Oration 43

MONITUM ON ORATION XLIII

I. Basil the Great, whose virtues and precious death are celebrated in this funeral oration, had already died near the Kalends of January in the year 379, according to the more probable opinion. Meanwhile, Gregory, having been summoned to Constantinople to defend the faith in its peril, was unable at that time to pay the debt of piety and friendship to so dear a head. But as soon as he obtained permission to depart from the city of Constantinople, he returned to Nazianzus. "Not long after," as the most learned Tillemont well observes [20], "he came to Caesarea," that he might water his friend’s sacred ashes with his tears, and publicly pursue his praises in a mournful oration.

II. "Illustrious is this oration," says Billius [21], "and prince among those which are versant in the demonstrative genre. For in it, as though the best craftsmen on the most beautiful material, he seems to have poured out all the powers of his genius and industry, and to have wished to make it clear to all how great a wealth of gifts he had brought with him from Egypt to the holy land." We embrace this opinion of the most learned man with a willing mind. For, however this oration is viewed, it will by no means be found inferior to the rest. For in it, the Theologian traverses the life of Basil, in an historical—indeed—yet most ornate series. From every quarter he scatters the native flowers of piety and eloquence so profusely that he seems at once to adorn his friend’s tomb and to consecrate Basil’s name to the most remote posterity.

III. Moreover, Gregory is in no way to be blamed if he brought certain delays to this duty of charity, since, as he himself speaks (n. 2), we were "nobly compelled, and perhaps not without the will of God did we travel abroad, being occupied meanwhile in the business of the imperiled true doctrine." This excuse he promises himself will be approved by Basil himself in heaven; for as one who "breathed nothing but truth, nothing but saving doctrine," he would rather that it, being in peril, be defended than that he himself be celebrated by a friend in a funeral oration. Hence, the learned do not without reason believe that this oration was delivered after his resignation from the Constantinopolitan see, in a most celebrated assembly of the Caesarean church, in the month of August or September of the year 381.

ORATION XLIII

Funeral oration in praise of Basil the Great, bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia.

I. This truly remained, that whereas that great Basil had always proposed to us many subjects for orations (for he used to pride himself on my orations, as no one else ever did on his own), he should now propose himself to us ^A as the greatest subject of contest for all those who have devoted themselves to letters and eloquence. For I think that if anyone, wishing to put his own faculty of speaking to the test, and later to judge it by a standard, were to set before himself one subject out of all others, just as painters do with the archetypal tablets from which they seek examples—having set this one aside—he would choose the first of all the rest, as one surpassing all oratorical power. So arduous a task is the encomium of this man, not only for us, who have long since laid aside all pursuit of glory; but even ^B for those whose life is speech, and who have devoted themselves to this alone, to be distinguished in such subjects. Thus I think of him.

^A Yet I do not know in what other matter I could employ my discourse, if I were not to use it now; or what I could better bestow upon myself, upon those who are admirers of virtue, upon the discourses themselves, or upon the man I have so much admired. For to me this will be a duty sufficiently discharged. And if aught is a duty to good men, speech itself is a duty, as in other things, so especially regarding speech. For the discourse might at once be a pleasure to them, and a call to virtue. For if I know the praises, I clearly know also their increase; for there is nothing at all of which the increase does not occur by this means. As for the discourses themselves, the matter would be well handled from both points of view. If they should approach the worth of the subject, they will have demonstrated their own power; but if they should fall far short (which must of necessity happen to all who praise him), they will by the very fact have demonstrated their own failure, and that the one who is praised is greater than the power of any discourse. ^B Regarding these matters, and, as I persuade myself, very rightly. For I do not know... ^C

II. An apology for the lateness of this panegyric

but a pious doctrine, one saving to the whole world. For as to the frailties of the body, perhaps one ought not even to dare mention them to such a noble man, who was above the body even before he departed from hence, and who maintained that no part of the soul's goods is hindered by the bond. And here let our excuse come to an end. For I do not think there will be any need ^A for a longer one, for me, who am speaking only in the presence of him and those to whom my affairs are well known and explored. Now, therefore, we must proceed to the eulogy itself, setting before our discourse God, who is his own, lest by our praises we bring disgrace upon this man, and fall far behind those who have already busied themselves with this subject; although perhaps we all stand at an equal interval from him, just as those who gaze upon the heaven and the solar rays from the earth.

III. If, therefore, I saw him boasting of his family and those who are of his lineage, or of any of those things that are altogether small and in which those who keep their eyes fixed on the ground are wont to be puffed up, another catalog of heroes would surely appear. How much we could have gathered ^B from his ancestors to him! And we would not even yield to histories in this respect; being, on this account at least, superior, in that we would not be adorned with invented and fictitious stories, but with the very deeds themselves, of which there are many witnesses. For Pontus indeed furnishes us with many accounts from his father’s side, and ones no less worthy of wonder than those of old, with which every history and poem is filled; and this my own soil, the noble Cappadocians, no less a nurse of youth than of horses, furnishes many. Whence we set the splendors of the maternal line against those of the paternal. For whose military commands, and governorships of peoples, and power and authority in the courts of emperors; and furthermore, riches, and the heights of thrones, and public honors, and the brilliance of discourses, were more numerous or greater than these? If we were permitted to speak of them as we wished, would the Pelopidae ^C and ^D the Cecropidae, and the Alcmaeonidae, and the Aeacidae be nothing to us

^A or the Heraclidae, and those than whom nothing is higher? Those who, because they have nothing of their own to openly proclaim, flee to the obscure—to certain demons, and gods, and myths attributed to their ancestors; of which the most reverent is disbelief, and what one believes is an insult and a disgrace.

IV. But because my discourse is designed for a man who wishes nobility to be weighed man by man ^B, and who does not—as forms, and colors, and horses, whether the most noble or the most abject, are usually tested by themselves—wish us to be depicted by external things, after I have set forth one or two of those things which he possesses from his ancestors, and those which suit his life and which would bring him the greatest pleasure if recounted, I shall immediately turn to him himself. For other families, or even every individual human being, have different signs and histories, either greater or smaller, which, like a certain paternal inheritance, either from far off or from near at hand, descend to their successors; but for him, the glory of both kinds was piety, as the discourse will now declare.

V. There was a persecution, and the most atrocious and most horrifying of all persecutions! I am speaking to those who are familiar with the persecution of Maximinus, who, ^C having burst forth after many who had appeared shortly before, made it so that all others seemed humane and gentle—himself raging with immense audacity, and contending with the greatest zeal to attain the supremacy of impiety. Many of our athletes surpassed him, struggling even to the point of death, and almost to the point of death; left behind, of course, just so far that they might be survivors of their own victory, and not depart along with the contests themselves, but be left as trainers in virtue for others—living martyrs, breathing columns, silent proclamations—and among the many who are counted are his own fathers on his father’s side, to whom, since they had practiced every manner of piety, that storm brought an excellent finishing touch. For they were so constituted and prepared in mind that they would easily endure all those things for which Christ bestows a crown on those who imitate His contest ^D undertaken for our sake.

VI. But because it was necessary that the struggle also be lawful (for the law of martyrdom is this: that we do not go forward to the struggle of our own accord, out of consideration for the persecutors and for the weaker athletes, nor, when we are present, do we shrink away; for the one is characteristic of rashness, the other of cowardice).

^A And if they, in honoring the Lawgiver in this way, are devising a plan? Or rather, to what goal are they carried by the Providence that guides all their affairs? They take refuge in a certain thicket of the Pontic mountains (many of which are, in their land, both deep and stretching for a great distance), using very few companions, both as partners in their flight and as ministers for their food. Let others, indeed, marvel at the length of duration (for they say the flight was prolonged for a very long time, to the seventh year or even a little more), and at the manner of living—narrow and strange for bodies so nobly nurtured, as is natural; and at their being exposed to ^B the open air, to frosts, to heat, and to rains; and at the loneliness deprived of friends and of the commerce and society of men—things which must be considered how heavy and miserable to those who were accustomed to be surrounded by many and to be treated with honor? But I am about to relate what is greater and more paradoxical than these, and no one will disbelieve me, unless he thinks that the persecutions and dangers undergone for Christ are of no great account, judging them wrongly and in a very dangerous manner.

VII. The noble men were longing for some food to provide pleasure, ^C as they were weary from the length of time and had developed a distaste for mere necessary sustenance. Yet they did not use the language of the Israelites (for they were not complainers and murmurers, as were those who, after their flight from Egypt, were pressed by hardships in the desert, as if Egypt were better for them than the desert, providing a great abundance of kettles and of meats, and of all the other things they had left behind; for the making of bricks and the mud was nothing to them then, due to their folly). Rather, they spoke of things more pious and more faithful. For they asked: "Is it impossible that the God of wonders, who nourished ^D that strange and fugitive people richly in the desert, so as to rain down bread and bring forth birds—feeding them not only with the necessary, but even with the superfluous; and who divided the sea, stayed the sun, and caused the river to run backward, and mentioning other things which He has done (for it is the custom of the soul in such circumstances to willingly pursue ancient stories, and to celebrate the glory of God through many miracles)—is it impossible that this same God should also feed us, the athletes of piety, this day, with more luxurious fare?" Many wild beasts, which once belonged to the tables of the wealthy—as they did once to us—are lurking in these mountains. Many birds of those prized as food fly over us, and what is there in them that is not huntable for you, if you but wish? They said these things, and the hunt was present—an automatic side-dish, a feast without labor, the deer of the hills

suddenly appearing from nowhere. How large they were! How fat! How ready for the slaughter! One might have almost conjectured that they were annoyed at not having been called sooner. Some yielded to nods of the head, others were led along. By what hunter, or by what force? By none. With what horses? With what hounds? With what barking, or shouting, or young men securing the exits, as the laws of the hunt require? Bound only by the tether of a prayer and a righteous request. Who, in the memory of our contemporaries or of any who have ever lived, has known such a hunt and such prey?

^B VIII. O wondrous thing! They were masters of their own prey. Whatever pleased them was detained by will alone; the surplus was sent back to the woods for a second course. The cooks were improvised, the supper exquisite, the guests grateful, having the present miracle as a kind of prelude to things hoped for. From this they became the more eager for that struggle on account of which these things were available to them. And such are the things I undertook to narrate. But you, tell me of your Dianas, your Orions, and your Actaeons, those unhappy hunters—you, I say, who pursue me, and marvel at fables, and at the deer substituted for the virgin—if you possess anything so great for praise and glory, so that we may at least grant that this narrative is in no way fabulous. What follows hereafter, how shameful it is! For what utility is there in this exchange, if she rescues a virgin from danger only to teach her to murder guests, and to learn to requite humanity with inhumanity? And this much for now, one from many, and as a substitute for many, in my opinion. Nor have I ^C mentioned this to bring some heap of glory to him (for neither does the sea need the rivers that flow into it, even if the most numerous and greatest of them flow in, nor does he whom we now praise need those who contribute something to his encomium), but to show from what ancestors he sprang, and looking upon them as a pattern, how much further he shot. For if it is a great thing for others to have received something from their ancestors for their glory, it is a greater thing for him to have added to those above from himself, like a reversing current; for indeed it is a cumulative praise for him from his ancestors.

IX. Although, however, concerning the union of his parents, which was no less a matter of virtue than of bodies, ^D moved by pity, she substituted a deer in her place. Which thereafter having become a priestess of Diana, learned to lay hands upon guests, and to sacrifice men herself.

^A There are also other marks of distinction: the care of the poor, the receiving of strangers, the purifying of the soul through continence, the dedicating of a portion of one’s property to God (a thing which was not yet being studied by many at that time, as it has been increased and valued now from those first examples), and all the other things which, divided between Pontus and Cappadocia, were sufficient to fill the ears of many. But to me, the greatest and most manifest thing seems to be their excellence in child-rearing. For while myths perhaps contain tales of people who had many and noble-born children, experience itself has shown these people to us, having been such that, even if they had not been parents of such children, they would have been sufficient for the luster of their own name; and, having brought forth such children into the light, that even if they themselves had not been of such great virtue, they nevertheless would have surpassed all in the blessedness of their offspring. For when one or two live with praise, such a thing is such that it may be ascribed to nature; but virtue in all respects perfect and brought to the highest pitch must clearly be assigned to those by whom they were brought forth and reared. This is clearly demonstrated by that number—to be praised by the name of blessedness—of priests and virgins, and of those in marriage who exerted themselves in such a way that nothing was an impediment to them in attaining an equal glory of virtue, and who brought it about that these were choices of ways of life ^B rather than of modes of living.

X.

^A voice of his to sing his own praises. For he is both the brilliant subject for those who praise him, and the only one, by the power of his eloquence, worthy of that subject. The beauty, power, and magnitude—things in which I see many delight—these we shall leave to those who wish to pursue them; not that he would be inferior in these even to those who value small things and wallow in the flesh, while he was still young and had not yet mastered the flesh through philosophy; but so that we might not suffer the same thing ^B as the more inexperienced athletes, who, having exhausted their strength in vain and wholly unnecessary struggles, are found inferior in the critical contests where victory is prepared and the crown is awarded by the herald’s voice. But those things which seem neither superfluous to mention nor alien to the scope of our discourse, these I shall take up to praise.

