so much for the number, and greatness, and splendor of the works and trophies with which he had filled the whole world in every way, nor for the magnanimity and clemency he used toward all, and the primacy of all virtues conceded to him by the voice of all, but because he had chosen from among all men Gregory, the leader and tribune, if we may so speak, of the pious people, and of the divine mysteries, and the prelate of the most ample assembly of the Church, for whom no one else more apt could be found to instruct and prepare for the Lord ^A a "peculiar people" (Tit. II, 14).

XCIII. Meanwhile, a council of a hundred and fifty bishops from all Asia, gathered against Macedonius, occupied Constantinople, presided over by Meletius, the archbishop of Antioch, a man most great in other respects, and especially noble for the struggles he had sustained for piety and religion; the fathers, therefore, because they saw that a most holy man had already undertaken the protection of the Constantinopolitan Church, and [knew] how many and what great labors and dangers he had endured for its sake, and that he had utterly destroyed every heresy, and held this as a verified fact, and likewise looking upon the man with the reputation for eloquence, and true doctrine, and, to embrace it in a word, for all beautiful praise, they rightly and deservedly approved the emperor’s vote concerning him, as if it were plainly the vote of God, and they decreed with great zeal that this throne was owed to him. I, for my part, would not hesitate to affirm—and this is by far the most participant of truth and answers most perfectly to the things themselves—that if Asia had had one man of this kind, and Africa and Europe had similarly had one, and one who had so perfectly fulfilled all the measures of every virtue, no heresy would ever have arisen anywhere, and all would have been most skilled ^C cultivators of virtue and of that glory which is referred to the soul.

XCIV. Yet truly, I deem no vice to be more pestilential than envy, which perpetually invades whatever is decorous and excellent, and suffers no man of the mortals to enjoy excellent glory; which casts such fury even upon the one who possesses it, that he deems another’s happiness to be his own calamity: then, truly, he considers himself to be carried by favorable winds if someone else meets with adverse ones; but if a man adds to this a desire for vain glory, it is an ill advised thing, finding no outlets, and he dares to act with a blind impetus, and it is a plainly indomitable evil; for when either vice is sufficiently grave by itself, what must be thought of them when joined and coupled? Such a thing as this was happening here. For certain Egyptian and Macedonian bishops, who had come to Constantinople after the Asiatics for the cause mentioned, men who were plainly trifling and contemptible, both in doctrine and in morals and actions, and who had absolutely nothing worthy of their title: these, not ^D

^A out of consideration for truth, but driven by envy against Gregory, and irritated because the Asian bishops had not added their own supporting votes to confirm him, poured forth lies against the holy man, uttering claims that did not in the least befit him. O justice and laws, and the eyes of God that behold all things! They did not hesitate to call him a "triple bishop," and to babble that he had occupied this very chair—Sasima, and Nazianzus, and Byzantium—without any rightful authorization nor canonically; whereas he had, in fact, received the first and last of these pontificates precisely in accordance with the sacred decrees of the Church. As for the Nazianzen chair, he undertook it ^B because no one else was sufficiently qualified to occupy it promptly when it was vacant, and because he had previously governed it by way of vicarious service on account of his father's necessity. For his father, owing to advanced old age, an infirm body, and being further battered by countless other troubles, and moreover having bound his son with the most solemn entreaties, had urged him—when he could not induce him to stay in Sasima—that he should at least unite himself with him in the labors of the flock and the protection of the people, and be a partner and assistant in his cares and labors as long as he lived; and that once he had departed this life, he might then go wherever the impulse of his own soul might carry him.

^C XCV. Although it was easy for us to refute and put to shame his detractors, and show them to be, according to the well-known verse, "like chattering, many-tongued crows croaking vain and empty things against the divine bird of Zeus" (11), he nevertheless rejected this course. Instead, he seized upon and followed a plan which seemed the most beautiful and most beneficial to do, and which was entirely in keeping with his character: partly so as not to appear to be too greedily chasing after glory and honor, and partly because he so abhorred strife and conflict, wishing "to be at peace even with those who hate peace." ^D Lo, therefore, O incredible and new greatness of soul, which will never be matched with equal zeal! He abandoned the patriarchal throne—a thing in itself desirable, to be sought after, to be defended with every effort, and dearer than all other things to others—more easily and more promptly than others accept it. By this very act, he provided sufficient proof that he had not ascended that chair in the beginning out of any ambition for glory or love of external splendor, but because he saw that war had been waged upon the most holy Trinity, which was then being wickedly divided and confused, and that her true understanding would soon collapse unless someone came to the rescue as quickly as possible. And he left behind the flock he had nurtured, now restored in divine matters, instructed, and firmly and brightly established in right piety, and a genuine worshiper of the Holy Trinity, whereas before it had been sadly wanting in these matters, having been sorely afflicted by the faction of the heretics (12).

XCVI. This emperor, indeed, together with his senate, and also the saner part of the priesthood, which was by far the greatest, and moreover, the entire assembly of the orthodox, gathered in one place, did with the greatest effort beg and beseech Gregory to remain, and sought to move him by every word and deed and by every kind of zeal and entreaty, and from every side endeavored to persuade him, and continued to press him very strongly, so that not even if something else might happen

^A and someone cried out with the greatest strain of voice, I know not who, "In truth, as you depart from here, you lead away the Trinity itself with you," did he any the more desist from his plan of abdication, or yield the least bit of his perversity; but he remained altogether unmoved, pleading the weakness of his body and his old age, and that he was no longer able to handle such matters and contribute to the common good, but was only fit for the company of a life spent in solitude. For this reason, leave was at last granted to him, when they saw that whatever they did or said was falling into nothingness. ^B XCVII. Presently, since the Church could not be without its shepherd for even a moment, as those who were newly formed unto genuine piety, and as the saying goes, "grafted from the wild olive into the true olive," had need of a greater and more perfect condition for defending the faith; and since the heretics lying in wait were prepared to rush upon them, and plunder them, and draw them back to the slippery path of their former error: Nectarius of Tarsus is immediately raised to the patriarchal throne, and receives the care of souls—that greatest of all things, and valued by God above all else. He was a man who, in wisdom and virtue, excelled the many as much as their great one excelled these and all others; and he took more pride in having become the successor to such a man than in the dignity of the pontifical throne itself; for all agree that the throne also became more glorious from our man, and was held in greater esteem from that time forward. ^C XCVIII. These things having been carried out in this manner, and the synod having now concluded, which had been assembled and instituted against "the adversaries of the Holy Spirit and the Semi-Arians," as he himself calls them; which, at the same time, thoroughly refuted Macedonius, the author of this vanity, and also the Syrian Apollinarius, who raved that the flesh assumed by Christ was destitute of a mind, and rose up against the divine economy as if the divinity were sufficient in place of a human mind, and delivered those most impious and wicked men to anathema. Gregory was, as it were, the head of this synod, for he rendered by far the greatest aid and service to the Fathers in that contest, and stunned everyone with the abundance of his erudition and divine grace, and he was to our side a source of singular joy and adornment; but upon his adversaries, as was just, he inflicted lasting ignominy, and proved them to be guilty of mere insanity. ^D XCIX. Finally, when he had highly praised the Emperor for his most intense zeal for the true faith and his diligence, and had gathered together all the greatest praises that he could ever heap upon him, and had at the same time armed him with his own prayers against visible and invisible enemies, [index: entries preserved] and had exhorted all the others as the time required, and had persuaded them to be entirely of one mind, and to keep the...

^A deposit of the Trinity, and not to surrender any part of it by any means; even if the bull of Phalaris, even if all the most extreme and terrible things of all were threatened to them, thus he would go forth from the city. He did not go forth with some silly and superfluous display and pomp, which both drives those who use it into madness and strikes others with alarm; nor was he bringing with him wealth and attention beyond what was needed, and a multitude of mules and horses; nor was he leading with him those following and those going before, and those looking to other things, as is the custom of such people. For, having judged all these things to be worth nothing, and having abandoned them utterly to those who wanted them, he, with empty hands, as the saying goes, made his departure, having nothing else save a cheap cloak and whatever sacred books ^B he happened to have, which he held in higher regard than the riches of Cinyras and Croesus. He was a principle of happiness to himself and to others, and being a wonderful abundance and ornament, as if filled with all kinds of Muses and grace, such as I do not know if anyone else is filled with; and being, so to speak, a living pillar of the universal and most noble virtue—since he was positioned to be a common treasury for all and had the means to grant ungrudgingly and beyond what each one needed; for which reason he caused much lamentation to those who possessed him, and much regret that they had let him go entirely and had not kept him by force. Even if he happened to be outside the Pillars of Heracles and the river Phasis, it was necessary, it was necessary for all those who had a love for living well to have run there, or to have asked for this man most fervently from us.

On the (word) "most noble"

^A held them in great lamentation, and imposed much penance upon their own souls because they had altogether let him go, and had not been able to hold him back by force; for even if he had been living beyond the Pillars of Hercules or the river Phasis, it was necessary—necessary, I say—for all who had an intense longing for a holier life to hasten thither on the run, and with much supplication to draw him to us to adorn our own region, or for us to remain in those places where he resided, to enjoy the graces with which he was, above all others, endowed; forgetting all memory of domestic affairs, which they say happens to those who have tasted of the habits of the Sirens.

^C C. From there, when Gregory had returned to his most beloved Cappadocia, and his native land—that sweet soil—now held him, he took no small pleasure in the fact that, after a long interval, he had regained his fatherland, and he congratulated himself on having deserved to see his birthplace once again. But since he had a most profound hatred for the urban din and the succeeding deluge of troubles it brings, and held an insatiable desire for his own quiet, he was far—indeed, very far—from accepting a permanent home there; and indeed he did not accept one. Seeking, therefore, a small town in Cappadocia, Arianzo by name, which pertained somewhat to him by paternal ancestry and seemed not unsuitable for religious philosophy, he decided to dwell in it out of all others, and to spend the remainder of his life there.

CI. Now, how he always directed his mind to sacred meditations, and applied himself thoroughly to those matters which can reconcile God to men and produce from this a certain wondrous union between them; and how, «disposing ascents in his heart,» he received light upon light, and how, in a manner of speaking, he became God from man by daily progress, is clear to all who know his affairs well. But that the same man, who was so addicted to piety, should also set himself the task of undertaking its defense, as if he were some common presiding officer of the Church, and moreover the celebrations of the memories of certain saints, our discourse will show as it proceeds. ^D

CII. For first of all, it seemed to him an utterly absurd and alien thing not to honor his like-minded and concordant companion, Basil—that supreme contender of virtue, or rather, the very contest and study of virtue itself, or if you will, both—who had long since departed this life and returned to his ancient homeland, and who had obtained many praises from many people who in public and in private had adorned his deeds and actions; he felt he could not do otherwise than honor him in the same way and adorn him with a funeral oration. And he would doubtless have performed this before all others, had not those many and great struggles for piety stood in his way. And so he composed an oration about him, brought to such a pinnacle of rhetorical excellence, and so apt and becoming to him for whom it was written, and so clearly congruent with the facts themselves, that not only does it appear to be interwoven with the Muses and Graces, but the others, which we mentioned a little while ago, appear, when compared with it, closer to blame than to praise, and seem to be writings for the sake of the spirit rather than works elaborated with serious care.

^A And thus he completes the funeral rite that was being performed, not bestowing favors out of affection, nor drawing his praises from that source, nor anywhere near it. Quite the contrary, he was indeed restrained by that very thing, and he signaled the things that were present and the realities, so that he might not be thought to be showing favor to him, and he even keeps himself in check. For if each of these two was another self to the other, it is entirely evident that whatever adorns the one, the other also is surely adorned by it, and he shares in the same things in which the other is shown to be excellent; but if affection had not been present, he would have spoken as many things on his behalf as it is reasonable for one who knew him best of all men to know.

^C

CIII.

CIV.

[*] Ps. LXXIII, 8.

The cause of this, as we have said, was Apollinarius, that senseless contemner of God, who by his abuses stained ^A mortal lips, to speak with Aeschylus (14). Of all these matters we have spoken at greater length and with as much detail as was fitting, as I at least believe. And along with these things, by which he offered himself as a model of every virtue, he continued to benefit human life and to make it more orderly. He was, moreover, the primary author of spiritual happiness for men; leading and settling everyone from every side towards the best, and always showing them to be more diligent than they were themselves. ^B For just as a lieutenant or a kinsman of the great God, or a leader on earth of His divine decrees, so did he appear to all. And all looked upon him as an archetype, or a stronghold, or a sanctuary of all that is beautiful; deeming his words to be not the words of any man, but certain wonderful utterances of God, which it was clearly a sin to contradict. Furthermore, there belonged to his words belief and probability by absolute necessity, since what he persuaded others to do, he was the first to perform most perfectly. Both his speaking and his very silence were a sort of exhortation, which was his greatest aid in persuading and drawing everyone into a voluntary necessity. For certainly they did not approach him more gladly than they departed from him unwillingly—or, more truly, because they bore this latter ^C part with difficulty, they confirmed both sides: namely, that they valued the former more than anything anyone else might say, and that they hated this latter part the more, for the very reason that they were so vehemently moved by the former.

106.

are admired by the city for their virtue and from whom the greatest reputation is carried to all people—were worthy of being held in such high esteem, that ^A they were acknowledged by all who knew them as clearly possessing the best of all things, being sought out by all others because of their prosperity in everything good, to the point that even among their own people they were deemed worthy of holding the first and greatest honors, some of which were offered to them, and others promised? And yet, he held nothing of all these things to be more important than the activity toward God, which religious quietude provides, and the life lived constantly according to the mind. He accomplished these things so well and with such excellence ^B that, for those who came before him, he became a leader, while for those who followed after him and lived with him, he became an archetype and a rule of the precision required in such matters. As for those who gave him birth—since he was unable to bestow upon them anything equal to what he had received, or, if one might say, something even greater—he displayed this most beautifully, in that he sought to honor them here beyond the customary limits and altogether exceeded what was reasonable, creating a kind of rational pillar for them, standing against all time, to be passed on to those who come after. But he himself, ^C disregarding all other things, became the sole champion of piety, which had for a long time been tyrannized and almost brought to its knees by the most wicked and impious heretics, as the story goes; he took it upon himself to raise it up and restore it, and to show it to be altogether victorious over its enemies. For this reason, since he was the fulcrum of the faith, and a firm foundation of the Church, and, as Pindar says (15), an "unshaken column" of the upright and healthy dogmas, he ascended that great and holy patriarchal ^D throne—not, of course, to enjoy luxuries or live in idle ease, but to cut out the entire heresy with abundance of power, to root it out completely, and to remove it entirely from the midst. Yet a short time later, having yielded the throne to those who desired it—since he had not even initially taken it willingly, but had entered it only after manifold persuasion, force, and numerous entreaties—he withdrew again to his most praiseworthy and beautiful quietude and to the most true communion with God.

CVIII. To whom, I ask, can all these things be compared? And who is the one who has thus traversed everything, and in all things surpassed everyone, having grasped all things at once and with such excellence? For if you speak of eloquence and speeches, he has no rival for the palm of victory; rather, he has this contest with himself, while, as if ^D competing, he strives to be the same person through everything; conquering the others in all the forms of speech.

^A Indeed, when one looks at it by itself, one might judge it superior to the rest; but when one considers them all together, they are one, yet in every kind of discourse they carry the prize as a singular and unique power, surpassing the rest by a long interval in sharpness and sagacity, and in the grace diffused through all things; and, most important of all, in the fact that they are not only art, but even beyond art, and therefore rise beyond the hope of imitation. Among these, the first and greatest is the "admirable explanation of the divine nature." And he was able to discuss matters of this kind so securely and beautifully, and with such blessed fecundity, that not only was he honored after that most great John the Evangelist with the title of Theologian—of which he had this clearest proof, that in this respect he was believed to be far the prince of all—but he also left his writings behind as certain wondrous siege engines for those who would come after him, for the shaking and casting down of the fortresses of error. ^B Furthermore, by the diffuse richness and variety of his thoughts, and by the unrestrained, invincible, and flower-bedecked flow of his language, which, surpassing all intellect, was attended by the grace of the Spirit, he became most pleasant and desirable to all, both in his meetings and in his teachings, and was able to stun and capture both Greeks and Barbarians, who seemed to themselves to "hear the voice of God and not of man." And this was because he possessed the very mode of life he counseled; because he was, more than any other, an industrious maker and a most diligent follower of all virtue and divine precepts, and therefore was endued with the authority of persuasion; so that, to use the words of Plato, "what is written in books seems but a game when compared to the actual conversations of wise men," this is shown here with a certain surplus—that the writings of others seem but a game when compared to the conversations of Gregory. If this is so compared, as it indeed is, with what interval must we judge the musical grace and elegance appearing in his writings to stand above what others write?

^C CIX. Furthermore, that he should utterly hate all malice as an aberration from the honorable and the good, and as possessing no substance of its own—for God, who is good by nature, could never be the author of evils—this is surely something he had in common with all who pursue virtue. ^D But to have fiercely attacked malice, and to have clearly shown how one might either flee from it or avoid being ensnared by it from the beginning, this was the work of him alone and of his mind. And what can you say of his divine fortitude of soul—his battles and the trophies he erected—against those who were snares to the true faith, and who were attempting in every way to pervert the truth? These are surely far greater than those of Marathon and Salamis, because those fall under the sense of sight, while these are works of reason; and those, time itself invaded and crushed, but these will stand for all time; and the former were the Athenians against the Persians, but the latter were those against the enemies of Christ, won by him.

^A Who also, while he was honoring with his own due praises the armorbearers of piety, and those who "contended even unto blood" 63, by this very act of thus honoring them, sharpened the spirits of others for equal contests. These same things may be seen also in the sacred mysteries of Christ; for to these, too, he rendered the part which it was fitting to bestow, as it is right and pious, extolling them with words, and at the same time exciting the hearer to their inspiration and divine frenzy. By this, he announces to all, from that time to the present, that those who dare to speak of God and divine things must be of this sort. I pass over now, however, the most accurate investigation of the holy Scriptures, and the threefold explanation and contemplation of them, as one might say, from the depth and darkness to the light, so that from every side they might be clear to all. ^B Such are the things that have been said by our discourse concerning his orations; for our discourse, in order to avoid satiety, has omitted many things, especially since, even if we were silent, they are known to all.

CX. But concerning the life of our subject, I have this to say. Whether you are looking for a life that is, from every side—not in part, but in whole and in sum—instructed and consolidated, and greatly celebrated by all, and yet not more celebrated for that than it is, in this one thing alone, namely in praise, less fortunate. Or if you are looking for the highest nobility of soul, conjoined with equanimity, and heroic spirits, and a strength of soul that is lofty and steadfast and generous, and wholly of the Holy Spirit; ^C and furthermore, manners most suited for persuasion, and most acceptable to all, and encounters most pleasant and worth beholding, and a withdrawal from man that is most grievous, and, in sum, that je ne sais quoi which, to embrace the matter in one word, necessarily led all men, upon seeing Gregory, into a wondrous astonishment and love: of these, one truly, and whatever it may be—a thing placed above all and—in the highest degree, had you met him, you would have perceived in this very man, upon meeting him.

CXI. Who is there, then, who equally, while he still dealt with matter, was raised above matter, as one who was higher than any association with matter, truly taking delight in spiritual things with his whole and entire mind, no differently than in those things which fall under the senses? ^D Who, indeed, gave his soul to the present, and no less to things soon to be, having ordered his own affairs to be held in good faith, and applied his mind to those who were absent as if they were already present? Who was he who gave himself to these lower things only so far as to demonstrate that very fact, that he was clothed in a body, but attributed all things to the upper and heavenly realms through the secret stirring of his mind? Who stored up for himself that age which is endless, beyond death, as a treasure, since he perceived that this present age, even before it reaches its own end, was failing? To whom were riches more despised, which time that gave birth to them [eventually] consumed...

and for whom were those things alone held in highest price, whose glory no age can erase? Who accounted living according to the flesh to be in no way living, and contrariwise—if I may so speak—considered living outside of this life, and judging that life to be the truly best life, to be dying and meditating on death at all hours?

CXII. Who forbade absolutely both the giving and receiving of an oath, for the reason that an account must be rendered on both sides? Who was ever so removed from all worldly glory that he would not even accept the gift of performing miracles from God, for the reason that those who see them are driven by a certain madness to praise the one who performs them? ^B Who held his anger and the impulses of anger entirely in his own power, while he accounted all reason to be for the best and God-pleasing desire, but none at all for that most wicked one? Furthermore, as for laughter and sorrow, who took from them only as much as was fitting, seeing that all things in these regions are, in part, worthy of tears—not unmeritedly—and in part of derision, as those celebrated ancient philosophers held; and who, [seeing] what was harmful in both affections, abstained from this so completely that he never proceeded to unbridled laughter, nor deemed it worth the effort to weep over human and fleeting things, which are nothing in reality, but was held in one perpetual mourning—namely, as a preparation for divine consolation? Who, again, so disciplined his senses as to prepare them to be disposed in a most decent manner and most beautiful habit, and to proceed according to nature, and to be such as the first man was required to use before the fall?

CXIII. To whom, furthermore, were all virtues a matter of care and study as if they were but one? Or rather, who was such an admirable cultivator of the virtues, both the individual ones and all of them together, that he surpassed those who had cultivated each one individually, for the reason that he himself had cultivated them all at once; and, on the other hand, surpassed those who had cultivated all of them, for the reason that he himself had reached the summit? Who was so capable and skilled, both in perceiving and in accomplishing what needed to be done, [and was] one above all others? Who was more ready in both speaking with his mouth and receiving with his ears what was useful, and at the time when it was most useful? Who better understood the times for speaking and being silent, and the art of sometimes accomplishing a matter most successfully by silence? Who ever believed that by having nothing, he possessed all things, and that poverty itself was a wonderful and extraordinary abundance, through which poverty it is most easy « to go through the narrow gate, » and to fly up to the heavens with swift wings, being burdened by no thing? Who at the same time was most excellent in all things and among all people, and yet, through the highest modesty of soul, held everyone to be more excellent than himself?

CXIV. Who has ever arrived at such a point as to love God more than he feared Him, inasmuch as he perfectly kept His laws? For where that exists, fear is indeed superfluous. And who had ^D « such great confidence toward God, that his heart never condemned him, » and had run even beyond the bounds of the commandments? For he alone, to speak in a word, has gone through [life] to the point of surpassing the common nature of men [in] all [good things].

^A For since this [friendship] is twofold and proceeds in both directions—both toward the heavenly hierarchies and toward those men who are beloved of God and powerful before Him—insofar as he fell short by reason of his body, he so much the more bypassed those who are [tethered] to matter and to this base and earthen burden, having demonstrated his own [powers] and lived according to his own [principles]. And while those others possessed only that [friendship] toward God, he of his own accord took such great care of both God and men—of the former, that He might be saved, and of the latter, that they might be [rescued from] being blasphemed by the most wicked—that he undertook a perpetual war, ^B "not only against flesh and blood, but against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world." In this way, he also surpassed the others, and with such great preparation [that] whatever belonged to all these men, both collectively and individually, as matters of the highest virtue and propriety, he alone, our man, gathered together in an excellent manner, and was justly and deservedly worthy to receive all the praise that arises therefrom; for while he surpassed the very authors of the human race themselves, he also adorned them. He surpassed them, because he not only guarded the divine law most diligently, but also inculcated it in others throughout the whole span of his life, both by word and by writing; and he made the paradise which they had closed accessible to those who wished to enter it. He adorned them, because he both repaired the defeat received from them and returned to them the rewards of education, which are more noble than generation itself; and he also surpassed all their descendants.

^C 115. For he who was endowed with such charity toward God and such confidence of hope that, for the sake of Him and the glory to be obtained before Him, he considered not only all things in this world as worth nothing—utterly despising them and regarding them as offscourings—but would also most gladly have wished to pour out his life for His sake a thousand times over, if it were possible; and as this was, on the one hand, a complete mortification of the sinful flesh, which he offered to Him as a kind of perpetual sacrifice, and, on the other, [gave him] bold confidence to say, "that it is not himself who lives, but Christ who lives in him"—how, I ask, would he not in this respect absolutely excel every Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and furthermore Enoch and Abel, even apart from the many other great and superior qualities that he possessed, which are beyond comparison? For he did not [offer] "his own son," nor "a sacrifice of fatlings," but offered himself altogether freely; and not just as if he were declaring a "specimen of charity"—he who, moreover, had long since been promised and devoted to God both by his parents and by himself—but with great intensity he had offered himself, and many others, and now also brings [before] God a living, "acceptable" sacrifice; for he imparts the communion of the Divinity to all, provided that together with the most beautiful works they also employ constant prayers.

^A CXVI. And now, when you speak of the lot of the blessed and the ^B «bosom of Abraham,» you assign to us by this very title the palm. For just as the blessed surpass those who receive them into their bosoms, just as money surpasses the purses and caskets which contain it (for they say that that for the sake of which a thing exists is more noble than that which exists for its sake), so too the trainers of the blessed, who hold a more eminent place among them by merit, have this claim with much more justice in respect to their bosoms, to which, as we have said, the other blessed ones are superior. And yet, who was ever a more diligent tutor and encourager toward virtue than Gregory, both in words and deeds, and by his own example? ^B Moreover, when I reflect upon the man’s perpetual translation and removal, and that while he was still living and a citizen of this world, he was nonetheless no more a participant in the world than the angels are in the things here, but was a companion of the heavenly realities and, as it were, a fellow-dweller with God even while wrapped in matter, I consider Enoch to be altogether inferior to him—I mean both in virtue and in that heavenly translation; and that, insofar as he preceded him in time, he is so much the later in the honor accompanying these things and in the holiness of life. ^C I would say the same, and yet more, regarding Noah and the flood that occurred in his time. For although the flood invaded and consumed all the lands under heaven, while to Noah, together with his children, in whatever sort of ark it was, as if a spark for a second life, the subsidiary seeds of the entire animate nature were entrusted; yet when you compare him with this great man, and with the inevitable incursion of heretics against us—which was the flood of that time—you will easily, as I say, grasp which is the greater. For if he «was a just man in his own generation,» our own, in whatever century, would not only deservedly hold this title in all respects, but would also hold all the most beautiful praises and titles together. ^D Moreover, over and above these things, what equivalent or similar thing has he? The earth covered with waters, and that indeed in its entirety; and the Divinity shaken and harmed, and brought into imminent danger, either of no longer existing through unequal divisions, or of existing in a wretched state—had not our man then encompassed it with his writings, as if with certain most valid fortifications, and as if he had strengthened and confirmed it within its most pious boundaries, and afterwards handed down this admirable struggle for God, as a certain sacred patrimony or deposit, to be used by posterity and diligently observed until the end of things? «With extremely weak strength,» as Euripides says, all the affairs of the Christians would have been carried.

CXVII. What, pray, is the ladder of Jacob ^D and the pillar, and the wrestling with God, and those magnificent visions, in comparison with this work? For since those were nothing else but figures of hidden things and certain arcane adumbrations, they would harm the cause of piety not at all if they had never happened. On the contrary, these things of ours—this accurate explanation of the sacred dogmas and the most religious philosophy, insofar as it is lawful to know about God, which makes all things altogether clear—

^A branding heresy, without which it is impossible for anyone who has truly chosen to live to live, it is evident that these things excel those [of the patriarchs] by as much as what benefits the community excels that which possesses nothing of the sort. And at the same time, he did not climb the ladder that Jacob saw; he himself reached the pinnacle of philosophy and provided all others with the confidence to ascend. For those who know what is necessary, and who have thereby acquired good hopes for the future, one would more justly congratulate Gregory than the grandsons of Isaac and Jacob, for whom he predicted the future.

^B CXVIII. Furthermore, even if he provides an incredible subject of glory for his son Joseph—both in that he appeared superior and stronger than the arrows shot by his mistress who was madly in love with him, and in that, through the interpretation of dreams, he was established as the nourisher and curator of all Egypt, and became a savior at the critical moment of events—nevertheless, the deeds of our subject far exceed every peak of praise, for he preserved the unblemished halo of virginity throughout the entire course of his life, as if he were someone who had either completely surpassed the body, or had acquired a body that was, so to speak, immaterial; and he progressed so far in true wisdom that he not only skilfully dissolved the intricate sophistries and coils of the heretics, and removed every stumbling block, if any such occurred anywhere, out of the way, both long ago and at this present time, but was also able to feed every single one of mortals, at every time, with spiritual nourishment in abundance.

CXIX. Furthermore, although I greatly admire that kinsman and relative of Jacob, Job the Ausite, for his patience, I have reason to admire this one of ours, for this same virtue, not a little more than him. For those things which Job lost entirely against his will—wealth, glory, and everything by which the minds of men are accustomed to be affected—these our subject, for the sake of Christ, never even wanted to possess. And whereas that man, since he was entirely unable to contradict the divine decrees, came at last to magnanimity out of necessity—thereby showing clearly that he would have valued it more if he had never fallen into those calamities—our subject, although he was one who could have, more than all others, overflowed with riches, excelled in power, and been considered blessed and famous in every way, nevertheless, he could not endure any of these things, not even in a dream, as the saying goes; but the "dough" of philosophy, and to pass unnoticed, and to possess nothing at all, were to him more precious than everything else.

^D CXX. To Moses the lawgiver, then, and to David, the son of Jesse, other virtues are truly attributed by the testimony of the Sacred Scriptures; and [most of all] that which is the most exceptional of all, and as it were the finishing touch: moderation and gentleness; and that they lived according to the heart of God, and were ready to pour out their own soul for the sake of their fellow countrymen. And [Gregory], in no way possessing this less than they—

^A in obtaining the mastery over these two greatest things: namely, in virginity and in not being overcome by glory, but rather in ruling over the passions and the irrational movements of the soul more than anything else, and in acting as general against the intellectual Pharaoh and his army—which I would call, in truth, the only nobility.

CXXI. Where, then, will you place his theology, which is so great and so greatly admired that even those celebrated tablets of his are nothing compared to it? For if the former, even if they are worthy of much value, were because they were graven divinely and in an ineffable manner, yet they were decrees of bodily precepts; but our theologian’s work was not only inspired from God, but it also, so to speak, establishes and confirms God Himself to all, and regarding what is fitting to think about God, it is a kind of universal legislation and an end, ^B namely, one wrought with the most exact care, such as to provide no handle for reproach to anyone in any respect, but to be safe on all sides and impenetrable, just as if it were a divine oracle or a sentence brought down from heaven, and having its power from that source.

CXXII. Furthermore, Gregory, because he was so humane, kind, and merciful toward all that he was called “the bowels of charity”; and because, although he could have lived in luxury, he did not wish to, but instead devoted himself to a continuous and boundless fast—in these respects he surpassed both precursors, both John the son of Zechariah and Elijah the Tishbite. Elijah, because by excessive zeal he was drawn to a lack of compassion; the Baptist, because by a lack of other suitable food he had been driven ^C to locusts and wild honey. But as for the statement that “no one greater has arisen,” that is irrelevant to this matter; for it did not exclude the future. Again, regarding how both of them exercised a certain heroic freedom of speech toward their leaders for the sake of what was lawful and just; whereas our own [Gregory] used the same toward the insolent calumniators of the Divinity itself for the sake of the Divinity; then, as to the fact that while they achieved nothing of what they had intended, our own in contrast set up the greatest and most glorious trophies—what could anyone say? Or is it not sufficiently clear on which side the victory lies, even if we were to say nothing?

CXXIII. Finally, concerning Peter and Paul and that son of thunder, I would say only this: that anyone who wishes to praise them will speak of how they truly attained such great measures of virtue and probity, and passed through all things beautiful. Nevertheless, I would consider that Gregory—that vast exemplar of human nature and the final offspring of the virtues—should be placed not only among them, but in truth even above them; ^D since he so fully and perfectly expressed the zeal of Peter, the most constant strength of Paul, and the sublime theology of John, along with other many gifts that were theirs, that in these matters he in no way falls short of them—and there are things in which he even surpassed them: Peter, in those things wherein he did not converse with marriage, but with virginity

^A Paul, in that he was most accurately instructed and initiated in true piety by his ancestors, and did not at the beginning finish his course among his persecutors and tormentors, but afterwards, being struck by a terrible apparition, approached Christ; and finally also John, son of Zebedee, in that he did not treat of theology in a brief and simple manner, but more abundantly and diligently, and in a way more adapted to forensic disputation and rightful contention: as also because he did not engage in the cause of God with heretics merely once or occasionally, but rather quite frequently, with readiness and dispatch. ^B I will not touch here on the unique manner of our birth, and the mutual promises on both sides, both of his mother to God on his behalf, and of God to his mother, of which those others had nothing at all. Now, just as he excelled the foremost and most powerful and closest friends of God by the titles we have mentioned, so too did he, as a most loving servant, imitate the Lord himself in another manner, and almost equal him. For when He did not withdraw from his divinity, and yet for our sake became like us, Gregory, on the contrary, burning with love for the Lord, strove to become God from being a man, and thus to enter into the sharing of the divine name together with Christ, just as He is a participant of our nature with us.

^C CXXIV. And so, since he excelled all others in all things by so great an interval, and surpassed them by the merits and heights of his virtues, it necessarily fell to him, as was right, to be praised by all; yet he was to be praised not in the manner of others, nor in such a way as to be circumscribed by the modes and boundaries of praise, but in such a way that he might transcend the praises themselves, and have need of none of their aid, for the reason that he had attained the sum of all excellence and had arrived at the very end and limit, so that—as I have already made bold to say—although all should do and say everything, nothing more would thereby accrue to his glory. For you alone, greatest of mortals, and that tongue of yours, which is abundantly relevant and sufficient for all things, could fulfill these tasks in a worthy manner.

