Life of Saint Theodore the Studite (by Michael the Monk)

an excellent life, useful morals, pleasant habit, harmonious psalmody, and anything else worthy of the esteem and pursuit of pious men. But since the cause and author of all these things is surely the Father who laid the foundation and established such monks, it is entirely fitting to remember what he accomplished and to recount his labors and struggles, and all the other things he endured for the sake of Christ, whose stigmata he evidently bore in his flesh, as the Apostle says. ^B Accordingly, it is my prayer not to fall short in any way—which I know happened to those who recounted his deeds—but to be able to tell at least a few of his actions, so that if I accomplish nothing else, I may at least show the intention that was in my mind. Furthermore, there is nothing for me to fear, since our love for him brings the confidence to dare, which will also suggest the discourse and the power and ability to relate such excellent things. Therefore, I must say what pertains to the divine man according to my strength, without either enumerating all things, which is entirely impossible, or overlooking the important things, which would surely be harmful.

4. The country and lineage of Theodore

^A alone in their company were they pleased. And not only did this noble couple do this, but those also who were born of them, and those who were otherwise related by birth, were already moved to act, holding nothing more precious than God and virtue. Most clearly, and the upbringing, and the times during which they undertook their renunciation, the great-minded Theodore declared in the epitaph for his mother; and the present account will also reveal a little about them already. ^B II. Birth and boyhood. From such parents, then, this admirable man was born, while Constantine Copronymus held the empire and forced all Christians to deny the holy icons. By the excess of his wickedness, he strove to surpass by a great measure even him who begat him (this was Leo the Isaurian, who was the first of all to dare to pull down the divine images), being most hostile to the Christians and, to say the least, heavier and more savage in his cruelty than he. Therefore, when he, as one could wish had never happened, had taken hold of the government by an evil fate, Theodore came into the light, as we have said, destined to be a common gift to the fatherland and a radiance for the darkness that was overshadowing it. And he, having been deemed worthy of the divine baptism while yet in a young body, and having been well formed in the first stage of life by his parents, was entrusted to a tutor in order to learn his elementary education. He spent his time with him most gracefully, not rejoicing in amusements, not attending to spectacles, nor indulging in games and other recreations, as is the way of a young man of such a house, gladdening his soul; but, as was fitting, devoting his time solely to the recovery of learning, with these he both delighted his mind and gathered from them a fair amount of profit. As time and his intelligence grew—advancing and increasing together—he also touched upon secular learning. Exercising a zeal rivaling his natural talent, he learned to Hellenize the language and quickly turned to attend to poetry. Grasping in these not what is fabulous but what is useful, he perceived and detected what was superfluous. Then, next, in pursuing rhetoric, he did not think that one should form one's character according to re- ^C toricians. Therefore he neither made use of their falsehoods, nor the other empty talk and contradictions of their discourses, but taking only what contributes to what is useful and to the composition and harmony of speech, he left the rest to others, for whom the vanity of arguments and the artifice of words is a craft. ^D III. He studies philosophy. Since he was also in the company of philosophers, collecting from all things the finest, like the industriousness of the bee, he did not happen to converse with them as a secondary matter; but with all zeal he approached every philosophy, as much as there was of its ethics, and as much of its dogmatics, and

as much as is based upon the art of dialectic and demonstration. When, however, he understood that many were at that time troubling and perverting the faith with the twists of their speeches and with spurious questions, he applied every effort ^A so as not to enter into society with them, or into fellowship of discourse. Wherefore he was diligently on his guard and took foresight, lest he be caught even slightly by their sophistries, but that he might strike and repel the adversaries with an excellent force of doctrine, and refute the fallacies of their arguments. But indeed, although he had gathered to himself such great erudition, his own proper and peculiar gift was modesty, gravity of character, and diligent care of the affections: for he, immediately turning his thought to higher things, held learning and all other matters in the second place, but turned all his study toward the acquisition of the virtues, applying care and labor at all hours, by what way he might become master of temperance and fortitude, by what art he might acquire prudence and justice, and by what way he might acquire meekness and abstinence, and the other virtues which are contained under these, his general categories. ^B Applying himself to these, Theodore diligently studied the divine Scriptures, and wondrously gathered their meaning, so that he did not merely look into what is common and ready to hand in them, but also deep into what lies hidden and internally concealed. He also frequented the holy churches very much, macerating his flesh with nocturnal vigils, and while he spent the night sleepless, he stood with upright spirit. He also, by design and deliberate effort, lest he be overcome by sleep, used the lightest of foods, avoiding everything that might burden the stomach, as if it were a heavy and troublesome load. For he desired, even before a more precise life, to accustom himself to harsher labors, so that he might find these things very easy for himself at the opportune time, and encounter them without distress.

IV. The Death of Copronymus. The Synod at Nicaea.

^C After that emperor, who had devastated the Christians and—alas!—had treated the image of Christ with contumely, had breathed out his soul in a most shameful kind of death, his son Leo took up the administration of the empire, who was also named Chazarus from his mother, and he was altogether like his father in his ways, acting in no way more loosely than his parent. But he himself more quickly lost his life together with the empire. Irene, his wife, together with the boy Constantine, took power. And so that she might give credence to her own name through the matters themselves, she calmed all the disturbance and mourning of the Churches; for, having long since been hateful to those infected by depraved opinions, and having publicly restored security and peace, she returned to them their former worship, and the crown that had been taken away. ^D Therefore, urging the matter keenly (for she was exceedingly pious), she immediately summoned all the Fathers to herself, intending to deliberate with them what was necessary to be done, and with him who presided over the Church. This was Tarasius, who, not long before having been placed upon the see, convened a synod at Nicaea in Bithynia, and contending for the true faith, commanded that the holy images should be worshipped and honored as before. The assembled Fathers were present to the number of three hundred and fifty, among whom also was that most holy Plato, the uncle of Theodore, who in time

^A lived on Olympus from his youth, and he was present then to take part in the council.

V. Then indeed that divine man enticed many others to philosophy (for he was, if anyone else was, most pleasing to those he met), but before many, and in place of many, he took that excellent Theodore, who was his nephew by his sister, and who even long before, as the story goes, had chosen to practice philosophy of his own accord; he also took the parents of Theodore and his brothers, Joseph and Euthymius, together with his little sister. In addition to these, Plato also chose his own brothers, who were three in number. Having thus gathered them all, as if by a single signal, as those who preferred the single life to marriage, he took them to himself and guided them in the better way. They, having at once deposited all their wealth and possessions and other goods into the laps of the poor, and having also granted freedom to their servants, without even counting their number, departed from the territories of Byzantium, following God and the leading Father.

VI.

A description of Boscytium.

VII.

Life in Boscytium.

which once were soft, he now applied to ^A arduous labors, not only wood-cutting or transporting water for their needs, but also digging the soil, whether it was uncultivated or garden land; dragging away clods of earth with sweat, and doing everything else, even the most backbreaking work. Indeed, he was frequently seen carrying mules' dung upon his shoulders—doing this at night, so as to go unnoticed, or else in the middle of the day. When this became known in time, it filled those who recognized him with wonder that such a man, of such a house, should stoop to a task so menial—something inimitable by anyone else—and do so with such humility, esteeming it the highest glory to live without glory. Yet, even while doing these things, he deemed himself to be doing nothing at all. Therefore, he did not restrain his eagerness within these limits, but also lent a hand to the brethren who lived with him, especially those he saw were unable to perform their assigned tasks due to illness or some other physical infirmity. He gave himself to them, running hither and thither, serving everywhere and lightening everyone’s toils, so that he might reap the blessing of all, and in this way bring back an extraordinary wage for such great labors.

VIII. But it was a matter of utmost concern to this noble man ^B to reveal every action and movement of his thoughts to his Father, well knowing that to uncover the secrets of the soul is a work of humility and indeed the greatest work. And because of everything, he was beloved by all, but above all by the holy Plato; who also clung to him with every affection, and found in his conversation a comfort to his soul. For he saw in him a man wondrously excelling in prudence, adorned more than others with modesty, and of superior strength of soul. Accordingly, being endowed with such virtue, he used him above all others, and employed him as a skillful helper in managing affairs.

IX. Description of Saccudion. For who else among all men has pursued all the most glorious things as did this admirable man? In whose soul, as upon a many-voiced and well-attuned lyre, the harmonious concord of all the virtues rang out? Who can describe his measure in wisdom, his simplicity of character, his industry, his zeal, his perspicacity? Who his skill? Who his gentleness? Who his fervor in charity? For all these things, although diverse and unlike among themselves, nevertheless ^C conspiring together in him, and concurring into one, fashioned a single, most varied, and yet most uniform form of virtue. But although he excelled in charity, he was none the less fervent in his pursuit of humility. And it does not seem to me that he applied himself to it without some certain and significant reason, but rather that he had seen something more divine, in accordance with his own supreme prudence and wisdom. For he reflected within himself that our Lord and God had humbled himself, through humility, to the form of a servant, having emptied himself of that inaccessible glory, and having become like unto us. Who also, for our sake, endured ignominy, reproaches, and mockery, and finally the accursed death, yet even so did not relax his love for us, humbling himself even to

^A that degree, and still sharing his mercy with us in abundance. Theodore, revolving these things in his mind and acting with a grateful disposition toward the Master, fervently rekindled his love for Him, cherishing it in the bosom of his soul. Nor was he any less diligent in his charity toward his neighbor, submitting himself kindly to all and embracing everyone with benevolence. Meanwhile, he himself constantly melted within, in the depths of his soul, with a pious sorrow. The tears that flowed abundantly from his eyes and bathed his face like streams were witnesses to this. Indeed, among his other gifts, he was richly endowed with the gift of compunction, which flowed from his humility, the most certain fountain of heavenly treasures. Hence arose that hilarity of mind, that consolation, that light and splendor of the soul.

^B X. Since, as we said, Plato used the holy man as a fellow-worker in all things, entrusting everything to him because of the greatness of his nature, he also entrusted to him the holy house then being built at Saccudium. For he had a desire to raise up a temple from the very foundations to the Theologian who leaned upon the breast of Jesus, this being a gift of gratitude and a place of prayer for him. Theodore, therefore, relying in faith upon the command of his superior, undertook the construction of the temple with brilliance and grace. Everything else, too, was radiant and most pleasing to the eyes, as much on the roof as in the porticoes and the other equilateral corners. But the grace and delight were seen to be greater in the pavement of the church, wrought with varied colors and multi-formed stones, casting a brilliant radiance upon all. For the grace dwelling in the man of God gave him the power to accomplish great things; it rendered difficult tasks easy for him, and made the most burdensome works effortless and swift.