XI.

^A by making the infirmity of the former the strength of our own discourse. For this reason, education is not to be despised, because this seems so to some; but those who hold such views must be considered obtuse and uneducated, for they would wish everyone to be like themselves, in order that their own [ignorance] might be hidden in the common, and they might escape the exposures of their lack of education. Since, therefore, we have proposed and agreed to this, come, let us consider his life. ^B

XII. In his earliest years, he was swaddled and fashioned by his great father, whom Pontus at that time set forth as a common teacher of virtue, with that best and purest formation which the divine David aptly calls "daytime," and as the opposite of the nocturnal. Under him, the wonderful youth was educated, as his life and speech grew together and ascended in harmony. He did not boast of some Thessalian and mountainous cave as a workshop of virtue, nor of some arrogant Centaur as a teacher of the heroes of his time, nor did he learn from him how to strike hares, or to run down fawns, or to hunt deer, or to excel in military affairs, or to tame colts best, while using the same creature as both horse and teacher, nor was he fed on the mythical marrow of deer and lions; but he was taught the liberal arts, was trained in piety, and, to speak concisely, was led through the primary studies toward the future perfection. For those who have reached maturity in life alone, or in learning alone, while falling short in the other, seem to me to differ nothing from the one-eyed, to whom there is not only a great loss, but also a greater shame, both in seeing and being seen by others. But those who happen to excel in both respects, and to be, as it were, ambidextrous, these are truly perfect in all respects and live with the blessedness of the life that is to come. ^C This is what happened to him, as it was fitting, for he had a domestic example of virtue, looking upon which he was immediately excellent. Just as we see foals and calves, as soon as they are born, skipping beside their mothers, so too did he, while running beside his father's side, with a coltish prancing, fall not far behind the peak of virtuous movements; or, if you like, in the D

sketch of the future, prefiguring the beauty of virtue, even before the time of maturity, he traced out the hallmarks of maturity.

XIII. Furthermore, when he had sufficiently cultivated the learning available there, and it was not fitting that he should be ignorant or devoid of any noble subject, nor that he should be surpassed in labor and diligence by the little bee that gathers the most useful things from every flower, he hastened to the city of the Caesareans ^A, so that he might share in the schools of that city; this city, I say, illustrious and our own (for it served as a guide and mistress of my own studies too), a metropolis of letters and learning no less than of the cities over which it excels and dominates; a city which, if one were to deprive it of the palm of learning, one would be stripping it of the most beautiful thing of all and that which is most especially its own. For while other cities boast of other ornaments, whether ancient or new—according, I suppose, to the stories they possess or the sights to be seen—this city, on the contrary, is ennobled and rendered illustrious by the glory of letters, as by weapons or tragic marks of distinction. But let those who educated the man among them, and who reaped the fruit of his erudition, recount what follows: how great he was in the eyes of his teachers, and how great among his peers—the former he matched, the latter he surpassed in every kind of learning; how much glory he attained in a short time among all, both the commoners and the foremost in the city; showing a learning greater than that age allowed, and a consistency and gravity of character greater still than his learning; a rhetorician among rhetoricians, even before the sophistical chair; a philosopher among philosophers, even before the dogmas of philosophy; and, which is the greatest thing, a priest to Christians, even before he entered the priesthood; so much did everyone in all things grant to him. ^B To him, moreover, the study of eloquence served merely as an accompaniment, and like a sort of surplus, reaping from it only so much fruit as was of assistance for him to use in our own philosophy; since the strength and faculty of speech are required to explain the perceptions of the soul. For a mind that cannot express in words what it feels is not unlike the sluggish gait of men who are growing numb. But his serious and primary effort resided in this: that he might devote himself to true philosophy, and break himself away from the contagion of the world, and join himself to God, and through earthly things acquire heavenly ones, and through things flux and fragile, lay hold of those which are firm and eternal.

^A XIV. From thence he came to Byzantium, the city that holds the primacy of the whole East (for it flourished with most excellent orators and philosophers, from whom in a short time he gathered the best things through the speed and greatness of his nature); and from thence he was sent by God, and by an insatiable and glorious desire for learning, to Athens, the very seat and home of letters; to Athens, I say, truly golden to me, and the purveyor of good things, if ever it was to anyone. For those places made this man known to me more perfectly—though he was not unknown to me even before—and while I sought for learning, I obtained happiness; and in a different way I suffered the same as Saul, who, seeking his father's asses, found a kingdom, and profited more in that matter which he was doing incidentally than in that which was his primary concern. Up to this point, indeed, a level, easy, and truly royal road for our discourse of his praises has held a prosperous course; but now, what method of speaking I shall follow, or whither I shall turn, I do not know; for this part of my discourse has in it something difficult for me. For having progressed thus far in my oration, and having seized this occasion, I long to add something of my own affairs, and to linger a little while in this narrative, and to explain where and how and from what beginnings our friendship—or, to speak more congruously, our concord of souls and union of nature—was formed. For just as the eyes do not easily depart from pleasant spectacles, and even if one should drag them away by force, they are carried again to them; so neither does speech from the commemoration of the sweetest things. But in this effort I see a difficulty to be feared. I will endeavor, therefore, to do this as moderately as I am able. But if the heat of love and desire should perchance force us to exceed the measure, I ask you to forgive our emotion, which is the most just of all emotions, and not to be affected by which is a loss and a detriment, at least to those who are of a sound and whole mind.

^C XV. Athens held us like a certain stream of a river, divided from one source—our homeland—into different regions for the love of learning, and again gathering together as if by appointment, God so impelling it. And indeed it held me a little before; but him, not long after, and he was awaited with a wonderful and brilliant hope. For he was on the tongues of many before he had arrived; and there was no one who did not think it a great thing for himself if he could be the first to preoccupy that which he was pursuing with such great zeal. Nor will it be irrelevant to add to my speech a small narrative in the place of a certain condiment, so that it may renew the memory for those who know, and serve as a lesson for those who do not. Most of the young men at Athens, and the more foolish ones, are obsessed with a mad passion for the sophists; not only the ignoble and obscure, but even those of good birth and the more illustrious, as they are a mixed multitude, and young, and hard to control in their impulses.

Just as we see happening in the equestrian games to those who are delighted by horses and spectacles; for they leap, they shout, they send dust into the sky, they sit and guide the reins, they strike the air, and they pair their horses, finger by finger, as if with whips, to one side and then the other, though nothing of this is in their own power: they easily exchange among ^A themselves charioteers, horses, stables, and leaders. And who are these? Often the poor and the destitute, and those who have not even for a single day provided themselves with food. This same thing happens to them, quite literally, regarding their own teachers and their rivals, in that they are eager to be more numerous themselves, and to make those teachers wealthier through their own zeal. And the whole thing is absurd and monstrous. Cities, roads, harbors, mountain peaks, fields, desolate places, and indeed almost every part of Attica and the rest of Greece are taken over, and the greater part of the inhabitants, for they also have them divided into factions and parties.

XVI. But when some young man arrives and falls into the hands and power of those who have taken hold of him (whether he has come of his own accord or under compulsion), this is their Attic custom, a game mingled with serious business. First, he is received as a guest at the home of one of those who have seized him early—either a friend, a kinsman, someone from his own country, or those who are experts in the craft of sophistry and who procure gains for their masters, and for this reason are held in the highest honor and esteem among them; since for them it is a reward to have those who attend to their advantages. Next, ^B he is baited with taunts by anyone who wishes; which indeed, if I am not mistaken, they do to restrain the pride of those who have arrived recently, and to bring them under their control from the start. He is baited, however, by some more boldly, by others more urbanely, according to whether he is of rustic and inept character or endowed with urbanity. And this deed, to the ignorant, seems truly fearful and inhuman, but to those who know it beforehand, it is quite pleasant and agreeable. For the display of threats is greater than the thing itself. Then, with a procession, he is led through the marketplace to the bathhouse. The procession, however, takes place in this way: Those who perform the duty of escorting the youth, having arranged themselves in a line at equal intervals ^C in pairs, and conducting the newcomer in procession, lead him on towards the bath. And when they approach, they use much shouting and leaping, as though possessed (the shouting commands him not to proceed, but to stand still, as if

the bath would not admit him just yet); and at the same time, by beating against the doors and creating a clamor to strike fear into the youth, they afterward grant free entry and thus bestow upon him his liberty, accepting him from the bath as an equal and as one of their own fellows. And this is the most delightful part of the ceremony for them—namely, the rapid departure of those who have been harassing him and the dissolution of the gathering.

At that time, therefore, I did not merely honor my own great Basil myself, seeing for myself the stability of his character and his appropriateness in speech, but I also persuaded others to do the same, as many of the youth were unacquainted with the man. For among the many he was already held in veneration, having been anticipated by his reputation and what they had heard of him. And what was the result? He alone of almost all those who came to Athens for the sake of study was exempted from the common law, having obtained a higher honor than the status of a newcomer would seem to allow. ^B

XVII. This was the prelude to our friendship; from this came the spark of our connection; thus were we wounded with love for one another. Afterward, something else of this sort happened, for it is not right to leave this out either: I do not find the Armenian race to be simple and open, but rather quite hidden and dissembling. So then, certain of those who were more familiar with him and were his friends, still dating back to [his connections through] his father ^C and their earlier association (for they actually belonged to [the students of] that school), approached him under the guise of friendship (though it was envy, not benevolence, that moved them), and they questioned him, more contentiously than logically, and tried to cause him to bow down to them through this first attack, both because they knew the natural endowment of the man from before, and because they could not bear the honor he then enjoyed. For they considered it a terrible thing—and intolerable—if those who had put on the philosopher's cloak earlier and who had applied themselves to the crafting of words should not be set ahead of a stranger and newcomer.

But I, being a lover of Athens and foolish (for I did not perceive the envy, trusting the outward mask, and, bearing with an indignant spirit the glory of Athens being suppressed in them and most rapidly despised), as they were already giving way and turning their backs, ^D I propped up the young men by guiding the conversation back and granting them the momentum of my own assistance (for even a small addition can do everything in such matters), and I set their heads on a level in the struggle, to use the phrase. But when I perceived the secret nature of the discussion, no longer capable of being checked, but now clearly >

^A revealing itself, I suddenly turned about, shifted my oars to the stern, and taking his side, rendered the victory uncertain. For this he (as he was of a most acute mind) at once took great pleasure, and being filled with eagerness, in order that I might fully Homer-ize him, he pursued those stout youths who were confounded by the argument; nor did he cease to strike them with arguments until he had turned them completely to flight and had carried off an undisputed victory. This was to us another spark of friendship, no longer just a spark, but a clear and lofty torch now kindled.

XVIII. And so they departed with their business unfinished, meanwhile much blaming their own rashness and conceiving such indignation against me under the name of stratagem, that they even declared open enmity against me and accused me of betrayal, not only of them but of Athens itself; since by the first encounter they had been refuted and put to shame by one man, and that, too, a man who had not even had time to gain confidence. But he, on the contrary (for it is a human emotion, when we have conceived great things in our hope, to suddenly find that what appears before us is ^B inferior to our expectation), suffering this same experience, was gloomy and distressed, and could find nothing in his arrival for which to congratulate himself. He sought what he had promised himself in his hope; he called Athens a vanity of happiness. These things were his: but I removed the greatest part of his grief, both by engaging with arguments and by soothing him with reasoning; saying, as the matter was, that the character of a man is not to be perceived immediately, but over a long time, with most perfect familiarity and daily life, nor can the learning of those who test it be known from a few arguments and in a short time. Whence I brought him back to cheerfulness, and by giving and receiving proof, I bound him to myself with closer ties.

XIX. But as in the progress of time we confessed our mutual longing to one another, and that philosophy was what we were pursuing, ^C then indeed we were everything to one another: room-mates, table-companions, of one heart, looking to one and the same end, daily gathering for one another a more fervent and firmer longing. For the loves of bodies, since they are of things that flow away, and

^A they flow away themselves, no differently than spring flowers. For neither does the flame remain once the material is consumed, but is extinguished along with it, nor does desire persist when the fuel withers. But the loves of the chaste and those who are pleasing to God, since they are of a stable and firm reality, are ^B for that reason more enduring; and by as much as the beauty is seen by them to be greater, by so much the more does it bind to itself and to one another those who are the lovers of the same things. This is the law of ^C the love that is above us. I perceive, however, that I am being carried along beyond the time and the measure, and I do not know how I fall into these discourses, nor do I have any way to restrain myself from the narrative. For to me, that which has been passed over always seems necessary, and better than what has been anticipated. And even if someone should tyrannically lead me forward, I shall suffer the fate of the polyps, which, when they are dragged from their lair, cling to the rocks with their suckers, and will not release them until they have gained something from one another by force. If, therefore, someone might yield to me, ^D I have what I am seeking; but if not, I shall take it from myself.