^D CXXV. But since it is not in our power to recount all the virtues of this man, nor are we able to pursue as they deserve those things which are perhaps worthy of commemoration, of which to have attained even a small part is not—as I propose—to have completely failed, I count it as a task of the greatest reward; I say this, that he who had made such great progress, and had so prepared himself that, if the thing must be expressed in brief, he was the supreme craftsman not only of divine and human affairs, but had already almost become God, and lived his life after the manner of some incorporeal genius; and in that he has been and is the cause of salvation for all; but let a third time be added (which will be), through the writings he has left behind. Therefore, it was surely fitting—it was fitting, I say—that this one, this greatest of men, this—though I know not what word to apply—should have been born and lived in this light and life before all other mortals, and not after

^A Yet this did not come to pass; for this is not the law of men. It was necessary, however, according to the great concern and providence of God for us, not only that he should have been a common good bestowed upon men, but also that he should experience the end that applies to them themselves. “For there is no one who shall live and not see death.” [Ps. LXXXIX, 49] Both of these things came to be; both his being among us and his being no more occur according to the laws of nature. But this happens not simply, nor as one might say by some chance, and as the custom is for others, but in such a way—with both signs so favorable and auspicious—that the one happened when it was most necessary, and the other as was most fitting. For when the affairs of the Church had need of a man who could utterly dissipate and overturn the heresies then pressing upon her, and reduce them to nothing, while at the same time confirming and strengthening the company of the pious, and making it entirely unshakable for the future; at that moment this man was given to life from God, as a kind of common steward of salvation, presiding over all for their blessedness. And as I know not if any man who has ever been admired has done—so did he cover men with the abundance of his virtue, and fill the whole earth with the praise of himself. [Habacuc III, 3] Since it was right that he too should yield to nature and show himself to be a man, and—lest by the supernatural quality of his rule and his success in all the best things at once, he be thought some divine essence that had appeared in the visible form of a body to adorn the things of this world—he lays down his life at the deepest and “very fat old age.” [Ps. XCII, 15] ^C CXXVI. He indeed willingly left behind the things that are here, and all that belongs to those living here; for since he was seen to strive entirely to depart from them, after he had emerged from them, he placed this among the greatest goods. Then he laid hold of those celestial things, and those appropriate to him, of which he had been a citizen before he had arrived there, and in which, while covered by a body, he had already had his chief delight. And what was greatest—whether with respect to pleasure, or intimate grace before God, or the manifold labors he had exhausted, or his most holy philosophy in life—his desiring long ago, as one might say, to “depart and be with Christ,” [Philipp. I, 23] he attains this with a distinguished and most ample reward, having received the announcement of his departure from God. ^D Truly, so that just as his birth was, so also his passing might be a participant in divine inspiration, he who was through all things familiar to God, and for whom it was a concern that he should receive the greatest prefigurations of future illuminations. Our man, therefore—to repeat the matter again—was not absent from God while he still lived among us, being surely no more so than he was from himself, but possessed a fixed and stable dwelling with Him; nor does he now, while drinking directly of the radiance from there, abandon us. But from above, as though present, he watches over and tends to our affairs; and he reaches out a saving hand: now delivering us from the things that befall us...

and removing from the midst every opposing thing; now sending down good things upon good things, and adding to the benefits already provided others yet greater and more beautiful. ^A Furthermore, in his most elegant and sweet writings, which are beyond all emulation, he not only exhorts and impels us toward every form of virtue, but also, by showing how these things may be easily obtained, he makes us better than ourselves in our daily relationship with God, drawing us away from matter toward the spirit, and preparing us to have certain wondrous hopes. In sum, there is nothing in which he does not do us good, both by his words and his deeds. And just as the sun would never depart from its accustomed course, and from traversing and illuminating the entire earth beneath the heavens, so neither does Gregory depart from his original affection and favor toward us, and from this so benevolent, as one might call it, bestowal of aid.

[PKZ'] CXXVII. But it is now time for us at last, having addressed him as briefly and as much as we are able, to bring this oration to a close. Hail, you who are worthy to be greeted above all others, as you are most dear to God above all. Hail, you who for this reason endured every labor in the past, and who even then truly rejoiced in the hopes that that joy would be yours forevermore. Hail, you who, because you are in every way the best of all, have all men congratulating you; and because you have all men congratulating you, in this you are the best of all. Furthermore, just as it is permitted to you yourself to rejoice exceedingly, you who were the defender and champion of the holy Trinity, so in turn the holy Trinity congratulates you; and so too do all the orders of angels who appear to Her. ^C The Trinity [congratulates you], because you bade us farewell once and for all to all the sophistries of the heretics—those who wickedly divide Her—as being nothing sound, and gave us all cause to rejoice by teaching what is correct concerning Her to be said and thought. The angels [congratulate you] both for these things and, much more, because, while once living in the body you performed their activities, now you sing the divine majesty among and together with them, and you intimately and most closely enjoy the very Trinity whom you once breathed. Furthermore, in the entire circle of the saints, your merits are so highly esteemed and held in such great regard that they not only gladly yield and concede the place of honor to you, but are also bound to bring you the highest praises and thanks for having adorned them. ^D For what they are all together, this you happen to be alone, since you possess all the virtues of all in their perfect form, and to sum it up in a word, you are a universal saint, wondrously illuminated by the universal gifts of the Holy Spirit.

CXXVIII. “O prophet, and man who looks to the future,” by the purity of your mind, many...

^A inspirations of the divine Spirit you obtained, “whose sound has gone out into all the earth,” [Ps. xix, 5] in the apostolic manner, and whom the constant “care of the Churches” [II Cor. xi, 28] urged, no less than it once did Paul; or rather, we might even say, more justly. For when he was burdened by the cares and anxieties of newly established Churches, whose recent formation he feared not without reason; you, truly, by your very piety, in the midst of the slanderous garrulity of heretics, standing as on the razor’s edge and in danger of falling into impiety, fought for all with all your might, and offered an unconquerable hand. O you who frequently desired to shed your blood for Christ, had He not Himself definitively restrained you, so that the world would not lose such a man, and who became an athlete without bloodshed, being in your choice a candidate for that number and name ^B to the highest degree.

CXXIX. O you who have exhibited the supreme outline of the pastoral office, and yourself, and the things you composed regarding it! O you who, from the very beginning of your life, so loved and desired, and above all others perfected, a solitary and quiet way of life, in no way flexible toward matter but perpetually intent upon God, just as if you were someone existing outside of flesh and the world, living by the soul alone! O you who cultivated virtue with such great effort that, even as a youth, you did not lag behind those of advanced age who had labored greatly in the exercises of virtue, but rather surpassed them by a long interval; nor, when you were already in the same rank, did you remit anything of that incredible rigor and immense contention, but ^C labored with even more youthful ardor than anyone in the bloom of their age! O you who therefore abstained from sin as virtue itself abstains! O you who among all the most praiseworthy men alone appeared as the crowning finish! O you who, of all living on earth, most celebrated the praises of God, and were in turn affected with greater honor by God, both because you enjoyed His grace here more than others and possessed it in such a way as to be greatly commended from all sides, and because you alone have uniquely increased that heavenly inheritance and have been adorned with a singular honor before God.

CXXX. O you who were believed to have surpassed the human lot, or rather, O you who both surpassed and adorned man! For you lived the life of angels, and you surpassed them in this, that you praised God more than they did, formerly on earth and now most of all together with them in heaven! ^D O you who considered no reason for any pleasure at all, except that which leads to virtue and familiarity with God! O temple of the Trinity, and storehouse of theology, and most exact norm of holy dogmas! O most eloquent artisan of every kind of speech, and most keen athlete and defender of them above all others! O sacred vessel of graces, and most sweet harmony of character, at once most admirable and inimitable!

^A O you who did not possess even the habit of any vice, even in the most free arbitration of thoughts, but who both possessed all best things yourself, and magnanimously provided them for others! O you who in every respect that anyone could name, of the best things, did so shine forth, that this very thing received from you more ornament than it had before, and became more desirable for all to use!

^B CXXXI. "O flaming tongue, and mouth dropping honey," and lyre of the Holy Spirit, charming everyone, as we might say, with a harmony through all graces, and simultaneously having the capacity to save, and making souls inspired by the divine Spirit, and reveling in things ineffable! O you who are both each of these things with superabundance, and all of them together! O you who are victor both over all others and, moreover, over yourself: the former in that you surpass all, the latter in that in each of your actions you seem to surpass yourself! O you who alone were deemed worthy of all the gifts of the Spirit, inasmuch as you alone also most of all examined the things of the Spirit, and with this, most greatly assisted him and adorned him! O what title could one use to address you and find it appropriate, and one for which you are worthy! For if one must address any of all men as the "soul of the world," and as the "sum of virtue and living book of divine precepts," and as the "series of all beauty," and as the "image and limit of human nature," and in sum, as the "greatest and most publicly beneficial generosity of God's graces towards us," and whatever else of such praises there may be, you alone seem to me, by right and merit, to be graced with these.

^C CXXXII. But you, O best of all men in all things, and genuine priest and preacher of the transcendent and singular Trinity, these things which could be brought by me to adorn your name are such and of this kind, or rather they are your own, bestowed upon us by yourself. For when not only by your instinct and admonition, and by your helping grace, I set out with the greatest alacrity of mind upon this task—from which, beforehand, I had utterly shrunk back, being struck with terror by the magnitude of the matter—but also, after the undertaking, when I had come into such a fortune that, brought by the greatest force of disease almost to the very conclusion of life, fate itself was standing, as it were, before my eyes: you were here at once a paean-like and saving remedy, nor did you disdain to help one beseeching you. Therefore, you provide us the cause to affirm that these things which now, as it seems, you receive from me, you are truly receiving from yourself; and that you are gathering the fruits of these benefits which you have conferred upon us—having been yourself both the editor of the discourse, and the champion, and the craftsman. So, it is from yourself that you have received these things.

^D CXXXIII. Furthermore, since there are two things of the greatest importance and most pertinent to us, as encompassing all other things in themselves—I mean piety and the empire—may you not cease [to protect] the former, unshaken...

^A for all time, and superior to any heresy whatsoever—over which, even while you survived, you presided many times, or rather, preside completely, though you were pelted with stones and ran the race, most of all, regarding the soul—and even now you defend it, no less, armored with that admirable and most instructive panoply of your writings. And may you [also] hold and strengthen the scepters of the lawful and God-beloved empire, and let nothing calamitous pass through against it, but may you provide all best things for it, ^B so that all the Romans and the Roman principate may become masters of the earth everywhere; and may all enemies, some having cast aside their arms, join with them and be counted among their friends, and strike a bargain on fair terms, while others be forced, even against their will, to pay tribute to the Romans and serve the customary servitude; so that the whole inhabited world may become, from that point, one might say, a world of peace, a fullness of probity and integrity, and a region of one and the same mind. Furthermore, if you do not desire the same for each of the cities, I know well that you will take overall care for them as their common champion and protector of safety, promoting concord and everything that is profitable to them and most conducive to the soul. ^C CXXXIV. But as for me, who breathe you and your praises above all others, and who, after the immortal God, fasten the cables of my salvation to you alone, having been granted both the forgiveness for the things in which I have erred, and all things which were opportune in this course of life, and having not been frustrated in the many and great hopes which I had placed in you, may you truly thereafter make me a partaker of heavenly things in Christ Jesus our Lord; to whom is fitting all glory, honor, and adoration, together with his beginningless Father and the all-holy, good, and life-giving Spirit; now and always, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

THEODULUS THE MONK, OTHERWISE THOMAS MAGISTER, APOLOGETIC ORATION FOR CHANDRENOS

It is not that some slander Chandrenos that one would marvel, O Emperor, but that, while you are reigning, there are those who dare such things. For he, even if he is undeservedly afflicted by hardships, yet he cannot be shown by example not to have others who have suffered the same things around him; but, if you allow me to say it, he is much troubled that they did not say more against him, so that he might appear as a man more brilliant and greater before you, the judge; for thus he is strengthened. But you, with whom the truth is powerful, and whom we all know to detest evil men more than anyone else who has a regard for decorum and equity, would not be acting reasonably if you were to overlook these things, which were most of all to be suspected and which one should in truth consider as public plagues. ^B For surely one ought not to concentrate every concern on routing external enemies, and on measuring out camps, and preparing arms, and gathering forces, while leaving unpunished those who in the midst of the city commit acts worse than these, inciting the citizens against one another; nor should one consider it no misfortune to possess such people, but rather one ought to hate this only the more, in that it is easier for one to guard against external enemies than internal ones.

It was fitting, therefore, O Emperor, that this Chandrenos be honored, and that all might be seen praising him together, and at the same time speaking to you about him, as a man worthy of great estimation for the soundness of his mind and his mastery in wars, qualities of which you yourself are aware more than anyone; for this would not only have meant that he received what was just, but would also have encouraged others to the same things. ^C Since, however, there have arisen men who — as Turks preferred to Greeks. See Boivin, ad Nicephorum Gregoram, p. 229.

^A take care of public affairs, and on that account condemn a man whom, for the dangers he has undergone for our sake, as you yourself know, one ought rather to congratulate. I implore you, Emperor, do not let him be torn apart by their speeches, and do not permit the disgraces you once knew in him, or the reproaches of his calumniators, to carry more weight than his merits. But rather, having accepted accounts concerning him from you, if he is found to have sinned, then punish him with the most exquisite torments. But if he emerges immune from all guilt, as I suppose, then turn your anger upon those who have falsely accused him. For what it would be right for him to suffer if he were found to have transgressed, those very same things ought to befall them once it is proven that they have transgressed; primarily so that they do not attempt such things again, and secondly, because it is most dangerous to allow men who are perverse by nature to have their way, knowing that they will suffer nothing harsh even if they are convicted of lying a thousand times over.

Perhaps, indeed, I shall seem to some to be acting absurdly if, being related to the exile by family, I yet make a plea on his behalf; for they will think that I have not risen out of justice, nor to defend the things that are proper, but out of a natural instinct, having nothing fair to say, but relying greatly on the craftiness and hidden arts of speech. ^B I, to be sure, confess that I differ entirely on this: so far am I from fearing this that, on his account, I have undertaken a long voyage and borne the hardships of the sea, not only paying this tribute to my family in a time of need, but fearing much more that I might seem savage and impious toward my own kin if, in matters that rouse even strangers, I alone should remain quiet. If, setting these things aside, it were possible to be divided, and to show my goodwill separately, and then afterwards to assist him in this contest, these would be the things to do, and there would be no pretexts for those who desire to blame me. But if that cannot be, how should I not, to the best of my ability, defend my kinsmen when they are in danger, contrary to all justice? Certainly, there is no one so ignorant of calamity and inexperienced in bad fortune as not to know that everyone’s adversities call for well-wishing minds, and that we judge good men by this.

^C And indeed, if I were addressing anyone else, I might think that he, following my words but acting unjustly, would render a verdict; but since we all know that you, in speaking, surpass the Homeric orators, why was it necessary to say these things, rather than to contend with all my might? ^D Grant me, however, O Emperor, to use a few words, so that you may sufficiently see that Chandrenus has long been numbered among the good, and that there is nothing which does not contribute to his praise. But if you inquire about his lineage, many things

will appear, for he has often been seen as a kind of bulwark for Asia; and if you examine him, you will find him not only sprung from illustrious ancestors, but also that he far surpassed the examples of virtue set before him by them. And he did not, as one far inferior to them, render them—adorned as they were with their own honors—a source of disgrace and shame, but rather far advanced [the work of] imitation; nor, again, did he rest satisfied with the virtues of his lineage alone, as someone of ignoble nature might, thinking it sufficient that his father was an Olympic victor to account for his own virtue. Rather, deeming his paternal virtue a foundation for the greatest glory and a preparation for greater things, he at once surpassed them and provided grounds for taking the greatest pride in himself.

^B What is readily apparent is this: for when he was in Asia (whence, as I said, he derived his lineage), and was already from his youth in command sometimes of armies and sometimes of cities, whatever judgment and wisdom existed in the elders, and whatever skill in warfare and battles and strength of hand [existed] in all those gathered around him, not only among his own but even among all his adversaries, he surpassed it. By the observance of the laws he exalted those under his rule and placed them among the fortunate, and like a thunderbolt he fell upon and terrified his enemies; always victorious, never, not even once, defeated, nor ever returning having failed in his undertaking; sometimes instilling indomitable courage in his own men, and casting terror into the enemies. ^C Often alone against many, or arrayed with a few against a multitude superior in number, he would carry off the most beautiful and greatest victories, marvelous both when he destroyed the enemies who stood in his path, and marvelous when he kept in check by fear the very few who had fled. Hence they dared not only not to come to blows, but not even to leave their houses at all; but the very things they had previously done to others, having now experienced and suffered these same things at his hands beyond their expectation, they henceforth judged it necessary to remain quiet, as if—so I think—they repented of having sought to rule themselves. Thus all refrained from fighting him, not only those who were subject to him, but even his very enemies, and these Persians (for this is no small point to add), whom we all know to live in arms and to find it a pleasure that they always remain in arms, ^D so that they consider it of greater account—however incredible it may be to say—to be conquered by him than to conquer others themselves, considering it more glorious to have illustrious victors than to be adorned by the slaughter of weaker men.

Verum, just as he was no inferior to others in warfare, so also in the pursuits of peace: he showed these to be not only equal to his warlike deeds but even far superior, as if he were vying with himself. And I pass over in silence his other qualities, and his being humane to strangers, and gentle and be

^A benign to his own, and taking delight in liberally providing for those in need, and setting himself everywhere to what is just, and not priding himself on the virtues he possesses, but desiring—rather, with kindness and magnanimity—to give more than anyone else, Epaminondas-like; for these things, even if I do not speak, all will proclaim.

Such did he show himself in Asia, but in Europe what manner of man was he? First, against the Persians and Italians who had raged cruelly in Thrace, and who, because of the league they had formed with one another, were filled with no little boldness, such that they threatened the ultimate calamities, a grave war was undertaken by the Romans, and they decided to fight, knowing that if they did not engage as quickly as possible and extricate themselves, they would have to contend against far greater numbers and subsequently undergo even more severe trials. But when, after both armies had clashed in a fierce struggle at Aegos Potamos and a wondrous combat had taken place, the barbarians had the upper hand—not because they were better at fighting (for who could say that?), but because all of the barbarians serving under us had suddenly deserted to them (oh, that cruel disaster!)—not a few of our men fell, and to whatever quarter the fugitives had turned, he alone ^B among many who had been defeated remained undefeated; or rather, he was so far from turning back that, not only by laying low as many of the enemy as one could not even count, but also by inflicting wounds upon them, his valor rendered their victory as it were doubtful, showing that even if things turned out unluckily for the Romans, yet their own honor remained, and that nothing could ever take it away or remove it.

And this was indeed so. But since they had to cross into Macedonia, they crossed and ^C pitched camp at Pallene; and setting out from there they plundered everything, just as the Lacedaemonians did to Attica from Decelea. They found there, too, that strenuous adversary of theirs. But I shall not yet speak of that, but rather of this: that when they had arrived there, our forces were led by your nephew (7), and as for the rest, what a man he was! Of the commanders who led the ancient Romans, I will add, and also of those who have existed anywhere at all, he was surely by far the most excellent—not only in deliberating upon affairs and in swiftly completing tasks, or in seeing the future better than a prophet by his judgment, as if it were present, and in disposing of the most opportune matters that seem to others most difficult with the greatest of ease, but also because from his youth he had waged many and most great wars, and those that were for all men arduous, he had waged successfully and as no one would have imagined (for he was more skilled than all others at arraying horses and shield-bearing men; Homer, Iliad ^D B, 554). This, truly, is the thing that most

Of Theodulus

^A This shows it is connected to the lineage: these, therefore, are yours, and they pertain to your affair.

He, before Chandrenus had arrived, was in charge of certain commanders ^B of the troops, yet these were not very suitable and were entirely unworthy of being his subordinates. Certainly, so far were they from resisting the enemies, that for them—if one may put it this way—because they were drained for battle, they themselves were managing everything, deeming it sufficient if they were safe (for that was what they received from their general), similar to dogs that were sluggish for battle. But when Chandrenus had come to put them in proper order, O Emperor—and as if Hercules had attached Iolaus to himself—suddenly all these things were turned to the contrary; and fear seized those arrogant and proud men, and it shut them up in Pallene once again. And it was no longer possible for them to move everywhere with a broad army to destroy whatever they encountered; but they knew they were inferior, and unable to face the Romans. As to how many of the enemies he destroyed as soon as he appeared, and the multitude of captives he took, and the spoils and arms and plunder, and the horses and cattle and sheep, and everything that was in that region, who could recount them? Our soldiers were, therefore, at that time a Midas, so to speak.

But the barbarians—angered, as is natural, because they could not encamp where they had done before, since they were accustomed to matters of war and considered abstaining from battles to be a calamity—crossed over into another region; for they used brigandage, and made ambushes from the unseen, and there was no small talk among them regarding the cattle and ^C the soldiers who were following them, because of the scarcity of food. But after they had once been successful in these things, and subsequently were afflicted with no small number of calamities, with all things despaired of, as I suppose, and having nothing left for consolation—with all resources forsaken, and their affairs poised, as it were, upon the edge of a razor—they decided to go straight into Thessaly, so that they might get at a supply of provisions and, at the same time, as I think, make haste to escape from the hands of Chandrenus.

But they were not able to save themselves any more by occupying foreign land, even if they had hoped for this greatly; nor were the Thessalians able to defend themselves with arms and confront such a great multitude. Indeed, there was no need of any other for these things; but Chandrenus, arriving, engaged them while they were poorly ordered and trembling, because you took pity on their fortune after you saw the envoys, and through his unexpected arrival he took away from the barbarians the hope they had in waging war, as if by some necessity and forced fate that they should have no other adversary ^D at that time but Chandrenus. So many, then, and so clear were the trophies he set up against them there, at one time rushing into the dense mass of the enemy, at another time attacking a few with many, and many with a few, so that the Thessalians celebrate those deeds and still celebrate him—or rather Chandrenus—who had attached himself to them as a fellow-warrior.

^A And here, the Thessalians, and indeed almost all men, sing of these things; and the memory of them stands, like a brilliant column, in the souls of each one, simultaneously adorning the one who achieved them and exhorting others to courage. And what need is there to relate more? For had they not quickly desired peace, they would all have fallen there, evil men miserably destroyed. But as it was, having made an armistice with the Thessalians, and because Chandrenus—returning to us after so many and such great labors, like some Hercules—had removed them from danger (the battle in which they had been faring badly having ceased), they carried off that most beautiful and marvelous victory against the neighboring Italians, who were advancing against them with arrogant preparation, and were threatening to crush not only them but all Thessalia and Macedonia; yet they themselves were so utterly crushed that, as the saying goes, not even a fire-bearer remained.

Therefore, when these men were achieving success, Chandrenus was surely the one achieving it. For if it was not possible for them to be successful without having attained security, and they would not have shared in this had they not been delivered from the matters at hand, and they were delivered when Chandrenus appeared; then Chandrenus would truly be the author of the victory, he who also provided the cause. ^B And when they were routed and had paid these penalties for their rashness—which they had perversely intended to inflict upon others, but which they themselves had now rightfully experienced at the hands of others—it was fitting that the victors should become masters not only of weapons and horses, but also of the cities and regions and everything that belonged to them, and then distribute these among themselves. And indeed, they distributed them in this manner: those who had come from Sicily, having captured the cities, decided to reside there, establishing themselves where the children and wives of the dead had been; but the Persians had the horses and weapons and all the equipment of war. So be it.

^C But when the prince of the Triballians had violated his treaties with the Romans, and on account of this had attempted to remain near the Persians—which our people by no means permitted (for he attempted to attack us)—there was need of weapons and hands. Joining together on both sides, they fought in their mountains. But when the war was vehemently inflamed, and the barbarians were using the ruggedness of the region and their own habits—which were indeed the greatest aids for them against us—and were thinking of nothing peaceful, while we had already been reduced to nothing and were standing in straits, Chandrenus turned these things about, now through ^D military stratagems, now through the courage and daring of his hands, and by being alone, high and...

stratagems, and this was matched by a bravery and courage of hands, and by his alone running up and down, encouraging everyone, and alone inspiring all with both deeds and words; he attained such a degree of virtue and good fortune that he took away from them not only the hopes of victory, but the very hope of life itself, having lost none of his own men, while having slaughtered most of his enemies, and having sent the rest away wounded and in flight. ^A

Since it was fitting that he be crowned for all these things and enjoy rewards, and that he himself, and many others through him, should be well cared for, he is instead despoiled of his own goods as if he had committed the ultimate crimes. And if he had been guilty of treason, I do not know what greater penalty he could have suffered. But after he had, for us and for our affairs, engaged in the most glorious battles on every available occasion, and had all but offered up his own life, then he is deemed wicked—he who kept the soldiers under him free from the corruption of others and of the enemy, and persuaded them that it was better to choose death for the sake of the common safety than the life of an Arganthonian. And all those against whom he fought time and again consider him a good man and admire him, and congratulate those who have him, and pray that such a man might be theirs; but we, if we respect nothing else, nor the many and most noble toils he endured for us, nor his bravery, which is admirable in every respect, should we not at least—as is right—reverence the testimony of his enemies, and consider that testimony more reliable than that of his calumniators; or shall we accuse of wickedness the very man whom, if we did not loudly praise, each one of us would accuse of wickedness? ^B

You, for your part, would not permit your own self to fight and struggle against yourself, nor to do ill what you most of all wish to do well; but if what these men say is taken by you as certain, and the voices of the calumniators prevail, how will you not be doing this very thing yourself, and fighting almost for the enemies, by performing yourself those things which they would pray for themselves? For who henceforth will fight eagerly for you, or expose himself to dangers, or disregard life, and consider all other things secondary to yours, when he sees the best of generals, after many and great battles and trophies and slaughtered barbarians, being miserably harassed by certain wicked men, those common pests of the state, unless you take up the armor of fortitude? ^{C D}

If everyone has sinned, then you have done well to find a way to punish us; but if you have no reason to reproach the city of the Philippians, or rather your own, and you have long known its goodwill and devotion toward you, and that it has readily borne everything for the sake of your alliance, why, by removing its only true shield, do you unjustly open the gate to the enemies and to those who desire to snatch away what is yours? For, if you are angry only with Chandrenos, you will not satisfy your wrath alone

^A For if the object of your anger were Chandrenos alone, he alone would suffer the consequences; but the arrows launched against him surely strike us all as well. In the same way that, when Hector had fallen, Ilium fell along with him—since he was an unshakable pillar for it, as Pindar says (20)—so too, should this man unfortunately suffer, it is inevitable that we also would be corrupted by the incessant incursions of the barbarians.

Setting these things aside, who does not see in many ways that Chandrenos is not guilty? This is especially clear from the fact that his accusers can bring forward nothing solid, nor do they wish to openly find fault. Moreover, who would be so bold and so openly contradictory—if they were not, as I believe, shouting loudly—as to deny that he has been and will be the cause of many great benefits to us? ^B But let it be so: let it be granted that he has trespassed where he should not have, that he has acted with boldness, and that he has not deliberated as you wished. Shall we, therefore, talk of these things which it appears he did only once and at a certain time, or of the steadfast courage of his entire life, of his labors full of virtue, and of the fact that he has both Greeks and barbarians as witnesses to his deeds? Shall we consider him useful to everyone because of these things, or worthless if he happened to stumble? And shall we count that which was done once as solid, while considering as nothing the deeds performed over such a long period of time? Shall we not cast our votes based on his former acts, which everyone knew him for, but rather on his later ones, which no one at all knew of, except for those most wicked men who persecute him from the shadows? No one who knows how to use reason would say this. ^C I, therefore, even if I knew that he had truly sinned and succumbed to malice in some way, would not on that account cease to admire whatever good is in the man, nor would I forget his merits. For we do not say that the sun is disgusting because certain clouds occasionally obscure it; rather, we judge it by its nature and grant it the first place among the stars. But if, among men, according to Euripides (21):

The wicked man is nothing other than bad, But the good man is good, and does not through misfortune Corrupt his nature, but is always good;

then Chandrenos, being good from the beginning, cannot have corrupted his nature, but is always good, and no longer wicked. Just as, on the contrary, if he happened to be wicked, he would not have turned out good, since he says, “the wicked man is nothing other than bad.” ^D Thus, if he is wicked, he is not good; but if he has truly obtained the best part, he ought not to have incurred the base one. How, then, can the same man appear to us as both wicked and good, and why do we praise him at one moment and revile him at the next, and why are we not ashamed to contradict ourselves, behaving in our speech like the Abderites or Maronites (23)?

^A Consider these things also, O Emperor. If indeed this man had long been given over to wickedness and were a man of the most wretched sort, he would not only be accused of what he is now, but would have committed many other things besides these long ago. But if he has been at all times upright and gentle, and has had as much regard for what is honorable and just as any man, and consequently no one has ever prosecuted him for brazenness, why do we hold against him things that are unbecoming, and things that are far more true of others than of him, and why are we not ashamed to make the sun a witness to our extreme ingratitude, just as if someone were to judge Cephalus and Aristophon to have led a wicked life, ^B men who cared so much for uprightness that they not only vied with one another in virtue, but were themselves an example of honorable character to all others?

It is not, therefore, merely the fact of being slandered that seems most bitter to Chandrenus, who has suffered nothing of the sort throughout his entire life, but that which is far more bitter than this: that while he is conscious of having done all things for the better, and having no evil within him, and expects many crowns for his good deeds, and has, as one might say, all men as his admirers—that he should then not only have such a thing happen to him, but even be accused of things that are altogether contrary to nature and to his own character. ^C For how is it not absurd and monstrous if, having attained such a degree of gentleness and justice, and—so to speak—of everything most beautiful, so that he is known and particularly celebrated for these things, and he abhors not only the doing but even the very name of the opposite, he should yet, I know not how, incur the charge of audacity, and this especially at such an age, when, if any remnant of vice from youth remained, it ought to have ceased?

Necessity demands one of two things: either, if audacity is not a trait of the base, then the best of men is brazen among them; or, if it is a trait of the base, then this charge should be leveled at someone else and not him, since he has always been, by nature and conduct, completely different from them. ^D If you wish it so: if audacity is a good thing and Chandrenus has made use of it, he has emerged worthy not of accusation, but of praise. But if it is something most shameful and akin to madness, while all men, as to a good and honorable man, wish and pray for all things best for him, I do not see how some could become more clearly revealed as slanderers—convicting themselves that they are not speaking the truth, saying things that should not be said, and, what one might most desire on his behalf and against them, showing him to be all the more wonderful through their accusations than if they were to heap many praises upon him. For, in the first place, when they speak against him things that should not be said, everyone rises up to speak for him what should be said, and the swarm of praises sweeps away the babblings of those two or three men, and there is no one who does not become a fluent orator on his behalf and against them. Furthermore, if anyone were not to accuse men of a perverted life so that they might cease from doing evil, I have not yet discovered it.

^A It follows consequently and by absolute necessity, on the other hand, that if they have said anything false, they must speak with truth. Therefore, the things they reproach him for affirm that he is excellent; and since they have no faith in what they reproach him for, but are carried away entirely by indifference, these things show him to be not only innocent, but even more illustrious than before, while they themselves fall into culpability and receive from the very objects of their false accusations penalties not worthy of reproach, because they are deservedly convicted of wickedness.

If, therefore, he has turned out not only to be entirely blameless but clearly excellent, and has himself refuted all his perverse and wicked calumniators, how is it not necessary that he be honored and gifted, and participate in public affairs with even greater splendor than before—both by reason of his character and his good reputation—while those men are regarded with hatred and pay the penalty for their insolence? Or rather, if they pay a just penalty (and they do, I know for certain, as often happens), they themselves will become better thereafter, and I believe no one at all will undertake the same things, knowing what he will suffer. For if those who previously committed these offenses had been punished, these men would not have done these things; or, with these men now castigated, another will not do so, since people are generally accustomed to use preceding examples, whether good or bad.

^C Consider, O Emperor, how many good things you will be the author of for us at present if you do this; for you will appear to value virtue most highly, both by removing current calumnies and preventing future ones. When these are removed from the midst, a series of other evils will simultaneously be taken away, and, on the contrary, everything excellent will be introduced, if indeed, once calumny is expelled, according to the wise saying, support is afforded to every virtue. If, with you reigning, the cities were blessed with this happiness, and everyone became virtuous, this would for you be greater than anything that could be said; and the empire of the entire world, so to speak, would not be as great a thing, because all the gold that is under the earth or above the earth is not to be compared to virtue.

These things, therefore, with God granting and you willing, O Emperor, you may provide most quickly. But these men (for what more is there to say about them than that they are evil?), had they feared the laws, would not have done this action contrary to the laws. But now, when they have been caught calumniating by inventing lies as truths, and speaking ill of one whom according to the laws they ought rather to have spoken well of—since the law is above all to reverence the good—they have shown in this way that they have no regard for the laws at all. Or rather, as if the laws were not in force, or were in force uselessly in books, and as if judges were not judging rightly, and wickedness were not being corrected—and, most importantly, as if you, O Emperor, were not always desiring the best things for all and fortifying the empire with your resources so that everything is entirely

to expel wickedness, these men dared these things most preciously….