^C XI. Life in Saccudium. — But when he was seen to bestow so much labor upon these things—more than any other could surely have done—was he seen to be more negligent regarding the holy assemblies in the church, or second to any other in these? By no means. But in this he exerted his zeal even more, anticipating all in the morning and daily praises of God, as if he had no other occupation or business, and departing from there last of all; he remained in the posture of prayer with motionless body and gaze, his mind wholly and strongly suspended upon it. And so that he might also have a secret place to commune with God and remain hidden from those with him, he set apart a portion of each day for himself, and he who is alone communed with the Alone, presenting an undistracted mind to God, free from earthly wanderings. But because it was not fitting for virtue to be hidden, any more than ^D the rising sun, many perceived this and proclaimed it far and wide; and they considered the floor, sprinkled with his streams of tears, to be a most truthful witness of that which was hidden.

^A XII. The Partners. Now, the admirable man frequently celebrated temperance in his discourse, inasmuch as he had grown up with it and held it in great esteem, considering it the creator and leader of the other virtues. It is impossible to say with what wisdom he constituted those things pertaining to it, neither pursuing an immoderate abstinence from food, nor afflicting his belly with untimely fasting—for by the former the strength of the body is broken, which is necessary for acting and for exercising virtue; while the latter inclines the mind toward desires and introduces pleasure and softness. Therefore, he did not deny what was necessary to the body, but only that which was sufficient to sustain it; he was, however, entirely concerned with how to abstract the mind, which is yoked to the body, from matter, and how the inferior part might be subject to the better. Yet, at the same time, fleeing vainglory, he sometimes ate from all the dishes set before him, so that he might not appear to his fellow diners to be one who habitually abstained from such foods, and so that he might not appear superior to the many. But those who were with him, holding his customs as laws, strove as far as it was right to emulate and imitate him. Among them, Joseph stood out, his brother both by nature and by way of life, who, on account of his exceptional virtue, was placed over the Church of Thessalonica, having gained that throne as a reward for his piety. Athanasius and Naucratius followed him, as did the illustrious Euthymius, Timotheus, and many others who were being trained in the same discipline of piety; they all, having chosen him from the beginning as the leader and guide of their holier institution, both ordered their own lives and shone forth with the greatest virtues.

^B XIII. Now, with them, Theodore, the minister and disciple of Plato, applied himself diligently to the task of examining every sacred Scripture, both the Old and the New, and investigating the discourses of all the Fathers, and whatever monuments each had left behind; and everything, as is fitting, diligently explained by the holy Fathers, he perused under the guidance of the Spirit, and stored each thing away in the capacious bosom of his mind. But he kissed the writings of Basil the Great, and seasoned all his speech with them; for he well understood that he had philosophized most brilliantly on divine matters and had excelled all in eloquence. And although he assiduously listened to his individual books and derived a certain admirable pleasure from them, yet it cannot be said how much he embraced and cherished the book which he wrote for solitaries; he was so totally and entirely in it, and directed his whole life according to it as if to a rule. Furthermore, out of love and zeal for this book, he considered those who were little affected by it to be neither true monks nor worthy of being admitted to the sacred profession. For there were some there who corrupted very many of the precepts of that book and despised a life of poverty and simplicity, being no less sluggish in increasing their worldly property than those who were in the world. To whom it did... ^C

suffice if servants and mules were present, and other things of that sort, truly most useless and superfluous. The noble man, ^A grieving at their plight and struck by the insolence of the matter, did not long delay in correcting them; but, rather, in his fervor he approached Plato and admonished him as to how they were behaving. Exhorted also by him, he immediately set about to avenge the offences. And first, indeed, kindled by the fervor of his spirit, he sent away their superfluous equipment and all their slaves, with no one resisting. Then he removed from their sleeping quarters whatever was useless there, especially because he saw that this pestilence was secretly creeping even into his own sacred house and corrupting its inner parts. Thus, by this one act, he corrected both those who were of his household and those who were outsiders, both being overcome by the reverence for the man, and having nothing that they could oppose to the things he decreed. It was truly an extraordinary deed, worthy of all praise, by which this admirable man openly showed them how they should live their lives henceforth: that is, by preferring assiduity to any other things, by ^B pursuing simplicity above all else, and by cutting away all desire for the superfluous, so that in this way it might be permitted to them to strive for heavenly things with an unhindered course. From that time forth, therefore, having been converted to a better fruit, they judged that in the things which were done by him there was something divine and greater than human. Some, however, kept saying that this act of his was untimely and by no means necessary—they who, clearly, had a perverse mind, and who did not cease to revile him, not indeed openly, but in corners, and being goaded by blind envy, an exitial and incurable disease of the soul. ^C The just man, however, caring not at all for these things, went about his own affairs, not considering what these men might say about him, but what he himself should do, and how, in the things which he did, he might appear pleasing to God.

XIV.

The ordination of Theodore by Tarasius

and he applied whatever remained of his bodily strength toward this one task: to show himself, in whatever way he could, worthy of the gift he had received, and to render God propitious to himself, offering a pure worship to the Pure. Indeed, as far as it was possible for him to escape ^A from all things, he strove to live by the soul alone, because he considered that it was precisely this—when it has been purified—which possesses the most numerous and distinguished gifts of the mind. Hence came his contemplation and the sublimity of his spirit; hence his ascent to higher things and his contact with God, insofar as it is possible. He attained to communion with Him directly, never ceasing his hymns to Him, nor his abiding with Him, and singing the small things in his mind incessantly. For the love of God and the inclination toward things above did not suffer him to turn, even for a moment, to his body. Nay, it persuaded the noble man to despise even his necessities—tasting, as it were, of sleep, if one can call it that, either not at all, or only that which was idle and seemingly feigned; and, on the other hand, taking only the scarcest and smallest amount of food, according to his constitution. He disregarded all these things, having already been transferred to another life, and having left the earth while still remaining upon it, tied to the tabernacle of the body.

XV. ^B But Plato, seeing him thus having surpassed human limitations, and perceiving his manner of life to be something altogether exceptional, admired the man as was fitting; and every day he uttered such praise of him, making his actions manifest and clear to many others, and pre-announcing to those who were present what he would later do in his life. He even besought him to take the lead of the brethren in his own place, trying to persuade him by both exhortations and wise advice, for he himself was already exhausted by age and long exercise; furthermore, he saw the number of disciples growing daily, and for this reason, they stood in need of a stronger leader. ^C But the wonderful man, ever retaining humility in all things and not wishing at any time to depart from moderation, declined the authority, regarding it as an encumbrance—a sort of heavy weight—and he diverted this divine man with entreaties, not being persuaded in this respect at all, although in all other matters he showed himself most compliant. For the prudent man knew that it was more profitable and better to live under the authority of another, just as he had lived until then, than to preside over others—especially when they were establishing a new way of life exacted according to the laws of virtue. No one could rule such men unless he were especially expert in these matters, most diligent, and endowed with greater experience ^D and a most philosophical mind. For while we see that the monks among us are zealous about their asceticism, we know that their governance is even more laborious; since it is fitting to examine not only their deeds and words, but also their motions, their reasonings, and the things deeper within the soul, and to bring everything—even things lying hidden—into view. If even the slightest of these is neglected, it corrupts the greatest things and leaves a malady lurking within. For these reasons, Theodore determined to occupy himself with himself alone, and he altogether rejected the offered leadership of others. Not that he did not possess

a desire to be placed in the lowest rank, just as ^A much as those who are ambitious for the first place desire to be seen. But the divine grace which guided the course of his life, in another way, entrusted the authority to him even against his will. I shall recount briefly how this was brought about.

XVI. He is appointed over the monastery.

When Plato observed that all that he did and said was not persuading Theodore to relent, he devised a more clever plan, consistent with his own prudence and piety. Seized by a more severe illness and believing his final hour was at hand, he called all the monks to him, and among them this divine man, and announced to them the severity of his sickness, the force of which no help could now turn aside. He said that for his own part, everything for his departure was provided, and that he did not doubt that after his passing they would maintain the same course of life and virtue. He told them that they must deliberate about a successor to appoint for himself; they should choose this one by common vote, and the one whom they judged worthy of the office would also be approved by him. For the wisest man certainly knew upon whom they would cast their votes. When all with one voice and mind declared that Theodore was better adapted to oversee everyone and most capable of guiding souls, as he was outstanding in both life and discourse, Plato, believing he had achieved his goal and seeing that he had obtained his wish, added nothing further, but handed his own position of superior to Theodore, though he was reluctant, relying on the suffrage and consensus of all the disciples. Theodore, being unable to oppose all of them—or to resist the conspiratorial desires of everyone—reluctantly took up the burden imposed upon him, being thirty-five years of age, in the thirteenth year since he had been enrolled among the monks.

XVII.

adding the accession of good. And we should not only attend with all zeal to keeping our actions pure, but much more to purifying the mind itself, since it is the root and bulwark of those things that are done for us in the body. ^A These precepts the excellent Father, instilling daily into the ears of his disciples, was as it were toughening them for the contest and filling them with boldness of spirit. They, for their part, all depended on him alone, and laying down their own souls in his bosom, they referred to him whatever they did, and did nothing at all, neither great nor small, unless it seemed right to him. Their first and most important concern was to disclose their thoughts to him down to the smallest detail, and to cleanse the inner man. And truly, the wise man, receiving what each one brought according to a most discerning judgment of such things, applied the cure appropriate to each, tempering austerity with sweetness and bitterness with gentleness; for he knew well that to remain always indulgent and lenient, or else merely severe, was not only of no benefit but even harmful. ^B Therefore, combining these things, and considering the character and nature of each one, he treated everyone with great art, and if anything did not succeed in one way, he would try another, becoming diverse yet simple in that most genuine and sincere method of governance. Alongside his words, the Father’s life also served as a silent exhortation, so that his discipline was made perfect on both sides, being confirmed by his words on one hand and by his conduct on the other. He instructed them, moreover, with discourses that were very sweet and for the most part very timely, taking his opportunities from the matters that arose and from what each day offered, explaining one thing from another and instituting conversations full of sweetness, which could move even hearts of stone; thus he mingled the useful with the pleasant, and consolation with rebuke.

^C XVIII. Constantine, having cast off his wife, marries a relative of Theodore. — But now time admonishes us to pass to the struggles of this strenuous athlete, so that the strength of his soul and his patience in adversity may shine forth more brightly. At that time Constantine, the son of the pious Irene, having gathered a troop of shameless men—as one teeming with the impulsive sallies of youth—and having driven his mother from the reign, seized the power for himself. Given over to life’s extreme licentiousness, like a horse unbroken and unbridled, he gave himself up entirely to pleasure. ^D Alongside other acts that he committed, leaving no wickedness unattempted, he cast out his legitimate wife, compelling her by force to assume the monastic habit, and took another, Theodote by name, who was, as they say, related to the Father, and he brought her into the bed of the Augusta, committing fornication.

He, that wretched man, has committed an act of adultery—nay, a most grievous and painful adultery—in the very bedchamber of the Augusta.