XX.h ^A Thus, then, being disposed toward one another, and having established such a well-walled thalamus, as Pindar says, we were arriving at the future, using God and longing as fellow-workers. Oh, how can I endure the memory of these things without tears! Equal hopes led us on, ^B in a matter most enviable, of discourses; but envy was absent, and zeal was pursued. And the contest for both was not as to who might hold the first place himself, ^C but how one might yield it to the other; for we made the good repute of one another our own. One soul seemed to be in both, bearing two bodies. And if one must not believe those who say that all things are in all things, yet it must be believed by us that we were in one another and beside one another. And for both there was one work and study: virtue, and to live for future hopes before departing from here, and moving from here. Keeping this in view, we directed our entire life and conduct, being led thus by the commandment, and sharpening virtue for one another; and, if it is not too much for me to say it, ^D being for one another rules and standards by which the straight and the not-straight is discerned. For we associated with companions, not the most licentious, but the most chaste; nor the most bellicose, but the most peaceful, and those with whom it is most profitable to reside; knowing that it is easier to change from wickedness

^A to receive, or to impart virtue; since it is also easier to take on someone else's disease than to bestow health. Furthermore, we were delighted not so much by the most pleasant of disciplines as by the best; for from these, too, young people are influenced either toward virtue or toward vice.

XXI. Two paths were known to us: one the first and more excellent; the second, another and of lower value. The former led to our sacred houses and to the teachers who were there; the latter to external tutors. All others which led to festivals, spectacles, celebrated assemblies, and banquets, we had left for those who desired them, with an equal and willing mind. For in my opinion, nothing is to be considered of great value which contributes nothing to living rightly and honorably, nor renders those who pursue it better. Now, while others have various surnames—whether received from their parents, or from home, or acquired from their own life's pursuits and practices—to us, on the contrary, it was a great matter and a great name both to be and to be called Christians; ^B and we were more exalted by this than Gyges was by the turning of his ring—if indeed this story were not mythical—by which he seized the tyranny of the Lydians; or than Midas was by the gold which brought about his own destruction, when, having attained his wish, he possessed nothing but gold—which is itself also a Phrygian myth. For why should I mention Abaris the Hyperborean’s arrow, or the Argive Pegasus, which did not have as much power to be carried through the air as we had to be raised to God by mutual support and together? And to summarize the matter in a few words, to others, Athens is pestilential as far as the salvation of the soul is concerned (and this is not ^C thoughtlessly assumed by pious men); for they abound in evil wealth, that is, idols, more than the rest of Greece, and it is difficult not to be swept away along with their praisers and advocates. But to us, no harm came from them, inasmuch as we were fortified and walled about in our minds. Indeed, rather—which is scarcely credible—we were here confirmed in the faith, recognizing their fraud and imposture, and here despising demons where demons are held in admiration. And if there is, or is believed to be, a river that flows sweet through the sea, or an animal leaping into fire, by which all things are consumed, such were we among all these equal and contemporary companions. ^D

XXII. That most excellent thing, moreover, was that there existed around us a not ignoble fellowship, having that man as its leader and following him as its guide, rejoicing in the same things; even if we were but footmen running, as the proverb has it, alongside the Lydian chariot—that is, alongside his course and his conduct; from which it befell us that we were not only famous among our teachers and associates, but also throughout all Greece, and especially among the most notable men of Greece. Nay, we even proceeded beyond the borders of Greece, as has become evident from those many who recount these things. For our teachers were celebrated among as many men as Athens could boast; and we, in turn, among as many men as were our teachers—we being heard together and speaking together, a pair not without renown, both being among them and listening to them. No Orestes or Pylades were anything like this to them; nor were those Molionidae, the marvel of the Homeric scroll, whom a community of misfortunes made known, and the ability to drive a chariot well, sharing between them at the same time the reins and the whips. But I have unintentionally slipped into praises of myself, a thing I have never even tolerated to be spoken by another. And it is no wonder if, in this matter too, I have reaped some fruit from his friendship; for just as when he lived he profited me unto virtue, so now that he has departed this life, he profits me unto praise and commendation. But our discourse must again be brought back to the goal.

^B XXIII. Who was so gray-headed in wisdom, even before his hair was gray? For by this quality Solomon also defines old age. Who was equally venerable to the old and to the young, not only among the men of our own time, but also among those who lived long before? Who, because of his character, had less need of learning? Yet who joined more abundant learning with his character? What kind of discipline is there in which he was not versed, and so excellently versed, as if he had labored in that alone? Truly, he encompassed all things in such a way that no one could claim he mastered but one, and yet he pursued individual subjects to such a height, as if he had learned nothing else besides. For study was added to the sharpness of his genius, from which he understood how to hold sway over the sciences and arts.

^A For he grasped both, and brought them into one, in such a way that it was unclear which of these he was more admirable in. Who was so great in rhetoric, that art which breathes the force of fire, even if his conduct was not after the manner of rhetoricians? Who in grammar, which forms the tongue to Hellenism, collects histories, presides over meters, and prescribes laws for poems? And who in philosophy, that truly exalted and upward-tending science, whether you look at the part of it which is placed in action and speculation, or that which is occupied with logical demonstrations, oppositions, and contests—which they call Dialectic—in which he so excelled that for those who disputed with him it was easier to extricate themselves from labyrinths than to escape the snares of his arguments, if the matter ever demanded it?

But as for astronomy and geometry and the proportions of numbers, he was content to have learned enough so as not to be shaken by those who are clever in such matters; he despised whatever was left over as unfruitful for those desiring to lead a pious life. To such a degree that one may marvel at and praise what he chose even more than what he left behind, and, conversely, praise what he left behind more than what he chose. For medicine, which is the fruit of philosophy and labor and industry, had rendered the cure of bodily disease necessary for him; starting from this, he finally arrived at a habit of the art. Furthermore, I mean that part of the art which is not concerned with what is clear and subject to the eyes and is lowly, but that which consists in doctrine and philosophy. ^B But what are these things, though they be so great and excellent, when compared to the instruction of the man’s character? That Minos and Rhadamanthus—whom the Greeks deemed worthy of meadows of asphodel and the Elysian fields, imagining in their minds a kind of image of our paradise—are nonsense to those experienced in the man’s own conduct, having perceived this, I suppose, from the Mosaic and our own books, even if they disagreed somewhat in the name, indicating this very thing by other words.

XXIV. And thus these things were, and the ship was laden with the merchandise of instruction, as far as it is granted to human nature to attain—for it is not permitted for anyone to sail beyond the pillars of Gades—and now it was necessary for us to return to our fatherland ^C and to institute a more perfect kind of life, and [to enter into] things hoped for by us and prepared for us. The day of departure was at hand, and all those things pertaining to

^A departure—farewell speeches, escorts, recalls, lamentations, embraces, tears. For nothing is to anyone so painful and bitter, as it is for those who have been educated together in that place, to be torn away both from Athens and from each other. Then, indeed, a sight occurred both sorrowful and worthy of record. The band of our companions and peers, and also of some of our teachers, stood around us, swearing that they would not—come what may—let us go; begging, forcing, persuading; for what did they not say? What did they not do, as is natural for those who are suffering? At this point, I shall accuse both myself and that divine and blameless soul, even if it may seem somewhat bold. For he, when he had explained the reasons why he contended so steadfastly for his return, prevailed over those who were trying to hold him back; and although with difficulty, he yet obtained permission to depart. But I was left behind at Athens; partly, to tell the truth, softened by the prayers of my friends; and partly betrayed to some extent by him himself, in that he allowed himself to be brought to the point of letting go one who would not let him go, and of yielding his hand to those by whom I was being drawn away. A thing, indeed, unbelievable before it happened! For it became a kind of severing of one body into two parts, and the death of both; or like the disjunction of two yoked calves, ^B lowing mournfully for one another and not enduring the estrangement. Yet, the loss did not last long for me; for I could not endure to be seen for any longer time as a miserable object, or to have to provide an account of our separation to everyone; but, having remained at Athens for no long time, desire, like the Homeric horse, moved me; and having broken the bonds of those who held me, I leaped across the plains, and was borne with a rush toward my companion.

XXV. When, therefore, we had returned home, after having yielded a little to the world and the stage, and only so much as to satisfy the desire of the many (for we ourselves were not ^C ambitious, nor were we given to display), we very quickly became our own masters once again, and we passed from beardless youths into men, approaching philosophy more manfully; no longer together in body (for envy did not permit it), but united by desire and love. For he was held by the city of the Caesareans, as if he were a second founder and guardian; and then, because he was without me, he undertook certain necessary travels, by no means alien to the purpose of philosophy he had set for himself. But as for me, piety toward my parents, and the care of their old age, ^D and the onset of calamities, held me captive and drew me away from that man.

^A Yet I consider whether it was not from that point that all the unevenness and difficulty of my life followed, as well as my failure to attain to philosophy, and my falling short of my own desire and purpose. As for my own affairs, may they be guided as is pleasing to God; and may they be guided better through his intercessions. But as for him, the manifold philanthropy of God and His dispensation toward our race, having made him known through many intermediate duties and having shown him to be ever more brilliant, set him forth as a lamp of the Church, manifest and renowned, having for the time being ^B enrolled him in the sacred order of the presbyterate, and through the single city of Caesarea, making him shine forth to the whole world. And in what manner? Truly in this way: that He did not suddenly raise him to this rank, nor did He at once cleanse him and instruct him in wisdom, as happens to most of those who now desire the office of bishop; but in order, and by the rule of spiritual advancement, He conferred this honor upon him.

^C XXVI. For I do not approve of this disorder and confusion that exists among us, and sometimes among certain of those who preside over the Church. For I will not dare to accuse all, nor would it be just. But I praise the nautical rule, which entrusts the oar first to the future helmsman, then leads him to the prow, and, having entrusted to him those initial duties, finally, after long rowing and observation of the winds, appoints him to the helm. The same rule applies in military affairs: first a soldier, then a centurion, then a general. This is the best order, and the most beneficial for those who are subject to authority. How excellently would things be with us if our own affairs were in the same state! But now there is a danger that the most holy order of all may become the most ridiculous of all. ^D For the priesthood is obtained not so much by virtue as by malice and wickedness; and the thrones belong not to the more worthy, but to the more powerful. Samuel is among the prophets, he, I say, who foresees the future; but so is Saul, the rejected one. Roboam is among the kings, the son of Solomon; but so is Jeroboam, the slave and apostate. And while no one obtains the name of physician or painter unless he has first considered the natures of diseases, or blended many colors and expressed various forms with a brush, a bishop is found easily, without having been labored over,

^A nor at all made wise, nor having contributed anything to the rank, except the mere wish. And one man cherishes the lower place, and stands humbly, who is worthy of the high; and he has practiced much in the divine oracles, and has legislated much to the flesh for its subjection to the spirit. But the other occupies the seat haughtily, and lifts his eyebrow against those better than himself, and does not tremble at the thrones, nor does he shudder at the sight, looking down upon the temperate man; but he assumes that he is wiser along with his power, knowing ill, and having had his judgment taken away by his authority.

^B XXVII. But not so the great and illustrious Basil; but just as he makes himself an exemplar to many of all other virtues, so also of the order and discipline concerning these things. For, having previously read the sacred books to the people, he, being their interpreter, and not having disdained even this rank of the platform, thus in the seat of priests, thus among the bishops, he praises the Lord; not having stolen the authority, nor seized it, nor pursued the honor, but having been pursued by the honor, ^C and not having received a human grace, but a divine one from God. The discourse, then, concerning his presidency, let it wait; but let us spend a little time on that concerning his sub-presidency. For even this had almost escaped me, lying in the midst of the things mentioned!

^D XXVIII. A certain disagreement arose toward the man with the leader of the Church who was before him (the source of which, and how it came about, it is better to pass over in silence, but it happened), a man in other respects not ignoble, and admirable in his piety, as the persecution of that time showed, and the resistance against him, yet one who suffered something human toward that other. For blame touches not only the many, but even the best of men, so that only God’s nature is entirely unerring and invulnerable to passions. There is moved, then, against him as much of the Church as is chosen and wiser—if indeed those who have separated themselves from the world and consecrated their lives to God are wiser than the many. I mean our Nazarites, and those who have been most diligent about such things; who deemed it a terrible thing for their own power to be overlooked, insulted, and thrust aside,

^A they venture upon a most dangerous undertaking. They determine to separate and break away from the great and tranquil body of the Church, severing no small portion of the multitude, both of those who were of lower rank and of those who held dignities (68). This was very easy to accomplish for three most powerful reasons. For, in the first place, Basil was held in such veneration among all as I do not know if any other philosopher of our age has been, and he had such influence that he could, had he wished, have brought courage and confidence to the restless party (69). Secondly, he who caused him trouble was suspected by the city, on account of the tumult that had occurred during his election, as one who had accepted the prelacy not so much legitimately and according to the prescription of the canons, as by force. Finally, there were present certain bishops from the West (70), who were drawing over to their own side all who were orthodox.