THEODULUS THE MONK, OR OTHERWISE THOMAS MAGISTER, ORATION OF GRATULATION TO THE GREAT STRATOPEDARCH ANGELOS

^A 1. The things we heard of you before were not, then, empty words, but reality itself; for fame, laboring like a light brush, sought to depict for us those things of which we would shortly have experience. And it was that you cause the Achelous’ Sirens—and, even more, things to those who encounter them—to be envisioned, not only by charming them to astonishment with the music of your own speech, and making them unable to be torn away, but also by sending them away much sweeter in very truth. For our part, even then it occurred to us to believe, and the fact that we had not yet made the trial did not hinder us. For the fact that all were praising you, and that not one person could be found to gainsay you—which would lead one to reconsider—but that even those who knew how to be envious appeared moderate in their opinions here, this was what persuaded me to ^B wonder greatly. And so, while we were already congratulating those who were being embellished by you, for the fact that we were not among them, how could one say how we were pained? We were ashamed that we did not have your gifts along with others, and yet we prayed that we might be deemed worthy of them as quickly as possible. But now, having attained the things prayed for in those petitions, having been placed under your command, and having made trial of you in both councils and actions, we have marveled at you much more than before, and we have heard, as if in reminiscence, of those ancient orators and generals who, because they had surpassed all those of their own time—

not merely in deeds, but also in the power of their tongues—were said to flash and thunder, ^A both being good orators and valiant warriors, of whom you are not in the least bit behind, but truly a man of the same mark and class. And by acting as you do when acting, and speaking as you do when speaking, you wondrously strike everyone with amazement and convert them to admiration of you. Hence, there is no one who does not spread pleasant reports of you, sweeter than roses; and while the orator himself is ready to declare these things in words, he finds his other hearers readier still, with the joy conceived of you meanwhile rising, through both these things, to the highest degree.

II. For one man magnificently extols your humanity, temperance, and the fact that you cannot be overcome by any disgraceful base deed. Another adds that native and domestic greatness of soul in all things, and that which is at once so composed and generous. Nor does the same person deem the festive joyfulness of your soul, and your manner—most seasoned with elegance for encounters and conversations with men—unworthy of his commemoration. Again, another recounts the sharpness of your intellect; another, the power of your tongue combined with grace, the gravity of your character, and the agreeable affability of your countenance, and the charms of your form, ^B and, which is the head of all, your deep and dense mind: from which, in the words of Aeschylus, your noble counsels sprout, with which you truly bring your actions to pass in such a way that it is not fitting for these deeds to be perfected by the counsels of any others, nor for what has been decreed by your thought out counsel to be concluded by the works of any others than these of yours. But you also perform everything with such speed, that I know not if any of the heroes of old ever did so. And yet, which is not a little greater than the other, in that speed you employ such provident circumspection and faithfulness, as if you were one who had spent much time in pondering. For you do not learn the outcomes of works after they have happened, but even before they are begun, you have the result more certainly and more truly than any Themistocles, and having it discovered in the secret senses of your soul, you both set upon the matter when it is fitting, and again, when this is required, you rest. To such a degree do you use both most opportunely. Furthermore, we hear it everywhere proclaimed with great emphasis how assiduous a cultivator of justice you are, and indeed far more distinguished and admirable than that ancient Guneus. For you make the wicked and unjust more modest by the very fear of punishment, and, by them looking toward your example, ^D you lead them to desist from crime; again,

^A you dismiss the claim to that honor and lineage with a willing mind.

III. Since you are such, and appear to be such, those who have had the opportunity to see you rave with an insane love for you; those who have not yet seen you strive with all their might to achieve that as soon as possible. But if there be any who have seen you and yet do not love you—if there be any who are so wretched and lost (which I find little likely, by what name one might properly call such people, other than as the truest enemies of themselves and mourners of the public good), such men seem to me to be touched by no desire or longing for the most beautiful things, if they neglect that man whose acquaintance everyone would have deservedly wished for himself, or who is sweeter than any feast day to those who have him as a friend? Therefore, with these various enchantments of yours which we have mentioned (and I pray you do not be angry with me for dwelling on things manifest to all), you have bound and chained to yourself not only most cities, but also many nations: and furthermore, republics, and peoples, and rural districts, and as many men as dwell in any part of our world. ^B For you have not only enchanted those among whom you have been in command, such that they prefer no one of all mortals to you, nor are they able to put aside the memory of those arrows with which you wounded them—but rather they desire, and in an incredible and perpetual way long to experience those same things again—but daily, as the fame of your name flows everywhere, just as formerly that of your friend Alexander, they hear how mild and clement you are toward your citizens, how you overthrew the Illyrians, how you struck terror into the Triballi, how often you bathed your spear in the blood of the Persians: with no one, I believe, who had once fallen into your hands ever escaping. ^C So you, truly, like a thunderbolt, used to go to meet those who resisted you.

IV. Since, therefore, such things, and still more than these, are proclaimed both collectively and individually and by groups, cities desire your command and your knowledge of administration, believing that each will fare so much better if you have happened to rule over it. And this desire of theirs brings praise both to the cities themselves and to you, together with the Emperor. For ^D since the Emperor holds in the highest value those who are most distinguished, whom he heaps with honors and glory (of which type you are), and since cities request to be adorned and governed by you—or rather, since cities love their own advantages, which you provide to them, as the Emperor uses your labor in the greatest matters. And this is not because you are joined to him by close kinship, or because you were born of his brother; for in what way could this be, when he has many others who are far removed from the equality you possess? But because of your virtue and your excellence in the most beautiful things, you are honored, as is fitting for one who is well-regarded in his judgment, as if demonstrating to all,

^A nor that he would prefer to his companions in virtue those who are not related to him by nature but are nevertheless of high standing, nor would he decree that those who are not related by blood should be held in lower esteem than his kinsmen. But just as he himself stands as a pattern of goodness to all, he also wishes to have those around him conform as a chorus befitting its leader; and he takes more delight in these than in the gem that glitters upon his brow.

V. Therefore, may the greatest thanks be both to the emperor and to you. To him, for the honors he has bestowed and for that eagerness to adorn you, and to you, as a man so apt and suitable for all things. But as for the manner in which we are affected, and what kind of spirit we harbor regarding you, we do not think this is in the least bit unknown to you. For you are entirely the one who, when you took us up—being truly hated by God for the enormity of our transgressions and handed over to the most cruel barbarians, and already doubtlessly approaching our final destruction—you did not permit us to perish, leading the army, admonishing, and offering counsel; striving for all that was better, finding an escape from the pressing evils, and with a small band of soldiers, and these often trembling, joining battle against an innumerable multitude of the enemy, and from this giving all reason to believe that, with God’s help, you will soon bring the whole matter to a desired conclusion and will cut down the wicked as they deserve, just as once at Plataea the Lacedaemonian Pausanias did to the infantry of Xerxes, and Themistocles before that with the fleet at Salamis. For, as you said, O Sophocles, "Whatever God directs can be accomplished" (Ajax, 86). And so, we rejoice daily as we recount these things; ^B and thus other things may rightly be desired by those who pray with ardent wishes, namely that it be our privilege to enjoy deep peace once again, and in leisure to celebrate your greatest praises, of which I can see neither more numerous nor more illustrious examples, either in this time or before. But if the things we have spoken of come to pass—as indeed they certainly will—then every man of sound mind will easily understand for himself what a miracle this shall become. ^C

OF THEODULUS THE MONK, ALSO KNOWN AS THOMAS MAGISTER: AN ADDRESS OF GRATULATION TO THE GREAT LOGOTHETE METOCHITES

1. Although there are many and great things—and indeed not easily to be grasped by mind or intellect—which pertain to your praises; and although an immense power of praise arises for you daily from every quarter, from the mouths of all mortals: yet there is one thing that is by far the greatest among the others, ^A a thing that almost no other man reaches in the same way, namely that munificence of yours towards the needy, that spirit, and that nature so prompt to bestow benefits. For I think—or rather, all men surely know—that there is no one at all so ready to receive a benefit, as you yourself are to bestow upon all men, through all means, things that are better and more abundant, and to deem them worthy of your helping hand. You conceive that you yourself are receiving a benefit when you do good to others, and you reckon that you receive much more by this very fact than those to whom you give. ^B For you do not rejoice merely because you confer a benefit, when all men flee to you as if to a common hearth; nor because you aid those struggling with need whenever any necessity happens to press upon them—doing so most beautifully, and in the shortest possible time, and surpassing those who have ever shone in that station of affairs. But you are eager to bestow things that are great and wondrous and such as to astonish everyone; they are indeed worthy of you and of your zeal for noble things, but they exceed the hope and expectation of those upon whom they are conferred. Therefore, unless you are sometimes able to bestow such things, you do not appear to yourself to have done any great benefit, even if

you do the same, although no one is disappointed of his hope by you. Indeed, you even think that you are affected by no small injury, and you are indignant at the necessity ^A if, at any time, when you are possessed of such a disposition of soul, you are unable to employ it in all things, or if you are deprived of the opportunity that might encompass the greatness of your spirit. So that, by these things, you seem to me not only willing to yield that blessed Arcadia to those who ask for it, easily with both hands and most willingly, more so than any Pythia (Herodotus I, 66); but also that golden cloud of Pindar [(Olymp. VII, strophe 2)] from which Jupiter used to rain gold upon the Rhodians, you would indeed, if it were in your hand, most abundantly pour it out, both pouring it out and yielding Arcadia.

II. So truly immense is your spirit's impulse toward these things, and so much do you truly lead everyone into admiration of you, both because you do well, and because you do so in a greater manner, and because it is a pleasure for you to give in that very way, and because you grieve when the opportunity to deserve well is lacking to you. Wherefore, ^B to hear you called the common benefit, and a saving genius, and the very soul of affairs and of good fortune, as it were a Prytaneum, and every such magnificent and fitting excellence of praises, is unique: while, evidently, all who dwell everywhere in the world repeatedly have your noble name in their mouths, not without wonder; they proclaim, applaud, and in how glorious songs they redeem you, and they usurp every miracle and every eulogy in perpetual discourse concerning you: and they contend in this one most honest competition among themselves, as to who might surpass the others in decorating you with more and greater encomiums. By right this is indeed necessary and altogether laudable duty; ^C for since you, placed in the midst, have the care of the public good for every single hour, and whatever serves the utility of the republic, you alone from every source both ponder in your mind, and perform in deed, and become present for all things which current usage requires: with your own promptest cares and studies concerning those things which each person seeks and desires, yourself sleepless, and in no way slow or idle; so that no trouble at all may be imposed upon anyone, but that both embassies, and cities, and the rulers of cities, and citizens, and villages, and, in a word, each and every race of men, may enjoy imperial providence, of which you alone are the worthy agent and representative. By what means, therefore, ought you not ^D to receive the deserved praises from everywhere in return, and to bear such collected alms as the reward of this your care? Which indeed all gladly offer to you as exceptional; not some more, others less, but by right all equally promptly and eagerly.

III. In all of which things, if it is permitted to speak—and may it be said without the offense of anyone—I myself am first, and middle, and last; not because I bring forth anything new concerning you, but because I tell those things of which all are conscious regarding you, of which they have knowledge so plainly that they have none such clear about any other man, but because I myself have somewhat more in this, in that I am carried away, struck by a certain divine bacchic frenzy of your praises; for who would not be frenzied, seeing that when I had often set up many others as patrons of my hopes and wishes, I never perceived any help from anyone, but found all the sophists, and, from having done nothing, disciples of Chares? But you alone of men have stood by us as best you could, and have stood forth conspicuously; and you have acted most effectively for our advantage; and

you have served us in turn as a good genius, both in other matters, for which at every time we pray to God for all good things for you, together with our public proclamations and paeans in your honor; and especially because, when we came there as envoys on behalf of your most devoted follower Chandrenos, you received us most kindly, most readily, and in a most humane spirit, and embraced us with no common courtesy and grace. And what is most significant—the crowning point, indeed—you made a most honorable mention of us when you came into conversation with that one man among all humanity who is by far the best, the most clement, and the truest portrait of a good king produced by nature, so that he might derive some rivulet of his kindness toward us and accomplish that for which we had come. And indeed he did accomplish it, by his own gentleness and his innate desire to save, anticipating of his own accord the prayers of all for everything. Although everyone endeavors to adorn his name with extraordinary praise, no single man is capable of praising him as he deserves, however much all men spend their entire lives in speaking. For as soon as they set their hand to the labor, they are shown to deviate from the legitimate modes of song, being ^B convicted by the most true harmony of this Emperor’s every virtue, which is far more elegant than any music; or rather, it is that nothing absurd or unexpected happens to them, in that they fall short of the greatness of the man, and yet they commend him in another way by showing that he is greater than the capacity of speech. For he alone is sufficient glory unto himself; and if it were possible, he alone would justly have his own tongue as his praiser—that celestial and insurmountable tongue which conquers every keenness of mind with an invincible and most pleasing force. So that he seems to unleash lightnings and thunderings (Aristoph. Acharn. 530) when he delivers a public address or gives an answer to envoys; such is he. But you have not only been beneficent toward us in these matters I have mentioned, nor did you end your well-doing here, but also in the fact that you will be much more propense and better in the future—and I will add this as well, that you will never cease, and that I shall always be able to call each subsequent act of yours better than the last. In this, therefore, you will undoubtedly be the best, which I rightly augur from this, since I have perceived that your own nature delights in such things, and because your perpetual memory of me flourishes in your mind—of me, I say, a man who, as everyone knows, is of the smallest value. For what account is there of Maronites and Siphnians at Athens? But you are led to accomplish this by your own disposition and by your own honest desire for glory, unless perhaps you think that we, too, should be placed in the number of good men because we have obtained your favor—if I may say so with your leave—than which nothing can be sweeter or more fortunate to experience.

^{C D} IV. We, for our part, render nothing in return for all these things, since it is impossible to do so, nor are we in a condition to do anything other than to offer our thanks to Fortune, who granted you suitable material for the display of your virtue, by which you have struck all with amazement. Or rather, we congratulate her, because when...

^A she seemed to be adorning others, she herself was no less adorned by your brilliance than she adorned them. For you are truly, as Aeschylus says, not only remarkably quick to perceive what is required—or more accurately, ready to find a way out of impasses—and better able than anyone to deliberate on any matter, and to speak what is timely, and to act in a manner worthy of your deliberations, as if there could be no other way; but you also possess a tongue sweeter than honey, surpassing the Homeric Nestor, and persuasion blossoms upon your lips. And you discourse with such great dexterity, and you pour out a stream of oratory most fittingly to the subjects themselves. Furthermore, who is so universally beneficent, and to those of humbler station so easily approachable and kind, like a gentle father, contrary to what might be expected from your fortune and position? But among all those who have ever engaged in public affairs, you alone have never been an admirer of unjust wealth, nor have you held your private advantage to be more important than the considerations of the state, by accepting what it would be shameful to accept, and from which others would lament their losses; rather, by observing the order of the honorable, the just, and the seemly in all things, you have even gained the most censorious slanderers as the heralds of your praises. ^B Yet that which alone is worthy of wonder, and which always occupies the mouths and tongues of all, is your inspiration regarding the Muses and your Bacchic frenzy, and the palm of victory in these matters which has been granted to you by all. For you carry within your soul all species of orations and every branch of knowledge, and there is nothing that you do not possess in a most excellent manner. Thus, in your mind all things are well blended, as if in a common mixing bowl. And you do not set yourself to embrace only the arts of oratory, nor the sacred rites of Plato, nor only this or that discipline, but also that which makes men interpreters of heavenly things and public teachers, and sophists trained in the aether, so that they seem "no longer to touch the earth with their feet" when they trace the dense and revolving circles and orbits of the stars. Possessing very meager and ordinary tools for this work, you have advanced by the innate power of your genius to the furthest boundaries of that knowledge. Whence you deserve the title "Olympian" with much better right than any Pericles. Now, even amidst so many cares, which, I might almost say, ^C hardly allow you to draw breath, you repeatedly bring forth streams of oratory, and with less effort than anyone else who abounds in leisure; and these are so outstanding, and elaborated with such a soft and delicate thread, that they seem to be woven by the Muses and Graces themselves, and it is impossible even for them to modulate anything more sweetly; so much is it the task of you alone to perform these things perfectly, O grand ornament of this art, and commander of orations, and image of Hermes, the patron of eloquence, and, when compared with others, like an eagle in the clouds. It seems to me, therefore, that Pythagoras, had he seen your orations—for although these things are far removed from our (Christian) assembly, let them be spoken nevertheless—had he seen them, he would have said ^D that you possessed the soul of Demosthenes or Plato. Relying on many and great proofs of these present companions of yours, who were formerly your students, in this way all your affairs are at all times well-conducted; and by a voluntary necessity, you have acquired [all men as] admirers.

ORATION TO PATRIARCH NIPHON.

...hand no doubt he was about to say, that you possessed the soul of Demosthenes or Plato, the familiar friends of your time, but in reality your ancient masters. This is what he was about to say, supported by many great proofs; to such a degree do all your actions everywhere pursue whatever is beautiful and graceful, and you hold all your admirers bound to you by a certain voluntary necessity.

OF THEODULUS THE MONK, OTHERWISE NAMED THOMAS MAGISTER: AN ADDRESS OF CONGRATULATION TO THE MOST HOLY AND ECUMENICAL PATRIARCH, LORD NIPHON.

^A I. Since you have recently, by the gift and grace of God, ascended to that greatest of all dignities, truly under compulsion, and not struggling against necessity, and the report of this has gone out into all parts of our world, no one could easily describe the applause that then arose among all people. For it is not the case that some held one opinion and others another; nor again that all held the same opinion, but not in the same manner, because some were more and others less gladdened by the news brought to them, and some felt it from the heart, while others pretended; but truly, as if we had been condemned to a kind of public vow, or as if someone had suddenly descended to us from heaven for the happiness of our race, thus were we all affected in our minds. Although, in truth, even if you had been granted to our wishes and hopes, I do not think we would appear to be rejoicing so profusely, or more truly, I should say that we now glory greatly, having received you, whom we ourselves had desired. We are considering together both the past, and perceiving in our minds the things that will soon happen to everyone through you: and we congratulate both ourselves and all men, because we are finally to experience good fortune, and because happiness itself is now to have its dwelling among men; with those things that privately tormented each one, and with public misfortunes, completely blotted out, so that they no longer even remain in memory, and with pleasant and sweet things having been brought in to replace them,

^A in such a way that it will be permitted to enjoy them through our prayers which we are accustomed to use. This was, then, the provision of the earth for a harvest of all fruits, and its striving for its own offspring, as if the Divine had prepared some noteworthy grounds for the coming fortune, demonstrating from this the help that was to be.

II. Verum enimvero ^B—but the great Emperor himself was not absent from this theater, the glorious pillar of the earth (Oppian, *Cynegetica* I, 1); no, he also shared in the clamor and applause for you. For this reason, overlooking all others, he paid attention to you alone, you who have grasped in superlative measure everything that adorns others in particular; for whom—should someone speak of the magnitude and multitude of the qualities sufficient for wonder—it would be clear that you are truly the prytaneion of all that is excellent, and have in all things possessed such a degree of concession, that all who are simply assisted by virtue, if they become secondary to you, ask for nothing more, but instead are adorned by you from that source. ^C Yet, the vote from you—even if it is paradoxical to say so—dignifies him no less, when he is so established as to be seen as the one who is withdrawing from the glory of the honor coming to him. And being wonderful to all, how shall I say, he appeared now even more wonderful; or rather, both grew out of the same things: he, as a master of reasoning above all men, since he chose you, the most excellent in all respects; and you, being of a superior lot, since you obtained the votes of the most excellent and wonderful Emperor. Therefore, he did not need to prefer anyone else over you. ^D Consequently, he did not prefer anyone, nor did you need to receive votes from another than him; therefore, you did not receive them. Indeed, you performed these duties for each other correctly and in order, as if by intention, I think, so that nothing would seem to have been omitted. In my opinion, it is not only the Athenians who deservedly seem to merit praise, for whom Plato was a delight, but Plato himself also appeared a man of the greatest worth, having had such admirers.

III. And for my part, if even before this new pontificate of yours, someone had asked who would be the leader and guardian of sacred rites and of the great name of the Church, I would surely have named you; nor, when the opportunity for your presence was afforded to us, would any other, at all, have stood out as superior. I would not have concluded this on account of specious arguments, nor from the prince's great benevolence toward you—none of these things, certainly—but from those qualities which all, just like me, know to be situated within you. For indeed, if the head of all things, and the one that is in truth the greatest

^A is, as I think, a sacred governance of souls, just as the soul’s governance of its own body: if to him likewise, who takes up this office, there are not fewer things that must by necessity be accomplished than for all other people—being, as it were, the guardian and protector of all, who is the same to mortals on earth as God is to the ethereal minds—with this, I say, it must altogether be aligned. And this estimation of you was assembled by men long ago; nor is it difficult to see whether you have run through all these spaces, but rather in what you have consumed more work and labor, for he who here is so little prudent, and so unskilled an arbiter of the most illustrious things, who would not, as I truly think, admit that you are not now receiving, but rather taking back this office, and that the honor which the things themselves had long ago given you, the title of it has now been added. Wherefore we ought not more to congratulate you on the dignity received, than we all ought to take a common sorrow from it, that you had not long ago, as was surely right, attained the just and due honor: or rather, one must congratulate you indeed under both headings, both because you were long ago most worthy of it, and because you have now obtained it. But we, even if you now deservedly count us among the blessed, since we did not long ago experience this lot, must surely be reckoned among those who have suffered an injustice.

^B IV. But of your excellent virtues and praises, in what place shall we speak first, and in what last? Whether of the singular force of mind, and the most prudent counsels in all things, which have all their qualities complete, but have no reproach of their decrees: or of the gravity of spirit and that nobility mixed and tempered with the graces of gentleness, so that neither are you carried away by greatness of soul alone to the despising of others, becoming grievous to those who deal with you, nor again, by lenity, with greatness of soul removed, do you slip into softness? You, however, moderate both of these most perfectly, being endowed with an altogether heroic character, causing fear at the first sight of you, but yet exhibiting meetings filled with courtesy and grace. ^C Moreover, the two things which before this could scarcely, or not even scarcely, be seen to come together, you alone of mortals have so brought into one, that the one does not hinder the other: namely, you surpass the mild and humanitarian with justice, and the just with lenity, or if you prefer, the humanitarian with lenity, and because you are yourself the exemplar of justice, those who are terrible on this account: O marvelous and to all glorious conjunction! which is so your own, that it is above all fruitful for the republic. For neither is it now permitted to the wealthy to oppress and harass the needy any longer, who, just as is wont to happen in the capture of cities, by reaping a profit from the miserable, were indeed increasing their own resources with huge additions, ^D but were compelling the poor to lamentations and tears, and from the poor were fashioning the very poorest. But also the calumnies of the sycophants are now utterly exterminated; neither do those who are wealthier defraud the lesser, nor does dire envy attack one who has, as that son of Sophilus said (Sophocles, Ajax 157), but they offer mutual services to one another; since the wealthy, who are heavy of fortune, have compassion on them, and [offer] an easier way of life to them

and they in turn who are struggling with poverty respect and observe those who are more powerful, since both fear the laws, the force and strength of which you establish as you observe justice in all things. Then a new kind of beneficence has now appeared, and you simply deserve well of all: of the needy, on account of their very poverty, and of those to whom it seems it goes somewhat better, lest these too fall into that class of the most destitute: with the skill of pilots, indeed, who not even when it is clear and calm depart from their art, lest by chance their ship be shattered, having struck against the rocks. ^B Although, indeed, we maintain that we cannot affirm this has been accomplished by any of mortals yet, nor can we point to any example: for you alone have discovered it, you alone have brought it to light; yet there will be some, I think, who will emulate it, and perhaps time will attempt to produce a second act to these deeds of yours. But in truth because you do these things so benignly to others, you are delighted, just as if you considered that the benefit was being bestowed upon you yourself; that you are so also ready to give, as I think not even one is to receive, and that you consider this the only and greatest wealth, to transfer to others what you have; and that they should become what you were, and you what they were—this very [act] is indeed yours alone and proper, in which you have had, and will never have, any partner; for you alone, to finish the matter in a word, have fought excellently against the heavier hardships of fortune throughout all your life, and have applied effort to reduce that unequal goddess to equality as much as you could. Furthermore, those daily ^C contributions and wedding feasts of yours, and [feasts] more sumptuous than necessity requires, the invitations of the poor, and the relief of immense debt, and the release of prisoners and the dismissal of guards, and the consolations of the sick, and the hospitality and philanthropy in receiving guests, and many other things of this kind, and finally, what is greatest of all, those who have long been distracted by holy contentions, but whose minds are now inclined, as is hoped, to cultivate concord before long—who had ever thought of this before? To what human soul, I ask, is it right to compare these things? O who will sing of all these things? And who will sing of them as they deserve? O who, hearing these things, is not immediately stirred in his soul; and while he attempts to exalt the author above all others, does he not soon, as if inspired by some divinity, declare the magnitude of this prodigy by becoming silent? For my own part, while I am unhappy in other things, I am so especially in this one, that I am absent from the sight of these works; nor am I present to reap the fruit of that holy dignity of yours, as was fitting. How I desire that it may remain safe and sound for you for a long circuit of years, with all things proceeding to the very end of life with a prosperous and constant tenor. I pray also that the imperial majesty may remain safe and unharmed; which two things alone and primarily are perfectly beautiful, and agree with each other most excellently. But may the fates allow you to attain the old age of Arganthonius, and if any other has been carried beyond the common limits of age, and to dwell perpetually in favorable circumstances, and these constantly receiving as much increase as possible, so that those who come after may also experience the happiness handed down and propagated by you.

LAUDATIO REGIS CYPRI. EJUSDEM LAUDATIO REGIS CYPRI.

^A I. Most high, most glorious, most noble, most illustrious, great king of Cyprus. Most of those who arrive at this great city [Constantinople], after having traversed many lands and cities and islands and continents, when they desire to recount their own travels to whomever they may meet by night or by day—and especially those who possess a tongue by nature well-equipped to declare the hidden things of the mind—they become much better orators than their usual selves when they launch into your praises and loosen the reins of their tongues. But soon, when they are asked by the listeners how it comes about that men naturally fond of sight-seeing, and having traveled through so many places, and having known the cities and minds of many men (Od. A, 3), they praise the Cyprian commonwealth, and your justice, and the many other good things that you possess, most of all to the heavens, they answer by alluding to that celebrated saying of Aristotelian wisdom. For just as he, when asked at one time why we consort longer with the beautiful, said that the question was blind (Diog. Laert. v. 20), so too these, when asked by anyone why they linger longer upon your praises and hold such discourses about your affairs as the sweetest entertainment, say that the question belongs to a deaf man; for to such men, as we have said, who almost daily recount all the best of your good qualities, while all others listen and wonder, he who alone remains devoid of such narratives, they assert, must undoubtedly have been deaf from his very birth and deprived of the ^B finest of the senses. For since there are many seas and oceans everywhere, which are adorned with islands, whether very great or very small, or those possessing a moderate extent, no report has reached our ears—neither from the Indian Sea, nor from that one extending beyond the Atlantides, nor from this one which stretches broadly enough on this side and is bounded by the Herculean columns—bringing with it such splendor of glory of the kind and magnitude that this Cyprus of yours [does]: not truly the one which is called the Golden Chersonesus, nor Thule, the principal of the northern parts of the world, nor any of the British [isles], nor any of those likewise which the Indians and Ethiopians inhabit toward the south and the southern wind, proud in their huge size, ^C

^A nor those which the Caspian Sea—a neighbor and nearby—has for the Hyrcanian tribes, nor how vast it is, which, erupting from Gades and the pillars of Hercules, ascends closely even to the hyperborean Scythians, but is truly concluded at your Cyprus, or rather, more truly, takes its beginning from Cyprus and accepts the pillars as its limit—for thus we shall speak more justly and becomingly. Since there are two extreme ends of this more civilized and our sea, of which the one is defended by the famous and renowned island of Cyprus, and the other is defined by the pillars of Hercules, I for my part assert that the first place should be claimed by the sea surrounding Cyprus, and that we ought to say the whole of this liquid substance proceeds from there and is brought down to be terminated at the pillars of Hercules, rather than the contrary. And I say that this shall henceforth be a rule and law for both ends: that the starting point of this sea of ours shall be established from Cyprus, and not from the pillars of Hercules; for indeed, all men from of old see that the flame of the sun, that nourisher of all things, I mean the lamp of the day that lights the whole world, begins its course from those regions. ^B Hence, Cyprus was planted by God, and from those parts the light of the condescension of God, our Savior and [the] intelligible sun, appeared to us, and the mystery of the joy of the whole world; so that, to that extent, the parts situated by the pillars of Hercules are indeed dark and lightless and wild, in proportion to how gentle and pleasant and bright are the parts by Cyprus; and they delight not only bodies, but even souls, as many as behold with the intellect the Word of God, who for our sake became flesh, and suffered, and rose again. And to sum up: the eastern regions, and those of Cyprus, excel the western to the same degree that truth excels falsehood. For if all fabulous things that reek of falsehood deserve laughter, then indeed all the deeds of Hercules, resting as they do on myths and fabrications, deserve great laughter and naturally invite and attract every kind of mockery. How unworthy, then, it would be for false and forged things to take precedence over true things, and for that which is laughable in itself to hold the first place among those things which are adorned with the highest praises and are held in the most blessed esteem? So in every respect does the right of your Cyprus to claim the first place quite deservedly stand.

II.

bestows her own harmony 402〉 upon human affairs. For you do not merely adorn the excellence of this virtue by word alone, recommending the scales of that virtue and the uninclining constancy of such balances; rather, you approve a good speech with beautifully fitting actions, while with keen discernment you set the best guardians and protectors of civic liberty and equal rights over the administration of justice, lest the public interest perhaps flow away little by little through negligence. Then, too, you appoint overseers ^B of the markets and the food supply, and praetors and investigators, who travel about all the fora and the entire island perpetually, as arbiters of commodities and transactions and tireless avengers of justice; in addition, you appoint moderators of the orders, and curators of equity and decorum, not only of public matters and actions, but even of the feelings, studies, discourses, and morals occurring among the people themselves—so that the evils, whatever they may be that contain the rashness of falsehood and the perjury annexed to it, may utterly vanish and be driven out, while goods may flourish and bloom: namely, the honest gravity of morals, the trustworthiness of words, and the constancy and seemly truth of speech. And this, throughout the whole circuit of the island, is [like] flowers in the fields in summer, which the west wind feeds, producing most clearly delights both to the mind, and to the discourse, and to the senses. I believe, moreover, that if Plato himself were with us today, he would imitate you, and I would have believed that he would prefer this commonwealth of yours to that which he had long ago legislated for himself; and, having abandoned that constant sailing to Sicily, he would rather sail to Cyprus, for the sake of you and your commonwealth and your discipline of laws.