^A The patriarch Tarasius, for his part, neither performed the laying on of hands nor gave his consent in any way to what was happening. For how could he, knowing the union to be unholy and forbidden by the sacred canons? But a certain presbyter named Joseph, who also happened to be the oikonomos of the Church, thinking himself of greater account than he was and scorning divine things, became—as he should not have—the procurer and completer of this illicit marriage and the arranger of the union, having enslaved his whole self to the emperor, being a slave in both his faith and his intent. Although, not long after, he felt the penalty for his rashness, being thrust out of the sacred temple precincts because of the things he had done so audaciously. From then on, what had been done became an avenue toward even worse things, not only in the royal city, but also in other cities and in the regions further afield; thus did the [rulers] of Bosphorus, of Gothia, and the rest of the provincial governors, and those who were otherwise set over cities, commit unholy acts without fear, casting aside their lawful wives and introducing others, using the one who had first performed the act as an excuse and shield for their own passions.

^B

XX. Theodore excommunicates the emperor.

XXI. Theodore is tempted in vain.

them over, and displaying his own ill-will in all matters. ^A Indeed, he even sent his own wife to capture the holy man; she, obeying her husband’s counsels, attempted to tempt him with much gold and many gifts, and—since it would have the force of every entreaty—put forward their family kinship. But since the madman appeared to be twisting everything in vain, and the noble man remained nonetheless unmoved, the one quick to devise evil found another plan. He himself decided to travel to the places where the holy man was, under the pretext of needing the thermal baths that were there; but in truth, in order that he might even so become an associate of the Father, and perhaps win him over—and through him, he might then hold others now acting in the same way.

^B When neither the Father nor any other person who was with him appeared to approach the emperor, or to speak to him, or even to offer the customary salutation, he, inflamed with a more ardent fury, quickly returned to the palace; and having summoned one of his domestics, who ruled over the ranks of the schools, he ordered the holy man to be scourged, and at the same time those among the monks whom he knew to be more constant and firmer in persisting in their opinion. The man, wishing to curry favor and please the emperor, moved by neither reverence nor pity for the saints, scourged them so atrociously that their flesh was torn open here and there, and rivers of blood flowed down. ^C Having been thus vexed and cut to pieces by lashes, he immediately relegated them to Thessalonica and condemned them to prison, just as had been ordered. There were eleven in number bound with the Father, who, entering into the society of the struggle with him, bore all hardships with a serene and cheerful mind.

XXIII.

Many others imitate Theodore.

XXIV.

Theodore writes to the Roman Pontiff.

^A he becomes an even more illustrious and renowned father to all; for he did not, even after his suffering, slacken in his noble stance, but rather roused many others to seek vengeance for what was being done, and indeed by his letters kept those in exile strong, that they might not grow weak under their labors, but might show themselves all the more like men. He also sent epistles and delegates to the prelate of Rome, informing him of each of the events that had occurred and how much he had endured at the hands of those in power, for which reason he had wished to restrain them in their profligacy. From him he likewise received replies, which extolled his prudent stance and the unassailable nature of his resolve. "But since a rash king will fall into evils," ^B as the prophet says, "and his ways shall be dark" (Prov. IV, 19), this is what the shameless Constantine also underwent, paying most justly for the things in which he acted unlawfully; for he was speedily deprived of his kingdom, and in addition to this his eyes, in order that he who had seen badly while possessing them might have them not, blinded. When he was driven out from the royal palaces, his God-loving mother again took hold of the rule, who, being a seeker of peace—as even her name implies—cared for it no less than before. Wherefore she immediately dissolved the exile of the Fathers, not for some and not for others, but for all in general; and above all, for him who surpassed all in virtue—I mean our pastor and teacher. He, on his return from Thessalonica, was met by a great crowd of people, as was natural, but far more illustrious than this was the honor with which the Patriarch and the Queen herself graced him upon his arrival. Hence that other partner and participant in the discord, Joseph the presbyter, he who had performed the forbidden with a bold mind, was cast out of the sacred precincts and struck from the list of priests, so that by the excision and failure of this one man the remaining members might come together and receive unity. For ^C this was the Augusta’s first concern: to choose the "one," so that all might think the same and not be found divided and separated by schisms. And this, because it was done well, was brought about quickly, with all becoming of one mind and being joined to the superior unity. Nor, in truth, did the Patriarch himself, so far as he was concerned, agree with what had been done, nor did he fail to judge it base and alien to the Church, nor was he unsympathetic to the suffering of the Fathers; but, planning some wise purpose in himself—his mind being of such great depth—he had not at that time the power to punish the authors, as the injury of the times did not permit him to act according to his will. For this reason the Queen herself, having accepted the discernment of both and having praised it highly, bore witness to the great virtue of both, and to their judgment of what was advantageous. For which reason the Patriarch, by relaxing his strictness a little for the sake of the greater evil, kept the deranged emperor from XXVI. ^D For neither did the Patriarch himself, as far as lay in him, approve that deed, nor judge that it was not absurd and alien to the Church, nor did he fail to sympathize with the hardships of the Fathers; but pondering some wise counsel and one worthy of his own high-mindedness, he had not then the power to punish the originators, because the injustice of the times did not permit him to do what he would. Wherefore the Queen herself, embracing the prudence of both and praising it greatly, consulted their supreme virtue and their intelligence in discerning what was useful: that the Patriarch, by remitting something of his supreme right, might preserve the insane emperor from a more grievous evil

by restraining him from becoming—as he threatened to do, following the example of his predecessors—an enemy of the holy icons, if he were not allowed to carry out what he had desired in his heart. The Father, however, by openly denouncing the shameful act and by preventing any further progress through sharp rebuke and objurgation, taught those who had sinned, as well as all others who were meditating something similar, not to use their passions intemperately.

It is entirely good to relax something of judgment at times, and most useful not to overlook strict justice; both aim at what is useful and at the preservation of the better course. The God-bearing men among us, recognizing this, directed the things to come with a reasoning superior to our own, besides not abandoning the love which they had chosen from the beginning, and by which they had united one another in the divine Spirit. This must certainly be cherished by us also, and we must consider the things of the time according to the time; so that we may both praise and accept the goal of both, and teach those who have assumed or hold another opinion ^B to think otherwise.

XXVII. Theodore, having left the royal city, returns to Saccudion.

With these things transacted in this way, Theodore, having left the royal city, returns to the monastery, and like an excellent shepherd gathers to himself the sheep that had strayed, which the plunderers of souls had driven away and dispersed over every mountain during his absence. A multitude of other monks and laymen, innumerable in number, also come running, and rejoice in the return of the great Father, as the rumor spread everywhere, proclaiming Theodore and Saccudion. The result responded to expectation, and the fact itself confirmed the rumor. For whoever approached him became better, and from that point undertook a superior life. Very many from that time, having set out from Byzantium, flew straight to the saint, and being suddenly captivated by his words, like ^C the voices of true Sirens, they abandoned entirely the care of returning, beseeching, falling down, doing everything after the manner of suppliants, so that they might be permitted to be and to live with him, judging it far better and more profitable to associate with him than to dwell in the world. And indeed, receiving all, and accepting their great faith, he brought them to God and trained them in the discipline of virtue.

XXVIII. Incursion of the Arabs. Theodore comes to Constantinople. He is set over the monastery of Studium.

But since the most impious Arabs were at that time overrunning the Roman land, and were driving away both those afar and those nearby because of the fear of capture, it seemed necessary for the Father also to do what the time required, and not to expose himself and his companions to manifest danger—which would have been sheer madness. ^D Whence, having reached the queen of cities, he becomes most acceptable to the Patriarch and the Augusta, bringing them exceeding joy by his presence. They soon besought him with the strongest prayers to be willing to be the moderator of the monastery of Studium, which was in the city; and to establish in it a school of monastic training, so that by such a man as this, the chief of cities might be adorned. An exceeding temple was surely in the monastery, both in beauty and in size, of a few measures

second. ^A It is perhaps not inappropriate to explain whence it had its origin at the beginning.

XXIX. Origin of the Studion. — A man of noble birth and great influence had returned from Rome, Studius by name—whom our language knows how to call Euprepius—who had also been honored with the rank of patrician and consul. Having therefore taken up residence here, and having consecrated all his belongings to God with great magnanimity of spirit, he built this magnificent temple to the great Forerunner and Baptist, designating it as a dwelling-place for monks. And indeed, there was never a time when there were lacking those who, leading a communal life there, gave ^B clear proofs of their virtue and religion, until Constantine Copronymus, hateful to God, having declared war on the monks, cast them out of Byzantium along with all the others. But after the affairs of the Church returned to their former state, and the persecution of the monastic habit had ceased, monks again inhabited the place, though they were very few in number, and, as they say, no more than twelve.

XXX. Life of Theodore in the Studion. — The Father, therefore, having found this monastery with its famous temple most suitable and well-adorned, just as it had seemed to its founder, immediately takes it over and settles his own disciples there. For it was fitting in truth that he who is the greatest among those born of women should have his temple placed at the disposal of him who was greater than all others in virtue, and that he should use it both as an inhabitant and a shepherd, and as a shepherd by far the excellent, ^C whose sheep were most notable for virtue and most numerous in count. For the whole and greatest concern—as often as the hours allowed—was to improve those under him, to propose and teach whatever was most beautiful, and to consider the salvation of those as his own. It was fitting that such men should progress, increase, and attain to a better life. From this, the monastery among them obtained a most brilliant reputation and became the most famous of all. Indeed, as its fame grew, it had many flowing into it every day, partly laymen, partly monks, and even some given to a delicate life and pleasures, who had hitherto had no care for virtue; yet the Father received them all kindly ^D and instructed them with teachings from the divine Scriptures, and passed on the better things, persuading them to cling to nothing else but virtue alone, a possession immortal and enduring. For the things of the world, he says, flow away like the flowers of spring, mocking us with their swift changes, and they fly away before they can even be seen. And he taught that those who have renounced the world must be free from every business, and as unencumbered as possible, so that it may be easy for them to travel straight toward heavenly things and to break through everything that stands in their way. He, therefore, such love of virtue as

^A he instilled in them that, without any delay or hesitation, as the impulse of their spirit moved them, they abandoned all things—regarding even the looking back at riches as a barrier to the soul—and set themselves toward God. These men, having exchanged one life for another, the soft for the more rugged, learned the measures of humility and virtue, not bending the soul toward any base thing.

Moreover, he received with fatherly affection even those monks who wandered to him and wished to remain with him, desiring to use him as a guide and leader. He deemed them worthy of all care, cherishing and loving them no differently than his own children, and granting them everything he saw they desired. He did not prefer those who had cut their hair with him above others, nor did he relegate others to a second place—an affectation by which vain and ambitious men are wont to be led—but, understanding that the form of life is one and the same, whenever anyone might embrace it, just as the garment of baptism is one in all and does not differ, he bestowed upon each what was required according to the measure of his virtue and the desire for the good that was in him, and he assigned the measure of honor accordingly; so that from this, each one who wished to make progress might have more or less, so as to make them more eager for virtue and to show that it alone is the most precious thing.