^B XXIX. What, then, did that noble man, that disciple of the pacific one, do? (For he could not contend against those who had insulted him, nor against those who were zealous for him; nor was it his way to fight or to tear apart the body of the Church, which was in any case being attacked and was in a precarious state, owing to the tyranny of the heretics who then held power and authority.) At the same time, using us as his counselors and sincere advisers in this matter, he fled with us hence to Pontus and took charge of the gymnasia of piety that were there. And—what is worthy of mention—he embraced the solitude together with Elijah and John, the greatest of philosophers; deeming it more advantageous for himself than to admit into the present business some thought unworthy of his philosophy and to lose in the storm the helm of counsel and prudence, which he had held in the calm. Although his withdrawal was so philosophical and admirable, we shall find his return to have been even more excellent and admirable. For this is how it happened.

XXX. While we were engaged in these pursuits, there suddenly descended a cloud full of hail and with a ruinous crashing (74), which crushed all the Churches upon which it fell and whomever it invaded; I mean the Emperor, most covetous of gold and most inimical to Christ, and afflicted with ^C these two greatest evils (75).

one who, after the persecutor, acted as a persecutor, and after the apostate, was not indeed an apostate, yet was nothing better to Christians, or rather, to the most pious and purest part of Christians, and to the worshippers of the Trinity—which alone I call piety and saving doctrine. For we do not weigh the Divinity as if on a balance, nor do we alienate the one and inaccessible nature from itself by strange separations, nor do we heal evil with evil, by dissolving the godless contraction of Sabellius through a more impious division and section; the disease to which Arius—he who derives his name from madness—succumbed, and by which he shook and corrupted a great part of the Church. He neither honored the Father nor showed respect for those things which are of Him, having introduced unequal degrees of Divinity. But we recognize one glory of the Father, one equality of the Only-begotten, and one adaptation of the Spirit. And if we place any one of these three below another, we believe that the whole Trinity is overturned and destroyed in us; we worship and acknowledge them as three in regards to their properties, but one in regards to their Divinity. Not perceiving any of this, and being unable to look upward, but being brought low by those who led him, he dared to bring down to himself even the nature of the Divinity; and he becomes an evil creature, bringing down the Sovereignty into servitude, and placing the uncreated and timeless nature among created things. ^B

XXXI. He, therefore, having such a mind and with such impiety, mounted an expedition against us. For this must be considered nothing other than a barbarian incursion, not overturning walls, and cities, and houses, or anything small and made by hands, which might again be rebuilt and restored, but devastating souls themselves. There accompanied him also an army worthy of him—the wicked governors of the Churches, the cruel tetrarchs of the world under his rule; who, when they already held some of the Churches, were attacking others, and hoping that others would come into their power through the influence and hand of the Emperor—the one being applied, the other being threatened—they arrived, intending to destroy our own as well. They trusted not in anything so much as in the pettiness of the aforementioned, in the inexperience of him who at that time presided over us, and in the infirmities among us. The struggle, therefore, is great; the zeal of many is not ignoble, but the ranks are weak, lacking one who might be their champion

^A and an expert defender in the power of the Word and the Spirit. What, then, did that noble and high-minded soul, so truly possessed by the love of Christ, do? He needed no long discourse to prevail upon him to come and stand by us; but as soon as he saw us on our mission—for the struggle was common to both of us, as we had both been appointed champions of the faith—he yielded at once to the mission. Reasoning with himself in the best and most philosophical manner, according to the concepts of the Spirit, he distinguished that there is one time for being discouraged (if indeed one must indulge such a feeling at all, it is in a time of peace), and another time for long-suffering, which is the time of necessity and danger; pondering this, I say, he straightway departed with us from Pontus and was moved with zeal for the truth in jeopardy, and offered himself as a willing ally, giving himself entirely to the Mother, the Church.

^B XXXII. But perhaps he readily undertook the task, yet did he not fight with a zeal worthy of that alacrity? Or did he fight strenuously, but not thoughtfully and prudently? Or did he act prudently, yet without danger? Or did he perform all these things perfectly and beyond description, yet were there some remnants of past hostility still lingering in his soul? By no means. He performed everything at once: he put aside enmities, formed a plan, and drew up the ranks; he removed the obstacles and stumbling-blocks that lay in the middle, and those things in which our opponents, trusting, had waged war against us. He took some, retained others, and repelled yet others. For some he became a firm wall and rampart; for others, an axe splitting the rock, or fire among thorns, as the divine Scripture says, easily consuming the scrub-like men who were insolent toward the Godhead. But if Barnabas, who speaks and writes these things, brought any aid to Paul as he struggled, thanks are due to Paul, who chose him and made him a partner in the struggle.

XXXIII. And so they departed with their mission unaccomplished, having been for the first time put to shame and defeated in a bad way, and having learned not to despise and hold as nothing the Cappadocians—if indeed they might despise all other men—for nothing is so characteristic of them as the firmness of their faith and their sincere loyalty ^C and devotion to the Trinity; by the favor of which they also possess this, that they are joined in soul and concordant, and are powerful in strength, receiving the same helps they offer to the Divinity—or rather, far better and stronger ones. The next business and concern for Basil was to cherish and respect the bishop, to extinguish suspicion, and to persuade all men that whatever annoyance had been felt was a test of the evil one and a struggle against those ^D who look with envy upon the concord directed toward what is good; for he himself knew the laws of obedience and spiritual order. For this reason he was present, he guided them,

he offered himself to be obeyed, he admonished, he was, in a word, everything to him: a good counselor, a right-hand supporter, an interpreter of divine oracles, a guide for practical affairs, a support for old age, a bulwark of the faith, the most faithful of those within, the most practical of those without; in one word, he was as great in goodwill as he was once thought to be in enmity. From this it came about that, even if his cathedra was inferior, he nevertheless held sway over the Church. For he received authority in proportion to the goodwill he brought; and the harmony and connection of power were truly wonderful. The one led the people, and the other led the leader; and he was like a keeper of lions, soothing with art the one who held the primacy; for, as he was recently placed upon the cathedra and still breathing something of worldly substance, not yet instructed in the things of the Spirit, ^B and moreover with a huge storm raging on all sides and the enemies of the Church looming near, he had need of a man by whom he could be led and supported as if by an outstretched hand. For this reason he embraced his help, and with him as victor, he considered himself a victor too.

^{A B C} XXXIV. Now, as for the man’s care and protection regarding the Church, there are many other proofs: namely, freedom of speech before governors, both others and the most powerful in the city; the settling of controversies, which were never suspected but shaped by his voice, and by the manner of the procedure, utilized like laws; the patronage of those in need, most of them spiritual, but not a few bodily (for this, too, often through goodwill turns toward the soul, subjugating it and as it were drawing it into servitude); his zeal for feeding the poor, receiving strangers, and taking care of virgins; the institutions of monastic laws, handed down both in writing and by word of mouth; the arrangements of prayers, the comeliness of the sanctuary, and all other things by which a man truly of God, and ordered according to God, might benefit the people. But there is one thing which is the greatest and most famous of all. There was a famine, and the most severe in human memory. The city was languishing, and there was no help from anywhere, nor any medicine for the disaster. For the maritime cities ^D easily endure such a shortage of goods, giving of their own surplus and receiving from the sea, but to us who live inland, even the surplus is of no use.

^A And the scarcity is unthinkable; we have no way either to distribute any of what exists, or to import whatever does not exist. And the most cruel thing in such circumstances is the callousness and greed of those who possess the grain. They watch for times of hardship and make a business out of necessity, and they cultivate disasters; they do not even lend to the Lord by showing mercy to the poor, nor do they hear that he who hoards grain is "cursed by the people"; nor, indeed, anything else of what Scripture promises to the humane or threatens against the cruel and inhuman. But they are greedier than need requires, and they think wickedly, shutting up their own bowels for themselves while they shut them against God, having more need of them than others do. These things, then, are the work of the grain-merchants and profiteers, who show no reverence for their kin, nor are they grateful to God, from whom ^B they have their possessions, while others are being oppressed.

XXXV.

employing his own labor, he healed the bodies and the souls of those in need, linking the service of honor with the necessity of the moment, and bringing relief to both.

^A XXXVI. Such was this new provider for us, a second Joseph; indeed, we may say something even greater. The one dealt in famine and bought Egypt through philanthropy, managing the time of plenty for the time of hunger, and being guided in this by the dreams of others. But this man was gratuitously bountiful, and a ready provider in the scarcity of grain, looking only to one thing: that through his philanthropy he might acquire philanthropy, and that through the distribution of grain here below he might obtain the goods of the hereafter. He did this along with the nourishment of the Word, and that more perfect benefit and distribution, which is truly heavenly and sublime; for if the Word is the Bread of Angels, by which souls are fed and watered when they hunger for God, and seek food that does not flow away nor pass on, but ^B remains forever—of this, he was a provider, and a very wealthy one at that, though he was the poorest and most destitute of any known to us. He did not cure a hunger for bread or a thirst for water, but a longing for the Word, the truly vital and nourishing Word, which leads the one who is well-fed to the growth of spiritual maturity.

XXXVII. Because of these and similar things (for why is it necessary to dwell on everything in detail?), lately, when the man who bore a name fitting to his piety had passed away, and had gladly breathed his last in those ^C hands, he was raised to the high throne of the episcopacy; not, however, without toil, nor without envy and conflict on the part of those presiding over the fatherland, and the most wicked people of the city who had joined forces with them. Yet it was necessary that the Holy Spirit should prevail; and indeed He did prevail, and with great abundance. For He stirred up from abroad those who were to anoint him, men known for their piety and burning with zeal, and with them our new Abraham and patriarch—my father, I mean—concerning whom a marvelous thing also happened. For although he was not only spent by old age, but also broken and weakened by illness and was at his very last breath, ^D he did not hesitate to undertake the journey to assist with his vote, having taken courage from the Spirit. To use a brief expression, he who had been placed in his litter as a corpse, as if in a tomb, returned as a young man, full of strength, looking on high, invigorated by the hand and

^A by the anointing, and—what is not much to add—by the head of him who was anointed. Let this be added to the old narratives: that labor bestows health, and zeal raises the dead; and old age, anointed by the Spirit, leaps for joy. ^B

XXXVIII. But when he had been honored with the primacy of the see, as was fitting for those who had lived in such a way, who had attained such grace, and who possessed such a reputation among men, he did not in any way bring shame upon his own philosophy or the hopes of those who had entrusted this office to him. On the contrary, he surpassed himself daily as much as he had previously surpassed others, thinking of these things in a most excellent and philosophical manner. For he believed that for a private man, virtue consisted in being without vice, or in cultivating probity in some way; but for a prince and bishop, especially one holding such an authority, ^C it was impossible to escape the mark of wickedness unless he excelled by far, and became better day by day, and brought to his dignity and throne a virtue equal to them. For he thought it difficult for one placed at the summit to attain the mean, and through the overflowing amplitude of his virtue, to draw the multitude toward that mean. Nay rather, to speak more rightly of these things, I observe that what I perceive in the Savior (and, as I think, any of the wiser men also perceives), during the time He was with us, fashioned according to that which was above us and was our own, has also happened here. For He was progressing, it says, in age, so also in wisdom and grace; not that these received increase in Him—for what could be more perfect than that which was perfect from the beginning?—but that these were gradually ^D uncovered and appeared. I believe, therefore, that at that time the virtue of this man did not receive an increment, but rather a greater operation, since his authority provided more abundant material for it.

XXXIX. And first, that fact makes it clear to all that the office with which he had been invested had fallen to him not by human favor, but by a divine benefit. This will also be evident from us. For what sort of things did he philosophize with me about that time? For while it was not doubtful to all others that, when it had happened, I would immediately run to him and be filled with the greatest pleasure of soul (which perhaps another might have done), and that I would share the command with him rather than have co-equal authority and power—and they conjectured this from our friendship—yet I, avoiding the suspicion of arrogance in all matters, as if any other did, and bearing the invidiousness of the time—especially since those who were under him were still laboring and in turmoil—remained at home, having forcibly curbed my desire.

For this, he indeed expostulated with me, but he granted me pardon. And later, when I had come to him, and for that same reason had refused the honor of the episcopal chair, and the place of honor more distinguished among the presbyters, he not only did not blame this action of mine, but even approved of it, as he ought; and he ^A preferred to be accused of pride by some who were ignorant of the reason for his action, than to do anything which would be contrary to his own reason and counsels. Yet truly, in what way could he have given a more brilliant specimen of a mind foreign to all adulation and flattery, and looking only to the law of the honest, than by thus ordaining matters concerning us, whom he held in the place and number of his chief friends and acquaintances?

XL.

XLI.

^A that he was not lacking in faith, and not ignorant of that virtue, he began to turn over in his mind something greater and more sublime. For while all others look only to what is before their feet, and labor (if indeed it can be safely called safe) only to ensure that their own affairs are secure, neither advancing any further nor being able to conceive or accomplish anything great or noble; he, on the contrary, although he was moderate in other matters, in this regard kept no such measure. For, lifting his head on high and casting the eyes of his mind in every direction, he grasped within his purview the entire world, as far as the saving doctrine of Christ has spread.