III. On the Virtues of the Island and the King's Charity

^C III. You are, therefore, the safe cause of such virtues of this island, and equally so your justice, which is the base and foundation and most solid substructure of a most beautiful edifice, with the skillful description of its parts and its best standard. For by such good things, the greatest [virtue], that of charity, is built up and superstructed, and it pervades the whole remaining work: like a golden color, adorning all things, and dispensing most sweet pleasure alike to soul and body: or more truly, like a certain knot, binding and framing together the whole context of the virtues we have mentioned. For without charity, no good among good things is good; ^D and this is for you the most true cause of your hospitality, and the cause of the liberty granted to all, but most of all the cause for the captives, who, wandering and roaming and driven to and fro, and dragged throughout the whole world, and devouring the miseries of the harshest servitude, whenever they come to your Cyprus—and they come, as many as God regards with a more kindly eye—they immediately see also a change in their life, and a removal of misfortune: like a sudden cleansing of leprosy, with Christ working miracles, so that in a new and unheard-of way, poverty becomes the mother of opulence, and calamity the source of happiness. For whatever evils surround the condition of captives, and whatever all men loathe and pray might not happen to them at any time, all these things have been transferred into the lot of a wish for all who have experienced your island and have applied their mind to your clemency and faith. For it would not be right to say that the lot of fortune has cast them there, nor that time, bringing forth obscure things, has revealed this as something new to the wretched; but rather that divine providence, having been well and kindly disposed toward them from above, has well and [kindly] led them to...

to the unexpected turn of fortune, by which they had been brought to this place; nor that it was "hidden time, which brings to light" (Sophocles, *Ajax* 652) this new miracle for the miserable—but rather divine providence, long favoring and propitious to them, which had rightly led them even into your realm, so that the bitterest evil of captivity might become for them, in a way, the beginning of joy, and something of such a kind that it easily persuades them not to fix their minds on dreadful imprecations at all, but rather to owe a kind of gratitude to those who had first imposed captivity upon them. To such a degree have you certainly astonished everyone with the prosperous fame of your name, and you easily drive to love you, even from a long distance, as many as are in the number of those who love honesty and virtue, and as many also as are among the learned and the wise, who hear these things—and more than these—from those who are constantly traveling here from those places and recounting them; and most of all, because they say that from your very appearance and the grace of your eyes, there comes—as if by the magical power of incantations—a certain secret sense of hilarity, implanted into the souls of those who visit you, and that this is precisely the same thing that we see in our experience occurring in connection with these solar rays of the celestial lamp. ^{A B}

LETTERS OF THEODULUS THE MONK OR THOMAS MAGISTER

1. Magno Logothetæ, Theodoro Metochitæ.

^C 1. But you, in truth, though surrounded by a surging crowd of so many and such great affairs, compose writings of every kind—and those most graceful and magnificent—no differently than if you were at leisure; you, who would truly be such if the leisure of Plato were granted to you, O emulator of Plato, and in your own manner the unique cultivator of the Muses! I do not say this, however, as if you were currently inferior in the praise of learning and humanity because of those manifold occupations of yours, which, for you who devote yourself day and night to the advantages of the commonweal, seem to leave you scarcely the power to breathe; nor because any of those who are present today—and who have set themselves squarely to the task of letters—contends with you for equality; nor is there any need for that; you prevail, ^D and for everyone you bear the conciliatory mark of the eloquent Hermes, as...

one might say, both being and being called ^A such. But it is because, when affairs are absent, the leader of the world applies his mind only to discourses. Even the crowd was absent, for on this account it seems to me that you have attained to such a degree of wisdom that you have not only bypassed those who have ever achieved reputation, but have also closed the way for those who will be hereafter from being even near; you surpass so much and in such a prodigious manner, if I may so speak, is your natural aptitude. At any rate, you alone, as far as we know by report, most excellently and with perfect ease, both deliberate and act and handle discourses, as well as the affairs of the world, neither placing discourses outside of affairs, nor the business of these outside of discourses; but rather, all things are together, and you preserve what is happening everywhere, and neither do public affairs bring harm to the discourses, nor again do the discourses bring neglect to public affairs; but for both there is from each that which is necessary: affairs proceeding through discourses according to reason, and discourses in turn being established as more approved by the testing of affairs. ^B Cities, and nations, and the entire people preserved by you, and the applause rising up through the mouths of all who have been well treated, bear witness to what I say. And also the books you beget, so to speak, every day, bear witness, far surpassing wonder, both to those who are and to the children of rhetoricians who will follow; and it is very timely that they have come in the course of all beauty and are, as it were, the final limit of the delirium over discourses; to which they truly dance madly for all time, and will be initiated into great things, and will pride themselves on these no less than the Athenians did on those of Plato. And your glory will never perish, but they will call you the father of these things, now the Helicon of the Muses, now the hearth of discourses, and the precinct of philosophy, and the benefit of rhetoric, and, if one must speak briefly, the prytaneum of all other rational knowledge; for these are what your works produce. And other things also, and those through which it is possible to know that you are the only one of all most worthy to be an athlete of the affairs of Olympus. And your Hermes not only revels upon the earth, but also the heaven partakes of his initiation. And now indeed [he] communicates the things that are happening to Hermes, who is very much akin to him, and concerning him and all the other stars, he discourses on great and prodigious things that transcend wonder; now again he is something of public benefit, and a common good, and a ready assistant to each for whatever the need stands, resourceful, not coming to any dead end ^C according to Sophocles, but always showing himself stronger than himself; so that what someone said concerning Demosthenes, you do not come to us as a mere copy of the eloquent Hermes, but also, being among us human beings, and attending unceasingly to the cares regarding all things, you have appeared as the only one truly triple-footed because of the royal decrees. But you, as someone prodigious and not contained anywhere on earth, both trace the dense, circumcurrent coils of the stars, and, with the affairs here, surpass, with praises worthy of them, those who are there, excelling the inventors and leaders of that art, just as if you had come from us to there, or from there to us; for which reason you also make known the invisible to human beings ^D (Il. β', 225, etc.). But they will also call you the parent of these writings, now the Helicon of the Muses, now the Vesta of more polished letters, and the mind and spirit of philosophy, and the pillar of the oratorical art, and to use one word to speak of the rest of the entire liberal doctrine, the public prytaneum. For your own virtues grant you these titles of praise, considering other things, but especially those by which it is recognized that you are the one best and most worthy athlete of celestial matters. For that Hermes of yours does not celebrate his rites on earth alone, but heaven itself is a participant in his sacred mysteries; for now, indeed, he is most especially with that celestial Hermes, his kinsman

^A and you foretell what is permitted; and the future, just like some seer, you relate as if it were present. Whose [actions], I think, could be more illustrious and beautiful, adorning both wealth, and glory, and power, and lineage, and—if you permit me to say—the senate of the world that gathers at your gates? And may there be thanks to you for appearing as a marvelous provision of nature and a common ambition, and a benefit to the world, and the soul of affairs, like that which Plato called the soul of the universe.

II. Our city, however, which you, to speak with Aeschylus, once held most dear, and for whose sake you resolved to undergo every labor, both because you loved the city itself and because it was worthy of your benefits—this city, therefore, whose glory has spread far and wide, and which had lovers in all who had seen it, and captivated those who had not yet seen it by the fame of its name alone, which had long been a city of Graces, is now a city of all evils, and of such a kind that they can neither be expressed in words nor received by the ears. For they are so many in number, and so great in magnitude, and so heavy to endure, that none of those who have ever been pressed and afflicted by calamities would, to put it in a word, prefer our crown in adversity, as some tragic poet might say. ^B To such a point of evils have we now come. And so, a certain genius, in no way good, has been rioting among us. Now, therefore ^C that city, by the agreement of all, the most equitable and just and moderate of all the cities that men inhabit, and for that very reason the most beloved of God of any that exist anywhere—that city now, I say, O sun, O earth, in what way shall I speak of it? By what reasoning shall I relate it? It is quite the contrary; it is detestable, and wicked, and devoted to curses, and, to sum it up in a word, a contest of all the most dire and sorrowful things, a trophy of every wickedness and intemperance; and all these things are more [the case] than that it is a city. For which cause, that same city will now undoubtedly be more hateful to God than it was formerly acceptable, ^D and will not be far from the punishment of the five cities (Gen. xix, 1 et seqq.; Sap. x, 6). Indeed deservedly, since

^A we have no concern for laws, nor for the necessary observance of laws, nor for governing the republic wisely and modestly, nor for acting toward ancestors with becoming conduct, nor for performing those things which are most holy and pious to perform, nor for hating those things which it is right to hate—things from which all the best outcomes arise. Not only do we not have these things in our minds, but we have even utterly cast out and shaken off from ourselves the very thoughts of them, as if they were some other thing forbidden by law. We, forsooth, consider this to be the right reasoning for the honorable and the just: to set a day for public trial against anyone who has not lived a life like that of Eurybatus; so that our affairs are now as if the rivers were flowing backward, and this all the more so, such that it is no longer permitted to expect the original state, ^B at least as far as we can conjecture from the present. For we rejoice uniquely in those things in which it is most shameful to rejoice, and which it should be considered a crime even to mention. Indeed, to rage with mutual cruelty against one another; to approach nearly to the savagery of beasts; of a daily basis to meditate upon and to stir up and incite seditions; to plunder and despoil the houses of the rich—in just the same way as happened at Athens in the time of the Thirty Tyrants; now to be caught in manifest perjury, now to swear again to the same things with concerted words; and now, to strike the faces with the fist of those who pass their time in the marketplace, and to beat and wound them, and to lacerate with lashes the backs of those, even sometimes old men, seized by the beard; and this with no shame or modesty; ^C on the other hand, to shower others with insults and injuries; to threaten others with the most atrocious things; the foul nocturnal battles; the gangs of assassins against fellow-citizens and tribesmen, and the bands of the most abandoned scoundrels; the breaking through of walls; thefts; the destruction of houses; and all other things of that kind. Furthermore, the nefarious and disastrous fires, and stonings, and inflicted wounds, and blows, and the continuous and daily slaughters and butcheries, and the frequent use of iron by every age, and the daggers held in delight, with which even rest and sleep itself are held to be sweeter, and without which they cannot pass their life. For these men, born and raised and having increased to great wealth for the destruction and ruin of our republic, and paying back no other reward of their upbringing to their fatherland than that of the battering-ram, as the proverb has it—these men, I say, whether they are mere and true Salmoneuses and Lycurguses, or some new giants, or German-disciples of Polyphemus, or by whatever other name I should call them, I am unsure; ^D nor is it safe to name them. These things, therefore, and whatever plagues are even more disastrous than these, which are now the face of all things, are most pleasant to us: and thus we appear happy to ourselves in those matters, to be entirely inexperienced in which is the true happiness. Therefore we are worthy to be hated by all who are wise; worthy of the Tarpeian rock and of the abysses; worthy of earthquakes and fissures; worthy of all the darts and lightnings of heaven. And this not only because we have admitted such capital frauds and injuries into ourselves, but also because we have provided the example of similar daring...

^A Indeed, one cannot express how great a madness seized those men of Pherae and Potidaea and the other cities, who proved themselves such docile and extraordinary imitators, and indeed so bold and foolish, that they surpassed nature itself by their crimes, and showed that these present events of ours were but a game and a joke; for just as they are later in time, so in another way they claim the palm for themselves. Yet if the author of the sprouted crop is to be held responsible—he who provided the seed—then according to the sentiment of your friend Demosthenes (*On the Crown* 52), we overcome such a victory by this very pact: a victory whose object, if it happened to appear to someone in a dream, he would not, I think, wish to return to rest if he could avoid it, due to the fear of similar dreams. Given this state of our affairs, what hope of salvation remains for us? Or rather, what hope is there that is not one of destruction? For when even one man, covered in manifold wickedness, has been the cause of calamity for the entire commonwealth, and the whole multitude has collectively paid the price for the intemperance and lusts of a single man, what punishment will we imagine awaits us, when there are more wicked men than there (to speak warmly) are flies? For the force and immensity of the injuries and crimes is something I cannot encompass in any speech.

II. To the Same.

I love Amphilochus, that most excellent man, as my best friend, and I value him highly as a man of true goodness. For he is not only endowed with a sharp and sagacious mind, and is good of heart, and a companion of learning, ^B but he is also modest and gentle, such as I do not know if any other is, and full of virtue, and accustomed to charm his friends with the sweetness of his character. And since he surpasses most of those who are very fond of you in his love, and indeed raves at the rumors and uproar raised against you, and considers all things inferior to always hearing and speaking what is best regarding you—this very thing he counts as a benefit to me. For if for me the sweetest struggle is to applaud and admire your affairs absolutely, and to be unable to define [your virtues] by the limits of praise, but rather to always both do and say everything on your behalf, while yet never feeling sated with your praises, nor thinking that I have done enough; and since he shares with me in these five-fold struggles, and we two go together towards your "Pisa," how is it not just that I should owe gratitude to such a man, who by his words and deeds freely offers up the things I hold dear? And it is fair that you should also deserve well of him in return, if ever he should need your help, as will certainly happen: especially because he knows that you take pleasure in such services, ^C and then also because he would consider it most absurd if, while recounting those who have been honored by you, he himself should appear outside the catalog of such men. Besides these things, I also believe the gratitude will be mutual; for in the benefit you confer upon the man, you will both be doing him a most pleasing favor and be earning yourself even greater songs of praise. For if he is such towards you, unprovoked by any benefit of yours yet, what would he be if he were incited by such an inducement? And if even when there is no need, he shows himself so dutiful—who can doubt that when this [benefit] is added, he will easily surpass all boundaries of duty?

III. To Tricanas, Questor of the Minor Treasury.

It would have been right, O divine and holy head, and the extraordinary ornament of my soul, for us to be together always, and never to be separated, not even for the slightest moment, we who...

possess the same mind, ^A in some other way be already separated from one another, who are otherwise in some way one. But since I, most miserable in all things, have been deprived even of this, and the Byzantines hold my loves, come then, I shall declare to you what befell me during this autumn.

On the seventeenth day of the month of Gorpiaeus, when I had returned home from the sacred synods, while it was still deep dawn, a certain shivering fever immediately attacked me, greatest in magnitude and most powerful in its intensity; for it did not seem to the physicians like a common one, seeing that it approached with such preparation that it easily threatened to destroy everything, battering the whole body day and night with continuous skirmishes as if with a siege engine, and, according to the proverb, driving its fierce impression and assault into the very bones and marrow.

What then, you ask, happened after this? Why, the most religious abstinence from all food until evening, when it pleased the physicians to gratify us with the use of things that would not harm; which we also used. On the following day, the same storm pressed upon us again, the same whirlwinds, and we were overwhelmed by the same waves, save that new flows of vomiting had been added, and a confluence of bile, erupting from both sides with such pain and such intense agitation, that since words fail to describe it, I leave the whole matter for you to conjecture. For ten days the disease held this state, so that it afflicted the patient most violently and struck no small fear into those who were healing him.

Later, just as the Athenians, after the calamity at Aegospotami and the occupation of the Piraeus, and the famine that followed therefrom, finally lost the city itself, so we seemed to be surrounded by a no ^B less critical danger. For after the most grievous vertigo of the eyes, and outflows of bile mixed with blood, and many other evils that were pressing upon us at the time, at length something of this nature occurred in our body, which the sons of physicians reckon to be lethal to most. For a great and truly burdensome amount of bile, having fallen around the stomach, was suffocating the heart itself and would not allow it to breathe; and it did all the most terrible things, the heart not being moved according to custom, and the stomach having every sort of disgust and admitting nothing at all. But even if we used warm things, or cold things, or any ^C of those things prescribed by the art, everything was nonsense, and there was nothing that was not immediately cast out.

And this had rendered the physicians at a loss, doing everything that the art could provide, but with nothing ^D of what is possible coming to pass. Then, however, nature itself, though lacking reason, was discovered to be acting according to reason; for of my own accord I partook of warm wine with a few crumbs of crumbled bread, and it seemed that the evil immediately let up a little. And it was then for the physicians to follow, and to wonder; and since all things were in such a difficult and unbearable state on account of this preparation of bile, and there was, as is likely, much despondency, liquids were applied to my face from without in no small quantity; and artificial airs, and pourings of perfumes, and shifts from place to place—for it was not possible, it was not possible to use one bed, but wherever one might be allowed in the house. And all the things through which it was possible to find any relief whatsoever... I would not be able to tell of the helplessness and difficulty of my thoughts at that time, and that it was not possible to bear it, even if someone were doing everything. From such great amounts of liquids on the face, something of this sort came to pass: both cheeks were suddenly swollen. And physicians were present, and

one shouted to another that there was need for the utmost speed, and it is possible to be urgent, and there is need of white mallow, and as quickly as possible the bark of the elm was present, and some other things, so that the swellings might be dispersed and not penetrate inside, lest they become ^A causes of anxiety to the doctors and perhaps of death to the sufferer. What then? These things ceased. Then, believing that we possessed calm, we fell again into the former things—even if not similar ones, yet by a certain other way similar; for the same sort of helplessness was with the physicians: for fever, taking hold from fever, continued, and how it wore down the limbs that had been worked over by long time, do you think? So that it was not possible for anything—neither for us nor for the physicians—to find a remedy. ^B Such was the entertainment the autumn offered us, and we thought it right to make you a participant of the same feast; not that you should be pained in soul (away with such inhumanity from us toward friends!), but that you might know from what cliffs into what harbors, with the help of the immortal God, we had at length arrived.

IV. To the same.

And may all things always turn out well for you, most excellent man, and may you experience the most favorable fortune with even better increase of happiness time after time, as we pray for this for you, and so do all your other many friends; ^C although it would not be easy for me to enter into the number of those whom you have wounded with your love, and with that soul of yours which accepts no other subject of desire; for who does not rejoice with those who are faring well—not only friends, but all people simply—and is pained in such a way at their misfortunes? How, then, does it not befit such a person to be cheerful at all times and to be in the best of states? ^D As for us, having breathed a little from those hardships, and having arrived at better hopes, as if we should fare more easily, since we used baths at the advice of the physicians, we were once again in the same state; and the previous storm approached as something more violent, and while we had not yet been thoroughly delivered from the tyranny, the bull of Phalaris held us. The cause was that we had not used the bath at the right time, since much bile still beset the stomach. And so, everything immediately slipped back and turned towards the opposite, and there was no kind of evil that was not present; or rather, nothing that was not at the supreme degree. For the intestines were also in a very bad condition, so that I could scarcely raise and lift myself up. And the rest of the body was tormented by constant and most grievous pains, since in every member, their own, so to speak,

^A camp, the force of the disease had placed. And I pass over the cooling of the stomach, and the sad nausea towards everything, and immediately, as soon as I had been forced by necessity to take something which is accustomed to be done in such a disease, the vomiting that ensued. Now, also, constant daily fevers held us for a whole month, and these were quite capable of breaking and prostrating not only us, already then clearly exhausted and a kind of phantom of the dead (cf. Il. Ψ, 72, etc.), but even those who were most strong in body and endowed with Herculean strength. And they were all the more grievous in that they would recur time and again at the first onset, so that it was not possible to get any complete sleep. These were soon followed by others, not indeed of the same kind, but very similar to those previous ones, then again others, many others, as if by agreement. Therefore, we were in great fear and turmoil, with the physicians crying out up and down, that the end of life was at the doors, and that there was no room for delay or evasion, but that whatever was most necessary to be done, must be done actively; then with friends in an uproar, redoubling their lamentations with their wailing, and praying together for some relief. When we were in such a state, and in the midday of so many evils, and with no good hope shining forth from anywhere, nay rather, with all things contrary, and almost despairing of everything, and concerning the soul only, or rather, having already died for the most part in this life, O the ineffable kindness of God towards us! it happened immediately that such a great surge of waves subsided, and we were snatched away to health; not, indeed, I would say, our former health, but still some, and we grasped it, and it was then by far the sweetest, since it came upon us unexpectedly and quite unhoped for, and it is very similar to the truth that it had come as something proper and perpetual. And so now we seem to those visiting us like those awakened from Acheron, who depart from us partly shaking their heads, partly clapping their hands, and giving thanks to God, who is able to do all things, and who does and transforms all things, by His will alone (Amos v, 8). ^B Thus, therefore, with God granting it, we proceed perpetually to better things, and we live with the best hope, having suffered those things at which it is wearisome and tedious even to ponder in one's mind. But may all good things come to the excellent Hierotheus, I pray, not only on account of his integrity and kindness, and because he strives and holds in the greatest esteem that he wishes and makes his own soul to be adorned in every respect like a most beautiful work of art; but also because, when I was very gravely ill and suffering—and what else, indeed, but one who was grumpy towards all, owing to distress, as it is in the tragedy?—he alone stood in place of all, supporting, ^C relieving, caring for me most studiously, and not abandoning the perfection that he had in himself, but performing the offices of his duty to all in whatever way he was able, and reducing the pains, and becoming a medicine, clearly, and in what he said and in what he did, a comforter. He, indeed, in the successive tempests of evils, and in those great waves, continued to feel no less pain, and he was also tossed with the surge of my despondency; but when I would again find relief, he himself would also recover and shift back to cheerfulness. And what shall I say? For he would often go through this in the presence of many of us who were listening, and even adding an oath to his words, that he would most gladly have changed his fortune if he could, or rather, that he would have even readily surrendered his own soul for us. So great was his concern for my recovery. Therefore, I love him as my own head, and I assign him the middle place of my soul, and I pray together that he may obtain those things he has striven to obtain, and that his soul, flourishing with the irrigation of virtues, may produce...

fruits acceptable to God, the causes of eternal fruits, and become a true temple of God, which I truly wish for you to desire as well—not for this reason alone, that you are already a parent of children, but furthermore because you are a man most excellent and holy, and one who has obtained the praise of all men for the probity of your morals.

V. To the Grand Logothete.

But you, who both wish for and are able to accomplish all things that are best, and who act with remarkable alacrity of spirit, will do nothing new, I suppose, if you now once again adorn with your benefits those upon whom you have already bestowed so many benefits long ago; and if you now again gratify those whom you have not rarely gratified before. Yet that very thing which you are accustomed to do daily and towards all—both to those asking and those not asking: to the former, that they might not need to ask, to the latter, because they do ask—you will now seem to seal and confirm, as if by a certain decree, the prior things, and at the same time to show that it was with true greatness of soul that you gave what you gave, and that for this same cause you are now bestowing the same in the present. In which matter, just as we cannot but remember your benefits, and feel gratitude, and acclaim you with praises, so too can we no more put aside the memory of ourselves. For whatever I have done in the past, whatever I shall do, I approach it all relying on your right hand, to speak with Sophocles. ^B And you yourself could in no way deny [that you observe] the same manner; nor could you now abandon a most beautiful method of acting, which you have long since entered upon, not for our sake alone, but for the good of all mortals in general; once having entered it, you could not now abandon it. For you are the only one, above all others, who—as Demosthenes says—have managed the republic for the common profit and use, and who excel in all things; you have regarded this great tribunate of yours, or prytanean administration of the empire, or by whatever other name one might call it, as a kind of specimen of virtue and most honorable ambition of the spirit; you do not merely deserve well of all, and at every time, as though undertaking a struggle with the necessities of each individual, and straining all your nerves in it, so that no man of all men might, in any way whatsoever, be deprived of any thing; but you even exult with joy while you are bestowing a benefit: and this with a joy much greater than those who receive it; ^D indeed, you even reckon that you are receiving the benefit yourself when you are giving to others. For this reason, therefore—for this reason, I say—

^A or else we are lying; for it is impossible to speak freely in any other way, as all men know your right hand. ^B Yet, since we have often enjoyed your hand and your intention on many occasions, and you yourself have not forgotten it, and we hold such things in such happy memory that we are pained only by the fact that we lack the mouths of Homer—it is clear that in the present case, too, you will imitate yourself and use the same conduct toward a man who has often striven mightily in your own "Olympian" games and been crowned for all his contests, and who has often lifted up his hands to the heavens on your behalf (or rather, is always lifting them) and praying that all the best things may come to you from there. And all cities and all men join me in these prayers. For everyone cares for your affairs, and in all things you care for theirs: you, that they may fare well, and they, that you may live in strength for as long as possible; for in this way their own affairs would be in the best state, as for you to be well throughout is entirely appropriate, and for them, their good fortune would be as it should be. Be it so. But since I know very clearly that you will always be willing toward us, and will choose what is best, and will deem us worthy of honor, and will gladly do all that is permitted and made possible by the present state of need—both for other reasons and because (as the poet says) "the stars will go beneath the earth, and the earth will go up to the ether" ^C before one fails to obtain from you what one asks, seeing that you have often given even to those who did not ask, and have deemed those who did ask worthy of even greater things. And truly, this is a much finer and more venerable eulogy for you, I suspect, than any other you might claim. I fear, however—I fear, and perhaps not without reason—that since your nature is to give great gifts, you might now consider this present request small and far beneath your magnanimity, and either refuse it altogether or condemn me for not thinking rightly about what concerns you. But if you know how to give even these things, and to take them in hand simply, and if for us even the glorious Hercules treats the greatest of his labors as secondary, then I must be confident. Or rather, if you give readily, you will show us that we were wrong in our apprehension, and you will show how you adorn yourself: not only by being able to do great and wondrous things, and those worthy of crowns and proclamations, but also by knowing how to give to those who are small, through an abundance of kindness at the right time; unless, as I think, this very thing might be reckoned by some as another kind of magnanimity—the fact of not at all despising what are thought to be the very smallest things. That the matters we are now proposing are such, and not those which you generally perform, but are things altogether apart from the great turn of everyday events, is clear both from the fact that I dread it with respect to these very things, and from the fact that I beg for them: the first, lest you might not give, as you are accustomed to granting great things; and the second, regarding how it is well for you to give and for us to receive. For I will receive what I desire, and you will be considered even more gracious and greater than yourself for having behaved in such a way. For in this holy and wondrous community of ours, where we have our sustenance from the emperor, there are certain dwellings, most excellent in their situation and well-prepared for every season of the year, by the very nature of the site,

^A or by art and industry, and because they are separate and apart, situated at a distance from the others, providing the utmost and greatest serenity to a temple of a holier soul, so that they are in reality schools and dwellings for wise souls (Aristoph. 94), or rather of such a kind that they can rouse souls sluggish in their leisure toward virtue, and fill them with a holy ardor for this divine, chaste, and most pleasing-to-God frenzy. Those who are frenzied in the true manner are not merely happy or blessed, but are quite clearly divine. For my part, although I am not of that sort of person, nor equipped with the virtues that pertain to this, I am indeed far away; and thus it would be a wonder if my affairs were not entirely opposed to this. Yet I have been seized by such a desire to live in quiet and to act and live apart, that I would wish to have redeemed this way of life with all my possessions. For the condition of my eyes compels me to this, and, even if it were not so, what wise man would not choose quiet of his own accord? For this shines like a torch, and is the instructress of all the most beautiful things that can be named by anyone. This keeps the highest ether of the soul—sincere, pure, and separated from every material smoke—guarded throughout, while it clearly gathers and holds the mind together; it does not allow it to be scattered or tossed and overwhelmed by the billows of this world; and it causes it to be mindful of its origin and nature, and to be lifted on high, and to be moved, wholly inspired by the divine, and to concern itself most diligently only with things divine. Therefore, it would be a task for you and your kindness, which extends to all things—you who both wish for and are able to accomplish all the best things, and who act with the most ready mind—so that I may again make use of the same words, to let us also obtain these benefits, us, I say, who are truly most frenzied, though I know not whether to call us your lovers or those who craft applause and acclamations concerning you; but everyone would add, and of prayers.

VI. To the same

^D Since, for the reason that you have loved us for a long time already, and because we have experienced you as the one most favorable to our affairs of all people, we in turn are most zealous for you above all, and we love you singularly. Besides the fact that these things are known to all, by one another both are shown.

for indeed, there is not, there is not anything of all things that you do not perform together with the one who is bringing it about and determining it, no more than that the three angles of a triangle are not equal to two right angles. ^A This, therefore, is like a hallmark for you alone of all people; nor would you have given any thought to us, had you not known us to be your most intense cultivators, and to have a greater hold upon your favor than anyone else. But now, there is no time when you do not take thought for us, having long since frequently and in many matters contributed the greatest assistance, and having been present at the opportune moment. And now, while you write to us so benevolently and with a natural affection of the soul, so that you even make mention of a certain reciprocal and not unpleasant harmony, and call those former days festive, you give us most of all to conclude that, because you are not even now able to accomplish these things for our sake, you feel no small distress of soul, a state which is of no less value to us than if we had attained our wishes.

VII. Epistle of the most wise Nicephorus Gregoras to the Magister.

It has been reported to me by many concerning you and your character, that you have often been filled with the impulse to write to us. But a certain opposing thought, coming out in opposition, has struck back and very forcefully restrained that impulse, offering as pretexts, among other things, that we have not yet met, nor have you otherwise understood what our character is like—for you consider that the characters of men are many-sided and very greatly varied and difficult to infer, and that they require long association and some accurate testing for understanding. ^C And I, by the Muses, praised this timidity of yours, and at the same time I recalled that Attic fable which introduces Momus blaming Vulcan because, when he was fashioning man, as he says, he had not placed doors upon the human breast. For when these were opened, he said, whenever there was need, the thoughts and designs hidden within would be manifest to those associating with him from the outside. But I, thinking it not reasonable to imitate you in these things, and at the same time having altogether set aside and passed over all such excuses, will converse with you even from afar, just as with an intimate acquaintance and friend, looking only to the communion of discourse itself. ^D For the proverb, which asserts that the things of friends should be common, places friendship as the cause of the communion of things. I, however, claim the opposite, that the communion of the thing is the cause of friendship. For just as the gifts of nature are given in common to both rich and poor—since it is not granted to the king to be born with his purple, nor to the artisan with his pallium, but it brings both out into life naked—so wisdom acts as midwife equally to all her own disciples, and distributes the things of learning similarly to all, and deems it worthy for them to think brotherly thoughts toward one another and to have a friendship that is both natural and self-taught. And if, as nature going forward is variegated, playing upon the stage of the dreams here below, and being brought together with the things of...

one should contend that this familiarity likewise depends necessarily upon such matter, becoming consonant with it, and sometimes flowing together, and then most easily departing again, I shall judge that such a man says nothing at all to the point. For friendship that is wisely established does not fear the murmurs of such surges, but leaving all things below to rejoice in their own way, it lifts the eyes of the soul perpetually upward towards the unerring fountains of reality, and is rightly taught from thence the laws of truth. But that which lays for itself weak foundations does not know how to remain, but is quickly shaken and slips away, and it does not even fear to resort occasionally to the opposite vice—enmities and hatred. To such a one, as with that Samian Pythagorean, we advise that we justly erect empty monuments (cenotaphs), but that we do not imitate it, inasmuch as it migrates thus from life unto death.

Thus was I moved of my own accord to offer to you the seminal, yet firm and certain pledges of friendship, as I could by no means peddle those previous slight suspicions, but was a conjecture and likewise a not-false prophet of what was to come from our own characters. But if, among the things that come into being and are in motion, whatever wishes to persist falls ill and withers, there is need, therefore, for such a friendship to have a suitable motion, that the disease may not take root in the shoot, or it suffer decay while yet in the grass. Since, therefore, letters know how to nourish friendship ^B between those who are present, and those who are removed to some place far off by land and sea, we must not hesitate, separated as we are by such a distance, to use these messengers for our present purpose, as they alone can, as if speaking for those who are silent, imprint the colors of our characters and fittingly represent the images of an incorporeal soul.

Wherefore, as I have first opened the way of friendship for you and have made smooth for you what was rugged, I ask you to write, and to provide us in turn with some testimony of the character that is within you. And so, like a tender child, let us both nourish the friendship recently formed between us, and advance it to the proper beauty and greatness of wisdom, following as is natural the laws of nature; for all things in the world are twin-born and keep equal courses. And just as infants first see their mother as no differently than any other woman, but afterwards, as familiar habit brings them a fuller knowledge, they distinguish and discern the genuine from the alien: even so also friendship, when it begins to be formed and shaped by those already joined in mutual love, deigns ^C at first to give and receive its own tokens as obscure and difficult to determine; but as time flows on, and habit instructs and regulates the characters on both sides, all that is redundant and illegitimate is driven away, and whatever is lacking is not permitted to remain so for long. For the mind, being the judge of things in the world, works now upon the ether, now upon the earth. And through the senses it reads the qualities of things; for it inquires, as if by touch, and learns which bodies are warm and which are cold. It inquires by smell as to which things are fragrant, and which are not. And now it has apprehension of harmonious sounds through the sense of hearing,

^A and through sight it has communion with the various tinctures of colors. Since things are thus arranged in other matters, it is nothing new if it now apprehends the characters of men, whether through the voice itself or through letters, and learns their qualities in this same way. Since, moreover, speeches are sometimes the images of things when, before the actions themselves, they are still practiced in the chambers of the mind and depict the ends and outcomes of actions there, and at other times they exist in another way as images of the soul itself—when, namely, after that interior consultation, they become works, redolent of the soul, so to speak, and expressing to those who are outside how that soul is disposed and affected—so now, for you, most wise man, it is time to examine my character in these very letters, just as it behoves us in turn to recognize yours in your own. For these will not be specimens of any ambition, but a certain splendid method and transaction for entering into friendship; although even if it were ambition, not even that is wont to be abhorrent or alien to human nature. For while all other things which the globe encompasses wither with old age, many of the ancient sages have placed the sole desire for glory in those things which are exempt from aging (Pericles, apud Thucyd. lib. II ad finem), especially since it is agreed that the studies of letters have received from nature laws which are entirely singular and proper, and diametrically opposed to other arts. For at the age when those ^B are allowed to fade, it follows that these flourish most brilliantly and of their own accord offer the most excellent field for the leaps of a prudent ambition.

VIII. Master's responsory letter.

It is long ago, since I, along with many others, being struck by the fame of your erudition, am not only a lover of your genius, but am driven about these very things in an insane way, as if by a divine madness, nor do I ever cease from loving and admiring you most vehemently; indeed, that the opportunity might arise for me to see you face to face—my admirable love and a man most excellent in all things—at the very first moment, is something the value of which in my prayers cannot be expressed in words. By these letters of yours, moreover, you have wounded me not a little, thus drawing me and yourself together, and, if I may so speak, fusing and joining us, making both one thing, while at the same time making it most plain how I aspire to yours, and that I have been affected in this way; while you say that I have often agitated in my mind to send letters to you, but that because I had not yet perceived your ways, I cast aside that impulse. I, however, confirm that I was of this mind and had decided to write,

^A confess; yet I was not deterred by the reasons you mention; nothing of the sort, indeed. So far, in fact, am I from either feeling or concluding anything of the kind regarding you, that even before I had made trial of your genius, I had already made your praises the contest and delight of my tongue, having admired the way in which you are carried with such exceeding excellence through every praiseworthy form of letters and character, and having congratulated our age upon that outstanding natural talent of yours—from which excellence those who still doubt are far removed. I did not, therefore, impose silence upon myself for that reason, but rather, most especially, for the sake of decorum, and because I did not think one should leap suddenly into something of this kind; and then, too, because to one considering the matter more diligently, it seemed more just that the beginning of the correspondence ought to have come from you, who were the first to incite us, by the marvelous commendation of your fame, into the clamors made against you. You deigned to do this—doing well, and in a way very pleasing to us; for if, before, when merely spoken of and heard of, you caused such astonishment, how great a thing do you think you have accomplished for us now that you are seen and speaking through a letter, and manifesting yourself, as far as is possible, as if present? This is so both for other reasons, and also because you provide the most excellent and delightful things to behold: partly, to be sure, that weight and nobility of mind, most worthy of philosophy, and furthermore, that quick-wittedness, excellence, and keenness, and that dexterity in all things; and partly because you cultivate all the Muses, and reach out in every direction, and are a leader, standard-bearer, and admirable cultivator of whatever rites and initiations of Mercury anyone might name. You join rhetorical philosophy to the contemplation of both the heavens and the stars, and in all these things you so far exceed everyone else, that no one else equals you even in a single branch of learning. Deservedly, therefore, do you have the power to allure all in every way and to enslave them to yourself; now striking them with wonder, now soothing and charming them, and altogether casting a spell upon them with these enticements of yours. And you, indeed, believe that by this letter you have especially invited us to join in familiarity with you, and that you have undoubtedly gained for yourself companions and friends; and although the proverb, as if by a certain law, ordains that all things are common among friends, you nevertheless say that this initial communication through letters precedes friendship, assuming that friendship will follow immediately. But know well that you are mistaken, and that you have not sent these letters to those who were not already your truest friends—not those who would become friends only now, as you suppose, but those who had long since become so. This was through fame alone, and the missiles of fame, by which we were so deeply wounded; and to such an extent do we profess to love all that is yours, that we yield nothing in this regard to those with whom you have had long-standing ties of necessity.