^B He was also seen to be so elevated in his way of life that everyone rejoiced if they could only impress upon themselves a small part of that manner of living, and from that to be formed toward virtue and corrected. But further to this progress, as their number grew into a large multitude—nearly reaching one thousand—it was not easy for the Father, nor indeed almost possible, to examine and investigate each man individually and to understand their words and thoughts precisely. For how could one man observe such a number down to the smallest detail? He devised a plan that was more useful for us, worthy of his greatness of soul, and most opportune both for himself and for the monks. He chose the most excellent of the brothers, those whose virtue was a greater witness, and set them over the rest, so that they might observe if anything were ^C not being done correctly by others and report it to the common master; thus, nothing could remain hidden that so many eyes might perceive and weigh. He called these by their own suitable names: epistemonarchs, taxiarchs, observers, and awakeners. ^D Then, from among these, he gave to those who had progressed further and were following a more sublime life, another title: the one he called the second after the abbot, another the steward, another the under-steward. Each received a title according to the rationale of his ministry and the performance of his work.

^A He also issued written Instructions, through iambic verses, on how it is fitting for each one to fulfill what has been commanded. And the recitation of these verses begins from the abbot himself, and continues on to all of them, down to the very last. He also determined with what sort of penances, or excommunications, or prostrations, he who is late for the divine hymns shall be held to account, or he who breaks a vessel, or casts it away carelessly and neglects it; or he who has contended with a brother in some matter, or he who speaks extra words unnecessarily and does not know how to hold his tongue. ^B Corresponding to all these actions, he added the penances, so that the leaders appointed by the Father might have this task and endeavor as their utmost priority: to oversee all things concerning the brothers, to investigate all things, and to conduct themselves with due care toward all; and that the great man himself should assist them in the labor, inasmuch as he felt the burdens of all even more than they did. And he was like some ship-captain sitting on high, watching the blowing of the winds, or an excellent general, laboring and risking himself for all, and taking the measure of all things; so that there was fulfilled in him that word of the divine Jeremiah: *I have given you as a prober of my people, and you shall know by probing their way.* (Jer. vi, 27).

XXXIII. Comparison with Moses

XXXIV. The pursuit of common life and equality

is placed in common, or, to speak more sublimely, since their souls themselves and their exaltation and ascent to God was common, it was fitting for them to receive even the smallest things as common, so that among them the community of all things and equality might be preserved, according to what was said by the Apostle, that "the multitude of them that believed were of one heart and one soul: neither said any of them that ought of the things which he possessed was his own; but they had all things common." ^A For this reason, even the Father himself had nothing proper to himself, nor held anything back; but in the same wardrobe as the rest, he would deposit his tunic, and take whichever one happened to be there—what he saw being the coarser of the garments—so that in this, too, he might be an example of humility to those under him.

XXXV. Zeal for Labor.

XXXVI. Theodori scripta Catechesis Parva.

XXXVII. Catechesis Magna.

XXXVIII. Panegyricis.

^A in which he narrates the illustrious feast days of the Lord, and adorns them with noble discourses; not only of the Lord, but likewise of the Theotokos and of the Forerunner and Baptist; whose isolated life, removed from the company of men, he also celebrated in an elegant hymn.

XXXIX. Iambics. He also wrote a book in iambic verses, in which he described the origin and the fall of the first parent, and the envy of Cain, and the hand—alas!—raised against his brother, and perpetrating a most unjust murder. Thence, the translation of Enoch, and the birth, life, and conduct of Noah and his descendants. Furthermore, he enumerated in that same work the entire heresy of the Iconoclasts, whom, as instigators and authors of evils, he branded with the mark of anathema.

XL. Epistolary books. There are five books of his letters, as many as are currently in our possession; in which one may see the singular freedom of the Father, his solicitude and diligent industry; and how he remained unbowed and invincible among calamities, broken by no distress, remitting nothing of his mental purpose, amidst such great onsets and upheavals of the times.

XLI. Dogmatic book. Beyond all these, he also worked out a Dogmatic book for the lover of wisdom; in which firm and refutatory arguments are wonderfully woven together to dissolve the sophistries of the Iconoclasts, by which they are so pressed and strangled, that he does not allow them even to breathe, but overthrows and casts down their falsehoods with true propositions of doctrine. ^B Therein he also breathes heavily against those who have ruled impiously, stinging them even with appropriate words; and with that which would forever shame their lives.

XLII. These are the books which the God-bearing Father dictated, and explained with a most wise tongue. For he always had within himself true wisdom, sounding within him from the first, and enlightening the eye of his mind; needing little or nothing of earthly wisdom, which he had long since scorned, once he had cast his eyes toward that higher wisdom. Whence it happened that, leaning on the aid of abundant grace, ^C he performed many things tirelessly every day, writing himself, dictating to others, setting forth tasks to be done, persuading them to apply themselves to divine things; in a word, benefiting all, and delivering saving truths to all.

XLIII. The Emperor commands Joseph to be restored. But the enemy was not destined to bear this, nor to restrain himself from attacking the righteous man again, as if perpetually envying him and resentful of his right actions. For the one who at that time was holding the scepters, I mean Nicephorus that wicked man, who stripped the God-beloved Irene of the empire and invaded the empire himself through force and injustice; ^D I say, he impudently incited this man to fight against the holy man Theodore. In what manner, the narrative shall now explain. This Nicephorus, therefore, while appearing to be a Christian, and sharing with us the name,

but in truth, ^A and in his actions, he was an enemy of Christ, and far worse than this. Indeed, he did not seem to be able to remain within himself, having sold himself to the Evil One, unless he endeavored to churn everything and left nothing he had conceived in his mind untried. Among other things, he had no care, no anxiety, but to disturb the affairs of the Church, so that his malice might progress to greater things, such as were befitting him. For not being able to endure seeing it remain in the peace which it had only recently recovered, having been previously shaken by many disturbances, the envious man tried yet another way to cast it into new commotions and seditions. For that man Joseph—he who had formerly been justly cast out by a common vote of the Church, by Tarasius (as has been said), on account of a manifest crime committed, which is unknown to no one—he did not hesitate, with tyranny and against the canons (alas!), to introduce him again into the Church and to restore to him the priesthood he had lost. What did this new author of dogmas not say, or what did he not do? What kind of wickedness did he omit, in order to perform what he had thought of and initiated? To such a degree that, which was the most absurd of all, he was not ashamed to say these things: "We have done nothing new," he says, "or rash, if we receive one who was cast out by another." "Nay, rather, we shall observe the law of charity, in which, indeed, we shall have everyone following us, and as supporters and allies." And the law of charity in this place (O equity of laws, and O sacred words!) the shameless man was invoking, to whom what law or charity might be was never known! ^B Whom, even if he were insane and senseless in other things, one ought surely to have thought of this at least: even if the patriarch Tarasius, who has now departed from us and moved to the heavenly abodes, deposed this man, and even if others condemned him with their own sentences, yet it is impious for us not only to transgress those things which were established by them, but it is highly fitting to confirm them, since the same grace is with us as it is with them; lest we seem to change the laws of our Fathers and to side with the impious. ^C Being unable to consider any of these things, he violently attacked the patriarch. For this Nicephorus was the successor of Tarasius; applying to him an unbearable necessity, so that he might, even if unwilling, do what seemed good to him, and restore the priesthood to Joseph. And indeed, he did this by force and with difficulty; for the man of God feared, I think, lest the madman might attempt something else that was worse, and damage the Church more severely, if he did not obtain what he now desired. ^D But this act tore the Church asunder once again, and divided those who were previously in concord from one another. For our Father Theodore, not bearing with what had been done, immediately withdrew himself, together with all the monks, having in no way shared in the thought or counsel of those who had perpetrated that crime, not in word, not

by deed, nor by any other means whatsoever. ^A A not insignificant portion of the people also withdrew together with him; and of these, especially those who were most eminent among all and who had been chosen for their manner of life. For it is not for us, said that champion, the true defender of God’s laws, to remove the boundaries set by our ^B Fathers, or to dissolve the things well decreed by them, or, to the detriment of our own souls, to manage certain superfluous and alien things for the Church. May we never be so bereft of our senses as to make ourselves defenders of such a matter, and to prefer the things of men to those of God, doing that which pleases some I-know-not-who and, in a word, all those who wish to introduce innovations—and this while we have before our eyes the evils and terrors brought down upon us from heaven, when the emperor together with the people sinned against the law, and this very priest himself, who conspired with him, for the sake of a little glory, danced away the great mystery of piety. For, having our minds still gripped by these things, we have a fear lest we again experience the wrath of God by falling into the same errors and attempting to establish those very things from which we had hastened to depart as harmful.

With these thoughts, the Father, having openly revealed what his judgment and reasoning were, separated himself, as we have said, from them entirely, ^C caring for nothing at all—neither for the emperor threatening to do him terrible things, nor for those who shared his ways and brought countless pressures upon him, nor for the others who cooperated with his authority, both priests and the rest of those in office. He did, however, consider the separation from the patriarch to be altogether detestable and utterly unbearable; feeling it as if it were a division of himself, he was struck by unspeakable pain on account of it. But since he could not otherwise preserve what was profitable, he remained bearing the sorrowful things, choosing everything rather than to commit anything contrary to God, or to appear to value anything more than Him.

XLVII. Who acted more rightly, Theodore or the patriarch?

as far from him; nor did he think it profitable to himself to yield even slightly to those in power. Instead, he spoke of the testimonies of God in the presence of kings (cf. Ps. CXVII, 20), not fearing the day of man—as the divine Jeremiah says—nor bowing down to powers, nor being struck with fear by any other of the things that are seen. Having thus transcended all things of the mind, he was held by all in praise and wonder. The patriarch, moreover, revered the freedom of his speech, combined as it was with wisdom, even more; and for this reason he never wished to slacken his disposition toward him, not even in that very time of the schism, nor to change his mind entirely, nor to diminish or even slightly set aside the superlative honor with which he regarded him. However, he who was the cause of scandals and the sower of tares did not for long enjoy the fruit of the common schism of the Church; for as soon as his defender passed away, he himself was stripped of his priesthood, cast out of the sacred cloisters, and fell into a calamity even more foul than the previous one, so as to learn by the very fact that it is not permitted for those who commit iniquities to avoid their penalty, even if it does not strike immediately. But let our discourse return to the matters we set out to relate.