And when he saw the great inheritance of God—that holy nation, that royal priesthood, acquired by His own doctrine, laws, and sufferings—to be faring ill, and to be distracted into countless opinions and errors; and when he saw that vine, which had been moved and transplanted from Egypt (that is, from impious and dark ignorance), and which had attained to such immense beauty and magnitude that it covered the whole earth and rose above the mountains and cedars, being ruined and ravaged by the wicked and wild boar, that is, by the devil; he judged it not enough to simply deplore this calamity in silence, and to lift his hands to God alone in prayer, beseeching Him to repel the ^B pressing evils while he himself meanwhile slept. Instead, he thought it necessary that he should take action himself as well, to bring some aid and contribute something of his own.

XLII. For what is more grievous than this calamity, when it were better that the man who looks upward should contribute his efforts to the public good? For when one man acts rightly or wrongly, this reflects nothing upon the public, but when the public state is in one condition or another, it is necessary that individuals also be affected in that same manner. Therefore, that procurator and high priest of the common welfare, as he pondered and weighed these things (since a heart endowed with sense is a worm in the bones, as it seems to Solomon and the truth; and as indifference is cheerful and gay, so compassion is sad and bitter, and long-standing thought consumes the breast); he therefore mourned, he was distressed, he was pierced, he suffered the same as Jonah and David experienced, he was disheartened in soul, and he granted neither sleep to his eyes nor slumber to his eyelids ^C; for whatever remained of his flesh he consumed with his cares, until he should find a remedy for this evil; he implored divine and human assistance, that which would suppress the public conflagration and disperse the darkness spread over us.

XLIII. And he devises one thing that was indeed very salutary. For having gathered himself together as much as possible, and having...

awakened all human reasonings, and having searched the whole depth of the Scriptures, he writes down the pious doctrine, and by contrary struggles and battles he breaks and repels the great audacity of the heretics; those who dared to join battle, he crushes at close quarters with the weapons of his tongue, while those who were far off he strikes with arrows made of ink, in no way inferior to those letters which are inscribed on tablets. He establishes laws, not for one small nation of the Jews, regarding foods and drinks and fleeting sacrifices and purifications of the flesh; but for every race and part of the habitable world, concerning the doctrine of truth from which salvation is acquired. Then, since a thing is equally imperfect if action is divorced from speech, and speech from action, for this reason he added the aid of action to his speech—visiting some, sending embassies to others, summoning others, admonishing, reproving, rebuking, threatening, railing; ^B championing nations, cities, and individuals; devising every kind of salvation, applying medicine to the disease from every side: that true Bezeleel, the architect of the divine tabernacle, employing all material and art for the work, and weaving all things into the excellence and harmony of a single work.

XLIV. The return of the tyrant

XLV. The pride of the Persian king

^A terror ^B as well; or rather, that he might strike them with greater terror, he rendered himself formidable even by those things which, in a new and unusual manner, he devised against the elements. A certain strange land and strange sea were heard of from this new creator, and an army sailing over dry land, and walking on the sea, and islands seized, and the sea lashed, and all those things which were clearly the evidence of a frantic army and commander—things which, while formidable to the more cowardly, were foolish and ridiculous to those with a stronger and firmer spirit.

Yet he needed no such thing when he waged war against us. But that which was worse and more pernicious than these—this he was reported both to do and to say. *He set his mouth against heaven, speaking blasphemy on high, and his tongue passed through the earth.* For well did divine David beforehand pillory him for us; he, I say, who brought the heaven down to earth, and compelled the nature that is more sublime than the world to be numbered among created things, which the creation is not even able to contain, though for the love of us it has for a little while dwelt among us, that it might draw us, who lie upon the ground, to itself. ^C

XLVI. Furthermore, while his first exploits were indeed illustrious, even more illustrious were the struggles he last waged against us. What, then, do I call "the first"? Exiles, flights, proscriptions of property, plots both open and secret; enticements of speech where the opportunity offered; and force where there was no place for the flatteries of words. Some were thrust out of the Churches, namely those who confessed our orthodox faith. Others were introduced, namely those who held the pestilent and ruinous doctrine of the emperor, who demanded the written pledges of impiety, and who wrote things even more grievous than these. Presbyters burned in the midst of the sea; impious military commanders, who were not defeating Persians, nor subduing Scythians, nor clearing away any other barbarian nation, but were making war against Churches, leaping upon the altars, defiling the unbloody sacrifices with the blood of men and of victims, and insulting the modesty of virgins. And for what reason, pray, was this done? Truly, so that Jacob the patriarch might be driven out, and in his place might be introduced that Esau, he who was hated even before his birth. These are the narratives of his first youthful insolences, which even to this day move ^D

to the many brought tears to those who remembered them and heard them.

[MZ] 47. But when, after passing through all the cities, he set out for this firm and unassailable mother of the Churches, intending to enslave her, and to extinguish the one remaining vital spark of the truth—for that was all that was left—then for the first time he perceived that his design was ill-conceived. For like an arrow striking a harder and more solid body, he was repelled, and like a rope snapped, he gave way. It was such a steward of the Church he had happened upon, and against such a bulwark had he struck that he was shattered and dissolved. Now, it is possible to hear the other things related and recorded by those who experienced them at that time; nor is there one who would not repeat them all. Yet those who are most struck with admiration are those who understand the struggles of that time, the assaults, the promises, the threats, and those sent to him from the judicial order who attempted to persuade him; those from the military; those from the women's quarters; those men who acted like women, and women who acted like men, possessing nothing manly except their impiety; who, being naturally unable to indulge in lust, do what alone they can: they commit fornication with their tongues. And that arch-cook Nabuzardan, threatening with the knives of his trade and sent along with fire fitting for himself. But the thing in his conduct which I most admire, and which I could not omit even if I wished, I shall briefly set forth as far as I am able.

[MH] 48. Who does not know the prefect of that time, who made use of his own audacity against us to a great degree (since he had even been initiated, or rather submerged, by them in the baptismal water), and who served the one who gave the orders more than was necessary—and through conceding everything to him, preserved and kept his power for a longer time? To this man, who was roaring against the Church and putting on a leonine appearance, and roaring like a lion, and who was not even approachable by the many, that noble man is led—or rather, he enters, as if he were called to a feast, not to a trial. How could I worthily recount either the audacity of the prefect or the wisdom with which the man resisted him? What, he says, you sir, does the name—

for he did not yet deign to call him bishop—mean, that you dare to withstand so great an emperor, and are the only one of all men to act so contumaciously? To what end, says the noble man, and what is this madness? For as yet I do not know. Because, he says, you do not honor the religion of the emperor, while all the others have already yielded and been overcome. Not so, he said; my Emperor does not desire these things, nor do I endure to worship any created thing, being myself a creature of God, and commanded to be a god. But what, he says, do we seem to you to be? Are we nothing, who command these things? What then? Do you not think it a great and honorable thing to be joined to our faction and to have us as your associates? To this Basilius replied: You indeed are prefects, and illustrious ones—I do not deny it—yet you are by no means superior to God. And to have you as associates is indeed a great thing (for how could it be otherwise? You too are God's creatures), but only as one might consider others of those who are subject to us. For Christianity is characterized not by the status of persons, but by faith. ^B

XLIX. Then the prefect, moved by this speech and inflamed with greater anger, rose from his seat and proceeded to treat with him in harsher terms. What? he says, do you not fear this power? And why should I fear it, said Basil? What will happen? What shall I suffer? What will you suffer? he retorted. One of the many things that are in my power. What are these? subjoined Basil. For let us understand. Confiscation of goods, he says, exile, torture, death. Then Basil: If you have anything else, threaten us with that. For of these things which you have just mentioned, none touches us. How so? he says. Because, said Basil, he is not liable to the confiscation of goods who has nothing, unless perhaps you have need of these tattered and worn-out rags of mine, and a few books, in which my whole life is contained. And exile I do not know, for I am not circumscribed by any place; and neither do I possess this earth which I now inhabit as my own, and all that into which I might be cast I account as mine; or rather, to speak more correctly, I know that the whole earth is God's, of whom I am a sojourner and stranger. And what could torments take hold of, when the body has ceased to be, unless perhaps you mean the first blow? For of this alone is the decision and power yours. As for death, it will be in the place of a benefit to me; for it will the sooner send me to God, for whom I live and act as a citizen, and to whom I have in greater part already died, and toward whom I have long been hastening. ^C

L. Stupefied by this speech, the prefect said: No one, and he added his own name, has until this day spoken to me in such a way, nor with such freedom of words. For not even to a bishop, perhaps, said Basil—

^A you have obtained the mark. Otherwise, he would have spoken in this manner, contending for such matters. For in other things, O prefect, we are gentle and peaceful, and the most abject of all men, just as this has been prescribed to us by law; and I will not say against such an emperor, but we do not even lift an eyebrow against any commoner or man of the lowest rank. But where God is in danger and is set before us, then, holding all other things as nothing, we look to Him alone. Fire, and sword, and beasts, and claws tearing the flesh are for us a pleasure and a delight rather than a terror. Therefore, insult us, threaten us, do everything that you may wish; enjoy your power. Let the emperor also hear these words: you will neither take us, nor persuade us to assent to impiety, even if you threaten worse things.

LI. After the prefect had spoken these things and heard him, and recognized that the contention of his mind was such that no force could frighten or overcome him, he sent him away and dismissed him, no longer with the same threats, but with a certain reverence and submission. He himself, having approached the emperor as quickly as he could, said, "Emperor, we have been defeated by the bishop of this Church. He is superior to threats, firmer than his words, and stronger than the blandishments of speech. Another of the faint-hearted ^B must be tried; but as for this man, either force must be obviously applied to him, or one must not expect him to yield to threats." On account of these things, the emperor, censuring his own action and being defeated by the praises of the man (for virtue is an object of admiration even to an enemy), ordered that no force should be applied to him; and the same thing happened to him as usually happens to iron, which is indeed softened by fire, yet nonetheless remains iron. And having turned his threat into admiration, he did not indeed embrace his communion, because he was ashamed of a change, but he sought a reason by which he might most honorably satisfy him, which this speech will also declare.

LII. For when he had entered into the temple, ^C accompanied by his whole retinue of guards (it was the day of the Epiphany, and a very large assembly), and had taken a place among the laity, he conducted himself in such a way that he seemed to be in some measure a partaker of his communion. But not even this should be passed over. For after he was inside, and his ears were resounding with the chant of the psalms, not otherwise than with a kind of thunder, and he saw the ocean of the people, and all the order and harmony, as much as was in the sanctuary ^D and as much as was near it—it was more angelic than human—and saw him who was set before the people, standing straight, just as the narrative writes of Samuel, unshaken in body, in look, and in thought, as if nothing new had happened,

^A but, so to speak, fixed fast to God and to the sanctuary; while those who stood about him did so in a kind of fear and reverence. When he saw these things, and because he could see no precedent for what was happening—thinking it perhaps something merely human—his sight and soul were filled with darkness and dizziness from the shock. And this was still unknown to most. But when the gifts [(12)] were to be offered at the divine table, for which he himself was the craftsman, and no one reached out to help, as was the custom, it being uncertain whether Basil would accept them, then the affliction became manifest. For he began to totter, and had not one of the ministers of the sanctuary put his hand underneath and steadied him as he swayed, he would surely have fallen in a miserable and pitiable manner. And this was so.

LIII. But as for what he spoke to the emperor himself, and with what wisdom (since he had again in some way joined us in the church, and had come inside the veil ^B and had arrived at the sight and speech of him, which he had long desired), what is one to say, other than that these were the words of God, which both those who were with the emperor and we who had entered with him heard? This was the beginning of the emperor's kindness toward us, and the first ordering of affairs to a better state; this occasion broke and dissolved, like certain waves, the greatest part of that pressure by which we were then being vexed.

LIV. There follows another narrative, in no way inferior to the preceding ones. The wicked were prevailing, and an exile was decreed against the man; and nothing that contributed to this was missing. ^C Night was present, the carriage was ready, the enemies were applauding, the pious were in mourning, we stood about the side of the ready traveler as if he were already gone; nothing, in short, that looked toward an illustrious disgrace was lacking. But what happened? God rescinded the decree of exile. For He who had struck the firstborn of Egypt, as it raged against the Israelites, the same struck the emperor's son as well with the blow of a disease. And with such speed! From there the tablet of exile, from here the decree of sickness; the hand of the wicked scribe is stayed, and the saint is delivered from danger, and the pious man, through the fever, becomes a gift that brings a bold emperor to his senses. What could be more just, or more swift, than this judgment of God? ^D Then the emperor's son was sick, and while his heart was afflicted,

^A he also, as a father—for he was indeed a father—labored with an ill mind, seeking a remedy for the disease from every quarter, choosing the best of physicians, and applying himself to prayers as perhaps he had never done before, even throwing himself upon the ground. For calamity renders even kings humble and abject; nor is this surprising, since Scripture testifies that David was formerly affected in the same way for his son. But when he found no remedy for the evil from any source, he fled to the faith of this man [Basil]. ^B And because, on account of the recent insult he had offered him, he dared not for shame summon him in his own name, he entrusted this mission to others who were bound to him by the closest familiarity and affection. He, however, without any hesitation, and not—as another might perhaps have done—insulting him on account of the time, was immediately present; and upon his arrival the disease was at once lightened, and the father conceived better hope in his mind. And certainly, had he not mixed the salt water with the fresh—summoning that man at the same time and putting his trust in heretics—he might perhaps have received his son back safe and sound; for those who were present at that time and were partakers of the calamity held this for certain and indubitable.