IX. To Joseph, a Father to be compared with the angels, an exposition of the things that happened during the time of the invasion of the Italians and Persians.

^A your kindness and commerce, or rather, preferring you to the treasures of Cinyras. And in truth, no one will deny that we spend upon you almost more effort than upon ourselves, and whoever has engaged in conversation with us will remember that I have celebrated your praise before all others with my words. For from you the discourse must begin; your praise must be proclaimed before all things and weighed against your deeds, so that the listener may be able to divine the greatness of the achievements from the words.

Non-the-less, it does not escape you how many and how great are the applauses and uninterrupted clamors that deafen your ears in the assemblies; you know well that each and every one takes concern for you, whether you are present or absent: we ourselves indeed (a thing which should seem absurd, nay, rather, marvelous to no one), often, when we have spoken with I know not whom through some necessity, usually institute a conversation about you above all others (for this is most pleasant to our soul), and truly remit other matters to other and further times, though we never fail to devote effort to those same things. For just as those who are incited by a divine fury—as the poet ^B says—cannot restrain themselves, but are unceasingly carried away, so we too, swept away by admiration for you, could not but proclaim to all others the benevolence you show to them, to whom you are an object of admiration; for your magnificence toward us also is such that scarcely a father himself could exhibit greater. ^C What more need I say? I speak of things known to the common people (for all know, and shouting with great clamor, they call me indeed blessed, but pray for all the best things for you, and thus they daily bestow maximum honor upon us both); for I, and anyone else, would rightly be indignant if, while you contribute to us everything that could be useful to us—nay, more than you owe—we did not acknowledge your benefits with a grateful heart and mouth. Therefore, if we bring what we owe, we cannot on that account claim praise for ourselves; but you, who are the author of so many benefits to us, are deservedly worthy of all praise. For while you add greater and more excellent things upon great benefits, you never think that you have done enough for yourself, but strive with the greatest ardor to take care of us, ^D and with the greatest zeal in matters

^A that are considered better. Indeed, not even now do you think you have achieved anything of what is expected, nor anything close to it. Rather, you compete on our behalf against yourself, and even more than we do for ourselves; you are concerned in such a way that you never accept any satiety of the zeal which we, being unable to repay in equal measure, clearly show how much we are benefited. And by this very fact, we are able to take pride in ourselves and, I should add, in you. For the helplessness in making a return, and having nothing sufficient to offer, is a testimony to two of the finest things: showing both those who are benefited and those who confer benefits—the former as attaining the greatest things, and the latter as bestowing such gifts.

Moreover, we would willingly be content to be considered inferior in these matters—know this well!—preferring that such things be borne with a spirit willing to be overcome, rather than being able to finish the task in equal proportion, given that we would rather seek a loss from you than receive a benefit from anyone else. For to be seen among those adorned by you, and even to register yourself among your benefactors, is in any case worth more—due to your arrows and love-charms—than registering ourselves among the benefactors of ^B anyone else, and much more so for the reasons I have just mentioned, and especially as we know the proverb that, in a manner of speaking, joins those who are associated with their companions.

What, furthermore, can be more honorable for the son of Laertes than the favor and friendship of Athena, and the fact that—as he himself judges in Sophocles—she favors him more than the other divinities, by whom all things are at all times governed, just as you, in a greater way, rule over us? Indeed, you do not use this familiarity only toward us in caring for them, but toward everyone, as if led to it by some law or necessity, accommodating yourself and offering yourself as an example, and this not to just a few. For it delights you more if it is granted to you to do good to others than if others confer benefits upon you; for when you give, you appear to yourself rather to be receiving. ^C Therefore, you honor those who adapt themselves to your character, while you turn away from those who do not, as if they were enemies. For no one who has brought a request to you has suffered a refusal, whether they were worthy or not; since you anticipate the desires of others, moved by the desire to do good.

I might rightly say, therefore, that you do good to both the known and the unknown, some of whom are already enjoying your benefits, while others are eager to enjoy them. For those who came last received no less than those who had been accepted into your circle for a long time. Therefore, to use the same words, you have received both the known and the unknown into your fellowship. Furthermore, if it delights me to say such things about you, other things delight me somewhat less. For if so much time is spent by you, with whom we always

^A I have no words to say how much I grieve; for I am bringing into the middle of things those aspects of my misfortunes from which I have stood apart for so long, and yet, since it is fitting to be with you always, I choose to do this as if taking an indictment of myself from the absence of those dear to me, and intentionally presenting my own misery. For what I am deprived of and the extent of my loss is shown, and when I remember the things that would lead me to fly to you, I confirm both of these: that I am helplessly bound to you, and that you yourself are worthy of everything. A third person might perhaps add that from this there appears to everyone a pyrrhic dance and bacchanalia resulting from being together.

^B Truly, the proverb legislates and declares that the native soil is dear, and the poet of Smyrna bears witness that there is nothing sweeter than fatherland and parents; but as for me, all these things are brought to a lesser rank because of you, and I am in danger of holding the opposite opinion about them, led by my love for you, and I think that your fatherland should be preferred to my own. For just as your presence formerly adorned us in truth, and all rejoiced with us on your account, so those who now possess you cannot deny that they possess a great treasure. Indeed, even good fortune itself would seem less fortunate to us without you. Why, then? Because the pleasure we would enjoy when you are present (which is to contend with fortune, or rather to elevate it to something greater) we would not taste in your absence, because your very absence would diminish every kind of pleasure. But now, if ever at other times, we have experienced your incantations and remedies through the charms and artifices of the soul, for the evil demon has driven us headlong, so eager was he to compensate for our former state with calamities, and to impose a burden which we were not equal to bearing.

^C For those who set out from Sicily for the destruction of the Romans to bring aid—I refer to the Italian cohort—how they treated Thrace and matters there, and what sort of region they left as a wasteland for the Scythians, it is not the place here to recount again. ^D As for what they were unable to establish as kings (and I would not say this for the sake of example, O Savior and liberal leader, but since these things occurred in the former place, so let them be spoken of), it is better to pass over it in silence. But now, truly, they cannot resist us, for they have gone utterly to ruin, having received into their company the ancient enemies of the Achaemenids, whose insolence they have increased with their own audacity.

^Athey came, and attacked us with the utmost fury, leaving nothing untried to subvert all of Thessaly and utterly destroy the entire region: mountains, fields, precipices, crags, rocks, roads crowded with people, high and deep places, caves, meadows, farmlands, forests—in a word, everything is collapsing and perishing. Everything is filled to an immense degree with corpses and gore; streams of blood fill the ditches everywhere and, like rivers, mix their waves with the sea, and wrap corpses for the fish to devour—men half-dead, clearly dead, and not even feeling the pain.

Presenting a spectacle intolerable even to friends, as the tragic poet says; for one lies disemboweled, another decapitated, with hands or feet severed, or indeed deprived of all limbs. For they declare in competition, and as if by a set price and oath, that they will kill as many as possible with the sword and spare no one; and thus they expose the guilty with the innocent, and finally the whole population, to the whim of the traitors; and no wonder. For those who pitch and move camp for various reasons must do everything by which they themselves may appear to strike the greatest terror into their adversaries.

For these men rejoice above all in blood and slaughter; it is a pleasure for them to kill others with the sword; they find leisure among the evils of life, since they consider gentleness to be cowardice. Cruelty delights them, just as the gentleness of character delights others; they always covet the property of others and treat it as if it were their own, and indeed they dare to risk their very lives for such things, and bear it ill to be despoiled of their own. Wherever they go into battle, they carry off victory and provide an example of the hydra's head that constantly regenerates. The amputation or loss of any limb does not diminish their ardor; where they have lost one hand, they fight with the help of the other; deprived of both feet, they advance, ^Dor, if you prefer, leaning on their knees, they wage battle even in this way, and they do not cease; indeed, they even take pride in this very mutilation of their limbs, as if they had performed some great deed.

^A They fight with the remaining hand; and if both are gone, they dance a martial movement with their feet, not vexed by what they have lost, but deeming it a terrible thing not to be able to use their will, perhaps remembering Cynegeirus ^B of old and Callimachus, of whom the one, pierced by the arrows of the Medes, stood as though immortal even after he had died, while the other, Callimachus, and Cynegeirus as well, who had his hands cut off while wishing to capture a Persian trireme, are examples. And to these men it truly appeared most shameful to die not in battle, nor for the madness of that conflict to be brought to completion in their bodies; and someone has even now often cast this as a reproach against another. Whence they rush with maddened impulse in all directions; and with no one resisting, but all, as if by a stroke of astonishment, ^C abandoning themselves to hearing alone, these [invaders] pillage, plunder, cut down, burn, and ransack, enslaving some, slaughtering others, and piling up mounds of corpses—so great in number that they are not even comparable to the corpses of the Corcyraeans, which, as Thucydides says, they carried on wagons; but indeed, they would suffice from this source to bridge rivers, if one wished; and they would suffice to serve as ramparts for the fields. Or rather, they crowd these [corpses] to such an extent that it is not even easy for one walking to pass through them; but one must, if it is possible to say so, be carried ^D upon them; so thickly do they fall, feasting the birds, and feasting the wild beasts, and the race of dogs. For the scarcity of what is available has brought even these [survivors] into the hands of the untamed, who reject them; if any of these [survivors] appear anywhere, fleeing the sword, but wishing to snatch some of their own property by night so as not to die of hunger, they lead a life not worth living, and differ from those who have already perished only in that they will suffer this same fate after many unbearable hardships.

And the time is for the robbers also such as has never been before, and they would pray for it to fall out even more so for them. For those who escape the hands of the enemy fall straightway into theirs; and finding these other such victims, even if they willingly surrender what they possess, they do not escape without suffering evils for all that, but after first receiving many blows from the terror of it, they are thankful not to have died; but those who wish to defend them with arms perish together with them, and suffer the most grievous and unexpected punishments, just like those who, avoiding Charybdis in the Sicilian Sea, fall miserably upon the sadder rocks and cliffs of Scylla.

Alas! Athos also has partaken of this calamity and the strange onrush of these waves—Athos, which alone truly has a safe dwelling for all virtue, which alone everywhere in the world and by the consent of all is a vessel of election, has experienced the common calamity, as if on a rocky sea, although it did not, even from the Median king Xerxes

^A allow itself to be subdued, he who left nothing untried to destroy it. For Xerxes willed to make the mountain, once dug through, passable for ships toward the sea, yet by this vain endeavor he left a monument to his own folly and absurd mind; and he caused descendants, who pay the penalty for that senseless enterprise, to raise sad cries to heaven, when before their eyes are presented the dwellings of holy theologians, monasteries, temples, shrines, and cells, which were all enjoying supreme prosperity, but now are dragging themselves into ruin, after the holy inhabitants were atrociously slaughtered—so that, beyond their hope, the men indeed dwell upon the earth, but their conversation they already have in heaven; and those whom—according to Plotinus the Egyptian—both adolescents and adults, and indeed those already gray-haired yet still lively in the bodies with which they live, might cause to be weary. For this one thing they all look to, this one thing they strive after and cherish, that they might enter into union with God. O fighting hands! Why then did they not all stand aghast in horror? Indeed, I was stunned even by the mere narrative, and if I had been present, I would have put on the hardness of a stone, like Niobe. O sword that pierced them all, and whose edge was not blunted by shame! O Christ-faithful cohort! O sacred assembly, full of God, which, when the news was heard, immediately gathered together and remained in the same place willingly and with a joyful soul! For since they preferred to see death rather than to live in a miserable condition, and were about to finish their lives gloriously, they brought upon themselves a death consistent with their struggle.

^C Who, however, will be able to sufficiently lament these calamities? To whom, while he wishes to relate all these miseries, will his voice not stick in his throat? For my part, I am persuaded that neither the disaster which the Athenians experienced near Sicily, nor the devastation brought upon the Acharnians by Archidamus, nor the destruction of Thebes or of Troy could be compared with these miseries of ours.

Thus, such an immense quantity of miseries do we have before our eyes daily. For heralds ^D send to us daily—not of earth and water, as did the ancestor of the present Persian 12 to them, as if to say it was their lot to be defeated; nor, indeed, would they have thought it right for that man to be honored according to his lineage, unless they too employed their hands for his sake. For long ago, having been dug through by Xerxes and all toward the sea having been razed—not because it was truly possible to cross with ships (for how could it be, when it was possible to sail from elsewhere?), but so that it might truly be for those who came after a better example of that man’s folly and absurd illusions—having suffered such things before, now, being nearly destroyed by his descendants who have rendered all things into colonies, it raises its grief to heaven, and compels those who have seen and those who have heard to cry out "Iou! Iou!"—remembering the holy gatherings of those who practiced divine philosophy, and the schools, and the shrines, and the temples, and the huts, and the saving modes of life full of graces, which, having flourished in excess before, now suddenly vanished, having flowed away altogether; the inhabitants having been inhumanly slaughtered like priests, and as no one would ever have expected—men who were on earth indeed, but who possessed their citizenship in heaven, and according to Plotinus who came from Egypt, feeling shame for whatever portion of the body pertained to them, whether young or old, whether adorned by white hair or not yet deemed worthy of it, all looking to one thing, and clearly arrayed with God for this very struggle. O those hands that wielded swords in that day before [D?]—alas for those who came after! How did they not become numbed? And why were the words of the kinsman not present? I, for one, was beside myself at the mere sound of it, and if I had been present, I would have suffered the fate of Niobe. O sword that went through all these, and was not dulled by modesty! Or rather, O that God-beloved company! O holy festival! O divine congregation, which, when it came together at the immediate report, did not endure to be dissolved even when it was possible; choosing rather to be heartlessly deprived of life than to appear to fear death, having concluded their deeds with an excellent end, and having added to their struggles outcomes that were not discordant!

But who could mourn these things sufficiently, and match a lamentation to these disasters? Or who, having attempted to tell them, would not leave out the greater part, thinking he was telling them, yet falling so far short in the telling, as if he had not even been eager to tell them at all? For I think that neither the winter 15 of the Athenians in Sicily, nor the things they suffered before 16 under Archidamus at the cutting of the trees of the Acharnians 17, nor all that men have to say about Thebes and the fair city of Priam—of these, nothing can be compared to the present difficulties, not even close. And these things, indeed, are before our eyes: so many in number, and so great in magnitude—now also they have heralds...

of destruction, who demand not earth and water, as the descendant of Xerxes who currently reigns does, but the most bitter things of all; and even if they do not find the most eager agents of their will, they nonetheless demand them. And what is it that they want? They want us to hand over the city to them of our own accord, and to be placed among the number of their subjects. To this end, they threaten the devastation of our region, the overturning of our city, the slaughter of its inhabitants, tears, bloodshed, murder, ten thousand captives, wounds to be inflicted upon those who resist, the carrying off and plundering of spoils, the destruction of all our crops, and the mournful ruins of ships, buildings, ports, tombs, porticoes, and theaters—nay, all these horrible things at once.

^B Our city, therefore, stands in wakefulness and anxiety, full of turmoil and replete with confusion, fearing that, having long ago alone committed the most terrible sins of all under the sun, and now possessing nothing less, but having actually reached the pinnacle of evils, we may now pay the full penalty—alas!—and that something of what is fitting for such great wickedness may come to pass. For we know that these malevolent powers, greedy for calamity, serve the divine will against us completely and contribute to our need, even if they are hateful to God; and the one who is responsible for the greatest things is especially let loose upon them, and they in turn punish him. Thus, to me who sees these things and perceives them, there truly comes to mind the judgment of those tossed about on the sea, when, brought down from heaven by certain thunderbolts or whirlwinds, and buffeted up and down by the impact, with the ship threatening to sink shortly, those on board have nothing with which they can contend against such a great force of waves rising over their heads; and having despaired of the end, they fall into the most desperate state, as if their life were hanging by a thin thread, as they say. For what is lacking in our present circumstances compared to these? Or rather, are these not even inferior to what is presently at hand?

^C To these things, we certainly need arms, and freedom of speech, and a numerous company, and an army arrayed with haste, and—so to speak—the total consummation of all that is happening, using which, if our current general (21)—a man whom, had Homer seen him, he would have said was able, above all others, to both set forth good counsels and to rouse war—were to employ them, it seems to me a great and noble thing to have done against the enemies. And as for us now, these people—and one might say, not least, if not even more, inasmuch as we are among those who are suffering and our present situation is caught up in spiritual wickedness—have need of your customary stretching forth of hands to heaven and the incantations of your prayer, that you might reconcile us, that you might aid us, and that you might deliver us ^D from this mist. For it would be just for you to do well by a city which you especially cherish, and which is able to recount many and great acts of philanthropy performed by you both toward it and toward its neighbors—for the fact that you are not now present with it is what makes what it is suffering all the harder to bear.

OF THE MOST WISE AND MOST LEARNED LORD THEODULUS MAGISTER: ORATION ON THE DUTIES OF THE KING ADRESSED TO ANDRONICUS II PALÆOLOGUS

^A 1. I judge you, O excellent Emperor (for I have enough knowledge of you to undertake this reasoning), to be one who purposes in spirit to pray for and to foster for yourself and for the citizens subject to you all that is best and most beautiful. This, in fact, is not entirely difficult to perform. But since a king is then truly to be judged as reigning in reality, when both he himself and those who are under him reach out a hand to noble things, I would certainly be committing an error if I were to pass over in silence your virtues, and not only those which you have performed brilliantly up to this point, but also those which you will perform hereafter. Furthermore, the things by which others, confident in them, incessantly heap praise upon you, these we also deem worthy of adoption. For thus, by discoursing concerning those things of which kings have need above all others, I shall not appear to you to be doing anything new, if I recount once again what has already been related by others. Why say more? If I were convinced that you could be made better by my praises, I would certainly amplify your virtues with my expressions, thus being useful to you. But if we must speak the truth, the excess and abundance of praises have now created such weariness for you that not even those that are true and generous are able to delight your mind. For since both beautiful and bad things, when brought forward without moderation, produce no good result, nor do they correct us,

^A α. You do not seem to me, most excellent emperor, as I, having understood you thoroughly, am able to reason, to be anything else at all among all things, than one who is capable of ruling in the most beautiful and beneficial manner both for yourself and for those governed, and one who, in prayers, would desire to obtain some admirable vote of approval from all through all things. And this is so much more than possessing rule without this (a), since a man truly rules when he himself and all together lay their hand to noble deeds. And I would not be acting reasonably, since you are such and are naturally inclined toward virtue, if, after that, I myself—what those who are among your very ardent admirers will show not only in the present, but also in what is to come—were to leave aside those things which I have the power to speak of; but whatever things others use to gather praises for you, these I shall also deem worthy to use. For besides the fact that it is not necessary to counsel nothing of the things that are coming to pass and over which you are the master, nor shall I appear to you yourself to be doing anything at all new, if I discuss the same things for the same purpose as others do. And yet, what am I saying? For if I knew that I would be making you better by my praises, and that I would be adding greatly to those noble qualities you possess, you may be well assured that I would not have forborne from this contribution. But now, if you grant me leave to speak, you are so truly corrupted by the multitude and magnitude of the praises, that, seeming to think that everything has been put right by them, you are negligent of yourselves and grow slothful, no longer choosing to take any account of the noble, nor of...

^A moving yourselves toward what is necessary. But if those things which you hold in the highest esteem result in harm for you, how is it not worthy to cede them to others, through whom you yourselves will be the most blessed of all? For if, by means of what I might suggest—and you, having heard these things, were willing to carry them into action—I should prepare your entire life to be marvelous and your reign to be immortal in praise, I would confer a much greater favor upon you than if I had collected and offered you all the gold beneath the earth and above the earth, if such a thing were possible. For wealth at one time holds sway in one way, and at another time in another, but virtue stands so throughout all time that there is never a time when account of it is not taken. Of this, I know well, I shall show myself a demagogue of the swiftest kind, explaining what sort of person he who rules must be, and giving you starting points through which you yourself might be noble and good, and such as to be worthy ^B not only of the salutation but also of the God who has honored you. You will also have subjects of such a kind that, on the one hand, it happens that they strive in all things to be like you and to follow your footsteps as much as possible, while, on the other hand, you will be to them an example of everything noble, so that it might be a body worthy of much, preserving its beauty from head to foot. Since, then, you yourself having become the best, you will proceed to make all the others similar, and since things are in this state for you, it will be yours on both these counts to be admired, both for the goodness which you yourself possess, and for that of which you are the chief cause for others. How, then, must virtue not necessarily be grasped from this, if you care for the manner in which you are admired? And I know well that you care for this more than anything, if indeed you care most of all to rule in the most noble and truly just way.

2. First of all, then, it is necessary for you to consider this: that even if you have obtained the lot to rule over the earth and to have such a great magnitude of affairs encompassed about you, nevertheless you have also obtained ^C the lot of being mortal and of our common condition; so that you might not have the capacity to think more than the reality, nor to step beyond the marked boundaries of nature. For what are you the more better than any private individual because of your station, if you are not also the more good? But since you would not have even existed—referring the origin of your race to dust and to nothingness—not only will you not remain forever, but you will also complete the same course as your ancestors, you must strive with all your spirit, on the one hand, to use these things with the greatest moderation, and to deal with affairs according to yourself and not above yourself, and on the other, to administer your rule well and as is proper. And you must not consider it to be a great thing that you rule simply, but that you rule well; nor that you have been deemed worthy of the purple and the ^D scepter, but that you will be a participant in the affairs of Olympus; nor if you have admirable men [around you], but if along with these, and before these, you will have God as your approver—toward whom, as the common Master and guardian of all, you owe as much and such great benevolence as you deem it worthy that others should have toward you. And being so disposed, you must strive neither to do nor to choose to plan anything at all outside of what is pleasing to Him, but in all things to make Him your leader.

3. Then, before ruling others, you must [translation continues in next page]

^A be a ruler of your own passions. For a man who regulates his character in this way, even if he be a private citizen, is better than all the kings who do not govern themselves in this manner; he employs the most excellent and complete kind of rule, and that which one might wish for oneself as a governing authority. And if he happens to be among those very rulers, he bears a double power, ruling over both passions and men. But he who is utterly enslaved to pleasures and yet thinks it his duty to lead men, not only fails to perceive that he is a slave in the greatest matters while being a master in the least, but he is actually baser than any bought slave who pays heed to virtue, since the one is enslaved to pleasures, while the other is master over them. If, therefore, to hold sway over oneself and others is indeed to hold sway, but to hold sway over others only, while not over oneself, is not to hold sway at all but rather to be enslaved in the most shameful way and to be subject to all manner of base passions—being a master of men while being mastered from within—it seems to me, ^B O Emperor, that you would never wish to possess only the one, nor even that in and of itself, but rather that you would least desire to incur this worse reputation, when it is possible to possess both securely and steadily.

4. But since you are the namesake of the great Emperor, I know well that you strive to be a zealous imitator of him in accordance with your ability, displaying kindness and gentleness in your demeanor toward all, and approaching your audiences with great affability. In your outward appearance you may differ from others, yet in the mildness of your mind you act as a father to them—unless you are dealing with cities, embassies, or certain nations. For then it becomes you to assert your greatness of soul and to display a sense of gravity and dignity filled with an elevated mind, together with the kindness you possess; ^C so that you may strike awe in the one, while drawing the other toward goodwill. Thus, by binding all to yourself through both these qualities, so that they might even willingly choose to act on your behalf, you would be above any conspiracy or envy whatsoever. By bestowing such philanthropy, you would even treat those who have plotted the most extreme evils against you not merely by refraining from pursuing and punishing them according to the laws, nor by simply dismissing their charges, but actually by treating them well. At once you would make them better men, and at the same time secure for yourself the greatest possible goodwill from such actions. For those who have experienced what they did not expect, and those who have received what they did not hope for, will be exceedingly well-disposed toward you for all time, and as is natural, will remain eternally grateful to their benefactor; ^D they themselves will quickly change for the better, both out of reverence for your judgment regarding them and, further, reflecting that if, belonging to the most wicked faction, they yet met with such a gracious right hand, what could they possibly experience if they had become most excellent and pleasing to God? For it is the case that if you merely pardon those who commit faults, you are performing the work of a sensible man, and you gain no few fellow-participants in this same disposition. But when you deem those who have committed faults greater than those to whom you might reasonably grant pardon as being themselves worthy of forgiveness, in addition to so many and such great things of which I have already spoken

^A for you have become the cause for them of receiving the greatest of titles, being called and deemed godlike. And what greater thing could you seek for your happiness than that you, mortal though you naturally are, and born of our nature, should hear yourself called by God through these works of philanthropy, and then, from the abundance of His goodness, inherit immortal glory?

5. And this is especially the case if you have such an abundance of greatness of soul that you deem it right to accept nothing whatsoever from anyone, nor to receive gifts for the sake of appearances, as some have done before, but rather that you may the more perform good deeds for everyone for that very reason; since what is royal and magnificent is indeed of the truly lauded category, while it is of a base, petty, and grasping disposition to accept nothing when one has no need. For he who accepts what he stands in need of, accepts it, one might say, reasonably; but he who receives what he has in abundance, I could not say that he has not been impelled to this by lack of self-restraint of mind. Furthermore, to do good simply is truly to do good; but to do so while receiving gifts is not so much doing good as it is paying back, and ^B making the benefactor, if I may say so, look like the one receiving a benefit—a thing which no one, not to mention a king, would easily endure, nor any other person whatsoever. Apart from this, doing good is entirely the work of God alone, from whom at all times all good things flow to everyone; but both to do good and to receive it is the work of man; the former by nature, the latter by imitation. To the extent, then, that God surpasses man in such things, to that extent would he be the most kingly of all sovereigns who has practiced only the art of doing good. Be, therefore, this person yourself, accepting nothing from anywhere unless some necessity exists, but giving everything from yourself to all, and more than everyone needs; and if you should ever wish to accept anything from your subjects, ^C possess this also with much superiority, in exchange for which you provide for them in such a way, having them all well-disposed and breathing with you, which is the greatest and most beneficial thing for both you and those under your hand, and for the affairs of the realm in general. Therefore, O king, do not think that there is any limit to doing good, but always, towards everyone and in every way, and with great mastery, perform such things, and find as much joy in doing good as those who are receiving the good; nay rather, consider that you yourself are receiving good by those to whom you are doing good, and, conversely, feel pain when you are unable to do these things, just as if one were forcibly deprived of his own possessions, and consider yourself on that day a private citizen, not a king; and rightly so. For you have been joined to those who have the power to do good, being worthy to do good to all; and by doing good to all, you confirm that you have truly become one of those who have the power to do good; but if, when you have become one of those who have the power to do good, you are worthy to do it, and you do it not, then you are not worthy to be called one of those who have the power to do good, being put to the proof by your actions, and disgracing by your deeds what you believe yourself to be called. If therefore you care for what happens to you, and how ^D your rule might seem to have been established in the finest and most just manner of all, strive through all...

your life, I should think, not only to exceed the hopes of those who are in need of assistance, by giving them large things and in a manner royal rather than merely necessary, but also to exercise magnanimity toward everyone before you are even asked; so that you may have a good reputation from both, both from what you do well, and from the fact that you do it with such generosity; since from this you are also doing good to yourself. For if all men look to your hands, while you yourself look to the hands of God, it is clear that ^B whatever kind of person you appear to them, such you may expect that He, from whom you have both the power to rule and the means to give such things, will show Himself to be to you. Therefore, in strict truth, the things you give us are not your gifts, nor do you supply them from your own house and yourself, but you are returning to us our own things, and those which you administer—if it is permissible to compare small things with great—for our sake and for the sake of the common salvation, over which you are yourself the leader and protector, just as one conducting the polity of the world in the great city of this life.

^C 6. Since therefore, O King, you are to render an account of this great and marvelous leadership to Him who is the Moderator of all, and will be called to answer for all things to the Governor of all, I would wish to warn you before all else: that you should not only exercise the greatest humanity and liberality in giving toward everyone, but also act so that no one in any matter whatever can say they have been wronged. For just as a city cannot stand in safety without walls and ramparts, so neither can the kingdom itself without justice, or, to put it in one word, even if a city stands through the strength of its location and its inhabitants, and a kingdom, though protected by military guard, camps, arms, and the like, ^D if justice is not present, it is little protected or kept whole, to speak as Euripides does; conversely, if justice reigns, even without walls and arms, things will nonetheless be safe. How great, then, will your power be, if, while using troops, you strive to do nothing whatsoever outside the laws, and, by being the first yourself to confirm this through what you say and do, become a model of justice and of what ought to be done for all? For it is not, it is not possible, O King, that with you being disposed in this way, and preserving what is done according to the laws, that all those under your hand would not choose to think the same: the virtuous for this very reason, and for the most wicked, fear will suffice to cause them to do what is necessary; and I know well that all, willingly or unwillingly, will be well-disposed toward you and will be very concerned to please you. Thus, by having acted in this way, you will truly play the part of a good king, and as the discourse desires, you will not only be at all times exposed to all who are wronged—and thus very quickly stretch out a hand to them, so that, as the saying goes, it is a word and a deed at once—but also proclaim to each and everyone to take heart, that no one at all will be wronged as long as you yourself are reigning; and even if one of those who is very closely related to you by blood should...

^A be an offender, even he will absolutely pay the penalty, and no kinship will assist him. For in this way, there will no longer be anyone suffering injury, and you will be thought to set a higher value upon the laws than upon yourself; and you will do well to the offenders themselves, having prepared them to be just, and not to be such as hate their own souls because they love injustice, as the saying goes. This decree of yours will be the most beautiful and beneficial of all under the sun, even more so than the arguments Plato set forth concerning justice.

7. Moreover, you need justice not only in peace, nor when things are well-established, but most of all you need to be such a person even in the very midst of battles; since these, if they do not often take place in accordance with justice, prepare for a greater ^B harm than is possible to see in peace. You would conduct these most beautifully and profitably if you neither originate an unjust battle out of a desire to take advantage, but rather meet the circumstances out of necessity, having already been wronged as before, and are defending against those who began, in accordance with what the law provides; nor, what is better than this, when it is possible to resolve the differences arising with anyone at all by words, would you immediately resort to arms out of boldness of mind. Might this never among men—that which happened from the beginning—have even entered into life, or if it had happened, might it have immediately ceased, as instruments of greed and of the ability to do evil! For those who possess naturally the care for one another ^C and who were born to be one and to think the same things throughout all, because of desiring more and wishing to enjoy things which they ought least of all to enjoy, they thus ignore themselves so much that they even attempt to war against one another, contrary to nature, as if they were strangers, and consider this something of great importance. Be it so.

8. But if you wish to enjoy peace most of all, it is necessary above all else to be warlike, and in this way you will be able to enjoy it. For, as the wise say, the idle state is not preserved unless it is ordered together with the active state; and it is not possible to enjoy peace unless one ^D is warlike, just as it is not possible for one who is warlike not to share in it; and rightly so. For everyone, I think, cowers before one who has practiced fighting and has been trained to wage war. So, if you lay claim to peace, you are rightly entitled to lay claim to wars also. If, however, you make less account of this, not only will you not enjoy it in any way, but you will even acquire so many enemies because of this that you will be compelled to be warlike even against your will, if you truly care about peace. But if it happens that from holding only to peace, one is warred upon, and yet being ready for battles and being prepared with arms provides peace—than which nothing is more beneficial to those in power—choose rather to be warlike for the sake of absolute peace than, while pursuing this alone, to neither share in it and, furthermore, to have troubles from enemies. Since it is absolutely necessary that the man who is thus prepared should also, before all else, possess the knowledge of those things for which he was prepared, and we deem it worth your while to be warlike, so that you may be peaceful, and warlike [is] he...

who has practiced not at all [if he be] entirely unexercised, so it is necessary for you, chiefly for these reasons, to train both soul and body: the one with constant labors and martial exercises, now by going out on the hunt and engaging bears and boars and whatever is permitted; now by training in tactics with men well-versed in battle, and who are able to make others very capable in such matters. But you would also make the soul most noble and generous, and indeed breathing greatness itself and altogether heroic, if you direct yourself in daily practice toward those of the ancients whom we have cause to admire for their courage and for their finest and greatest deeds, and if you gladly spend time with and live with their words. They say, at any rate, that Alexander, son of Philip, used to sleep with the poems of Homer. For thus, through all these things, you would be at once vigorous and well-disposed in all your affairs, and at the same time a supreme master of military arts, and lacking nothing compared to those who have grown old in battles. Let your camps, both on land and at sea, be most numerous and excellent, and, so to speak, well-versed in military art and experience; for in this, too, lies the disposition toward the greatest courage. ^B For if you ruled only land or only sea, you would take thought for that alone; but since you are the ruler of both, you would be just in appearing to rule over both. If, however, you concern yourself with one but not the other, first of all, O King, you are like a physician to one single body, doing everything so that it is in the best condition, while taking no account whatsoever of the other. Next, you will appear to wish to rule that which you concern yourself with, and not to rule that which you do not; but you wish to rule both. It seems to me an absurdity and full of irrationality that, if you were not the master of one, you would think it necessary to bring all possible effort to bear to become its master, yet, being the ruler of both, you would fix your attention on one but not both, and allow the consideration regarding the whole to be crippled in this one regard, and the works of providence to appear to be only half-realized.