XLVIII. Theodore is driven to an island near Byzantium.

XLIX. The emperor attempts [to break] the Studites in vain.

^A Once he perceived that they were yielding to nothing, but were with noble-spiritedness repelling all the vanity of his arguments, he then attempted a second approach, hoping to succeed even in this with some easy-going maneuvers, since they were quite ready for him to take hold of. And so, he said to them, just as it was: "As many of you as wish to obey the emperor and to be in agreement with the patriarch and the clergy, stand on the right side; but as many of you as refuse to comply in mind and thought, go to the left, so that it may be evident from this who shares our view and who is recalcitrant toward us." The fraudulent caviller devised this slyly, thinking that by the change of place, he would also change their minds and intentions. ^B But the noble men, unswayed by these words and not letting their thoughts succumb, addressed the man in power with a divided soul: "We, O emperor, having entrusted both our souls and our bodies and everything at once to our Father and teacher, and wishing not to act—nor even to entertain in our minds—anything great or small that is not approved by him, we shall never obey you when you propose such things, nor shall we pay attention to what you have done, nor shall we in any way assent to what is now being innovated. Especially as we see that our own teacher has been separated from us, who preferred to undergo the present exile rather than betray the cause and join your party. But what could ever be worse for us than if we were to disregard the sacred canons, which are worthy of such observance, and abandon ourselves to harmful and wholly dangerous affairs? No, by the struggles for virtue and the Father's commandments in which we have been raised, we will not yield, we will not abandon the truth, nor will we align ourselves with you. ^C For the present time is certainly a test of what kind of mind and thought we have—which we shall not cast away, nor would we think anything ignoble or childish, since we are brothers in all things to those whose trial you just witnessed, and we are prepared to act and think exactly as they do." Upon these things being said by them, the emperor was struck in his mind by the steadfastness of their resolve and by their endurance of such dread circumstances, which stood unvanquished. For virtue is worthy of admiration even to one's enemies. Especially since, having thought these men easy to deal with and inclined to yield at first, he encountered instead those who were unyielding, firm, and entirely immovable. ^D Naturally, then, knowing that to punish all these men openly—besides being useless—was a sign of a foolish mind, he only ordered these noble men to be confined for the time being in very secure custody, whether to inflict greater hardship on them all later, or to deal with them at his leisure—not all at once, but one by one, intending to try whatever punishments he willed. Although his plan failed him, with the retribution that belongs to God's judgments pursuing him instantly.

LI. He commits them to custody.

^A For as the barbarians were at that time plundering with impunity, and he was setting out against them in overweening pride, confident in the strength of his horses and his arms that he would overcome them all in an instant, the wretched man found that he had raised his sword against himself rather than against them. He fell miserably in the war, and inflicted upon the Roman empire and the army a disgrace beyond telling, and a shame of countless measure.

It is worth while not to pass over the prediction which the Father made regarding this man who was destined for destruction; for he foresaw what would befall him and warned him of the impending danger, even if the senseless man did not understand even then. For when he was marching against the Scythians—puffed up with pride, swaggering, and ashamed as it were of his defeat by the holy man, and feeling that he could not go there unless he had first captured him and brought him to his side—he sent some of those in authority to persuade the holy man with threats or blandishments, and to compel him to approve of what had been done by the emperor. ^B But the divine man, then seized by an even warmer zeal, and as if possessed by the inspiration of the Spirit, revealed to the arrogant man those things which would have filled him with fear and anxiety, had he not been completely deranged in his judgment. "It behooved you, Emperor, to be led to repentance for what you have done, and not to leave the evil uncured, lest in the progress of time it becomes difficult to heal or even entirely incurable. Since, however, you are so insensible that you not only push yourself into the snare but also hasten to drag others into it, and force those who are unwilling, the eye that beholds all things declares to you through me, poor and lowly: know that you shall never return from the path upon which you are now embarking." And truly, according to the prophecy of the just man, having been captured by barbarian hands, he not only lost his life in disgrace, but his severed head was left as a plaything for the Bulgar race, who toasted with it in their cups and miserably mocked the wretched man’s defeat and ignominy at every banquet. ^C Of whom the prophet’s word might aptly be spoken: "And the house of the king, be ashamed, because your rulers shall fall by the sword, because they have transgressed my law and harmed my people."

LIV. Michael Curopalates reigns. He recalls Theodore from exile. Theodore is reconciled with the patriarch. ^D Since he, as has been said, ended his life unworthily and base, and Stauracius his son, hardly bearing the burden of the empire because of the wounds he had received, and being consumed by death after two months, as they say, Michael, who at that time held the dignity of Curopalates, took up the scepter; he was a man truly worthy of empire and most just in its administration. He, before all others, made it his concern to attend to the things of the Father, to recall him from exile, and to welcome him with every honor. Not only that, but he also...

^A swiftly proved himself an apt restorer of its members, binding together the beautiful body of the Church into one, and restoring to the priests and monks the concord they had once abandoned, for Joseph—who had previously undergone the fall from the Church—was now more plainly cut off and excluded from her, as an utterly useless member. This, indeed, was most pleasing to the Roman prelate, who confirmed this opinion by letters and by those whom he sent; for the pious emperor had also employed him as a mediator and reconciler for the union of the Fathers. Hence, after the patriarch and the holy man had settled their affairs with each other in good order, and had intensified their mutual longing with a warmer friendship, they remained thenceforth bound to one another, not only in body, but far more indissolubly in soul, the one delighting in the other, and ^B both rejoicing in the two-fold bond.

LV. *The death and funeral of Saint Plato.* — When, at that time, most holy Plato departed this life, having lived to his seventy-ninth year—a man who had labored through many toils and displayed great works of virtue—the patriarch showed here too the overflow of his love and good disposition. He himself, having hastened with the entire clergy to the monastery, stood by the dying saint, fixed entirely upon him, embracing all his limbs and sweetly kissing each one. When he had performed the due rites for him, as for a Father of Fathers, with countless lights and the offering of incense, he finally and with difficulty committed the body to the tomb, while many, as might be expected, flocked together and for a long time prevented its placement therein, as if unwilling to be deprived of the holy man even in death. ^C

LVI. — But let our discourse proceed to what follows. For the mind labors, encountering so many things, and not knowing of which it should speak first, as each point draws the discourse to itself and demands to be explained before the others. I, however, shall say a few things about each matter as they suggest themselves, and leave the task to others to commemorate everything and indeed to do so with clarity; which two things, in my judgment, hardly anyone can achieve, even if exercised in speech.

LVII. *Theodore returns to Studium; he restores discipline.* — Such, then, was the state of things concerning the great Theodore. And again, the renowned temple of Studium gathered all within it, the disciples being assembled in one place, and delighting in their noble Father. To them the admirable one spoke again with grace, and explained the toilsome nature of virtue, ^D presenting the immense labor and the countless struggles that must be endured by those who wish to contest for it. For, he said, without toil nothing else—certainly not virtue, than which nothing is more arduous—will ever be attained. And he spoke of how the things that have befallen us have revealed the inclination of the will, and have winged us upwards more strongly toward God, by whom we have also been saved, and [now have] greater...

expectation of aid. Since withdrawal and solitude sometimes instil certain thoughts and self-pleasing desires, which, because of self-love, take root and settle in the depths of the heart, the excellent husbandman ^A would pull these up wherever he saw them, and would lop them off, not allowing them to sprout even for a little while, lest they should harm the noble and fruitful shoot. Hence, all those excellent men, to a one, produced excellent fruits of good works, and by setting advancements in their hearts and becoming rich in virtues, they would cause the accomplishments that had gone before to be outshone by those that followed. Many of them, in addition to the philosophy [gained] through deeds, also applied themselves to the study of words, ^B being as diligent as was fitting in their studies, and becoming workers of words, who, by laboring over their own compositions, have left behind a memory worthy of much esteem in life. Others of them, having occupied themselves with great diligence in the divine Scriptures and having searched out their meaning more accurately, enriched themselves with a more divine knowledge, advancing further and attaining things which are accessible to few. Others again applied themselves to the hymns and melodies in the Church, and to the other psalmodies therein, to the best of their ability (knowing that we derive great benefit from these too, since the whole state of the Church is seen to consist in rhythm, order, clear voice, and melody), and not only did they use this beautiful zeal for themselves, ^C but they also imparted the benefit derived from them to all others. They did not stop there, but these good students also set their hands to all the other manual arts, considering even the most humble among them to be of great value, so that thereby they might be the more humbled, the soul being somehow molded toward what was being done, and so that they might provide for their own needs, and not have to make frequent trips out [into the world], and not, as happens to many, incur some heavy harm while seeking the things that nature requires. Therefore, every necessary art was practiced by them within—architecture, metal-working, weaving, and shoemaking, and whatever tasks are performed with ropes, along with whatever work is done around furnaces—while meanwhile each of them would employ his hands for the work, but his mouth for hymns, chanting the oracles of David, so that even the mere sight of them would bring much benefit to those who beheld their gravity, ^D their modesty, their constancy of character, and the accurate and perfect manner of discipline by which these admirable men administered even the work of their hands. And their fame, spreading ever more and more along with their virtue, covered almost the whole earth, as we have said at the beginning of the discourse. Especially because some of them, having journeyed to many places, whether because

necessity so required it or because they were scattered by persecution, wherever it happened that they arrived, they guided many toward virtue and established their own dwellings for those who gathered to them, to which they also affixed the name of Stoudios—a name which they carry to this very day, and will be called by it forever, as the name is a delight to the tongue and draws all men to itself.

^B LVIII. But sad and bitter things must be told by me again—woe is me!—and things that exceed all bitterness, such that I would rather omit these than weave a narrative so mournful and grievous to hear. But to say nothing of these things would be to abstain from a discourse on matters more pertinent; rather, for this very reason, mention should be made of those events. And indeed, it is necessary for me to recount the greatest labors of our father, however sad the history may be, so that our account might not appear to be lacking in the greatest matters. When, therefore, the divine father was living with his disciples in the monastery, as we have said, and both he and they were enjoying the highest security, and a pleasure that cannot be described was filling their souls, suddenly a wretched and ruinous storm broke upon them, both cutting off their cheer and troubling all piety toward the Divine.

^C LIX. Leo the Armenian invades the empire. For the impious Leo the Armenian, having been appointed by the Emperor Michael as commander of the East and having been permitted to travel through Thrace on account of the war then raging against the Barbarians, swelled with pride greater than himself, and having conceived the ultimate folly, and having suborned by guile the army under his command and others of the more fickle sort whom he found—winning over some with gifts and others with promises—he declares himself emperor, and—alas!—transfers to himself the power of rule, the enemy of God and peace. ^D And he, having immediately arrived near the royal palaces, since he had no one to oppose him—inasmuch as the pious Michael not only laid down the empire most easily, so that he might see no one staining his right hand with the blood of his countrymen, but even exchanged the purple for a hair shirt and embraced the monastic life—the shameless man, O the judgments of God!, became master of all things.