^D 55. They say that the same thing happened not long after to the prefect. A certain disease, having fallen upon him, laid him too at the hands of the holy man. And in truth, for those who are wise, a blow becomes a lesson, and affliction is often better and more excellent than prosperity. He was sick in body, he wept, he was in distress, he sent for Basil, he implored him. "You have satisfaction," he cried, "grant salvation." And indeed he obtained it, as he himself confessed and persuaded many who were ignorant of the matter; for he did not cease to marvel at and recount his deeds. Shall we therefore say that his dealings with them were such, and that they came to such an end? But how did he conduct himself with others, or was it over small matters, or did he fight poorly, or show no great constancy, or act in a way unworthy of men's remembrance or of notable praise? By no means. But He who once stirred up the impious Adad against Israel stirred up against this man also the prefect of the Pontic province, ^D on the pretext, indeed, that he was angered on behalf of a certain woman, but in reality taking up the defense of impiety and setting himself against piety. I pass over all the other insults with which he harassed Basil—which is the same as saying, against God, against whom and for whose cause the war...

^A was waged. But that I may describe in my speech how he brought the greatest ignominy upon him who offered the insult, and how he elevated our own man to the highest degree (if indeed philosophy and being ahead of the common herd in praise of it are to be considered something great and sublime), I shall proceed.

LVI. A certain woman of high birth, whose husband had not long before departed this life, was being forced by the magistrate’s assessor, who sought to drag her into marriage against her will. Unable by any means to escape this violence, she took counsel, an act not more daring than it was prudent. She fled to the holy table and adopted God as her champion against this injury. ^B What then was to be done—by the Trinity itself, that I may use a forensic style as well in the midst of this eulogy—I will not say by the great Basil, who had even established laws for all regarding such matters, but by any other person far inferior to him, provided only that he were invested with the priesthood? What else but that he should defend and keep her, providing for her with all care, reaching out his hand to the clemency of God and to the law which commands that honor be shown to altars, and in the end doing and suffering everything rather than enter into any inhuman design against her, and thus heap insult upon the sacrosanct table and upon the very faith with which she was a suppliant? "By no means," said the hollow ^C judge; "all must yield to my power, and Christians must betray their own laws." He, therefore, demanded the suppliant; the other held her back with all his might. The judge was again moved to fury, and sent certain officials to search the holy man’s chamber, doing this more for the sake of ignominy than because any such thing was necessary. What are you saying? The house of him who is free from every movement of lust, whom angels embrace, and whom even women fear to look upon alone? And not content with that, he ordered the man himself to appear and plead his cause; and not calmly and humanely, but as one of those who are condemned to death. ^D He indeed was present, but the judge, full of anger and arrogance, sat upon his tribunal. Basil stood, just as my Jesus did when Pilate was judging. Yet the thunderbolts hesitated, and the sword of God was being sharpened, and yet delayed; the bow was being drawn, yet was held back, opening a time and place for repentance. For this is the custom and habit with God.

LVII. Come now, behold another contest between the persecutor and the athlete. The former ordered his cloak to be stripped off and torn to pieces; the latter said, "I will take off my tunic as well, if you wish." The former threatened to whip him who had no flesh; the latter submitted his body. The former threatened to tear him with claws; the latter said, "By such tearing, you will be providing medicine for my liver, for you see how, by such things, you are treating my..."

^A malady." And these were in such a state. But the city, as soon as it perceived the evil and the common danger to all—for each one considered this contumely to be his own personal danger—was entirely seized by fury and ignited; and just like a swarm of bees stirred up by smoke, everyone, of every race and every age, was stirred and rose up in rivalry, especially the armorers and the imperial weavers, for they are more fervent in such matters, and because of the freedom and license they enjoy, they are more ready for daring acts. And to each one, whatever his trade offered or whatever he could hurriedly fashion in the present crisis served as a weapon. Torches were in their hands, stones were caught up, clubs were at the ready; there was one course for all, one cry, one common zeal. Wrath, that fierce soldier, was their general. Not even the women were unarmed at that time, for the occasion sharpened their spirits; the shuttles were instead of spears for them. Indeed, the women did not remain as they were, for zeal had strengthened them and transformed them into the manliness and greatness of soul of men. What more? They all thought that they would divide piety among themselves if they divided and tore him apart; and he seemed likely to have the greater praise for piety among them who was the first to lay a hand upon him who had attempted such a deed. ^B What, then, of that haughty and arrogant judge? He was a suppliant, miserable, wretched, more abject than any man, until the bloodless martyr appeared, the crowned victor without wounds, and held back the people by force, they being overcome by reverence, and rescued his own suppliant and tormentor from danger. These things were done by the God of the saints, who does all things and changes them for the better, who resists the proud but gives grace abundantly to the humble. Why, then, should He who cut the sea, and dammed the river, and tyrannized over the elements, and set up trophies by the stretching forth of his hands, that He might save a fleeing people, not also rescue this man from dangers?

LVIII.

^A Another dissension arose, which stirred all these things up again. For since our homeland had been divided into two provinces and metropolises, with much being added to the new metropolis from the old one, strife arose from this among those concerned. The one man claimed that it was fair that, just as the public districts were being divided, so too should ours, and for this reason he sought to claim those newly added, as if they belonged to him and had already been separated from the other. The other man, by contrast, held fast to the old custom and the division established long ago by the Fathers. ^B From this, many evils were already resulting, and others were in labor. Synods were being undermined by the new metropolitan, and revenues were being plundered. Some presbyters of the churches were being enticed by the flattery of his words, while others were being replaced. From which it came to pass that the affairs of the churches were suffering worse, as they were being split into factions and parties. For indeed, people somehow take delight in innovations and gladly profit from their own gains; it is easier to tear down what is established than to restore what has been torn down. What drove him into a greater rage were the Tauric revenues and those from the thoroughfares, which were seen by him in their transit, but were being conveyed to the Caesarean, and he deemed it of great importance to collect the revenues of Saint Orestes: so much so that he at one time seized the very mules of the man as he was traveling, and with a band of brigands prevented them from proceeding further. And what a plausible pretext was applied to these actions! Spiritual children, souls, and the doctrine of the faith—these were the covers for an insatiable greed (a thing easy to invent)—as well as this: that tribute must not be paid to heretics. For whoever caused them annoyance was considered to be in the rank of heretics.

^C LIX. Yet that holy man of God, and truly a metropolitan of the Jerusalem above, was neither led astray with those who were in error, nor did he endure to overlook or neglect these things, nor did he devise some small remedy for this evil. But let us consider, I pray you, how great, how admirable, and—for what else can I call it?—how worthy of his soul it was. For he turned this dissension to the advantage and growth of the Church; and this calamity he arranged most beautifully, ^D by distributing the homeland among more bishops, ^D as it seems to him, so that he might do what he wished, insofar as there was now no one who could censure or hound his sins.

^A From this, what follows? Three most beautiful results: a greater care for souls, each city having its own affairs managed, and the war in this matter being resolved. I fear that, in this design, I myself became a side-issue. Or rather, I do not know what is fitting even to say. For while I admire everything about the man—though it is not possible to say how much—one thing I cannot praise (for I will confess my pain, which is not unknown to many): that innovation and treachery which he practiced against us, the sorrow of which not even time has yet been able to consume. For from thence flowed to me all the inconstancy and perturbation of my life, and that I was unable to practice philosophy, or at least was not thought to do so—though regarding the latter I do not labor ^B much; unless someone should accept this from me as a defense of him: that, sensing things more sublime than befits the human condition, and even before departing this life, he withdrew, referring all things to the Spirit. And the duties of friendship, which he otherwise observed holily, he spurned here alone, where it was necessary to prefer God, and to value more the things that are hoped for than those that are dissolving.

^C

LX.

^A which he set at greater value than vast piles of money. For he believed that no one, however much he might desire, could obtain all things; but that it is possible to despise all things, and thus to prove oneself superior to all worldly goods. Furnished with such a mind, and thus prepared, he needed no altar, nor did he crave empty glory or that public proclamation by which Crates is said to have gifted the Theban Crates with liberty. For he did not strive to appear the best, but to be so. He did not live in a tub in the middle of the marketplace, that he might among all men procure for himself luxury and delights, converting poverty into an abundance of things in a novel manner; but, alien to all desire for glory, he was poor and unrefined, and having cast aside all the possessions he had ever owned, he crossed the sea of life lightly and easily.

LXI. A wonderful thing is self-control, and to be content with little, and not to be overcome by pleasures, nor to be governed by the belly as if by a cruel and sordid mistress! Who was ever so abstemious, I would almost say, who was so devoid of flesh? For he had cast off gluttony and gluttonous indulgence—things that belong to those who approach more closely to the nature of brute beasts, and whose life is servile and bent toward the earth. He, however, considered nothing of what follows after the throat as worthy of great honor, but lived only upon necessary nourishment as long as it was permitted, and he knew but one luxury: to appear not to enjoy luxury, and therefore not to have need of more. Instead, he kept his eyes fixed upon the lilies and the birds, whose beauty is without artifice and whose food is simple and gathered on the spur of the moment, according to the great exhortation of my Christ, ^B who for our sake became poor in the flesh, that we might be enriched by His divinity. Hence came his single tunic, his cloak, his bed upon the ground, his vigils, his unwashed state (those ornaments and decorations of his), and his most pleasant supper and dish: bread and salt, that new condiment, I say, and a drink both sober and abundant, which streams supply to us without any labor on our part. From these, or rather with these, flowed forth cures and medications for diseases, which was the common field of study for us both. For it was fitting that I, since I was inferior in other respects, should at least have an equal share in tribulations.

LXII. Great is virginity, and celibacy, and to be ranked in the order of angels and of the singular nature—for I am afraid even to name Christ, who, when He willed to be born for us, who were born, was born of a Virgin, establishing virginity as if by a broad law, that it might lead us away from hence ^C and sever the world; or rather, that it might transmit the world—the present one, to be sure—to that which is to come. Who

^A then more than he, held virginity in such honor, or imposed laws upon the flesh, not only by his own example, but also by those things to which he devoted his efforts? Whose are the convents of virgins, and those written precepts by which he chastened every sense and composed every limb, and truly exhorted them to cultivate virginity, turning their beauty away from the things that are perceived by sight toward those which escape the gaze of the eyes—weakening, indeed, that which is external, and withdrawing the fuel from the flame, but showing that which is internal and hidden to God, who alone is the bridegroom of pure souls? And he introduces to Himself those waking souls, if they should come to meet Him with bright lamps and a bountiful supply of the oil of sustenance. ^B Since, therefore, the solitary life and the life that enjoys society for the most part disagree and fight with one another, and neither strictly possesses the good or the bad unmixed; but the one—though it is more tranquil and settled, and unites one to God—is not free from pride, because its virtue has not been tested or compared; and the other—though it is more active and useful—does not escape the noisy tumult; he most excellently reconciled them to one another and blended them. For he built gymnasia of piety and monasteries, not far from those who live in society, nor separating them as if by a middle wall and dividing them from one another, but joining and yet distinguishing them while they were near; so that ^C the contemplative might not be unsocial, nor the active be without contemplation; but that, just as land and sea, bestowing their own benefits upon one another, they might run together to the one glory of God.

LXIII. What more? It is a beautiful thing, philanthropy and the care of the poor, and the assistance granted to human infirmity. Step out a little from the city, and behold the new city, that storehouse of piety, that common treasury of those who have wealth, into which, not only the redundant and superfluous riches, but now even the necessary means are deposited by his exhortations; shaking off moths, and not entertaining thieves, and escaping the struggle of envy and the corruption of time; in which sickness is treated with philosophy, and misfortune is pronounced blessed, and sympathy is put to the test. What is there to me regarding this...