9. It is necessary, therefore, to take every thought for both land and naval forces; yet these must be of our own people and of our own roll, and altogether most belonging to your power—not at all of foreign stock, nor from the continent across the sea. ^C Not only because the matter of the army is, to speak briefly, the most beautiful, most useful, and public-benefiting thing—which is why it requires the greatest possible care from us, being as it is composed of our own people and those who favor our interests, and because it is they who realize that it is the season to take thought for the things that are to our benefit—but also because the foreigners whom we are accustomed to take into our own armies with the expectation that we shall appear to have greater power, all these are not shown to be what they are called, nor are they safe and well-disposed toward those who choose them, so as to be willing to share in the changes of fortune on either side. But even if they claim a thousand times over to advocate for our interests, and even if they use the most fearful of oaths, ^D one must not trust them any the more, for they are everything rather than that. For with regard to what is to their own profit, their gaze is fixedly and entirely...

^A on those who are in power; and as long as they see us prospering and superior to the enemy, they too maintain their station. But whenever we happen to suffer some reverse, and those on the other side prevail, at once, as if they had struck their sterns, they desert to that side, and those against whom they were previously arrayed with us, they now come to attack us in their company; thus at once rendering those enemies bolder against us, and at the same time casting fear and panic into our own ranks, not to mention—as often happens—great peril. Since they are prone to act in such a manner, not infrequently, as fortune happens to shift; being such in their faithlessness and trustworthiness, how can you desire an army composed of these, rather than one formed as I have said it ought to be? And surely if numerous forces, when lacking loyalty, have never been seen to prevail anywhere, nor could anyone say that they have, but on the contrary have been defeated everywhere, and this without considering the lack of loyalty and the absence of support from such an alliance—life itself is full of countless examples of this. And there is no need, O King, in addition to the forces you already possess, for any other foreign contingent; for those you have, I know well, are sufficient both in number and equipment, and sufficiently brave and bold in fighting, to strike terror and fear into your enemies. ^B

10. This will especially be the case if you yourself, from a position of abundance, bestow benefits upon them, and thereby render them more spirited and more valiant in battle. For if in times of peace they had rightly understood their own worth, they would not have listened to those who exhorted them to advance where they ought not. Nay, they themselves, not ignorant of what they are capable of, owing to the military experience they possess, would be eager to engage in drills and mock combats; to speak briefly, through constant competition with one another, they would kindle their martial spirit and, as it were, hold themselves ready for conflict. And when war breaks out and the need to fight arises, they would be so prepared and so minded that, in the first place, they would not wish to abandon their post even if they were to suffer some misfortune, but would even, if possible, rather lose their lives than do so. Secondly, they would deem the enemy's possessions as their own, and would have no regard for their own safety; so that they might not, for the sake of ^C preserving their lives, shrink from advancing against the enemy in order to become masters of their goods, but would approach them not only with zeal, but with disdain. You will find them to be such, and indeed much better, if they are convinced that whatever they might lose in war, you will yourself restore to them in greater measure from your own abundance. And if it should happen by fatal chance that some of them fall, you will, in the first place, account them as victors, in view of their spirit and the way they were prepared, even though fate decreed otherwise; then, you will show kindness to their children, taking them as your own, and showing them favor by honoring them as their fathers were honored—just as the Athenians used to do with the orphans of those who had died in the war, raising them publicly until they reached maturity, and finally, after equipping them with full armor, sending them back to their own families. For who, indeed, would not be unsparing of ^D

^A his life, whose mind is persuaded of such things?

11. But why do I say more? It would be just for you to esteem these men, as well as all others, both collectively and individually, so highly that you love them no less than yourself, and deem everyone worthy of the honor that is their due, and in general treat them not as subjects, but as kinsmen, addressing them with kind words and showing yourself kind toward them; this will clearly be your duty. By doing well in this way, you will achieve with dignity and gravity that they love you no less than they do themselves, and that they pray for all good things for you no less than for themselves. For the subjects ought to be partakers of the good fortune of those who govern. Therefore, they will honor you not so much as a king, but as a father or friend; and in such a way that they would more gladly choose to die for you than for themselves. ^B Meanwhile, however, it is not sufficient for you to be peaceful, or to wage war in a way other than I have described, and to excel in other virtues; rather, you must act so as to be pleasing and acceptable to all, courting the favor of the people to such an extent that you rule over the souls of all rather than their bodies; whence it will happen that they will fear for you more than for themselves. Furthermore, those envoys—whether you send them elsewhere yourself or receive those coming to you from foreign nations—you should never keep around you for a long time, but rather dismiss them as quickly as possible. For some will divulge your plans; others will reach what they propose for themselves, in which case there is a risk that they will poorly fulfill our duty; others, that they might get control of our affairs, will investigate more than is just and thus serve their own interest. For if it should fall to you to possess everything under the sun, with no one resisting, you would need neither envoys nor defenders; but if enemies were to rise up against you, you would have to contend with every kind of ^C hardship.

12. And if it is a very clear proof of a good king that all cities are administered as well as possible, and this cannot be if those chosen to rule are not well-disposed toward virtue—since, if they were otherwise, it would be impossible for these cities to fare well in any way, even if the king himself were of the best character—it is necessary that elections ^D for magistracies be conducted with the utmost care, since both favorable and adverse outcomes depend upon them. Never, therefore, choose your own relatives born to an illustrious station, but choose above all those whose character and conduct constitute true dignity. Appoint these, therefore, to administer affairs, and thus to your happy

^A auspices, matters will be saved; cities and nations will flourish with the goods flowing around them. But if you yourself are indeed excellent, while the citizens on the contrary are depraved, the cities will totter and rush to ruin; you yourself, moreover, will pass into the mouths of men who will say that you are an excellent man indeed, but too weak to prevent the magistrates from prevaricating. For if it were possible that the paths which the poets decorate with the name of Triptolemus ^B could pervade the whole earth, there would now be no difficulty, but you would trample all things under your feet and grant no place to wickedness, just as you have previously exhibited yourself as an exemplar of noble actions. But since that cannot be done now, you have need of magistrates who are good in fact, not merely in name, and who presume to govern men while they themselves are miserably goaded by depraved desires; for you yourself discern the good with impartial eyes and exalt them with praises. For you will not allow matters to fare badly, and you will always act so that you may urge the cities toward the exercise of virtue by voice and example, being persuaded that if the contrary occurs, you will be pressed ^C by the straits of affairs, as you are even now; for as the protector and guardian of all, you will teach everyone what must be done by each, and will extend a helping hand. And if matters stand thus, you will administer the commonwealth to the best of your ability, exhorting the citizens to concord and obedience through letters, and showing what things are to be observed and what are to be avoided, now stimulating and now augmenting their spirit, just as we see that charioteers do not rely only on the virtues of their horses, since they proceed by employing both word and deed. But enough on this.

13. Now we must say what conduct you should show ^D regarding money: it is surely royal and magnificent, as befits an upright king who ought to think on and strive for those things which adorn him and will serve as an exemplar for others. This will come to pass if, being equally removed from avarice and luxury, you do not indulge in depraved pleasures, which deprave human nature and cast it to the ground; rather, in all things, one must act liberally and magnanimously, as sound reason dictates. If you manage financial matters in this way, you will not only attain all good things, but you will also show yourself humane in the exaction of taxes from the cities, and with the least

^A amount of harshness. But if you are a slave to these things, and they possess your soul, first of all, I would be amazed if you could claim to lord it over men at all, being yourself a slave to wealth. Next, you will appear not in the least virtuous, but rather as one who makes an account of the most shameful things; you will collect taxes ignobly, you will lust after bribes, and you will accept them even when you should not. How, then, is it not the conduct of a marvelous king—one who desires to rule over everyone in all things and to be sovereign over all—to consider that even one of his subjects should think well? Moreover, such things are so alien to royal magnificence that even when any of his subordinates is caught doing them, he is turned away from and hated, and his authority is viewed as a contagion which ought not even to be looked upon; such a share of vulgarity is in them. Furthermore, while it is possible, as I said, to disparage money, to be the best of all and to be envied by everyone, and, by valuing these things more highly and being ^B excessively overcome by them, to have a bad reputation and be hated by all, you, on the other hand—judging that which is against you and your own glory to be highly advantageous, and considering that which would be the subject of the greatest and most marvelous eulogies to be worth nothing—will desire to let go of the former and choose the latter entirely, and will prefer to be called an ignoble money-grubber rather than a despiser of these same things, which not even one of your enemies would wish for you. Do not do this, but, O King, wish rather to have your treasuries empty of talents, if that were possible, than to surpass Midas in wealth with indecorum, since I do not mean that you should abstain from wealth entirely. Where would that lead? It is far from the case. It is not only that wealth is not by nature harmful to those who use it rightly—but often is the cause of the greatest goods—but also that it is needed by all, and most of all by you because of your authority and the necessities that arise from it. However, one should hold onto these things so as not to be held by them, nor to yield to them basely, nor to possess them for your own sake, but for the common good. Just as Aristides, son of Lysimachus, and Pericles, son of Xanthippus: the one, as Thucydides says, was so obviously upright and incorruptible that he yielded his own fields to the republic, not so much to avoid calumny, as that he might not seem unwilling to benefit others by retaining them; whereas, had he wished to keep them, no one, I think, would have stood in his way. Aristides, through having nothing, though he had what he could have had in abundance—for he was ^C not able even to provide for his own daughters—was such that the city of the Athenians, after his passing, provided for their marriages with money given in honor of their most noble father. Thus, it is not the simple use of money, as the word itself suggests, that can be censured, but an illiberal use which does not look to the utility of men.

14. And why do I speak of money? For whatever a king does outside of the common utility, he does as a private individual, not as king; for the one must care for all things, whereas the other merely [keeps his own] before his eyes.

^A And since he stands at the head of all, and all look towards him, everyone would rightly charge him, that by abandoning the care of all, and taking thought only for his own, and casting away the common providence for all, in clinging to his own affairs he denies the very name; claiming to be called king, but doing things ill-befitting such a man. For we shall not call him a pilot simply because he holds the rudder and practices the craft, any more than we would call one a runner who does not run; but so long as this one and that one are truly what they are—the one running, the other holding the rudder—we shall call them pilot and runner. But when they cease from performing these actions, they cease also from the right to hear themselves called such. And thus, a king is nothing other than the protector and guardian of all the men whom he has been allotted, just as those leaders of the people of individual cities are. Therefore, I do not believe that those who do not choose to speak and act at all times for the sake of the people should be deemed leaders of the people, nor would they be entitled to the name, for they care nothing for the common benefit. And Homer does not call kings "shepherds of the people" simply, but in order to indicate their sleepless and solicitous nature, and how much they owe to those over whom they preside. And what need have we of Homer and images, when it is possible to remember the great King, who at all times keeps the same providence for all? ^B Being shown thereby to be Creator and guardian and king at once, inasmuch as He takes such supernatural care of the state of those to whom He became the cause of their coming into the light. For this reason, He brings all whom He has deemed worthy to rule into a zeal for His own providence. You see how He wishes you to care for your own affairs and for yourself, and how He is far from depriving you of the throne, ^C but rather, by seeing to it that the very things which this throne grants are provided in every way, He establishes you in this position and reveals you to be an imitator of God.

15. Moreover, this too which I am about to say is not only something that a king should pursue above all else, but something he should pursue as if it were the only thing that matters; or rather, since this alone among all things preserves everything, and you alone among all those over whom you have rule have the necessity of caring for all, you must set this above all else. You must ensure that the councils and deliberations regarding the whole affairs of state may be held as honorably and as safely as is possible, as would be expected, and you must not carry into effect any of these matters without this providence. You ought to care for them surpassingly, employing as counselors those who are best, and who—I say this for the sake of their wisdom, time, and experience—are experts in such matters, while also contributing your own share. ^D I do not mean that you should give them orders, but as one who looks to the common good along with the others, selecting what is best from every source, whether it be you yourself or anyone else who discovers it. For it is not shameful to be persuaded by the insights of another, but rather:

Excellent is he who understands all things by his own mind; But he is also noble who places his trust in good counsel.

Beyond these things, in the matter of deliberating most excellently and as one ought, there is a very great security for affairs; while in the matter of having one’s reasoning fall into error, everything of necessity goes to ruin. Thus do generals, ship captains, and every other person act; each of these does not deem it worthy to perform anything at all before they have deliberated well. And yet, those [men deal] with certain small and particular matters, but for you the die is cast regarding the whole inhabited world. As the master, therefore, who has the power to hold—for better or worse—cities, nations, and all wealth, both deliberate and act upon all things in the best possible way yourself, and do not cease associating with good men, nor from discovering the necessary course and working it out yourself, and in these things prevail at every hour. ^B Moreover, it is not sufficient only to deliberate about the greatest matters, but it is also necessary that the things deliberated upon, before they are carried out, remain hidden from others; and one must consider not only how that [goal] might come to pass, but how this [means] might attach to that, and from there deem this worthy of greater forethought. For if this is present, that [goal] will also be worth much; but if this is absent, even if that be present ten thousand times over, it is worth nothing at all—and rightly so. For every plan, even if it is as excellent as can be, and even if it comes from the depths of the mind, provided it is unknown to the multitude, greatly profits those who use it; and there is a marvelous momentum toward success in the fact that none of the many knows of it. But once it becomes manifest, it is far and entirely removed from reaching its end, and from receiving the outcome that follows, if it is for the sake of acting that we deliberate—for this could not come to pass in any other way unless the things deliberated upon, as I said, proceed [in secret]. Hence, when marching against the Persians, hold out the Ethiopians [as your target]; and if you wish to wage war upon the Mysians, fein that you are preparing to do so against the Triballi; for thus you will easily attain what you seek, and enjoy a happy success in your affairs.

16. ^C But observe, as much as lies in your power, so that you do not think you have friends, only to then find yourself—unknowingly—being flattered, and [to find yourself] bestowing upon those to whom you ought not, things which were better chosen by appearance rather than by need. ^D For one ought not to trust simply all those who struggle to manifest affection and love for your affairs, nor have the same opinion regarding them. But those whom you see rejoicing in your successes and grieving in your adversities, who praise what is worthy of praise and freely censure what is worthy of blame, and offer salutary counsel, and who show themselves sincere in speaking and acting—assume these to be friends and intimates, and use them as your closest companions for things of the greatest value. But those who praise your affairs and nothing else, indiscriminately, and do not distinguish what is permissible from what is not, but are the same in all things, and are completely agape for gain—turn away from them and hate them strictly as flatterers, and consider them a bane to your authority; since, furthermore, the difference between these two types is so great that some, if they are not...

so to speak, receiving benefits, they do not endure it; whereas the others, even if they are mistreated, I think, and have suffered the most terrible things, will not be resentful, but will bear it no less than if they had been receiving benefits the whole time, being united with you absolutely, and, as the saying goes, prepared to bear everything out of goodwill, sharing equally in difficult times. They are not like flatterers, who are present only in times of prosperity and opportunity; for they would not even in a dream bear the difficulties of fortune and changes in circumstances. Consequently, if necessity requires it, you must allow such men to rejoice and keep them far away from you; but you must rejoice exceedingly with those who are naturally reasonable and grateful, and consider these men, as it were, certain senses of the ruling body, through whom it is possible to see and hear everything, and to make very good use of all things, those who are closest and those who are far away. For to this end, I think, serves the saying, "A friend is another self"; or rather, it turns out to be even more than this in practice. For the things that we are not able to do by ourselves, we can accomplish most easily through them. Indeed, Alexander, son of Philip, when asked where his treasures were, pointed to his friends; for while to possess these is the most beautiful and profitable wealth, without them even the greatest abundance in human terms is able to do little or nothing toward accomplishing everything that is fitting. Thus, according to Euripides, nothing is better than a true friend, not wealth, nor tyranny; and it is an irrational thing to exchange a noble friend for any amount of wealth—a friend of such a kind that he would not shrink from dying on behalf of his loved ones, but would even judge this to be truly sweeter than remaining and living, just like the young man for whom these words were composed. ^B

17. But, since we think that we must once and for all do good to our friends and conduct ourselves toward them in every way and embrace them in every manner, and that toward our enemies, if we are of a certain greatness of soul, we should neither do evil nor pay them any mind at all, but if not, we should make war and fight against them and defend ourselves with even greater preparation; you must consider what sort of person you ought to be in these matters if ever it should be necessary for them to be judged before you about some matter. For if you were to meet them both as enemies and friends, you would seem to have acted according to the laws; but if you have put all such things out of the way, being concerned only for the good and the just, you would be the best of all men, neither, if your friends are acting unjustly, granting that they should reap the fruits of such actions out of goodwill, nor, out of hatred, depriving your enemies of the justice that is their due; but even toward them you would be acting in accordance with the laws, exposing those who are lawless through the laws. For if they happen to be friends, still, according to Nicomachus, justice is more beloved; and at the same time, you could perform no more excellent work than to deliver your friends from wickedness—a thing that Themistocles, son of Neocles, and Cleon, son of Cleanetus, were not able to do, when the latter... ^C

^A, ^B began his demagoguery, first gathering his companions and once and for all disclaiming having them as his own, for fear that he might be led to do anything he ought not to do for their sake. But Themistocles, although he was exceptionally ambitious for power, prayed to avoid any office where his friends would not have anything more than the others. You, however, who have the habit of judging for others, should long before have judged and legislated such things for yourself, and not have indulged your own self through an excessive love of self, nor have satiated your own desires. Nor, because you have absolutely no one to call you to account and are not subject to votes, should you yield to that which is forbidden, fearlessly and gladly; rather, as if you were in want of many and terrible things—or rather, since you possess no man but only the unsleeping eye of God that watches all things—you should abstain entirely from wickedness, hold fast to virtue, and summon everyone to this through your own example.

18. Furthermore, you will take care that in your conversations spoken on each occasion there is as much discourse as possible, and so much that it is done not only by the right people, but also at the right time and in the right way; that it neither exceeds the measure, nor again is too modest, contracted, and beneath the magnitude of the affairs, or otherwise unseemly, but truly sufficient; preserving what is generated, and being in every way worthy for you to speak and for others to hear. This is not only because the tongue is the best treasure among humans, insofar as it is graceful and eloquent, but because Pericles, son of Xanthippus, before he was to speak in the assembly, practiced this ^C prayer: to say nothing superfluous or outside the subject matter. Know well that you will make your words more trustworthy than the oaths of others, and all will hold them as oracles, if you not only care about the truth and your actions more than anything else, but also appear to be fulfilling the promises which you not infrequently make to those in need with a certain brilliance, adding something extra and giving more than you have promised; for it is necessary for a good king not only that there be nothing irrevocable, nor deceitful, nor unfinished in whatever he may nod with his head, but also that he use magnanimity in all things.

19. Moreover, just as good doctors do not only attend to present diseases, but also think it necessary to expel with great effort ^D the corrupted humors that have long since invaded the body, and by doing all this demonstrate their art, so also you, O King, when the common welfare is at stake, act in such a way as to strengthen and increase the kingdom by whatever means you can, by amending those things that can be accomplished and by elevating them to a better state by your own genius, always intent on the public good. And since, now especially, the public finances are in such a bad state that the office of administering them is ceded to corrupt men by way of auction—a thing which has disturbed the affairs of the Romans to an immense degree—do not consider this matter a light one, but deem it worthy of every effort of a legislator. Therefore

do not merely banish this ^A perverse huckstering as a defilement from the state, but also enact a law that it shall not be permitted to anyone henceforth to bring such things to light, or—if he is a private individual—that he shall be valued by this, or, if he is in a different position and too powerful to suffer such things, that he shall be subject to every curse. For all of these turn out to be the greatest evils: that all cities and regions are ground down and suffer terribly at the hands of these wonderful purchasers, who press down hard and act illegally; for what evil do they not commit, or rather, what do they not say and do to ensure that they receive more than they gave out? And [furthermore], that the one who rules over all these things is held accountable for having sold [the rights to do so]. For if these things would not have happened had they not been bought, and they were bought with the consent of the one in charge—he who provided the seed, as Demosthenes says, he is also the cause of the things that have grown from it. Help, therefore, both yourself and us, rescuing us from so great a harm, and yourself from the shame of being spoken ill of and appearing as a betrayer of your own people.

κ'. But you, O king, take care of this more than anything else, and do not let the same thing happen to you that happened to your predecessors in the empire, and do not consider yourself the owner of treasures found anywhere on earth in place of those who found them; for such a treasure ^B should rather belong to those under your authority, ^C and it is required of the ruling power to provide for everyone with the greatest wealth at all times. For it is of such absurdity that it alone of all things finds no defense, but is altogether hateful to God, and contrary to the opinions of those who think as He does. For if it is not possible for a treasure to be found at all without God granting it, and He gives it to whomever He himself approves, yet you snatch these things away even before, so to speak, they have been deposited, how do you not quite simply set yourselves in opposition to the divine decrees? For what He granted to someone privately, you violently usurp, as if correcting the judgment of God concerning these, crying out, as it were, nothing else than this: "The treasures belonged to us, but He gave them to others." And I marvel that, while you consider as an enemy anyone who offends those who have been treated well by you and deprives them of what was given to them, you yourselves commit worse deeds and extend your hands to God on behalf of such things, [yet] you do not prefer to act differently. You will not, of course, say that you take these things for the common good, nor will you put forward armies, embassies, cities, and such things; but in truth, I think that no one at all will pay attention to you if you say these things, as the public funds and taxes are for the completion and preparation of these matters, and have long since been ordained in this way, and are always in existence, never having failed in this necessary flow; for since the existence of this is in every way impossible, that treasures—in that everything is always on earth, and in that they have become apparent to all, and yet are no less hidden to others, and having appeared, escape notice—that the treasures ^D of all time, for anyone, should at least occasionally and with the greatest difficulty be [accessible to] all.

20. You too, O king, see to it before all else that the same does not happen to you as to your predecessors. For if treasures are found anywhere in the world, you ought to be the first to take them in hand. For this treasure ought to be in readiness and handed over to the royal treasury, from which you may be able to draw in order to provide assistance. For the opposite is absurd, impious, and repugnant to established usage. For if it is impossible for a treasure to be excavated without the will of God; and since God distributes to whom He wills, but you snatch it away while it is, as it were, barely deposited, do you not act against the will of the divine Power? For what God has imparted to individuals, we, by using force, turn to our own use, as if to correct the divine will, and only not crying out aloud that treasures which are ours by right have been handed over to others. Wherefore I marvel that you treat as an enemy someone who has offended any of your own people, while you yourselves, who do worse things, reach out your hands to God for these [gains]. For you do not say that you do these things for the public good, nor that you may become legates, leaders of soldiers, or prefects of cities. Yet no one will put faith in you when you say these things. For from all time the tax money returned to the treasury, and the payment of tributes never ceased. Therefore, treasures everywhere and at all times can be in the manifest and in the hidden for all. Who then will declare that an uncertain treasure serves the public good? In what way, then, will he say that those who act in this way contribute to the public good and are useful to their citizens? In no way. But grant that they might be able to do that: will they proceed with good hope by acting justly and uprightly, or with most unjust...

^A intentions? What greater evil could there be than to pounce upon treasures found by others? For just as of a house, I suppose, and a ship, as Demosthenes says, and other such things, the foundations ought to be most secure, so too it is fitting that the principles and bases of our actions be true and just. And indeed, one who, in asking for an excuse for the injuries committed, might seem to have acted less unjustly by the very words he presents—yet he says nothing of the sort, or if he does say something, it is nonetheless irrelevant. But if anyone were to ask you for what reason you do these things, I think you would have nothing at all to say except to allege the necessity of your principles as the cause; but in saying this, you are accusing yourselves of being tyrants rather than just kings—the latter of whom desire that things be done well for everyone, while tyrants impose their own will upon the actions of others. It would be highly absurd and disgraceful if someone were to say that Nerva, because he found a treasure, ought to have seized it and turned it to his own use, but that this man, asserting that the treasure is too great for a private citizen, wanted to misuse it. It would have been absurd, therefore, if a Greek man, indeed one far removed from our senate, took account of justice and virtue, to the extent of not even concerning himself with the one who found the treasure, even when he offered it; ^B whereas you, if you live piously and according to the laws, and have been nurtured in sacred laws to such a degree—that I might speak favorably—of having attained such greatness of soul, that you not only covet the found objects as if they belonged to you, but even aspire to higher things, abandoning threats, not knowing how many and how great are the offenses of injustice, calumny, and avarice to which you are liable, to which is added that you offend God Himself, and bring most grave matters down upon your own heads. What, however, inheres in a treasure of such moment? For my part, that I might not hear anything of the kind, I would readily renounce all treasures. But if the pursuit of treasures brings such retribution from God and men, and if those who, even though they have found them, dare to bid farewell to what they have found, deserve every praise, then do you, O king, take care ^C lest, instead of admiration, they calumniate you perpetually, and lest someone find empty coals in place of treasure; but do you show to all how much you despise such things, and hand down to posterity an example of an excellent and noble king.

^A 21. Furthermore, that you have recourse to the wealth of your subjects whenever some necessity arises, and then order tax levies and choose to perform necessary tasks by means of them—how is this not frankly violent, or how is it not outside the care you owe them? And what is greater than this: before you have done them well, through which you insist on demanding these things from them, you are already harming them through your exactions. For if there were no gold to be found whatsoever, they would naturally have to pay. But if there is already much gold in the treasuries, and an extraordinary abundance of silver and precious stones, and all these things were prepared from the first ^B for the common good when the occasion called for it, where is it just to pass over these things, pursuing what is not appropriate, and not wishing to use the reasonable and established means, but rather seeking from elsewhere to provide for the need that has arisen? And indeed, if we do not use these things here, I truly do not see. Beyond all this, I say that if these things were collected beforehand for the sake of future need, and if the contribution was established for this, then when that need arrives, there is an absolute necessity to use them without any hesitation at all, so that what is happening is preserved, and no one suffers in paying. And furthermore, when the need has passed and affairs are well established, the treasuries may be filled again with a clearer and greater addition. But if there is nothing of the sort—which is impossible—but, rather, it is some superfluous substance from the greatest possible abundance, collected for no necessary purpose, then it must be used all the more, so that, being of no use as it is, it may become as useful as possible to matters in due time. From all sides, therefore, it is clear that there is a necessity to use these things when some necessity arises.

^D 22. But as for that which causes the most distress of all—and which I wish above all to see ended through you—I shall add this to what has already been said, for it requires the same correction and effort, but it is so far removed from justice that one might say it is the work of wild beasts rather than of those born among us. For when ships belonging to anyone are wrecked against the cliffs and its sailors attempt to survive the disaster, rather than receiving any providence or solace from the local inhabitants, they are instead set upon and plundered; and one might ask how their fate is made worse, or rather, how they are faring much worse, if—even if fortune had spared them—these people snatch away everything in a manner entirely devoid of mercy, which is something monstrous and a wickedness I cannot even describe (1). For what could that person, having suffered a dangerous ordeal at sea, have faced that is worse, once he has already considered himself half-ruined by the location,

^A or did he merely [not even] face the surge for the sake of those vultures who perish most wretchedly? If, however, they were to say this, that he still remains and can see the sun, and that they ought to be satisfied for this reason and seek and pay attention to nothing further, I would gladly ask them this: would you have passed this same verdict regarding yourselves, if such a thing had happened to you, or rather the complete opposite, such that you would obtain the care and provision from whatever is within your power, and [expect that] each person contributes whatever is possible from home, and that everyone sees to it so that you might have the misfortune be easier? Since, then, you would be most absurd of all ^B if you would not accept this—unless you are some kind of madmen—by judging that others who are sensible will not pay the penalty, and that you will set in motion the lightning bolts from heaven against your own heads? And indeed, that this is not only exceedingly difficult for the merchants, but also works harm to all men, is evident from the following: if the businesses through which they provide us with the necessities of life at every turn were to cease, and not a single merchant wished to exercise his trade because of the prospect of suffering these things, how would that which I say not come to pass? And how would we not live an unlivable life, once the provision from this source had been shut off? As therefore a very great evil will result if this proceeds in such a way, yet if you were to altogether eliminate [the grievance] in order to improve life, I know well that you will hasten to accomplish two things instead of one: both to make the merchants more eager, ^C as it would not be permitted for anyone at all to act unlawfully toward them, and to provide the greatest and most wonderful abundance of all the things we require.

23. You, however, besides the other matters, consider also this point, which is truly worthy of the concern for all things: that cities everywhere should possess storehouses not only of grain, but also of all the most necessary things; not—it goes without saying—for the sake of merchantry or base gain, but so that, ^D at all times, but especially in times of difficulty in affairs and crises, it might be the greatest benefit for all others, and for you a wonderful source of funds for expenses toward the common good, being quite humane and excellent, both in that it is for the salvation of men, and in that it tends toward the honor that results therefrom. Yet if it is possible to call cities fortunate because of ramparts and trenches and walls and bulwarks and all such things, allowing them to enjoy such things readily, how much more so [is it the case with this]? Without this, those who are disposed in the former way alone, it seems to me, would not at all be able to endure a continuous siege and the length of a war. But those who are prepared in this way will lack nothing of what I have said, so as not to be able to hold out to the end; so that it is necessary for cities to be fenced about with such weapons as well.

24. Nevertheless, also what I wish to say is surely to be considered among the most necessary things, in such a way that for both these reasons it must be stopped immediately: both that it is not in accordance with the laws, and that the best course has been supposed for you. For whenever those who are among the successors

^A of those possessing the estate, then you claim to inherit it, how are you not caught in lawlessness, claiming ownership of what belongs to others as if it were your own, while making no account whatsoever of the one who possessed it, not even if he should have committed at the very end some transgression? Or rather, you deprive him of his goods, and even if there are accusations against him, whether because of these or otherwise pressed upon him, you also justly deprive him of these, if indeed you confiscate here what would have sufficed for their release, doing good to him by releasing him from the charges, of course, but placing yourselves under charges. And you who think you ought to punish and hate those who act against the law, in the matters I have mentioned, are you not aware that you are acting against the law in this? Nay, you are even disposed so much worse than those men, in that while they, even if they confess that they do wrong, by no means think that they should pay the penalty for this or that, you on the other hand even struggle on ^B behalf of the disease, and think that this lawlessness of yours is a law no less than the established laws. Nothing, I think, is worse than this of all things. And yet, I would not say that even those who are related by family have a just claim, unless they happen to be poor, but only, of course, the descendants. And not all of these either, but only a portion, since the soul of the deceased is far more precious than enjoying all these things. And that I speak the truth is clear from this. For if someone were to ask them whether they value themselves or their kin more, if they say their kin, they will certainly be lying; for each one says that he himself is most precious to himself. But even if they have said themselves, they will surely admit in agreement that the deceased is in every way more worthy than anyone at all to share in his own goods. But if reason drives the kin away from the estate, where shall we place those who are not kin? Choose one of two things, therefore, O King: either allow this most shameful lawlessness to proceed to the end, ^C and along with the kings before you, you yourself also be an heir to the causes of another’s estate, or, having allowed this no longer at all, but having abolished it altogether, appear not only more humane and just than those men, but also than whoever of your successors may be entirely lacking in such qualities, having prepared the departure of that man in such a way that he may depart from here with good hopes, knowing well that they will have the enjoyment of what belongs to them for all time in accordance with your decrees, and that this, having been confirmed by you, leaves behind all justice for all time and is superior to all judges. Furthermore, if, in addition to what you possess, you wish to acquire what you do not have, and to become the master of absolutely everything without effort, be humane, and with benefits and hopes toward those you have, equally with those you possess, let these men have no less than what they have, when by trade or some other way, moving their own goods hither. ^D Nay, you will rather draw all men to yourself in this way if, first of all, you are good and noble and practicing virtue in the highest degree, so that it is possible for your affairs to reach everywhere; and then, not only toward your subjects but also toward all others do you have such a pleasant and highly gracious manner, as

to cause them to forget the favors you have rendered them at home; escaping from meanness, if it is possible, and by deceitful words appearing to be lenient to them, and drawing those who have them toward yourself, exhibiting only the magnanimity of authority. For if just being disposed in this way toward one’s own—so as to bring to bear every care for them and to deem them worthy of every kind of providence—is worth a great deal for making strangers into one’s own and persuading them to think the same, when one ought to treat these very people well along with one's own, who, I ask, of all people would not choose to forgo everything and prefer to be in your charge rather than to rule himself, well knowing that he would thus spend his life in happiness? ^B 25. Therefore, from all these things a kingdom is not rendered admirable and such as we have assumed, and the power of logic seems in some way to hold less weight in this regard; but if one must tell the truth, and it is necessary to rule even over this to such a degree, or rather, whatever one might say, it is more fitting to use this, so that all those things are an irrational ornament without the presence of reason, but with its presence, it is best for the whole and worth more, because it carries grace from its source and is fortified by reason; of which nothing is more familiar or sweeter for us to enjoy in every way. For even the act of employing reasons, which is unique to man, is of no consequence; and whatever pleasure you might mention, O King, or rather if you were to bring them all together into one, you will find them so much inferior to the pleasure resulting from this, that they cannot even be compared at all. Why? Because all other pleasures are in danger of being treacherous and perilous, and truly an ambush to those who use them, rising up not only against bodies but also against souls; against the former through the foulest base passions that spring from them, and against the latter through the many and greatest diseases, and such that one cannot even bear to look upon them. But reason, for its part, first makes the soul sweeter, engendering in it a certain admirable disposition and pouring over it a divine, as the poet says, "utterance," so that it is filled with ^C unruffled calm, and is gracious, and employs a certain manic and extraordinary joy. Then, that which is material and inferior in it, and which is not naturally inclined to be carried away by the passionate part, it does not allow, but holds it back and constricts it, and in every way regulates it toward virtue and establishes it, and makes this both best and a kind of rational instead of irrational thing, by preparing it to be moved according to reason, and as the saying goes, to keep to the straight path; and as for the better and intellectual part, it preserves its natural governance, entirely safeguarding it when present, and when absent, leading it back with much of what is superior, making it a terrible and admirable counselor to itself, of what one must do, and by employing what things most especially, to save the things that are happening and for them to proceed according to nature. 26. For thus the chariot of Plato, as...

he mentions, performs its task well, while the horses, although they may slightly diverge, do not run in different ways, but strive in the same direction with their feet. ^A To these I also add that a man is wise—insofar as he is wise—not only in that he rejoices in the knowledge of the nature of things, but also of divine and human affairs, and for this reason he far surpasses the common mass of men. For just as those who are endowed with reason excel others who lack it, so he who uses wisdom as a guide, as much as he is able, stands out among other mortals, and he alone would carry off the suffrage of the Colophonians: for he is in truth and name a man who is quasi-divine. For the more he is wise and perfect, the further he will stand apart from the common life of men, and the nearer he will approach to God. And thus, placed between these two boundaries, ^B and philosophizing about immaterial things, he will refuse to be a material creature; nay, he will never cease to purify the eye of the mind in word and deed, so that he may prepare himself for the intuition of the divine Numen, and recover the pristine integrity he had lost. But, what is most worthy of memory, although he is mortal, he leaves behind immortality in the tenor of his discourses after a virtuous life; and he renders not only himself, but others also from among mortals, immortal; himself, as I have said, through his deeds, but others through the memory of their virtue and glory entrusted to letters. ^C This memory, unless it is secured in this way, perishes, collapsing and leaving no trace behind.