LX. He takes counsel concerning the overthrow of the holy images. Having seized power, he did not decide to reveal his whole brutality at once; but having first reconciled to himself and to one another those who were at odds—since he saw that many were ill-disposed toward him on account of the insurrection, being as they were loyal to the former emperor—and having craftily and deceitfully drawn over those in authority and those in office, and having pulled everyone to his side, as it seemed, then at last he decided it was profitable to bring forth his hidden malice and revealed the whole of his impiety, and, having uttered this profane voice to his namesake Leo, the profane one said: "It is not fitting, O faithful servant to me,

^A to honor or worship, or generally to admit or accept the depictions in images, but rather to tear them down and cast them to the ground as being manifest likenesses of idols." And the shameless man poured forth these things with a deranged tongue, hastening, if possible, to distribute this impiety not only to his own household, but to everyone.

LXI. *He employs John Lecanomantis as an administrator of his plan.* Consequently, those whom he saw holding tenaciously to his own opinion and depending entirely upon him—whom indeed one might not unjustly call vessels of wrath and leaders of wickedness, in imitation of Paul—these he deemed worthy to be appointed as partners in his counsel and overseers of all evils. The high priest and leader of all this band was that John, to whom the surname Lecanomantis was given by his own tribesmen, because he was surely addicted to divinations, as I suppose, and to other most disgraceful things. Since he also had a tongue skilled in lying, and possessed much and varied knowledge of sophistic arts and pagan disciplines, for this reason he was held in high regard by the emperor, and was considered by the common people to be his mouthpiece, and was employed in all business and affairs requiring management.

LXII. *He tempts the patriarch Nicephorus, but in vain.* When these things seemed to proceed splendidly and in accordance with his own intent, he thought that the archpastor of the Church himself should be attacked: not harshly or arrogantly at first, but rather blandly, and in the manner of a flatterer. Having met with him alone, after he had brought to bear every device with base dissimulation, he perceived in fact that he could not only not overcome the truest herald of the orthodox faith, but that he was even being attacked by him with no light rebukes as one opposed to the Divine, and his Stygian audacity was being torn to shreds; then he departed completely from the divine man, intending soon, with greater preparation, to assail both him and all those who stood against him at once.

LXIII. *Having convened the fathers, he discourses against images.* Since, therefore, on a certain day he had sat down with incredible arrogance, surrounded by a crown of most wicked men who had undertaken the protection and patronage of his impiety, all the priests and monks were convened together, and this very most holy patriarch himself, and the great Theodore. ^B As they listened, the lunatic began to mock and with an intemperate mouth to deride the adoration of sacred images; calling those who had erected them senseless and perverted in mind, not knowing what they were doing. ^C For the Law, he said, which the great Moses once received, written by the finger of God, clearly and explicitly forbids that anything made by hand should be worshipped, or that any image or likeness thereof should be set up, devoting to curses those who presume to do such a thing; ^D since it is an invention of idolatrous cults and that foolish madness to fashion images and to affix the divine name to them; which, in addition to being unseemly, is also most absurd, to think that the uncircumscribable can be circumscribed, and

to enclose in the boards of a single cubit Him whom no place can contain. ^A For those emperors who reigned before us, not having considered this well—I mean Leo and Constantine, and their descendant who succeeded them—ordered the images to be cast down and their veneration to be rejected. The impious man uttered these things, and even more absurd things than these, and spat them out; and, as if saying something worthy, he prided himself on these most disgraceful words, relying entirely on those most wicked men whose company he kept, and above all on their instructor and leader, with whose words, as has been said, he was primarily imbued.

^B LXIV. The Fathers resist his impiety. — But the divine company of the Fathers, not at all moved by these things, nor setting any store by the tyrant's manifold power, refuted the vanity of his speech and challenged his inept and insane doctrine with many testimonies from the divine Scriptures, calling this teachings of his, which brings ruin and destruction, a subversion of the right dogma and a denial of the Lord’s advent to us; as it contained infinite absurdity, error, and wickedness. For if, they said, we renounce the authority of the holy images, then our faith is vain, and our preaching is vain. And we have received the divine teachings from the Fathers of old in vain; and all action, virtue, and knowledge of God, and everything together, will perish for us. ^C Since the abrogation of the Lord’s image brings about the abrogation not only of God's commandments, but even of the Son of God Himself, who, having conversed with us in the communion of flesh, became man like us, and manifested the character of His divine form to us—which you, for I know not what reason, have denied, having not only taken thought for yourself for lower things, but having also led away the souls of many of the simpler folk into the same slippery path, that your wickedness might be more manifest. But for us even to sit in council with you, being such as you are, or to come together into one place, is far from what we consider fitting. For the divine David supports us, teaching ^D that we should not sit in the council of vanity, nor enter in with those who do iniquity, nor go into the church of the malignant, nor be gathered with them. And in this way the Fathers, speaking such things with one accord, attacked the apostate’s sentence as if in the first rank, displaying the extent of his fraud and wickedness.

LXV. Theodore the Superior addresses the emperor. — But our father Theodore could not contain himself from demonstrating a greater and more open boldness of speech, and from completely exposing the whole counsel and hidden thought of that insane man. Therefore, because he easily held the first place among those who had gathered, both in speech and in virtue, he undertook to say these things with a most constant mind and with the greatest freedom of expression.

LXVI. He proves the veneration of sacred images from the holy Scripture. — O emperor, grant peace to the Church of God.

^A O emperor, with what intent have you dared to disturb and pervert the now peaceful and tranquil Church of God? Did those things which befell those who persecuted it before you—whose names you have just mentioned—not come to your mind, and did they not retard your assault? For those who did the same things as you and treated the sacred images with contumely—it cannot be expressed what grave punishments they paid, so that their wickedness has been attested in historical records and transmitted to posterity. And does not the long-standing veneration of the divine images, confirmed through so many ages, and the constant consensus and harmonious judgment of the God-bearing Fathers concerning it, move you, O champion of new dogmas, to abstain from these perverse and ruinous matters, to choose the better, to desist from fighting against the truth, and to recognize it? ^B Have you not heard what the blessed Paul says when writing to Timothy? For I suppose that you have also been conversant with these things at some time, even if you have now cast them from your mind: "If any man teach otherwise, and consent not to sound words, even the words of our Lord Jesus Christ, and to that doctrine which is according to godliness, he is proud, knowing nothing, but doting about questions and strifes of words" (1 Tim. vi, 3, 4), which tend to the subversion of the hearers. And the same Apostle again: "Charge them not to teach otherwise, nor to give heed to fables and endless genealogies which furnish questions rather than the edification of God which is in faith" (1 Tim. i, 3, 5).

LXVII. ^C Argument taken from the old law is refuted. — This is exactly what has happened to you, who, applying your mind to futile discourses and not blushing to call the sacred images idols, flee as though to a certain acropolis to the old law, gathering from it for yourself that nothing created, nothing made by hand, nothing at all which is fashioned in the likeness of things, is to be embraced or honored with any veneration. In this, first of all, you ought to have considered, O emperor, that with the arrival of grace the law has ceased; to observe it now would be utter madness. Otherwise, it behooves us to be circumcised and to observe the sabbaths and to do the other things written therein, so that we might not appear to observe the law only by halves. ^D Then this too had to be considered, that the law was given to men who had recently departed from Egypt and were moving with studied zeal to emulate the Egyptians. Now the Egyptians were the most miserable of all who invented idols, as they accorded divine honors to the most worthless things and, in the estimation of other nations, to the most shameful. Whence the Prophet, when giving laws to those who had been educated among them, forbade the likeness of every form, as they were men most ready for deception and yearning for the worship of manufactured things. Yet he is not seen to have observed this always, since he made Cherubim in the tabernacle and placed them on the mercy seat. And at that time they were held in great honor and caused wonderment. LXVIII. From the mystery of the new law a sound faith

confirms. But we, brought forth by the grace that supervenied upon those things, have been led to better and far more majestic things. For what could be greater or more illustrious than that the eternal and incomprehensible God should have appeared to us in the flesh, and exhibited to all the likeness of his glorious form? Nay, rather, that I may explain the matter more deeply from the beginning: since our Creator and God, having created man adorned with all good things, saw that he had been overtaken by wickedness and had lost the beauty of the image, it pleased him by an ineffable dispensation to assume our flesh, so that he might both call back the fallen one and restore the beauty of the image that had been rendered useless. Hence, having united to himself the whole of our nature in substance, he maintained the properties of either nature—the divine, I say, and the human—without confusion, the union and mixture of these being beyond speech. Hence also he gave us the form of his holy flesh to honor, to revere, and to worship, so that in the image we might contemplate with these very eyes the mystery of the incarnation, and from the depiction of Christ which is seen in the image, we might turn the eyes of our understanding to the intellectual and unfigured form of God, aspiring toward him perpetually, and not being led astray by any of the things below. ^A

Ἵνα δέ τι ἡμῖν ἀριδήλως καὶ ὁ θεῖος πιστεύοιτο χαρακτήρ, αὐτὸς ὁ τοῦτον ὑποδὺς Σωτὴρ ἡμῶν, τὴν τοῦ οἰκείου προσώπου μορφὴν ἐτύπωσέ τε καὶ ἀπεικόνισεν ἐν χρῷ τοῦ ῥάκους ἁψάμενος· καὶ τῷ Αὐγάρῳ αἰτήσαντι (ἀνὴρ δὲ οὗτος πιστός, καὶ τῆς Ἐδέσσαν πρώτος) ἐκπέπομφεν.

LXIX. The fact of Christ sending his image to Abgar.

LXX. The difference between an image and an idol.

^A For this, it has never seemed right to any of the holy Fathers, nor indeed do the things themselves allow it to be said. For how could it? They differ by an infinite space, not only in the appellation of the name, but much more in the substance of their archetype. For an idol is, and is called, that which represents the likeness of a demon or some other of those whom the Gentiles shamefully worshipped as gods; it is uglier than the ugliest, and worse than the worst. For according to the cause, so also is the effect entirely; and of whatever the prototype is abominable, the imitation is no less abominable. But of an image, the archetype is also honorable; for it portrays the character of some saint, or even of the Lord of the saints, and that which is depicted on the panel is worthy of regard. For this is, precisely, a reflection of truth; but that is a likeness of falsehood and deceit. For thus it seemed to those learned in these matters to distinguish these names, who said that an idol is an imitation of a falsehood, ^B but an image is an exact likeness of the truth.