^A work, if I should compare it to the seven-gated Thebes, or those Egyptian wonders, or the walls of Babylon, or the Carian tomb of Mausolus, or the Pyramids, or the immense bronze of the Colossus, or to temples of wondrous magnitude and elegant craft, which are now overturned and leveled to the ground, and everything else which men admire and histories have recorded? For from all these, beyond a certain empty and slight glory, no utility whatsoever has returned to their builders. To me, truly, nothing seems as admirable as this short way to salvation, this easy ascent to heaven. No longer is there set before our eyes a sad and miserable spectacle: men dead before death, deceased in most of their bodily members, driven from cities, houses, the forum, the springs, and even from their own most beloved kin, recognizable by name rather than by the outlines of their bodies; nor are they presented to public gatherings and assemblies, or at social meetings, no longer exciting pity for their disease, but hatred for themselves; artists of miserable songs, if any voice at all remains to them. Why should I depict all our troubles in tragic terms, when no speech can be found equal to this calamity? But he, above all others, persuaded us that, since we are men, we should not despise men, nor by our cruelty toward them inflict ignominy upon Christ, the one head of all; but that in the calamities of others we should provide for our own best interests, and lend to God the mercy of which we ourselves are in need. Therefore, this man of noble birth, sprung from noble stock, and most illustrious in glory, did not disdain even to touch the sick with his lips; but he embraced them as brothers—not, as someone might perhaps suppose, courting empty glory (for who was further removed from this passion?), but rather, by his own philosophy, prescribing this to others, so that they might not fear to approach the healing of the sick bodies. Thus, not only by speaking, but even by his silence, he performed the part of a mentor. Nor did the city behave in this way, while other regions and places did not: but rather, he proposed a common competition of kindness toward the poor and of munificence to all those who preside over the people. And while others have cooks, and sumptuous tables, and the lures and delicacies of pastry-cooks, and elegant carriages, and soft, flowing garments; Basil’s concern was for the sick, the healing of wounds, and the imitation of Christ, who cleansed the leprosy not by word alone, but by deed.

^D LXIV. What will they say to this, those who charge that man with pride and haughtiness—men who are unfair and bitter judges of such matters, and who apply the rule to those who are not themselves the rule? Can it be that one who kisses lepers, and humbles himself to such a degree, would be arrogant toward the healthy and the strong? And while the flesh is wasted by the [scourge]

of continence, the soul should be swollen with empty pride? And [can it be that one who] condemns the Pharisee and thinks his humility [only] a source of pride, and knows Christ to have descended even to the form of a servant, and to have eaten with publicans, and washed the feet of his disciples, and not to have refused the cross, so that he might nail my sin to it (although what is more paradoxical than to see God being ^A crucified, and this among robbers, and mocked by those passing by—he who is invincible and higher than any suffering)—[should] yet exalt himself above the clouds and prefer himself to all, as seems the case to those who envy his virtue? But they, I think, have given the name of pride to the stability, steadiness, and refinement of his character. And the same men, it seems to me, would readily call the brave man rash, the cautious man timid, the sober man a misanthrope, and the just man unsociable. For some have philosophized not badly on this, that vices are attached to virtues ^B and are in a way their neighbors; and it is most easy for those not trained in such matters to judge a thing to be other than what it really is. For who has more honored virtue, or punished vice, or appeared kind to those who acted rightly, and severe to those who erred? His very smile was often a commendation, and his silence a rebuke, testing and punishing the sin in one’s own conscience. But if he was not a chatterbox, nor a joker, nor a man of the marketplace, nor pleasing to the many by becoming "all things to all men," and offering favors—what of it? Is he not more to be praised ^C than blamed, at least by those who have sense? Unless one should also blame the lion because it does not have the face of an ape, but a grim, horrific, and royal one, whose very movements are noble and loved with wonder; and [unless one should] admire those on the stage as being pleasant and humane because they gratify the crowds and provoke laughter with slaps on the cheek and absurd noises. And yet, if we should look for this, who was as delightful in social gatherings, as far as I know, who have tested him most? Who was more charming in storytelling? Who was more instructive in jesting? Who more gentle ^D in chiding? So that neither his chiding fell into rashness, nor his indulgence into softness, but he avoided the excess of both, using both with word and at the right time, according to the laws of Solomon, who appointed a time for every matter.

LXV. But what are these things compared to the grace of the man in his speeches, and the power of his teaching which reconciled the furthest parts of the world to one another? Still [he is] at the roots of the

strait, having left behind the great and deep ocean. For I think that if there ever was, or shall ever be, a trumpet resounding as far as possible into the air, or a voice of God encompassing the world, or an earthquake of the earth arising in some new and wondrous way, these would match his voice and mind—leaving all men as far behind and beneath themselves as we surpass the nature of brute beasts. Who purified himself more by the Spirit, and prepared himself as worthy to expound the divine oracles? And who was illuminated more by the light of knowledge, and looked into the depths of the Spirit, and with God [(36)] pondered the things of God? And who had a better interpreter for his thoughts, so that he would not limp on either side, like most, to wit, either with a mind devoid of speech, or with speech not rising to the understanding of the mind: but rather obtained equal praise in both respects, and was undoubtedly equal to himself, and truly whole and perfect? For Scripture attributes this to the Holy Spirit, that he searches all things, even the deep things of God [(33)], not as one ignorant, but as one taking ^B the highest pleasure from the contemplation of them. But Basil searched out all things which are of the Spirit, and from this he trained all manners, and taught lofty speech [(38)], and drew men away from present things, and prepared them for the things to come [(39)].

[LXVI.] The beauty of the sun is praised by David, ^C and its size, and the speed of its course, and its power and efficacy; since it portrays the bridegroom by its splendor, and the giant by its size, and by advancing far and wide it has such power that it lights up the furthest reaches from the furthest reaches equally, and its heat is in no way diminished by the intervals of space. But for Basil, beauty was virtue; size was theology; the course was the ceaseless activity of the mind, carrying one to God by daily ascents; and power was the sowing and distribution of the word. And so, for my part, I must not hesitate to say this: that his sound has gone out into all the earth, and the power of his words to the ends of the world—which Paul said of the apostles, having borrowed it from David [(40)]. What other joy for any gathering today? What pleasure of banquets? What of the forum? What of the churches? What is the delight of those in authority, and of private citizens? ^D What of the monks, or of those who enjoy society? What of those who have withdrawn from business, or of those who are engaged in affairs? What of those who follow secular studies, or those who profess our discipline? One, and through all, and the greatest, is his writings and labors. Nor is there any other wealth for writers [(43)] after him, than his writings. It is passed over in silence [alt-version omitted]

^A regarding the old, whatever was elaborated by some in the explanation of the divine oracles: new things are proclaimed; and he is considered the most learned among us who best understands his books, and turns them upon his tongue, and instills them into his ears. For one man, in place of all, suffices for students to acquire learning.

LXVII. I will say only this much about it. When I take his Hexaemeron into my hands, and have it in my mouth, I am joined with the Creator, and I know the reasons for creation, and I admire and revere the Creator more than I was accustomed to before, when I used only the sight as my teacher. When I read those ^B books in which he refutes the writings of heretics, I see the Sodomitic fire, by which wicked and sinful tongues are reduced to ash, or the tower of Chalane, as poorly constructed, so rightly interrupted and destroyed. When I unfold the things which he wrote about the Holy Spirit, I find the God whom I possess, and I declare the truth with a free and confident mind, insisting upon his theology and contemplation. When I read through his other expositions, which he explains to those of sharper, as well as duller, wit—inscribing them threefold upon the solid tablets of his heart—I am led to this, that I do not fix my foot upon the external bark of the letter, nor look only at the surface of the words, but proceed further, and pass from deep to ^C deep, calling upon abyss with abyss, and finding light through light, until I have at last reached the highest summit. When I read his encomia of the martyrs, I despise the body, and I dwell in spirit with those who are praised, and I am stirred toward the contest. When I take into my hands those orations which he wrote about morals and the way of living well, I am cleansed in soul and body, and I become a temple of God capable of receiving Him, and an instrument struck by the Spirit, and, attuned and regulated by this divine breathing, I am corrected and harmonized, and I become another from another, being transformed by a divine transformation, ^D and singing of the divine glory and power.

LXVIII. But since I have made mention of theology, and of the sublimity of his speaking—in which he used that argument more than any other—I shall add this to what has been said before. For it is most useful for the simple and the unlearned to provide that they not be harmed by thinking badly and perversely of him. My discourse is directed at the wicked and the malicious, who, out of his life, seize occasion to assail others with calumnies, striving to bring aid to their own vices. For he, on behalf of the right doctrine and the conjunction and co-equality of the holy Trinity, or I know not what more authoritative and clearer term should be used, [was ready] not only to fall from his throne, to which not even... [to see them in a lofty sense; praises.]

from the beginning had he greedily leaped, but also to be driven into exile and suffer death, and even before death to be afflicted with various tortures; he would have accepted it with a ready and eager mind, and would have accounted it a gain rather than a danger. And that this is so is openly declared by what he both did and suffered; for he, when condemned to exile for the defense of the truth, gave no other order than to one of his followers, that he should take the tablets and follow him. ^B Otherwise, he judged it necessary to arrange his discourses with judgment, according to the counsel and sentiment of David, and to endure for a little while the time of war and the sovereignty of the heretics, until the season of liberty and serenity should arrive and bring with it the freedom and license of the tongue. For they were eager to seize upon a naked and open expression concerning the Holy Spirit—that He was God (which indeed, although it was true, yet to them and to the wicked high priest of impiety it seemed ungodly)—in order that they might drive him from the city together with his theological tongue, while they themselves occupied the Church and made it a bulwark of their wickedness, and thenceforth, as from a kind of citadel, should lay waste all that remained. But he, with other expressions sought from Scripture, and with testimonies that were indisputable and possessed the same force, and with necessary arguments, so repressed his opponents that they were in no way able to resist or push back against them, but, which is the greatest virtue and prudence of speech, they were bound by their own ^C admissions. This is clearly shown by the book which he published with this argument, in which he moves his pen as if from the box of the Spirit; yet meanwhile he deferred using the very word itself, at once asking this of the Spirit Himself and of His sincere champions as a favor of grace, that they might not be offended by this plan of his, nor suffer it, through insatiable greed, that while they strove to hold fast to one little word, they should lose everything, while piety was being agitated and torn apart in a stormy time. For they themselves would suffer no harm or detriment from it, if the words were slightly changed, provided the same things were taught in other words; for our salvation does not consist in words rather than in things; since not even the Jews are to be rejected if, for a time, in place of the name of Christ, they ask that the name of the Anointed (Uncti) be granted them and wish to be enrolled in our number and order; for no greater destruction and plague could be brought upon the commonwealth than if the Church should be occupied by heretics.

^D

But He from the Beginning Leaped Forth, Yet Not Only unto Flight

LXIX. That he knew the Holy Spirit to be God better than anyone else is evident from the fact that he preached this openly and often, whenever the time allowed, and confessed it without hesitation in private to those who asked him; but he demonstrated it still more clearly in his conversations with me (for when he discussed these matters with me, he never held back anything or kept it hidden in his mind). He did not simply assert this, but—something that had very rarely happened to him before—he called down upon himself the most fearful curse, namely, that he should be cut off from the Spirit himself, unless he worshipped the Spirit together with the Father and the Son as consubstantial and equal in honor. If anyone considers me a partner with him in these matters as well, I will reveal something that was hitherto unknown to most: when the ^A times brought us into the greatest straits, he adopted this method—he took upon himself the "dispensation" (economy), while entrusting boldness of speech to us, whom no one was likely to bring to trial or banish from the fatherland, as we were favored by our obscurity, so that our Gospel might be firm and valid, supported by the protection of both sides. Nor have I mentioned these things to defend his reputation with my speech; for the man is too excellent for anything to be permitted to his accusers, if indeed there are any, against his fame. But I say this so that those who think the only rule and standard of piety are those expressions found in his books may not have a weaker faith, nor draw that manner of discoursing about the Divinity—which that time, not without the inspiration of the Spirit, brought to him—into a confirmation of their own wickedness. ^B Rather, by weighing the sense and the scope of what he wrote, which he set before himself while writing these things, they may both better approach the truth and stop the mouths of those who are engaged in impiety. For my part, and for all who hold me dear, I pray that his theology may be with us. And to such an extent do I trust in the purity of this man regarding this matter that, in addition to all else, I would not refuse to have this also in common with him: that his writing be attributed to me, and mine in turn to him, both before God and before all the most candid of men. For we would not say that the evangelists contradict one another simply because some devoted more effort to explaining the humanity of Christ, while others turned to explaining the subject of the Divinity; and some began from things accommodations to our understanding, while ^C others began from things that surpass our comprehension; having thus divided the preaching between themselves as the utility of those receiving it required, and being thus formed and taught by the Spirit who was in their souls.

LXX. Come then, since many men, both in the Old and in the New Testament, have been clear and illustrious in piety—law-givers, military commanders, prophets, teachers, men of manly ^D

courage, ^A strong even to the shedding of blood—let us compare our Basil with them, and thus recognize what manner of man he was. Adam was deemed worthy of the hand of God, of the delights of Paradise, and of the first commandment; yet he—not to say anything insulting to the reverence due to our forefather—did not keep the commandment. But Basil both received and kept it, nor did he receive any harm from the tree of knowledge; and I doubt not that, having passed by the flaming sword, he has attained to Paradise. Enos first was moved by hope to call upon the Lord; but Basil not only called upon Him, but, which is much more excellent than mere invocation, he preached Him to others also. Enoch was translated ^B as a reward for a small measure of piety (for faith was still in the shadows), and thus escaped the danger of the life that followed; but for Basil, his whole life was a translation, inasmuch as he was perfectly tested and proven in a perfect life. Noah was entrusted with an ark, and the seeds of a second world were committed to a small piece of wood and preserved amidst the waters: but Basil escaped the flood of impiety, and made his own city an ark of salvation, floating easily and lightly over the waves of the heretics, and from it he recovered the whole world.