27. If the wealth and grace of all other goods, when they enjoy the benefit of letters, is immortal, and on the contrary is extinguished by oblivion itself, while the deeds performed leave behind no trace of themselves, must not history be considered the most illustrious of human affairs? And who does not see that all things which exist become its constituent parts? ^D But if we keep in memory the benefactors and saviors of the human race, if we preserve the laws and all similar things to the end that we might destroy malice, establish virtue, reward temperate men, and punish the wicked, with what honor, then, shall we reward the use of letters, from which laws have flowed? How shall we sufficiently praise the thing that has stabilized the happiness of men through the aid of laws? In truth, nothing good would happen on earth without the enacting of laws; but laws have emanated from letters, and now indeed they are adorned by this common bond. If, therefore, literary knowledge is a thing useful to man

^A and indeed most worthy, because it greatly increases human dignity, yet it always requires a patron and a Maecenas, such as you are, who, being powerful by royal authority, can grant them even greater favor and honor, I pray that it may serve more and more for the utility of mankind. 28. If these things are so, and if all unanimously agree on this matter, you yourself, O King, since you must be a common good, should enthusiastically embrace such pursuits to the end that you may highly esteem the discourses of the wise everywhere and engage in rivalry with them. To speak truly, the opportunity for sowing words and reading books is not always present, nor is the ability granted to sing of victories in the manner of Pindar. You, however, act wisely in this also, that you imbue all citizens with a fervor for studies and that you take delight in the association of the wise, since, as the proverb goes, even tyrants acquire wisdom through the company of the wise. Thus it will come about that the gravity and dignity of discourses will be increased by you. For when all are persuaded that you take pleasure in such matters, the friends of the Muses will also favor you, and, putting other business aside, will strive first and foremost in the oratorical art, because they see in it the temple of the Muses, the hearth of eloquence, the course of all wisdom, and they acknowledge that, in accordance with your prudence, you strengthen your kingdom. ^B You yourself will be held in admiration, because, being positioned in perpetual delight, ^C while others languish through ignorance, you, like a lighthouse, illuminate and regenerate the human race with your light; in which matter you act excellently, O King, and wisely. As an evidentiary example: the Athenians raised the most famous and splendid trophies, not only against the Barbarians but against all the Greeks, and were feared by all; they ruled over the Greeks both by land and by sea, and no one, so to speak, could withstand them; all looked to them as common saviors, and sought refuge with them in crises, as they alone knew how to serve affairs prudently, to take up arms, and, in a word, as Homer says, ^D to both discourse and perform deeds. Among them, in fact, the Eleatic school was divided into the study of letters and the exercise of arms. But to say nothing of Themistocles and Pericles, of Miltiades and Cimon, and of so many other leaders and rhetoricians who praised virtue above all things, and who offered themselves as an example of virtues to others; to pass over the Pythagoreans who

^A for a long time regulated the regions of Great Italy and what is called Greece, both by arts and by arms: who does not know that the progeny of Aeneas, by the power of eloquence and arms, reached such a height of glory, power, and prosperity that they became lords of the whole world? But if virtue and eloquence are of such value, and so greatly illuminate those who follow both, what benefit would result if all men were to use them as their guides?

29. Above all else, you must excel in the skill of speaking, O Emperor, in which true elegance and harmonious order reside. If, then, you think there will be no one to envy you those virtues, you are greatly mistaken. For how do you think that you, adorned with so many and such great virtues, will rule without envy, when the vice of envy besets even the least of men? For if, as is fitting, you administer public affairs, how can it be that you yourself are not the best of men? For envy follows him who possesses [them], according to the son of wisdom, who draws his sayings from truth itself, and who rejoices with you if you do not succumb to temptations; if, however, you suffer an unjust fate, he is less afflicted than is right; and although you are the best, the arrows of envy will be directed even at an innocent man, and will injure your reputation. Wherefore, rouse your spirit and amend yourself daily, and in the meantime listen to your detractors. But even when they speak well of you, render an account to yourself and conduct an examination of your daily life. For thus you will find yourself, not others, to be worthy of rebuke; indeed, you will have them to thank for seeing that, seduced by excessive love of yourself, you had understood yourself less. For in this way they have given you an opportunity for knowing and correcting yourself. The race of informers is certainly hateful because of their evil intent; but even those who are of ill repute can sometimes receive a benefit from their very enemies. For often those who have lived dissolutely have become prudent and modest and have begun to study honest pursuits. ^{B C D}

^A

30. I would add this besides, that whether we are well or ill regarded, it lies for the most part within ourselves; and we are the masters of these things, whether we strive for virtue or, on the contrary, neglect it—virtue which all men are required to pursue because of the dignity of the image and the honor bestowed upon them. ^B By which, having indeed become partakers of God from the beginning, we have the necessity of pursuing this [virtue] throughout our whole life; and we must endeavor in all things, as far as possible, to raise up the divine within us to the primordial divine, so that the God whom—alas!—we lost through sloth, we may be able to find again through diligence. Thus, virtue is of necessity required of all, but to the king, much more so. For in as much as he excels all others in outward appearance, so much must he excel them in virtue; and he must not only possess the goods of all, but also be the best of all in all things, since all look to him as to an archetype and derive their own character from him. ^C Therefore, whatever you yourself are, such ones will others also desire to become by imitating you. For you will not be merely modest, but also excellent, nor will you permit your evil example to level cities to the ground. For if the saying of Plato is true—as indeed it is—that cities will fare very well when either philosophers reign or kings philosophize, that is to say, when they happen to have someone truly admirable ruling over everything, then how much greater is the contrary, that when the king is some base fellow, it is a matter of total necessity that these cities will fare as badly as possible.

BY THE SAME

DISCOURSE ON GOVERNMENT

1. So then, what it was appropriate for us to say concerning the best and most admirable king, and what it is natural for the all-

-^A-ruling God to have established as a partner, so to speak, in his own station, having been judged worthy to lead the people by this very calling, and being compelled from this point on to practice every virtue, so that he may not prove false in his deeds, while appearing to show forth the fellowship to the ruler alone, but rather that it may come about for the one who has chosen both—these things are as stated. But since it is necessary for the one who has said these things to also go through the points regarding the subjects, and to show clearly what sort of people they should be, and what things they should do in order to be seen as worthy of this calling in every respect and highly appropriate, I shall attempt this struggle also, as far as I am able. For it would be one of the absurdities, while remembering some city or other, not only to set out its acropolis, but to go through each of the other parts as well, and to use reason in all things as is fitting, ^B yet when setting out to show what the greatest and most perfect government of all is—and indeed what could be a more admirable administration of the entire inhabited world—then to consider the matter of the subjects as trivial, and to think that it is nothing in relation to the discourse, while wishing to fulfill such things from the ruler alone. For in this way we would have demonstrated only half, because these two are so united and are in such a state that they must necessarily be understood together, and furthermore, because the government itself consists of them, being divided into these parts, and is even this, what they themselves are when coming together. So, then, in what has been said, this has almost been accomplished, and it is possible to say that not only does he make common cause regarding how the ruler may be the very best, but he makes no less of a discourse regarding how the subjects themselves may be the best. For if it is impossible to rule without subjects, so too it is impossible for these to be ruled well without obtaining a leader who is admirable in all respects. And having made such a person as I have myself described, it is clear that I have certainly mentioned both just as I have mentioned the one; yet if it had been possible to use the same words concerning both the ruler and those under his hand, it would have been well to have spoken only to that one and not to labor over the rest. But if we know there to be as great a difference between them as those things possess toward one another, and we have set out to speak not only on behalf of the ruler, but on behalf of the government itself, which is nothing other than ruler and subject, how is it not an absolute necessity to mention both, and after the former instructions, to be attached to these as well?

2. ^C All cities, all regions, both by land and by sea, if they wish to prosper in well-doing, must have regard for piety and for the security concerning worship, as this is the foundation and the source and the root of a happy life and of that which comes about according to the soul, and because with it and by it all other virtue must be practiced; apart from it we are utterly lost. For these reasons we must lay claim to it before others with vigor, and with all things by which it is possible to serve the Divine; then, since they are so great and of such a magnitude toward themselves and toward one another...

tiam ^A to be of the same mind, and to rejoice with those who do, to be so well-disposed toward those who rule that we not only yield to them for all time, but also consider them to be laws themselves, and indeed cherish and honor what comes to pass, but further, that we would even be prepared to lay down our lives for them if necessary—inasmuch as we owe them this return for their constant sleeplessness and cares on our behalf, and for their readiness to endure every labor and danger for our sake, being compelled by the nature of rule. Apart from this, to be so disposed toward those in power and to be so prepared is to be prepared not so much for their sakes as for our own, since if they fare well, we necessarily fare well too. Theopompus, the king of the Lacedaemonians, ^B when someone said that Sparta was prosperous thanks to her good kings, replied that it was rather because the Lacedaemonians were obedient to orders. It is well if cities in general are so arranged; but above all, let those which excel among the rest never despise the lesser, to such a degree that they presume to treat them as slaves and to employ them for whatever purposes they wish, mindful that it is by no means permissible to mistreat those to whom fortune is less favorable, nor to impose silence and fear upon them. Nor, on the other hand, should the multitude pursue their leaders with envy and hatred, but rather, by avoiding sedition and turmoil, should show a grateful heart toward their superiors; to those who are lowly, however, let them extend a helping hand, caring for them as if they were kinsmen and relatives.

3. For indeed I believe that mortals ^C settled cities in the beginning, built walls, and chose a life in common under this law and condition: that they might enjoy not merely the society of a dwelling place, but the society of their pursuits, and that unity might exist within plurality. If, then, our ancestors built cities so that they might live as one, is it not utterly absurd if those of our own day build, or rather inhabit, cities not for that same end of sociability, but so that they may differ among themselves in their opinions and thoughts? I wonder, then, if we are to say that we ought to invoke the "common salt" to prove the similarity of our characters, while we deem the mere habitation of the same city to be of less account—this being all the more necessary, ^D inasmuch as cities were founded in the beginning for the sake of these common salts and for us to be with one another, whereas not one person could show that they were ever founded for any other reason. Apart from these things, great things without the small, according to Sophocles, are a crumbling protectorate of a tower; for that which is small is best raised to a height by the support of the small, and a great one is upheld by the lesser. For the fulfillment and mutual cooperation of both is absolutely necessary to both, no less than to a pilot and the crew

^A of mutual protection. But to incite discord and war against one another, and not to acknowledge this through all things, but to remain divided in opinion—what ruin this brings to both these and those! And to these it brings even more than to those, in that when a ship is wrecked, the damage is small; but when a city suffers this same thing, it is as much greater as a city is greater than a ship. But if, being bound to one another, they are truly in harmony in due season, why should one consider these men to be divided? And indeed, if it were not because concord is the most beautiful and most profitable thing for those who employ it, and the foundation of all happiness—certainly, for the sake of their own safety, and in order to have everything go well, they would reasonably contend in support of one another. Further, if someone were now to ask them whether they prefer to live in prosperity ^B or in misfortune, if they should choose misfortune, they would not even be in agreement; but if they have a concern for living well, they will also have a concern for harmony. Therefore, it follows of necessity that if they are not in harmony, they will be miserable. But if they will not endure being miserable, they will be of one mind; and being of one mind as is reasonable, and having become one band in this way—as if in both conditions of fortune they were disposed to deliberate, to think, and to care both for one another and for themselves—they themselves will live their entire time in the safest and most excellent circumstances, and there will be an absolute abundance of all good things for the city. These will be plentiful, beyond necessity and beyond every expectation, because of the harmony of the inhabitants and the philanthropy of God, who provides for all; and as for the things ^C brought in from everywhere in the world, both by land and by sea, there will be such that the cities will lack nothing they most need.

4. ^D Just as when we divide the whole city into the distinguished and the many, we do not deem it right that any envy or arrogance should exist between either class toward the other, but rather that each should equally favor the other as much as is permitted to each, so in this place too we declare it to be of great value—both before God and before men—to be situated in the most excellent state; desiring not only the reception of strangers and philanthropy, and the welcoming and using of them in a friendly manner, but also that that portion of the citizens who are poor and pressed by great need should be deemed worthy of the greatest care from the wealthy. And those things which they themselves ought to receive as a necessity, they must have the others as their generous providers—especially because of the kinship and closeness. For both belong to the same city; so that this should not be thought of so much as magnanimity, but rather as gratitude ^C repaid toward one's own kin. Furthermore, because of the hidden reefs of fortune, and the great Euripus, which whirls life up and down like a vortex, and so plays with human affairs as to make the same people, who are now happy, soon into the thrice-wretched, like those who place their votes as the corrupt judges wish—if these things are true (as indeed they are), and we are not entirely happy or entirely miserable but, by the restless rotations and permutations of circumstances, move now here and now there,

and are not standing any more on one side than the other, because we move toward both and are nowhere able to stand firm. We are all bound by justice for all these things to labor with, to suffer with, and to sympathize with those whom we may see at any time standing in need of life’s necessities and living in poverty, and with those whom it was not fitting to be in such distress, and to assist all those whom it is possible to relieve and console in their difficulties, and, in short, to make them partakers of what we have—if indeed one wishes to say that we have anything at all. For if the things we now possess we acquired when we did not have them, it is clear that since we acquired them when we did not have them in the beginning, we shall not hold them forever by having acquired them; rather, even before we depart from life, we shall fall out of possession of them by some chance, as often happens, or by dying, and those [others]—whom sometimes we do not desire—will of necessity possess them. ^B It would, therefore, be the ultimate folly not to wish to readily part with things that we do not possess forever even while we hold them, but which we will surely have when we surrender them. For to use greatness of soul toward those who do not have, and to furnish them with everything, has such a concession from all in the realm of the good and the just, that we not only transmit the gain to ages of ages, but we also make the God of all our debtor, who repays with interest greater than anyone could imagine, prepared to give abundantly. But if we receive back the things for whose sake we act toward them, and for the sake of giving small trifles we receive the greatest of all things—things than which one could not pray for better—we are unwittingly doing ourselves more good than them. And we are becoming more grateful for what they now have from us; and those whom we think we ought to relieve of their need, we are preparing to be, for the future, wonderful benefactors to ourselves. ^C So that not only from this [act], but especially from this very thing, may they not hold such gratitude toward us as we do toward God—because what they have from us, we have from God, and since we distribute what belongs to Him, we desire to receive extraordinary rewards for these things! Moreover, what comes from us to them is not some magnanimous gift, but a repayment of necessity. For if the things through which we do them good are all from God, since according to this very logic we are brothers, and the proverb rules that "all things are common among friends," it is shown clearly enough that neither is what we give to them our own, but theirs, nor when they receive these things are they receiving what is ours, but they are naturally recovering their own. Beyond all this, I say that inasmuch as we are born men and are called by this name, we are all one, and we all possess the same nature in our thoughts and actions; but in fortune and the flow of fortune, we seem to differ from one another, so that some appear greater and others lesser, some rich, and others just the opposite. Therefore, those for whom we think it right to do good to those needing to fare well, we are—so to speak—doing good to ourselves by acting according to nature. ^D But those for whom we do not do this, we are neglecting ourselves, as we are transgressing the laws of nature and submitting to a slavery not worthy of a human being. Wherefore, lest we appear to corrupt nature, let us always strive to do good, for this is to live in accordance with nature and to exercise humanity. Wherefore, if you treat humanely those worthy of charity and share your goods with them, you shall be judged worthy of the love of God; but if not, on the contrary, you shall be judged to be callous, inhuman, and traitors to human society. Therefore, choose the best in place of evils, and [keep] of humanity...

^A a reputation to be sought after, and thus you shall be reviled by no one.

5. Furthermore, this also must be kept in mind: that while you are doing good to others, you should not neglect yourselves, and while you are healing the misfortunes of others, let you yourselves not be in a wretched state. But rather, with these, do good to yourselves as well by means of virtue, living in goodness and upright manners, which alone is truly happy and akin to us. Having been born, and being inherently disposed to this, since we have lost this privilege of nature through the innovations of our own judgment, and have departed from that marvelous purpose—having thought more highly than one ought to think, and having disregarded the divine ^B commands—we have become, I might say, contrary to what we were intended to be. Or, once having become so, we live so miserably and wretchedly that we are not only subject to corruption and passions, but also, like slaves, we shamefully yield to the basest desires; and this is especially when we are completely bewitched, as it were, by the earth and by the charms and spells of the earth, so that we cannot even look upward, having been born [for heaven]. In order, therefore, that just as we were led away from the natural to the unnatural through lack of self-control, so we may return again from the unnatural to the natural, virtue must be pursued throughout our whole life. For we must not be good, just, ^C and temperate at one time and not at another, but always and throughout all time, and overflowing, so to speak, in all our actions; from which it is possible not only to be well-regarded and imitated—for nothing is more blessed than virtue and living according to it—but also to obtain in every way the favor of God. For if he who does evil is altogether rejected by God, he who is well-mannered and who worthily chooses to live with what comes his way, this person is altogether a companion and friend to God; for if the one [God] is by nature boundless virtue and fullness of goodness, and everything that can be called best at once, the other [the man of virtue], since he makes God everything instead of all things, is esteemed by God more than all things. If, therefore, you always revolve these things ^D in your mind, and in addition keep your gaze fixed upon the future and the glory of the future time, the fortitude of your mind will be increased. For while you set an example for others to imitate, you yourselves, crowned with the wreath of virtues, shall be truly worthy to be extolled with the highest praises.

6. Since we all possess, to a sufficient degree, the arts and knowledge which contribute to a life that is honest, that is to say, the instruments of administration—not only as a most admirable and greatest provision for our life, but also as a precise constitution and, as it were, the elements of the state; and these are many and...

sufficient for every need whatsoever. I consider it a matter of the greatest benefit and utility that no one among the citizens, not even the lowly, should be without a craft, nor excluded from the register, nor remain idle in these matters; but that each one, as is fitting, and all in their turn effectively, should contribute as much as possible, so that from this source, being well-supplied with resources and reaping the greatest profit—not only for themselves, but also for others, in such a way that they are able individually to make their public contributions, to pay and render them readily, and not to proceed with delays or excuses—they may perform the other duties as is expected of such men. ^A However, those who care least about crafts are unable to do such things, nor have they displayed these qualities because of their sloth therein; nor are they even close to it—how could they be? They are far from it. Rather, they are so far from being honorable and upright men, and useful to both the city and themselves, that due to extreme poverty and the inability to procure for themselves the necessities of life from any source, they are driven to that which is not permitted, becoming shameless, perjuring themselves, committing wickedness; at one moment picking pockets, breaking through walls, plundering the property of others; at another moment robbing temples, and, what is greatest of all, raising up seditions. Fearing this, Periander, son of Cypselus, king of the Corinthians, did not allow citizens to acquire slaves, and he prevented them from sitting idle in the marketplace doing nothing, but always provided them with work, so that they would not be idle and engage in sedition. ^B Yet it often happens that these same people speak secretly against their fatherland to the enemy, and in general contemplate and devise things that are not even lawful to speak of.

7. If, therefore, holding crafts in the highest regard brings no small profit to the city, while ignoring them is a manifest loss, it is absolutely necessary to turn away from and detest the latter and to leave it alone, but to hold the former in every way as a matter of common utility, and most especially the matter of wisdom. For it is so preeminent, and held in such high esteem, that it is considered by all as the foremost thing, inasmuch as it renders its practitioners happy and always advances them toward better things—than which nothing is more worthy of man, nothing more honorable—and serves as a leader and co-worker in fulfilling duties. ^C For to follow, reflect upon, and perform all that is best, to keep moderation in all things, to wish to please all those who are best, and to follow the law of Plato—to distinguish what that is which always is, and which has no generation, from that which is indeed coming into being but never truly is—and to be robust in speaking of the former as having no existence, while pursuing and seeking the latter as that which truly is in every way, and to endeavor to be God-like in one's ways: this is what we call the most perfect virtue; this is truly wisdom, reason, and intelligence. If, therefore, we think that virtue is to be honored and held in the highest regard, inasmuch as it raises us most of all to God, how shall we not think that wisdom, upon which virtue depends, is to be even more esteemed? Therefore, if the reward of virtue

^A is a matter we hold, prudence must be exercised, which provides retribution and rewards; for nothing that is truly a good thing lacks a reward, as these are set before all conditions. Furthermore, knowledge also has its own reward, all the greater to the extent that it actually progresses; for those who give and those who receive equally benefit themselves. For if those who give and those who receive constantly have before their eyes that the one is giving and the other receiving something, both will pursue their work more ardently: the former, to communicate the wisdom of the good things which they possess, the latter, to receive them with a noble spirit. Nothing, indeed, is more acceptable than to acquire eloquence at a small price, and to defraud one of these things is a most unjust act. For if we bring to trial those who transgress in arts and secular business, how much more shall this be the case for those doing so in the matter of knowledge? With Plato as our witness, such a good has never befallen men, nor will it befall them divinely. ^B

8. But so that those who pursue the arts may not glory in this alone and be of less use to the state than they ought—practicing only the occupations of peace—but may also have an intrepid spirit prepared for battles, since there is no small need for this part [of our training] among us, ^C because life is divided into war and peace, Plato therefore deems it right that even women, like birds defending their chicks, should take up arms for their children, a thing which is in truth to be seen among the Scythians. For these reasons, therefore, I order that each person purchase all kinds of arms, and in them pass their time in exercise, fighting ceaselessly, so that when enemies make an incursion and a siege is imminent, they may be ready to resist, and neither desert the camp nor make peace with the enemy; for citizens who are well prepared will commit nothing unworthy of the state. Indeed, I would have even those soldiers to whom fortune is not favorable be, nevertheless, skilled in the arts and not refrain from the use of arms, ^D so that in an uncertain state of affairs they might not tremble and lay down their arms, nor, when they have been captured by the enemy (for the lot of war is common), be destitute of life's necessities and end up begging for alms at the crossroads. You already see that an expertness in the arts can be most opportune for the soldiers themselves, and indeed that the military life and the use of arms, and the ability to attack the enemy and join battle at an opportune time, is in itself an art worthy of admiration. For always and everywhere men of this kind will be a help, so that no person of sound mind will—

^A endure them. By no means; but one of two things must happen: either let them choose to do the same as the others, or let them be expelled from the city. For perhaps in this way they would become better and more fortunate upon their return, once they have been in need of necessities and have pondered in their minds the cause of their exile.

9. However, even if I have spoken about those soldiers, whom I mentioned just now for the sake of exhorting others, if I should proceed to address these men themselves, I know well and am persuaded that it will appear to them as something of the utmost importance. And especially would it be opportune, if, by leading them away from the things in which they currently transgress and guiding them toward what is required, I could make it so that, for the future, both cities and nations and villages could enjoy the protection of these men without any difficulty, and not be besieged and groan under the pretext of being helped, but rather be securely guarded in very truth. For as to what they suffer and endure at present, it is not even possible to speak of it at all. For when, in order that they might not be harmed by any from the outside, the cities throw these men forward and appoint them ^B as champions and defenders of their safety, while they—the soldiers—through whom they think they ought to live in peace and reap profit, look upon the cities as if they were enemies, not only do they convict themselves by doing these things, and by their deeds deny the very calling for which they were appointed to fight—advancing against those very people, as I said—but they also appear to resemble a dog that drives off wolves while plotting against the flock. If one were to ask them why they serve as soldiers—whether it is to prevent the enemy from doing harm, or to take revenge upon those who have committed hostile acts—they will surely say so. Yet, they themselves do what they presume to punish, and they are not ashamed to be clearly involved in those very things of which they have set themselves up as restrainers. And yet, when even in war it is not permitted to rebuke with harsh and hostile words those who behave bravely—according to the epic poet—but one must attend ^C to the battle alone, I think it will require a great deal, indeed everything, for these men to be moved to injustice. For in general, if you think you ought to commit injustice, you should endure being treated unjustly; but if you would not endure being treated unjustly, do not think you ought to commit injustice. For as for those things—suffering injustice—which you would not endure, you discredit the committing of injustice; and furthermore, you do not hold the same opinion concerning these matters as yourselves. For where is there ever any consistency or sound logic when, on the one hand, you consider a thing vile because you yourselves would not have accepted having it done to you by another, whereas, on the other hand, you judge it to be of some great value when you greedily choose to seize the goods of others? But it is necessary that one of two things be done: either you must bring no charge against those who treat you unjustly, nor consider them most wicked, since you yourselves deem it fit to act this way toward others; or—if it is among the most absurd things, as everyone ^D equal-

equally worthy of condemnation. ^A

10. Furthermore, it is worth noting that those who set out to work on your behalf do not always receive a reward, or if they do, it is not commensurate, or if it is commensurate, it is not always so, but only during times of battle and conflict. If it were that they chose to do these things, that would be one thing, and perhaps there would be no cause for complaint. But if they receive from the king, whether they are at war or not, ^B rewards far greater than their labors—some receiving houses, fields, and slaves; others receiving annual payments of money—and if for them war and peace are the same regarding their ability to receive these things, by what logic are they so bold? How can they be so arrogant, when they, too—even as we—pray that they might prevail in battle and overcome the enemy, since the struggle is a common one? Yet, by wishing to do injustice, by resorting to violence, by attacking their own people like foreigners as if they were in a besieged city, and by doing evil, they do not realize that they are provoking not only those whom they wrong, ^C but also others, inciting them all to call down upon them, as is natural, the most terrible of curses. Still more: by doing this, they make God their enemy. If they possess toward their own people, because of their deeds, the very sentiments they ought to have toward their enemies, how is it reasonable for them to have good hopes in battle? How can they expect that we, or even they themselves, should favor their advantage over our own—or rather favor it all the more, inasmuch as we expose them on our behalf? Thus, whenever they afflict their own through their actions, they fulfill the wishes of the enemy and willingly betray themselves in this way. For even if they possess the daring and strength of Achilles, ^D even if they use his armor and horses, and even if they carry in their soul all military experience and strategy, it will profit them nothing if they have been outmaneuvered by themselves. For it is not those who are thus—not the "broad-shouldered men," as the saying goes—who are the safest, but those who think rightly who prevail everywhere. And we all know that the practitioners of justice are the right-thinking ones; they alone among all men know how to act in this way, and from them alone these things proceed by necessity. For if doing what is just is doing what one ought, and doing what one ought is having a sound mind, then he who does what is just and has a sound mind would be just. Therefore, it is impossible to practice justice without wisdom; for how can one who possesses the resources of a sound mind—to such an extent that as long as he uses them, he also shares in wisdom—nonetheless sing a palinode in his ways, and join himself to those who do injustice?

For why? Because he thought that he ought to do not the things he should, but the things he should not. And if the failure to prevail everywhere proceeds from a lack of wisdom, and ^A wisdom and acting justly come to the same thing, it is absolutely necessary for those not so disposed, but committing injustice, to turn their backs as fools to their enemies at every turn, and be in danger, as is expected. And why must one speak of these things? For strength, and discernment, and whatever one might name, are all lesser—indeed, worth nothing—compared to the divine inclination, from which those who apply themselves to injustice do not merely deprive themselves, but actually stir it up most effectually against themselves.

11. ^B Henceforth, the Achaemenidae paid the Athenians the greatest penalty, both by land and sea, in all time, for desiring evil against Greece. They, being evil, fell miserably there; but he who brought against it this invincible army—I speak of mass and strength and equipment admirable in every respect—disturbing both earth and sea according to his own fancy, striking everyone with strange excesses, and thinking to plunder all of Greece at the first onset, departed so shamefully and, contrary to every expectation, had to secure his safety by flight. From this came the disaster of the Athenians in Sicily, and those most terrible and unbearable sufferings, and misfortunes that surpass all tragedy, which posterity could not even recall without tears. And what caused the Lacedaemonians and the Chians to fall, the former under the Thebans at Leuctra in Boeotia, and the latter under the Smyrnaeans, to the point of extreme calamity? Was it not that the one committed heavy sins in such a manner, and indeed threw the maidens they had seized into wells? Whereas the Chians, while the Smyrnaeans were performing ^C sacrifices during the Dionysia, attacked them and subdued them with armed force without cause. But to pass over Eurystheus, son of Sthenelus, who, moved by ingratitude, would not allow the Heraclidae to settle anywhere in all of Greece, and threatened extreme measures against those who received them with hospitality, and who underwent a fate so hard that in battle he was slain and deprived not only of a tomb, but of his children, and unwillingly established as lords and princes the Heraclidae, whom he had formerly treated as slaves—who is ignorant of the fact that the destruction of Troy was ignited by the madness of Alexander, who ruined the city, the citizens, and himself? Who is ignorant that the memory of these calamities persists for all time, and that that which is the most grievous thing that can befall mortals is called an "Iliad of evils," so that, to be brief, even the very word "Iliad" indicates ^D the pinnacle of miseries?

12. Thus, there is surely nothing more ruinous than injustice, nor anything that one ought to flee from more. And this is true for all men, but for those who are under arms—who at every hour risk their lives and are always in the greatest danger—most of all, in that alone they at all times for the sake of the soul...

and because their life’s affairs are balanced upon a razor’s edge, they feel the necessity to value nothing as more important, to do violence to no one, nor to oppress—as the saying goes—but to keep far away from that most wretched and destructive greed, and from falling upon the miserable peasants, as if they were the gates of Hades; to hold fast instead to justice and to be content with what they have. They consider this, in truth, an amazing suit of armor, more useful and beautiful than any other; for if one lacks justice, these things, according to Sophocles, become a dangerous ^A support; but justice—even without such external supports—is beloved by God and honored by Him above all, and is able to easily snatch those who use it both from the burning fire and from whatever other hardships one might name. We all know what kind of men these are, and many other good and noble men besides; and indeed, those descendants of Hezekiah who were adopted by God through ways of justice; one of whom was delivered from the lions, and the others from the raging flame; and who were so admired by the Assyrians and their ruler that they were deemed worthy to govern their entire land, and to be objects of emulation for all; and the provider of solutions in times of extremity, Daniel, the good man, who was established as a father to the king. Thus, those who thought it right to justly honor the God of the universe without fear, and to preach Him to others, though they were hated unjustly, enjoyed the providence of God in such a way that they obtained not only a just verdict from men—being considered ^B and honored as something more than human in the occurrences—but also, by doing what is just, they stood in similar times like a pillar reaching toward heaven for the life of men. Very well. If, therefore, by acting unjustly, O men—for it is necessary to turn my speech back to you—you will be held accountable for so many and such great things, but by doing what is proper, you will obtain the greatest praises, then choose the better course, and cease from greed; lest you be convicted not only of injustice toward your own kin, but also of readily handing them over to your enemies. For you will appear to those from whom you gladly seize these things as being unwilling to spare even your own people, but as ready to deliver them even to your enemies for the sake of money. For he who is thus subdued by small and worthless things would far more surely suffer this in matters of greater consequence. If, therefore, you consider these things by yourselves, and realize that to wrong others is to wrong oneself in the most significant and critical ways, I know well that you will abstain from this madness and from injuring yourselves in the act of injuring others; rather, you will practice justice and use moderation and fairness toward all. For in this way, one also obtains God’s assistance in all things. Therefore, I command those who bear arms to be as I have described, and by this standard to manage their affairs.