LXXI. He who honors the cross cannot despise images. — But since, O Emperor, the honor of the image is hateful to you, while the cross is deemed worthy of veneration, I cannot first grasp this, since now the honor of both is joined (for there is at once an image and at once a cross, since the advent of the Lord has brought glory to both); yet now, by you, the one is separated from the other, so that one has received a better lot, and the other is cast out and rejected. ^C Then I shall ask you, O interpreter of the old Scripture, how, when the Law calls the cross worthy of execration: *Cursed is everyone who hangs upon it* (Deut. xxi, 23), you, who honor the cross, do not seem to despise the Law? Indeed, you are held bound by two contraries; for you do not agree with the Law in every respect, of which you profess to be a perpetual guardian, and in this you partially agree with us, though you had decided to persecute [us] by all means. When it behooved you, since you had decided to be impious, to confess neither the cross nor the image, so that you might thus be able to act consistently with yourself, and conformably to the law which you observe. But wickedness knows not how to reason, fighting against itself, and drawing those whom it has subjected to its rule far away from all honesty; to which being once enslaved, you have had no subsequent regard for duty or propriety; led only by those flatterers who observe your ways, and by those who speak only for your pleasure, and who pursue only what is pleasant and what is for the passing day. ^D

LXXII. Association with heretics is harmful. — But it comes into my mind to wonder how you have called us to judgment, being so disposed in mind and counsel. For who will there be to judge between both sides? Who will render a verdict on the victory? When all have been occupied by you and struck by your power, for fear of punishments. For threats and tortures are proposed to those who do not favor your party. For rightly did one of our predecessors say that the first good is to withdraw from you completely; having called the heretics beasts

^A and their words and practices corrupt and destructive, [he taught] that one ought to avoid them as much as possible, and if possible, not even speak with them. To speak with them in any way whatsoever is therefore not only superfluous, but truly destructive.

When the emperor heard these things being said by the saint, and perceived the power within him, he was filled at the same time with wrath and agitation, [being] humbled by his words and by what was being cast at him by that man. But he divided the struggle by the power of his words, seeing it as something complete and invincible. Nevertheless, succumbing to his wrath, by which he was the more held, he set upon him abusively with unpleasant speeches and used harsher expressions against him, changing his voice to be more intimidating. "I know, O man"—calling him by name—"that you are always daring both in what you say and think, [with a] tricky mind; and now, [you are] quarrelsome and contentious against us, calling us unjust and foolish in our actions, and reviling us with every blasphemy; to the point that you even declare mere conversation with us to be superfluous and destructive, as if you were not having these discussions with an emperor, but with some person of the lowest sort from the populace. As I see it, you desire to be celebrated as a martyr, and so you provoke us to decree death against you, [and] you have dared to speak these things against us and to resist. But we shall not so easily grant you this glory that you are hunting. Indeed, we shall not decree exile ^B or any other punishment until we hear you again, and examine the faith of each of you; so that the winning dogma may be known without controversy, and for you, the defeat may be without excuse." The impious one said these things, trusting in the weight of his power, and having it ready to punish both all of them together and each one individually; and furthermore, so that his undertaking might seem plausible to him, as if they had first been brought to trial, and thus had already received their condemnation.

From the assembly of the Fathers, they decided ^C that they should answer nothing more to the tyrant. For it is useless, they said, for us who are already condemned to converse further, especially with those who are deaf to the reception of the better [way] and are incurable and have [all manner of vices]. Moreover, it is not fitting for us to be required to give an account of our faith by a human court or by worldly men. The great Theodore, taking up the word again, used the same boldness and began thus: "It was not right, O Emperor, for you, who are averse to all things upright and sound, for us to say or answer anything further. But since you even now provoke us to questions and answers, this we answer you before all others: that the affairs of the Churches are entrusted to the priests and teachers, but the administration of external matters is granted to the emperor." For this was also [what] the Apos- ^D [t...

^Atling [as he] proclaims: "God has set in the Church, first apostles, second prophets, third teachers," and he mentions kings nowhere. For these [the former] are the ones who ought to legislate concerning dogmas and faith, while you ought to follow them, and by no means take their place. "Do you then cast me out of the Church today?" asked the emperor, addressing the saint by name and calling him once more. "Not I," said the holy man, "but her paranymph, the divine Apostle; nay rather, having anticipated him, you have cast out yourself by the things you have done. But if it is your intention to enter into her again, stand with us who preach the truth and venerate the image of Christ, following in all things the most holy patriarch, the common Father of all; whose speech, as you see, like his character, breathes forth utility and grace throughout."

^B LXXV. The emperor dismisses [them], and imposes silence. — To this the tyrant, having nothing to say, with shouting and perturbation of mind, drove everyone from his sight; that they should not come nearer, nor speak further, forbidding [it] with a loud voice and with threats: a thing he knew how to do rightly in only one way, consistent with his own hateful soul. So the blessed, having all gone out together with the Patriarch, encircled the great Theodore; kissing the man both with their lips and with their souls, and praising [him] for the boldness and the grace of his words, by which he had put the tyrant to shame with such great superiority. But scarcely had each one returned home, when edicts were sent to each individual from the city prefect, charging each one to keep himself in, and by no means to converse at all with others, nor to confer with one another, nor to teach, nor to speak ^C at all about the faith; for this, he said, has been decreed by the emperor.

LXXVI. Theodore refuses to be silent, and confirms his own, and especially the Patriarch Nicephorus. — But when those who had been sent came to the saint, "Is it right," he said to them, "for yourselves to judge and say whether it is [better] to listen to you or to God? For you must know that we would sooner be deprived of our tongues than to fail the witness of our faith, and not defend it to the best of our ability by means of words. For what reason is there for you to strive to defend the worse cause, and for us to use silence in a far better cause? Therefore, we will not commit [the wrong] of keeping the word hidden even for an hour, and defrauding the people of its present benefit." ^D Whence, he unhesitatingly suggested what was necessary to all; calling some, approaching others, confirming others by letters, raising up the dejected and prostrate spirits, and encouraging them with words as he was able. He frequently visited the Patriarch in particular, proving himself a counselor to him in all things and a most worthy guide of what was to be done. And seeing him distressed, and as it seemed, [even] forgetful of himself, he would revive him with wholesome admonitions, and exhort him to remember the kindness of the good God. For he said, the merciful One will not suffer...

us to be tempted beyond what we can endure, nor will He leave His inheritance to be possessed by the enemies. Nor shall those who scheme lawless things against us act for much longer; but they shall receive a speedy and final destruction, even if they live now without feeling or awareness of their own fate.

LXXVII. Patriarch Nicephorus is sent into exile. Sacred images are overturned. Not long after, the patriarch is cast out from his see by the impious; he is driven from the city as well, for his defense of the truth. Those among the priests who were orthodox are likewise condemned to exile, having as their sole crime their piety. One might have seen the impious then performing deeds that only their own wicked minds could have devised and grasped. For—alas!—they were grasping the sacred and holy images with impure hands (O, how shall I describe Thy long-suffering at that time, my Christ!), ^B they were shamelessly dashing them onto the ground, committing some to the flames, smearing others with mire and filth, and omitting nothing that was fitting for such men to do.

LXXVIII. Theodorus orders sacred images to be carried in a solemn procession. Our Father Theodorus, therefore, groaning bitterly and feeling his soul ready to burst at what was taking place, prayed that the earth would open up, so that he might neither hear nor be forced to witness such things. Yet, that he might not seem to grieve over the tragedy in his soul alone, while finding no remedy for the evil, he devised a thing which might at once vex the enemies and strengthen our own people all the more. For he commands all the monks under him to take the images in their hands ^C and to carry them aloft, and to process around the entire circuit of the monastery, chanting the hymn, "We worship Thy immaculate image, O Good One," and the rest of the hymn, and singing other triumphal hymns to Christ the Victor. For it was at that time the glorious feast of Palms, which we all have been accustomed to celebrate before the Passion and Resurrection of the Lord.

LXXIX. The tyrant forbids such things, but in vain. Wherefore, the tyrant was enraged (for the matter did not remain hidden from him, as the news quickly reached everyone), and he immediately sent insults and threats, along with the one who was to deliver them, to the holy man; either he was to cease altogether from devising such things, or, if he persisted and did not change his mind, he would receive stripes and death as his wages. ^D But he not only did not weaken, but became even more courageous, setting forth the orthodox faith to all as it truly was, declaring the veneration of images in both word and deed, and caring little for those who insulted him. Many of the monks were flocking to him at that time, each laying their own concerns before him as if before a common father, and asking what they ought to do in the present situation; and how, indeed, the situation in the patriarchate

^A regarding those summoned to the patriarchate, they might flee and avoid the summons. For the leaders of impiety were summoning them, so that they might make them partakers in their own error. Regarding all these things, he was counselling them at once with what was useful and fitting, considering it best to refrain entirely, neither to gather, nor even to hold conversation with the heretics, from whom no benefit could come; and to offer an excuse by letter, explaining on what grounds it was not possible for them even if called to appear. And they were also entreating him to dictate the letter and to signify what he thought in words. Accordingly, he draws up a letter on their behalf and gives it to two of the monks to convey, which read on this wise:

"We, following divine laws and ecclesiastical canons, which clearly declare thus: that it is not right to say or do anything contrary to the opinion of one’s own bishop, nor to investigate at all or inquire into those things which pertain to dogma, or to any other more divine controversy; and we are able neither to come, with the patriarch absent, nor to obey you who summons us, lest we should bring judgement upon ourselves and fall into the guilt of violating the law. ^B For God is the avenger of such things, not allowing those who despise His commandments to go unpunished. Wherefore, forgive us for delaying the arrival which we know will be harmful to ourselves. For what answer shall we give, or what shall we say to you, when we do not have our own head, to whom we are all joined as members, and without whom it is not possible for the remaining body to perform any action? For small and great, and all together and each one individually, we are bound to our patriarch; and we cling to him, and will cling to him forever."

These letters having been brought before that tumultuous crowd, an unbridled fury seized them all, so that they vented their anger upon the bearers themselves, inflicting most heavy blows upon them. But they returned from the sight of the impious men rejoicing, because they were accounted worthy to suffer these things for the name of the Lord.

^C LXXXI. *Theodore is banished and thrown into prison.* But Theodore, that champion of orthodoxy, did not desist from his purpose, teaching at once with tongue and hand what was necessary, and clearly declaring again the dogma of the truth. Wherefore the tyrant, not knowing which way to turn, since he could no longer bear the liberty and boldness of the man, ordered him to be driven from Byzantium, to be led into exile, and to be handed over to prison. For, seeing that this one alone remained as it were a vital spark, he was eager to snatch him away from the orthodox, so that he might not have anyone afterwards who would oppose his own opinion.

The holy man, therefore, having received this decree, calls all his disciples to himself; to whom, having said farewell, and having offered ^D to each one individually suitable admonitions, he enjoined this above all upon them all: that no one should remain in the monastery after his departure, but that they should all depart, to whatever way

they might choose. For the time, he says, is evil, and the feet of the lawless are very swift. Finally, having commended everyone, and even the most notable of the brothers, he leaves the monastery, weeping for those who wept and leaving those who were in pain, himself in pain. ^A He was immediately received by the place near Apollonia, in the fortress across the lake, which is called Metopa, where he was delivered as a prisoner.