LXXI. Great is Abraham, the patriarch and the offerer of a new sacrifice, who offered to the Giver of the benefit him whom he had received by promise—a ready victim, hastening to the slaughter. ^C But Basil’s praise is no small one either, who offered himself to God, and nothing was substituted in his place as his equal (for what could that have been?), but the offering was full and perfect. Isaac was promised even before he was brought into the light; but Basil was self-promised, and he took as his wife Rebecca—I mean the Church—not fetched from afar, but taken from close by, and not through a servant’s embassy, but granted and entrusted by divine favor; nor was he circumvented in the preference of his children, but he assigned to each that which was deserved, with the judgment and choice of the Spirit, without any fraud or deception. ^D I praise Jacob’s ladder, and the pillar which he anointed for God, and his wrestling with Him—whatever that may have been; it is, I believe, a comparison and contention of human measure with divine sublimity, whence also it bears the marks of a nature conquered. I praise also his skill and success regarding the man’s flocks, and the twelve patriarchs born of him, and the distribution of the blessings joined with a noble prophecy of future things. But I praise also his ladder—not the one seen, but the one ascended through each of the stages of virtue—and the pillar which he did not merely anoint but raised up to God, marking with a pillar the deeds of the impious, and the...

struggle which he undertook not against God, but for God, casting down and prostrating the dogmas of the heretics; and besides this, his pastoral art, by which he was enriched, having acquired more marked sheep than those without marks; and his elegant and numerous offspring begotten according to God; and finally, the blessing with which he sustained many. ^B

LXXII. Joseph was a distributor of grain, but only of Egypt’s, and not frequently, nor in anything but a bodily way. But this man, [was a distributor] for all, and always, and in a spiritual way—which, in my opinion, is to be esteemed far superior and more majestic than that distribution of grain. Like Job the Ausite, he was both tempted and emerged the victor; and having finished his contests, was proclaimed a victor with a shining eulogy, as one who had not been shaken or weakened by the impact of any of the many bitter things that assailed him, but had abundantly overcome the tempter, and had silenced the folly and rashness of his friends who were ignorant of the mystery of his suffering. ^C Moses and Aaron among his priests. And indeed, the great Moses, who harassed Egypt, saved his people with many signs and wonders, entered into the cloud, and legislated the double law—the literal one externally, and the spiritual one internally. Aaron, however, was clearly Moses’ brother, both in body and in spirit, offering prayers and sacrifices to God for the salvation of the people, a minister of that holy and great tabernacle which the Lord pitched, and not man. Of both these men, he [Basil] was a rival, tormenting the heretical and Egyptian nation, not with bodily scourges, but with spiritual and logical ones; leading the peculiar people, ^D a zealot of good works, to the land of promise, and writing laws upon tablets—not those that are shattered, but those that are preserved—laws no longer obscure and shadowed, but entirely spiritual; and entering into the Holy of Holies, not once a year, but more frequently, and, so to speak, daily, and from thence revealing to us the holy Trinity, and cleansing the people, not with fleeting sprinklings, but with eternal purifications. What did Joshua have that was most beautiful? Military command, the distribution of portions, and the possession of the holy land. But this man, is he not a commander? Is he not a leader of those who

obtain salvation through faith? Is he not the assigner of the various inheritances and mansions that are with God, which He distributes to his own soldiers? So much so that he himself can use this expression: “The lines have fallen for me in pleasant places;” and again: “My lots are in thy hands;” lots certainly much more excellent than those which creep upon the ground and can be snatched away.

^B LXXIII. And, that we may pass by the judges—or the most illustrious of the judges—Samuel, among those who call upon his name, ^C given to God before his birth, and immediately after his birth a priest, and anointing kings and priests with the horn. And what of this man? Is he not from infancy, and from his very mother’s womb, consecrated to God, and offered at the altar with the diploid, and beholding the heavenly things, and the anointed of the Lord, and the anointer of those who were being perfected by the Spirit? David is famous and celebrated among kings, of whom many victories and triumphs over enemies are recorded; but his mildness is his most notable trait, and before his royal dignity, the power of his lyre, charming away the evil spirit. Solomon asked of God for breadth of heart, and he obtained it, having progressed so far in wisdom and contemplation as to surpass all the mortals of his age in the fame of his name. But this man [Basil], unless I am mistaken, yields nothing, or at least very little, to the one in mildness or to the other in wisdom; so much so that he could soften the rage even of emperors who were agitated by the intemperance of demons; and not only the queen of the South, or certain individuals merely, moved by the fame of his wisdom, came to him from the ends of the earth, but his wisdom was known to all the ends of the world. And the things that follow regarding Solomon, I shall pass over in silence: they are manifest to all, even if we refrain from speaking them.

^D LXXIV. Do you praise the boldness of speech which Elijah used against tyrants, and his rapture by fire? And the beautiful inheritance of Elisha, that sheepskin, which Elijah’s spirit accompanied? Praise also the life of this man [Basil], passed in fire—I mean in the ranks of temptations—and his salvation achieved through fire, which burned but did not consume, which is the miracle of the bush, and the beautiful fleece from on high, that is, his virginity. I pass over the youths sprinkled with dew in the flames; and the fugitive prophet, praying in the belly of the sea-monster, and coming forth from the entrails of the beast as if from a bridal chamber; and that righteous man, binding the fury of the lions in the pit; or the struggle of the seven Maccabees, who with their priest and mother were perfected in blood, and in every form of torture; for this man, having emulated their endurance, likewise won their glory.

LXXV. I now pass on to the New Testament, and having compared those who have been illustrious there with the fame and glory of this man, I shall honor—

^A the student by means of the masters. Who is the precursor of Jesus? John, as the voice of the Word and as the lamp of the Light, who even while in the womb leaped for joy before Him, and was sent down to the underworld by the madness of Herod, that he might preach the Coming One even there. And if this argument seems bold to anyone, let him first examine this point in what is being said: that I am not setting him before, nor even placing on an equal footing, the man who surpassed all those born of women, when I perform this comparison; but rather I am pointing him out as a zealot, one who bore within himself something of that character. For it is no small matter for the earnest to imitate even small things from the greatest. For is not this man a clear image of that man’s philosophy? He too lived in the desert; he too, that he might lie hidden and escape the notice of men, was clad in rough raiment; he too loved the same kind of food, purifying himself for God through continence; he too was deemed worthy to become a herald of Christ, even if not a precursor; and to him went out not only all the neighboring region, but even that which was beyond the borders and far away. He, too, stood in the midst of the two Testaments, overthrowing the letter of the former, while bringing forth the spirit of the latter into the open, and thus, through the overthrow of the external and visible Law, fulfilling the hidden Law.

^C LXXVI. He imitated the zeal of Peter, the firmness and constancy of Paul, and the faith of both—who were most illustrious both by their names and by the changing of their names; the grand eloquence of the sons of Zebedee; the frugality and contempt for superfluous things of all the disciples. For these reasons he is even entrusted with the keys of heaven; and he encompasses not just the circle from Jerusalem even unto Illyricum, but a greater one with the Gospel; and he is not called a son of thunder, but he becomes one; and placed upon the breast of Jesus, he draws from thence the power of speech and the depth of thoughts. For Stephen was prevented from becoming, though he was prepared in spirit, as the impetuosity of those stoning him was restrained by shame and reverence. And furthermore, that I may not go through every detail, I can speak of these matters even more briefly and concisely. For he discovered some virtues, emulated others, and surpassed others. Moreover, in that he advanced through every kind of virtue, he carried off the palm from all the men of our memory. I shall add one thing to all these, and it is brief.

^D LXXVII. Such was the virtue and the excellence of the glory of this man, that many things, even among his minor virtues, and even to the point of his bodily defects, were—by others—turned to glory.

^A For instance, I speak of his pallor, his beard, his manner of walking, and his not being quick to speak, but rather, for the most part, thoughtful and self-contained; this, not being well imitated or understood by the many, became a mere peevishness. Moreover, the style of his clothing, the shape of his bed, and his manner of eating—none of which he practiced with any studiousness, but used simply and as occasion offered. And you might see many Basils as far as outward appearance goes, like statues in the shade; for it would be much to say even that they were the repeated echo of his voice. For an echo, even if it only reflects the final part of a sound, still imitates it more clearly; whereas these men are further from the man than they desire to be near him. But this is no longer a small thing, but is rightly considered to be of the greatest moment for glory: to have at some point drawn near to him or served him, or to hold as a memento something said or done by him, whether in jest or in earnest; just as I myself often know that I have prided myself ^B on this account. For the incidental actions of this man were far more precious and illustrious than those upon which others expend great labor.

LXXVIII. And when he had finished the course and kept the faith, and was possessed by the desire for his dissolution, and the time of crowns was at hand, although he did not hear that command: "Go up into the mount, and die," but rather, "Die, and come up to us"—even here he performed a miracle no less than the former ones. For when he was already almost dead and breathless, and had for the most part completed his life, he became more vigorous for his final sermons, so that he might depart with words of piety, and might extend his hand and the Spirit for the promotion of his most faithful followers to ecclesiastical orders, so that their flock might not be defrauded of those whom he had held as disciples and helpers in the priesthood. ^C The discourse now moves with difficulty, though it does proceed to what follows, even if this funeral oration is perhaps more fitting for others than for us. For I cannot philosophize while in sorrow, even if I have struggled hard to philosophize, while the common loss and the calamity that has seized the whole world occupy my mind.

LXXIX. He lay there, drawing his final breaths, and sought for by the heavenly choir to which he had long since directed the gaze of his eyes. All the city, however, was poured out around him, bearing this loss exceedingly ill, and crying out against his departure as if it were a tyranny, and of the soul...

^A catching hold, as if it could be restrained or compelled, either by hands or by prayers. For the grief rendered them distraught; and each was eager, if it were possible, to add some portion of his own life to him. But when they gave way (for it was necessary for him as a mortal to be led forth), he himself at last, uttering these words, "Into thy hands I will commend my spirit" (Ps. XXX, 6), breathed his last, not unpleasantly, to the angels who were to conduct him away. There are those whom he initiated while present, and made better by his visitations. Then, indeed, there comes to pass the most famous of all the miracles that have ever happened.

LXXX.

^A union, and dragging on a painful life, and—as is natural for one separated from him—I know not what end awaits me after the discipline of him by whom even now I am still admonished and chastened through nightly visions, if ever I should fall outside of what is required. Yet, I do not mingle lamentations with these praises, but I depict the man’s life in my discourse, and I present to all time a common tablet of virtue, and a salutary model for all the Churches and all souls; looking upon which, as upon a living law, we may direct our life: but as for you, who have been imbued by him with sacred doctrine, I would advise nothing else than that you always look to him, and, as though he both sees you and is seen by you, be instructed by the Spirit. ^B

LXXXI. Come now, and gather around me, all you who are his choir; you who are of the sanctuary, and you who are of the lower order; you who are of our own, and you who are from outside; join with me in composing this encomium, each of you setting forth and seeking out a different virtue of his: you who sit upon thrones, behold the lawgiver; you who manage public affairs, the prince of the city, and as it were its founder; the common people, the moderator; the students of letters, the preceptor; the virgins, the brideman; the married women, the master of modesty; the solitaries, him who added wings to you; the cenobites, the judge; the simple, the guide of the way; the lovers of speculation, the theologian; the joyful, the bridle; those in calamities, the consolation; the aged, the staff; the young, the pedagogue; the poor, the giver; the wealthy, the steward. Indeed, it seems to me that the widows too will praise their patron; and the orphans, their father; and the poor, the lover of the poor; and the strangers, the lover of strangers; and the brothers, the lover of the brothers; and the sick, the physician—of whatever disease and medicine you wish; and the healthy, the guardian of their health; and all, in fine, Him who became all things to all men, that He might win over all, or at least the many. ^C

LXXXII. You have this from us, Basil, that is, from the tongue once most sweet to you, and equal in honor and age. If these things approach even remotely the merit of your virtue, this is your benefit; for trusting in you, I have instituted this speech. But if they fall far short of your dignity and expectation, what was I to do, a man consumed by old age, and disease, and the longing for you? Although it is also pleasing to God what is done according to one's power. Do you, however, O sacred and divine head, look down upon us from heaven, I beseech you, and either stay, by your prayers, the thorn in the flesh given to us by God for our discipline, or persuade us to bear it with a brave heart: and direct our whole life toward that which is most beneficial. ^D And if we should depart, receive us there also into your tabernacles, so that we may dwell together, [alt-version omitted]