13. Far be it from me to issue such instructions to the market-inspectors, the city-overseers, and other such local administrators; yet I say that it is no less necessary for these men to be instructed in such things, and indeed, most reasonably so. For when they apply themselves to such matters ^C and ^D of such magnitude, they should be well-informed regarding these things. For when cities devote their labors to affairs of this kind, it cannot be...

^A that they do not elect as magistrates for themselves men who are energetic, whose lives and conduct can serve as an example to the rest, and who are so respectful of the people that no member of the commonalty suffers any injustice. All will obey them, moreover, when they see with what diligence they attend to the public utility and avert harm from individuals, and that, being little mindful of their own advantage, they are well aware that they have been appointed for the salvation of the citizens. For the care of one’s private affairs and that of the public are very different, as is commonly known. They will be able to be less anxious about their own affairs than about the public ones, of which an account must eventually be given. Therefore, they will proceed not weakly, not indolently, but with the greatest zeal, employing themselves in both action and speech, nor will they ever neglect what pertains to the commonwealth; this is what Ctesiphon imputed to the honor of Demosthenes, saying: “The people reward Demosthenes, son of Demosthenes, of Paeania, with a golden crown, by reason of his virtue and the generous spirit which he has manifested both toward all the Greeks and toward the people of the Athenians.” Since these things are so, we who are human by nature deserve to be ^B partakers in abundance of those things that are carried around through the forum, not engaging in the unrefined trade of shopkeepers, from which neither seller nor buyer profits. For the issue is not that benefits and advantages may accrue, but that all injustice may yield to justice and the observance of the laws. That these things may come to pass is the prayer of all. For who does not know that if a people conducts itself with moderation, wisdom, and modesty, it is deemed worthy of greater esteem? And, on the contrary, if it presents itself as seditious, more audacious than is just, and disobedient to the laws, repentance will transform him who was wicked into a frugal man, just as a frisky and untractable colt, by the hand of a horse-breaker who knows well how to drive a chariot, and is skilled in such things, becomes extremely docile and learns to pull the carriage and be patient under the yoke. ^C For this reason, it is expedient that those who are good and of excellent morals should be appointed, both for their own sakes and for the sake of the others whom they govern and for whom it is important that the magistrates be upright. But assuredly, cities do not subsist and prosper by this alone, for their security consists in the strength of their walls no less than in the prudence of their magistrates, in my judgment; I believe that individuals satisfy this duty when everyone, by building and constructing engines and by exercises of every kind, ensures that the city might be able to withstand a siege without great labor, while the host of citizens, well-armed, ^D never fails to apply the vigor of their spirits to the use of arms. For as long as Sparta, being without walls...

the spirit of its inhabitants alone prevailed and they were formidable to all; so that to those who asked why they were without walls, ^B they gave this very good answer: how should one consider it when both together are present?

14. Particularly when those who are chosen as watchmen are not of the miserable class of the needy, chosen for the price of three obols, but are men who piously venerate their homes, fields, and the sepulchers of their fathers and grandfathers, and show, most importantly, honesty of purpose and manners that are good and temperate, and all such things. For he who is to guard the others and themselves and their property must first possess these things himself, so that he may protect for the sake of what he himself possesses, and for the sake of what others possess by necessity. For it is as follows: if he guards the property of others, he will certainly guard his own as well; but if he abandons the former, he will abandon his own as well. And what more does this inflict upon the others than upon himself? ^C So if he chooses to save his own property, he will choose to save the property of others in the same way. But if he regards his own as worthless, and thinks he only needs to save his own property, he will not even have that, since he did not think to protect the property of others as well. Who then, being of sound mind, would choose to destroy both himself and others, rather than to save the others and be saved himself along with them?

If then we ought to regard those who are in every way strengthened as I have said, as the most secure watchmen of cities, night and day, and to trust not only these things to them, but even to rely upon them much more than upon the greatest and most wondrous walls and ramparts, such as those of Semiramis, while those who are not such ought to be greeted ^D from the threshold, then whence should those [who are not such] be worthy of trust? Is it because they are wealthy? But they possess absolutely nothing, and for that very reason they perform the most humble and shameful servitude for the price of three obols. Such indeed are the watchmen of cities now. But would they not be caught as traitors and as men destitute of everything? Would they not desert our camps if money were given? For if among the wealthy themselves there are found those whom it does not shame to do shameful things for the sake of increasing their family property, how much more so with those who, without any hope, are...

^A guards of the cities. But will they not be captured by treachery, having nothing—nor will they abandon the post assigned to us for the sake of gain? And who, I think, of all men would accept this? For where we see that even those who are well-to-do are attempting such things in order to increase what they have, how is it likely that those who are so destitute—and have nothing from which they might fail, and who, for the sake of only filling their stomach, are capable of doing and suffering anything—would not dare such an act of boldness? For it seems to me that they would not even be willing to invite the enemies to these things; for they know, and know most clearly, that they would not otherwise have become rich from being destitute. Let this, then, be the manner for those who are to guard the cities, so that I may say these things again: they should not be those whom one would immediately upon seeing consider an omen, nor those of whom, according to the proverb, one must not even make use of as drugs, but the best of the citizens in succession. Not only because these possess that which is granted regarding these matters from the hearth, as they say, but also because it would be one of the most absurd things for one who controls to make such an effort that the cities might fare well and be stronger than the enemies—so as, among other things, to choose ^B their own rulers by merit and by wealth—while attempting to prepare those within them so that they might be captured as quickly as possible, by appointing, as they themselves might say, such people as guards, but, as the nature of the case suggests, as traitors. For when we do not deem it right to allow these things in fields, nor in houses, and much less in herds, and not those who might just happen by, but those who are tested and have had a good reputation—setting up some as shepherds and others as [inspectors] ^C—no one would deem it worthy to allow these things in cities. If we make so much account of small and trifling things, and those where benefit or harm happens on the smallest scale, how much more so with the greatest and most common things, and of which these are parts, and furthermore, regarding which it was necessary to do and say everything as if they were matters of necessity—it is not even possible to say how much it is reasonable.

15. I mean to say these same things also regarding those who patrol by night; for indeed it is necessary that these too should be of such a character, especially as they receive their meals in the prytaneum. But not only this; they must also think themselves in debt to such a degree that, by the excess of their zeal, they surpass the hopes of those who chose them, and appear better than those who promised to be. Running with arms throughout the whole night, up and down the city, urging and exhorting both one another and ^D those on the wall to be awake and sober and to lack nothing of what is necessary—this will be complete security for their own, and [allow them] to sleep confidently and pleasantly, knowing that others are awake before them; but for the enemies, it will be a source of consternation and fear, and [a hindrance to] them even thinking of attempting anything against them that they should not, or thinking of treachery. Being such men and in such a state, they will be a bulwark for those using them above all else; but if, after performing this long course until deep evening, they then think they should return home, I fear

^A lest they be scouts for the enemy rather than those for their own people. For what those enemies would most desire for themselves, and would pray for—namely, that when they wish, they might be able to easily take and capture them—this very thing will these men provide, through whom they will be so easily enabled to do so. Those whom they were set to guard, they will willingly hand over to the enemies; and if it is permitted to perform what is necessary and keep watch at night, as I said, until the end, only to subsequently despise these duties and leave everything to chance, then those who, out of a desire not to toil and be exhausted, but to serve sleep and sloth, and to judge their own pleasure before the common interest, are in such matters deserting their post. Without these things, it would not be logical to wish to receive the full pay for the guard while leaving the guard itself incomplete. For if they do not intend to watch until ^B the end, why are they so meticulous about their pay? And if they think they ought to receive this because they have done the work, then since they disregard the duty in which they are failing, they testify that they are not doing it in a manner worthy of consideration—but they are also doing an injustice to the city, for which they are receiving pay, by watching it in a deficient manner, and thereby, in the way I have described, betraying it to the enemy. Therefore, as all the city’s affairs are held within these matters, and as the public safety—to speak briefly—is in danger from this point on, I command both these men and those whom I mentioned just now to be entirely watchful and sober at all times; and to be so stirred up concerning the watch that they possess no less concern for these matters than ship captains. For they, truly, throughout the entire voyage, and not least when a storm arises, do not depart from the helm for even a little while, nor from what their skill and the necessity of the need requires; but even at night, and sometimes even in the day that follows, they think they should do everything for the safety of those on board, both by ^C battling against the wave and by constantly looking to the stars, and from there receiving the signal of what must be done. Since then it is such a concern for captains to care for ships and their safety, shall we not say that those who guard cities must do this much more? For as much as they are in charge of greater things than those others, so much greater care for these matters are they bound to have, flying about the walls like birds through the entire night, and running around, simultaneously with the urban official and the one assigned to the city, to rouse them and make them more eager to join in and cooperate.

16. Since from all these things, it is possible for cities to be established and to fare well, and furthermore to possess the greatest security, but for them to prosper and grow from that point on is not yet covered—and this part is no less necessary for them. For it does not suffice to fare well only, but one must always proceed toward better and greater things, and advance; and, in general, one must always lead life with every kind of excellence. I say, indeed, that it is necessary that the best of the citizens deserve to be praised, admired, and held in higher esteem, not only for other matters, but also for having accomplished anything at all that is beneficial. ^D Even if a city can enjoy prosperity and security through all these things, it remains that this prosperity must be maintained. For it does not suffice for citizens to be happy, but they must become better day by day, and through this, be in honor and admiration among the populace, if they excel in virtue. And in truth, a city proceeding in this way will lack neither glory nor the comforts of life, when good morals flourish and the perverse are overcome. For thus, virtue, to the highest peak...

^A of the others, and to all those whom it is fitting for them to attend, is borne; for besides the fact that the city practicing these things seems to have the greatest understanding, and to bear a reputation for good judgment, many of the finest prizes accrue to it, with both the virtue that is present being honored, and vice being altogether restrained, so that the one is very easily turned aside, while the other is advanced as much as possible, and the greatest number of emulators are established. For if in this matter, according to Euripides, many cities labor, when a man who is good and zealous obtains nothing more than the inferior ones, it is clear that when this very man is cherished and loved beyond his accomplishments, the benefit to the city that has chosen him will be so great that not only will all its own citizens have the greatest possible account of virtue, and wish to compete for the great things for their fatherland, but even those who are good and noble from anywhere will hasten there in a hurry, for the sake of demonstration and crowns. And this is evident. For it was granted to Sparta to enjoy such and so great goods, and to be adorned with such wonderfully excessive trophies through Lycurgus and the laws of Lycurgus, that the fame of this city spread everywhere in the inhabited world, and furthermore, stood immovable for all time; so there is no one even to this day who, having mentioned the Lacedaemonians, has mentioned them without praises, but along with the mention, the act of admiration also enters in. Epaminondas ^B led the Thebans to such glory here that they became fearful to all after the battle at Leuctra, and had a spirit greater than themselves; for which, as they deemed Brasidas the Amphipolitan worthy of sacrifices as a hero and founder, because he delivered them from the Athenians; thus the Spartans thought Lycurgus, and the Thebans Epaminondas, because of what they had done for them, to be godlike and superior to human nature, and thought that they ought to be honored in the greatest way of all. Thus the Smyrniotes [honored] Homer, the Coans Hippocrates, the Abderites Democritus, the Samians Pythagoras, the Salaminians Ajax, and the Trojans Hector, and others honored others in a wonderful way. Among them, however, the Athenians are to be placed in the highest position. For alone among all mortals, they have produced the greatest number of men excellent in virtue and deeds, not for the benefit of the Greeks only, but of all men whatsoever. They primarily contributed to fulfilling the needs of the fatherland; they received foreigners with hospitality, adorning those worthy with prizes; they adorned them either with sacrifices, or priesthoods, or by chant or statues; they held some worthy of a golden crown, ^C in such a way honoring laureated men and provoking them to a contest of good things, and by the same act increasing the fortune of the city and making a place for the exercising of virtues, they contributed not a little to their glory in any way. But if honors are the wages owed to virtue, if we are ungrateful, we inflict the greatest injury on worthy men, despoiling them of what is owed to them. Nor indeed do we do anything new and unheard of if we pay what we owe; for by their deeds they have shown themselves worthy of these gifts, which they can attribute to themselves more than to us who give them.

^A

17. Yet we must not reject those who are good but not born of good parents because of their lineage, but rather we must esteem them for their own sakes, being so much better—it is amazing to say—than those who are honored for both reasons. For the latter, I think, see nothing new in doing what they ought and what is expected of those born of such parents; since even the wicked born of wicked parents have nothing else to say to their accusers, save for their lineage and the fact that they were so disposed by their lineage, as if this were their only excuse and refuge. But those who, starting from base examples, did not turn to the same path as their fathers, but through the abundance of their nature turned to another, having become noble and virtuous, are as worthy of zeal and admiration as those who ruin the premise and shame their progenitors by their own actions are worthy of blame and accusation. Must these, therefore, be honored less than the others, and shall we think it necessary to deprive them even of what is their due because of the baseness of their fathers? And how would we not be doing something that flows upstream by acting thus? ^B For instance, the Romans considered Pericles, son of Xanthippus, and Pompey the Great—who surpassed everyone in all the finest things and understood how to advance the common good above all—as men of the greatest and most admirable glory, and placed them in charge of themselves most readily; yet they held their father, a crude man, in such hatred that they did not even spare him when dead, but cast him from his tomb and treated him in the most terrible way. Pericles, on the other hand, born of an unfortunate father, was never despised by the Athenians; rather, he was everything to them—a man of the people, a leader, a protector, and to sum it up, a bulwark of all security and preservation. ^C And indeed, just as we do not deem it right for the basest of children to profit in reputation from their paternal virtue, nor will it be permitted for them to be praised on account of this—but rather this brings even greater blame upon them, both for being evil and for not living up to their lineage—in the same way, if the temperate and gentle have parents who are praised, they will be no less likely than such people to be honored and to receive accolades; and rightly so. For neither virtue nor vice is naturally innate in human beings, but they are born of choosing and striving. And this is evident from the fact that rewards are appointed for some and punishments for others. If we were to pursue these things by nature and were good or evil according to our lineage, none of this would be the case; for whatever comes from nature, in whatever state it might be, receives neither praise nor blame. ^D But as it is, we are crowned for some of the things we do, and we pay the penalty for others.

18. We indeed refuse nothing to those of whom we hold a good opinion; we deem them worthy of all the comforts of the earth, yet we must not hold up to mockery those whose limbs are mutilated, nor sneer at them for their misfortune; nay, it is fitting to soothe their spirits with consolation, and this all the more, because we ourselves may be ^A able to experience such a bitter fate. Never, therefore, let us despair; always let us lift up the spirit of such wretched people with words and deeds, keeping before our eyes Timon, the son of Echecratides, lest in that crisis of affairs they lose the reasons for living, being half-dead. For he who is dead bears no ill repute, and no longer grieves for that fact. But if anyone is deprived of eyes, or ears, or any other sense, we would be hurling a most sharp dart at him, ^B obtruding that evil by reviling him. For in this way they would be crushed even more by the weight of their unhappiness; and this all the more, since enemies—having now become, as it were, less than friends—approach them, I know not whether out of envy to console them. For if it is an impiety to hold up to mockery those vexed by some evil (for what else would that be than to incriminate ourselves?), it is certainly necessary that, bidding farewell to such trifles, we treat humanely those who are ill-treated by fortune; for by acting otherwise, ^C they indeed do them no harm, but they would show themselves guilty of imprudence and inhumanity, than which nothing is more foolish. If, then, the divine laws command that we do good to those who harm us, what vengeance will the same laws take upon him who, for his own inhumanity, holds up to mockery those worthy of mercy? Because what if they themselves fall into the same calamity? If it is less severe, they will endure it; if it is grave, how will they not apply themselves to relieving those who are vexed, mindful of how much such misery, if it were to happen to them, would crush them? Therefore, let us treat with ^D humanity those who deserve it, dealing crookedly with the wicked. Let us offer them signs of consolation and brotherly love, with the essence of consoling words about to alleviate their evil lot. 18 Just as we deem it proper to use what we know to be best, and to render the tribute customary for such things, so too when we see anyone deprived of some part of the body, we ought not to insult them nor gloat over them by grinding down their misfortune, but rather we ought to sympathize and, through all means, deem them worthy of care, not the least because we are concerned for our own selves; especially because there is a fear lest we ourselves might one day fall into the same state, and it is among the most necessary things to live on with good hopes from that point on. Furthermore, it stirs one up not only to think and act toward them with those things which kinship and nature make intimate, but also, apart from this, they seem to me capable of drawing even Timon, the son of Echecratides, toward pity for them, having had their life so miserably mutilated, and being, so to speak, half-dead, because in this respect they have died while otherwise remaining among the living. And at this one might reasonably grieve most of all; for if the dead man hears bad things ten thousand times, it is nothing more to him, who is completely without sensation. But when someone has been harmed regarding eyes or ears or any other sense, he receives the disgrace as an addition to his misfortune, and suffers a double blow: that of being thus and not having things like the others, and of having people who, rather than consoling him, gloat over him. I would gladly inquire about them, whether they feel resentment toward those very people who have these things. For if against those who have them, surely they ought not to put these things forward as a reproach, since it is possible to vilify them in other ways; but indeed, if they say it is against the sufferings, there is every necessity to turn away and think them base, but to sympathize with those who have fallen into these things. Therefore, by which of these they destroy one, they do neither according to reason. But by which they deem it fitting to mock those in such a state instead of sympathizing, they accomplish nothing whatsoever from it, and they bear witness to their own senselessness and the most shameful inhumanity. And yet, if divine laws exhort us to do good to those who wrong us, how great a destruction will they bring down from God upon those who choose to sneer at and disparage not only those who have wronged them in nothing, but who are even worthy of pity because of misfortune? Come, if they themselves were to fall into these things, and someone were to treat them in this manner, how would they feel? If they are gentle and moderate, it is not likely that they would be distressed by what they are suffering; but if they will have need of the whole of themselves to endure such things, how is it not absurd for them to deem it fitting to do such things to others, which, if they themselves were ever to experience them, they would consider a misfortune? For these reasons, I urge that one should not gloat over these people—to whom one should not only not gloat [the least of all], but most of all sympathize with them in their state—but one should be glad to offer them consolation; and, through all means by which it is possible to discourse on this, one should deem it of the utmost importance, first by bringing to them a mind full of mercy and compassion, then by the soothing power of words, and from there rendering them more at ease.

^A 19. It would be appropriate in this place to speak of those whose lot it is to serve; for indeed, these also attempt, like those before them, to deal with their fortune—and in a manner similar, regarding the body—as if, one might say, they were maimed in their own freedom and serving contrary to the decrees of nature. For nature created all men free from the beginning, granting to no one a privilege, but to all an equality of condition. But due to the vicissitudes of fortune, which never allows things to remain in the same state, but rather to be carried and to move up and down, one became a master and another a servant. They are expected, perhaps, to experience themselves the reverse of their situation, and to exchange fortunes with one another in accordance with the course of events; however, no one could point to a master who is not, of all things, a servant, nor to a servant who is not, in some way, a master. For even if you have obtained the greatest rule of all, you would be no more free, but belong instead to the class of servants, serving authority and the common desire to preside over all. And I pass over in silence luxury and the pleasures that are not to be praised, and all other things to which those in such a state are forced to serve. Euripides speaks well, therefore, and worthily of the common opinion: "Alas! There exists no mortal who is free; for he is a slave either to riches, or to fortune, or to whatever one might say." If, however, we rule in one way but are ruled in another (this being more truly the case than the former), and thus we appoint governors contrary to nature—because, as I have said, from the beginning we were all born free—far be it from us, usurping the superiority of lot, to exercise rule over them and oppress them. Rather, let us impose upon them a reasonable obedience, and not transgress the limits of government, no longer the masters of ourselves, like drunks. Meanwhile, however, they treat servants inhumanely, berating them with words more than is just, insulting, threatening, whipping, vexing with tortures, inflicting many lashes upon their backs, and forcing them to undertake tasks beyond their strength. What then? Is this to be endured because fortune so wills it? How great is that which cannot be averted! ^{B C}

20. And when there are some among masters who think it right to deprive those who have rendered labors of the wages owed—whether in part or in whole—depriving either servants or those who are otherwise free, but who, because of poverty and having nothing, are forced to work for pay, and who desire and act entirely for their daily bread; when, therefore, they are led to treat such people unjustly, this is that which is most of all hateful to God, and which, it seems to me, no one could bear—not even to undergo,

let alone to hear of at all. For where is there any reason in this, or rather, how is it not absurd and monstrous to consume these wretched people with labors, and to grant them no relief from necessity whatever, but even at times to buffet and beat them? And whereas they toil for their sake, to be unwilling to provide them with the very things for which they labor—indeed, to be ready to mention wages before the work is done and to profess that they will pay them, but then to send them away empty-handed as if they had done wrong? Yet these men, who are doing nothing of the kind at all, but rather living in poverty—a state that ^A should be treated well by those who have wealth, and not overlooked, especially by reason of the ordinance that commands this, and not least by reason of the fortune that wavers at every moment and the whirlwinds of life—are, besides being deemed worthy of none of these things, also deprived of the wages for their toil and suffering, contrary to all laws. Just as, therefore, it is necessary for all to sympathize and grieve with these men and others who are treated unjustly, so it is necessary to feel an even greater aversion and hatred toward those ^B who choose to do injustice, and to consider them truly wretched—not only because they are not ashamed to act so lawlessly, nor do they think they will account for it (for if they did, they would cease their ill-doing), but also because they cannot see that the things they now think they must seize and covet are all small and will not endure forever. But the goods they will thereafter lose because of this, and the terrible things they will necessarily fall into, are so great that it is not possible to conjecture their extent at all, let alone to speak of it. And this condition stands fast for all time, such that it admits of no cessation whatever, but reaches unto infinity, and has an immortal end—not to speak of the fact that the attainment of both is at stake: one being that of extreme blessedness, such as those who have been ordered by God unto a goodness of character ^C are likely to enjoy, and the other being to possess unbearable and monstrous pains; and this for all who live in wickedness, but not least for those who choose injustice. For if God is angry with him who does not share of his own with his neighbor, what shall He do with him who deprives others of their own, and denies the workmen the wages of their toil, which is a sign of still greater injustice?

21. Indeed, I believe that each of you, about to gird yourself for some work

^A performed the most noble deeds of any people in human memory, and gained the greatest and most wondrous victories of all—victories not only in the times preceding, but I shall add, throughout all time. Yet, following this, they met with the most shameful of all disasters in Sicily due to the sluggishness of their commanding general and, furthermore, their own greed; and this despite having such a multitude and such magnitude of preparations that they seemed capable of subjugating all of Europe with their arms. Therefore, whatever you propose to do, do it in such a way that a good end may come of it. For if, like beasts, we were to sit idly, possessing no care for anything, and were to succumb indolently to time, we would surely accomplish nothing. It therefore behoves us—who have the capacity to deliberate on matters and to plan for our own advantages—to remedy this evil; thus we shall both gain what we aim for and live in good fortune. If, on the contrary, things should turn out less well, and what you hoped for does not come to pass, you will not for that reason have failed yourselves, nor will you have omitted anything in your power to restore even desperate situations. ^B

22. What had previously escaped my mind has now returned to it; wherefore, what appears to be for the public good, I shall bring forward. Many fathers, by loving their children more than themselves, seem to satisfy the duty of a good father, while neglecting almost everything else that they ought to love before their children; yet they do not expend upon those very children the care most needed in the gravest of matters. For they leave nothing untried so that they might hand over, at the moment of death, a great weight of gold, herds, and immense fields to their offspring; however, they care little for their highest good, namely, a good education and liberal discipline, and the precepts by which they might be able to increase and preserve their family property. ^C Furthermore, they do not show them how they ought to assist friends and fellow citizens. Yet he who is imbued with letters is nonetheless able to look out for his fortune, and even though he be poor, he will be able to lead an honorable life. For he who lacks virtue, even though he possess the gold of Midas, I know not whether he lives honorably, nay rather, he descends into the vileness of a servile life, inasmuch as he has not learned to live according to the precepts of reason. ^D

^B

23. Therefore, I counsel both the poor and the rich not to send their sons to learn any arts before they have first, from a tender age, learned the sacred letters and thus spiritually nourished their souls. For in this way, by the benefit of a good disposition, parents will be able to have fair hopes of them, provided they themselves cooperate, entering the lists as it were, so that they may attain a laudable end; if not, at least they will have tasted the elements of literature and the arts, for I am well persuaded that these contribute most to living well, especially where the study of literature is associated with the arts. Thus the Athenians accustomed their sons to the sea, that they might become most skilled in maritime craft. But we, especially, who are brothers of Christ and who bear the glorious and wondrous name of Christians, ought not only to do these things before all else and accustom our children to them, but to behold them as the beginning and the end of our works. For thus we shall best know who we are; thus we shall embrace and exercise virtue according to the command of the most high Teacher. For those who, as they ought, devote their efforts to learning the arts and advance happily, to them it is given to ascend to the highest summit and to snatch the palm of glory from all others. For because they have known history in books, they recognize the opportuneness of times and places when wars are to be waged and they know best against whom one must fight and against whom not, and that by doing [certain things] they will be either victors or vanquished. Those, however, who are less well instructed and who know nothing but arms, they act in their deliberations and in fighting like wild beasts, casting themselves headlong, and although they often come off as victors, they are uncultivated in peace. You might find the example of Eurydice a wondrous one, or rather one to be imitated, who, when she loved her children in a wondrous way and desired to infuse wisdom into their souls, with the master removed, wished to be their teacher herself; a thing which, since it could not be accomplished by an Illyrian and barbarian woman, she renewed the studies of adolescence together with her sons; which indeed turned out so well that she offered this poem to the Muses, that she might both give thanks for herself and warn others to apply themselves to the education of their children with the greatest ardor. It is, moreover, of this kind:

^A

Eurydice of Hierapolis dedicates these verses to the Muses; from a noble desire, she learned letters, the foundations of discourse, along with her children.

^B 24. Furthermore, you must take care above all things not to entrust your children to sophists to whom they should not be entrusted. But if you care for them, so that they may be both excellent in their command of language and in their souls, and useful both to themselves and to others, let those be chosen who are not only good at teaching letters, but are not in other respects of twisted character and depraved morals; nor, again, those who are strictly upright and decent, but who, through the inadequacy of their discourse, are surely harmful to the young. Rather, let them be such as everyone knows to possess both the power of language and a life that corresponds to that language. And that there could be no other way, and that this concerns not so much your children as it does you yourselves and their teachers besides, you might grasp in this way. For the first elements of learning are the foundations of both kinds of life, and are, as it were, certain premises and preparations for how one might proceed toward virtue or vice. Since the souls of the young, especially because they are softer like wax due to their age, and not least because they have not yet received the character of any opposing things, happen to be so easily prepared for reception, that whatever is directly impressed upon them takes hold and remains for all time. It is clear that if you bring good things to them, you should expect them to become good and to bring you no less glory. But if you do not, you should accuse yourself for the error regarding these matters, and you will the more pay the penalty for having set over them teachers who are not good formers of character. Since it is possible, therefore, to provide best for the child and for yourself through the things I have spoken of, and to prepare him for great wisdom, will you not choose to do so? ^C For since Plato does not even allow the nurses to use the common sort of myths with children, so that they might not be habituated from the beginning to base things—for he commands that these be Greeks, not Barbarians—how much more absurd would it be to entrust your sons to disgraced teachers? For, as the proverb says, one must in tender age accustom the soul to honest things; just as it is no small praise for teachers to lead a life consistent with their doctrine, unless they wish to fall into the contempt of all. Therefore, on these optimal conditions, boys shall always be given to teachers to be educated, who will have such care for those being educated as to bring forth righteous fruits. So it will happen that your children, with Minerva’s favor, will joyfully grow, and you yourselves will congratulate yourselves on having given life to such, and the ^D teachers will receive the reward for their labors and, heaped with praises, will concern themselves with this one thing: that their students, aided by good arts, as I have said, may be advanced as much as possible. To this is added that it is not profitable to choose just anyone as a teacher who is one in name and outward appearance only, for it is those who are wise and of pure morals...

^A who possess these qualities, and who are expected to manifest them. For it is the primary concern that children not be led astray by base desires, but rather that they find joy in virtue and its beauty, that they hate sloth, that they hold letters in high regard, and that they deem the labors pertaining to these more pleasant than games and theaters. To express the whole in a word, the goal is for them to be well-ordered in all things, and this depends especially on the two of you. ^B Since they are such, and so well-conceived, it is absolutely necessary that these things be in you as well. For it does not suffice for the success of your children that the teachers alone attend to these things, but your own contribution is also needed. You must watch them constantly, and, so to speak, demand an accounting of them every day. For when both tutors and teachers realize that these things are being observed, they will surely be more diligent regarding the children; or rather, they will consider every effort a lightness for the sake of saturating them with learning and rendering them distinguished, ^C as they themselves, having begun from the same foundations, proceed from the same source.

25. And these same things I say regarding all arts, not just letters. You, so that you may know this too, do not consider the end of goods to be in the abundance of riches and empty vanity, but in the integrity of morals and the holiness of life, an end proposed to those who are truly wise and who cultivate piety. But this is what the followers of pleasure pursue above all, living luxuriously. But if virtue excels vices, just as the soul is superior to the body, greater care is owed to our better part. Therefore, let us acknowledge God in our actions, and let us not spend riches on absurd pleasures, seeing as they provide every opportunity for sin to those who use them wrongly, and therefore they are to be avoided. For virtue is not situated in riches, but riches must be acquired by virtue. For what else is this but to do what we ought from a good disposition, and to fare well even without wealth? But if one is wealthy, he may be more fortunate because he is also able to do good for others. But if you wish to join virtue to secondary fortune, you will have done something worthy of praise. ^D For happiness is the activity of the soul in accordance with virtue in a perfect life. But if, neglecting virtue, you hunt for silver alone, it cannot be but that you will be made thrice-unhappy and slip into lasting calamities; for you will be nothing but half-humans, omitting the reason of the soul and taking care only of the body,

^A regarding as of greater value those things which are not destined to persist forever, but are about to pass away at once, than those which persist forever; and by being considered, as it were, only half-human, through which you pay attention only to the body and to the things that tend towards the body, while the soul—whether as if it were no longer existing, or if it does exist, then futilely and as a kind of worthless appendage—in the meantime you labor: a soul which, since it possesses authority according to the laws of nature, ought to be deemed worthy of the greatest providence among us, and should truly be carried on in the position of honor. We, however, through what we do, run the risk of overthrowing the order, by unnaturally granting the leadership to that which is worse, and by judging matters upside down.

20. ^B If, then, the soul is the constitution of the body—as indeed it is—and it itself needs nothing else for its own constitution, but rather, while existing with it, it moves and vivifies it, and yet when it departs from the body it causes this body to be suddenly dissolved and to return to nothing, while the soul nevertheless endures, and is so much greater than the body as the simple creature is greater than the composite one, which now exists and now vanishes: it would be truly most absurd and foolish to reduce the soul to servitude and to subject the rational and immortal thing—I mean the soul—to an irrational and mortal thing, namely the body. Plotinus the Egyptian, indeed, who was as learned as any in the nature of things, had less regard for the body and greater regard for the soul; for this reason he esteemed the latter as the greatest, while he placed the existence of the body in an inferior position, ^C as David called the body a prison, from which one ought to desire above all to depart. We, O the foolishness! have reduced the dominion of the mind to servitude, and thus, mingling the highest things with the lowest, we boast as if we had done well! We, devoid of all shame, thinking ourselves to be upright, exult over our ruin as if we were not about to render an account to anyone or ever receive retribution. Nevertheless, by the aid of reason alone we are able to act properly and in the manner of men. Did Plato take pride because he was rational and not irrational? But we, who serve base desires like beasts, deny our nature. Certainly, if anyone were to speak to us foolishly, we would bear it with difficulty, yet we do not see that we ourselves are laboring under the disease of folly; ^D than which nothing is more base. For while we pay attention to the part of the soul that is ill, we have no regard for the reason of the mind, which is nothing other than dementia—a darkness arising from the passions that obscures judgment and drags the soul down to the foul condition of slaves. In all things, therefore, let reason operate, and matters will be preserved.

^A

27. Whatever, my friends, must be said about the most significant and common matters of public policy, let these be the ones offered: they have arrived at such a degree of security and propriety, and have been so clearly demonstrated, that it is no longer permitted even to those who know how to disparage them to dispute at all that they have been spoken well and properly, and worthily regarding the common good and the advantage of each individual. For this reason, then, all must use these as if they were certain oracles or laws. I think, however, that it is necessary to pray for two things: that you may demonstrate in your deeds what I have now said, and that those who come after you may emulate whatever you, with God granting it, shall demonstrate. I judge it, however, to be superfluous — as it were, a second thing — for if you yourselves become noble and good, such as this discourse desires, you yourselves will act in the best manner, and I know and am convinced that those others, too, will become such through your own yieldings, since zeal always progresses in a similar way through all things, which we know happened from the very beginning under the laws presently established. ^B

TITLES OF THE ORATIONS OF THE SAME THEODULUS, OR THOMAS MAGISTER, TO BE PUBLISHED AT ANOTHER TIME

An encomium on Saint John the Baptist. ^C On behalf of the Olynthians. Against the opposite [view]. Voyage. An embassy to the emperor on behalf of Chandrenus. To one who has committed an injustice and, having paid the penalty, is indignant because this was not done by judges. Letter to Lord Joseph. Letter to Lord Hierotheus. To the Thessalonians on concord. On behalf of Cynegeirus. On behalf of Callimachus. Address to the Grand Domestic.