LXXXII. Thence he consoles his own with letters. Was he, then, who when free showed a free and tireless zeal for teaching, when shut up in prison now to abandon his former care, and immediately fall silent, as if oppressed by the narrowness of the place, and therefore restrain his tongue as if it were fettered along with his body? Not at all. But as he had not undergone any change, so he remained, and was entirely devoted to the teaching; to some, he spoke through his tongue of what was fitting, while to others he moved his mind by means of ink and hand, as if from the tablets of his mind; to others, in another way, as it was given to each; but to all, simply, he imparted the benefit from himself; so that even while imprisoned, he had all participating in his words and his teaching.

LXXXIII. ^B The place of exile is changed. For it could not, of course, happen otherwise than that letters and discourses passing to and fro, and in this manner, should arrive even at the palace itself, and become known to the Emperor. At which he, being angered—since he had learned of all the things that were being done, even in detail—sends that Nicetas, the son of Alexius, in whom he was accustomed to trust with everything, having ordered him to conduct the holy man to a place called Bonita. And he was to hold him there strictly, and not to allow him to see anyone, nor to speak ^C to anyone, small or great, nor should he have any freedom to do anything else whatsoever. When he had come and reported these things to the holy man, the father said: "I will change my place not at all unwillingly; for I am not circumscribed by any place, and I consider it my land wherever I may be carried; and I will count the very migration as gain. But to be silent and to restrain my tongue, I know, does not profit me; nor will I ever restrain it, nor could I be led to obey your advice, even if you counsel it. For why? Since I have chosen this lot for this reason, lest I should seem to have deserted the things I have loved, and to have renounced a noble and praiseworthy institution."

LXXXIV. He is condemned to the scourge. The Emperor heard this boldness of the just man, and his unhumbled spirit in all things. ^D Naturally, he sends Nicetas back to him, as he was ready, having prepared him to inflict very severe blows now; and to tear his flesh in parts with continuous lashes, and to cover his whole body with unbearable tortures. When he had reached the holy man, and announced the cause of his arrival, he immediately and cheerfully took off his tunic, and his body to receive the blows...

^A. This, he said, had long been desired and awaited by him. But that compassionate man, who was merciful indeed, when he saw those venerable naked flesh, which age and fasting had reduced to the extremes of emaciation, felt grief in his inmost heart; and thus he was moved, so that he dared not touch them, nor approach any closer, much less mangle them with hands and scourges. Whence, devising a clever trick with himself, so that he might appear both to have fulfilled the emperor’s commands and to have beaten the saint before the bystanders, he took a recently flayed sheepskin and placed it upon the man’s shoulders; and upon this, just as it was, he inflicted the blows of the scourges. He had provided for this beforehand, that he should be left alone with him, due to the reverence, as he said, for the man, and the extenuation and emaciation of his body. Furthermore, to be able to show drops even shed from the blood of the wounds, he himself (O the kindness of his soul!) drew blood from his own arm with a strike of a lancet; and with that which was flowing he soaked the scourge, and going outside, showed it stained with both flesh and blood. He himself, moreover, feigned exhaustion by means of rapid breathing. Thus, that pious man, carrying back a blessing from the saint, and accompanied by his prayers, returned, honored with the greatest reward of a most beautiful work.

LXXXV. He continues to exhort his own by letters. Nor indeed did the divine father become softer thereafter, or more remiss in his words on that account: which perhaps might have happened to those whom the fear of punishment deterred. But he, the heavier the things that presented themselves to his eyes, was by so much more ^B courageous and constant: distributing instructive lessons, as the situation required, to many others; but especially to his disciples dispersed throughout every region of the earth, to whom he particularly suggested salutary things, and this above all: that they should not permit their souls to be turned by any sense of present evils, but should preserve the confession of one true faith with intrepid hearts. For even if this temptation be grievous, he said, yet by so much greater is the reward which will succeed it, that ineffable and hidden one, worthy of God the giver; so that even if we were to die daily, we are permitted to offer but a very small part of those things which we are about to receive. And because he heard that some of them had begun to be influenced in their mind, and to give in ^C, whom the diuturnity of the prison and the force brought to bear upon them had indeed disturbed; he, exhorting them with fitting words, confirmed them again for future trials, and wiped away their pusillanimity entirely: so much so that they themselves asked for pardon in their responses for that very reason, because they seemed to have given way somewhat, and to have changed the state of their mind in a short time. This was the disposition of the Father’s mind toward all; this was his care and solicitude for everyone in the midst of dangers and adversities.

LXXXVI. He writes to the four Patriarchs (u). — The distinguished man also sent letters to the four patriarchs, having done this most wisely and opportunely: to the one of elder Rome ^D and to those of Jerusalem, Antioch, and Alexandria, denoting in turn for each...

how the image of Christ has been insulted by his persecutors, and how the entire body of the orthodox has been consigned to prison and exile. By this he brought shame upon both sides, inciting them to rise up in defense and to bring aid to a faith and truth endangered and thus being stifled by falsehood.

^B LXXXVII. *He is beaten because of a converted clergyman.* Since many were coming to visit him in passing, his fame and the celebrity of his name having now been scattered everywhere, and the guards not prohibiting access either out of reverence for the man or because they relaxed their vigilance in exchange for money, it happened that a certain clergyman from Asia, passing that way, came into the presence of the Father. He had, in fact, been captivated by his virtue even before this. As soon, therefore, as he saw him and enjoyed his conversation, he drank in deeply, along with other things of use, first and foremost the most certain Catholic dogma, and conceived the utmost hatred for the heretics. He returned home joyful, intending to derive the fruits of this benefit for others as well. He first of all faithfully explained everything regarding the holy man to his friend and associate, who held the same rank of the clergy: how he had seen him confined in chains, how he had been more accurately instructed and taught by him concerning the truth, and how he had learned the glorious and superlative adoration of the venerable icons. Having soon brought his friend to his own way of thinking, they—admitting no hesitation or delay—agreed together ^C henceforth neither to approach their own bishop nor to have anything in common with him, knowing him to be in agreement with the Iconoclasts. When the bishop sensed what had happened, he reported the clerics without delay to the governor of Asia, and what was the cause of their dissension. He, immediately, without pausing for even a single hour, reported everything to the Emperor by expeditious messengers, loading the holy man with insults and adding other things consistent with the character of his own perverse nature. At the same time, he commanded the Master of soldiers of the East to act by his own authority, asserting that this man alone was the cause and author of the destruction of the clerics. The latter, fearing lest he suffer any harm on this account, sent one of his subordinates to give the holy man fifty lashes and to exact punishment in this way.

LXXXVIII. *He is direly beaten by Anastasius.* Having arrived ^D and announced the reason for his coming, the holy man immediately loosened his belt himself, not waiting for the help of a servant, and casting aside his garment, offered his naked body for the blows. "For it is a pleasure to me," he said, "the scourging of this little body, and this at last is its final laying aside, so that, the sooner, I may fly as a naked soul to the One whom I desire." But he who had been sent to do the beating, being of a pious and gentle mind, and like the one before him, took such deep pity on the just man that he could not even bear to look upon the worn-out limbs of his body.

^A Rather, he even begged forgiveness from him (O good soul!), falling at his feet and shedding tears from his eyes, as he had come only to report that such a thing was to happen. The Father, acknowledging his great faith, rewarded him with prayers as was fitting, and sent him back in peace to the place from whence he had come.

Not yet had he reached the master, when another messenger came from the emperor by a different road; his name was Anastasius—an impious man. He assailed the commander with no light insults and threats, charging him with having performed his duty too negligently and laxly, in that he had not yet punished the manifest enemy of the emperor with fitting torments. And although the commander affirmed that he had sent word and that he had been scourged, the other, as if thirsting ^B for blood, hurried to the place where the saint was guarded, wishing to behold the wounds with his own eyes. Having stripped off his garments, he asked where the recent stigmata and welts might be? And when they nowhere appeared, which he desired to see, he burst into profuse laughter, mocking the man who had said he had been scourged, and with his own hands he cruelly scourged the holy man, inflicting upon him a hundred blows, and leaving him half-dead, lying upon the ground. Then he locked him in a dark and foul prison, together with his disciple Nicholas, who was the master’s constant companion and who never departed from his side; commanding the guards to harass them both with hunger ^C and other hardships, so that if any life remained in them at all, it might quickly be consumed. Having finished these things according to his own mind, the wretch took away two other disciples of the saint and went off, intending to cast them into prison elsewhere.

LXXXIX. He who had not scourged Theodorus is scourged with lashes. — So when he came to the master of the soldiers, and he reproachfully swore an oath that he had not beaten Theodorus before, the latter—fearing lest he render the emperor hostile to himself—brought forth that good man whom he had sent previously and, in the eyes of the impious one, scourged him with double the lashes that had been commanded. Thus, satisfying the insatiable one's desire, he dismissed him, mollified by gifts and blandishments. Yet, even if the author of this noble deed did pay with his own body for the mercy he had usurped toward the just man, he gained in truth a greater reward, ^D and one far different from the things he suffered.

XC. How great were the sufferings of Theodorus in prison. — But let our discourse move on to the calamities of our Father in that prison. For what straits, what distresses he endured in that dark and most narrow dungeon, experience alone could describe, nor could any speech be sufficient to declare it. For who could then describe the cold by which that frail little body, like a spider's, was vexed in winter? Who could describe the burning heats by which he was stifled through the summer, drawing hot breath, and struggling with other inconveniences? Who could describe the swarms of lice and fleas, and the tiny creatures of that kind, which this dark and

^A wretched recess, covered in dust and filth, brought forth and nurtured? Who (to mention the most bitter thing of all, and that which moves everyone to pity) could set forth and represent, in proportion to the gravity of the matter, the inflammation from his wounds, the swelling of all his limbs, and the pains and torments resulting therefrom? I pass over the mockings and insults of the guards, and the hunger imposed by them; in short, all the bitter things they applied to completely crush his nature. For they tortured him with such thirst and hunger that they would scarcely throw in a small scrap of bread, not every day, but every other day, through a narrow hole which they alone left open.

^B XCI. *He is sustained by the Eucharist alone.* It is said that the Father, at that time pressed by that great famine, said to his disciple: “You see, I tell you, my son, that these men, in addition to the hostility they exercise against us, also wish to destroy us by famine, which they know is the most miserable death of all. But let us still place our hope in God, who knows how to nourish not by bread alone, but by a far superior food; since every breath is sustained by His nod alone. And because the participation in the Lord’s body is wont to be the nourishment of body and soul for me more than for others (for the Father had with him everywhere some portions of the life-giving body, and performed the divine mysteries whenever there was the opportunity to celebrate them), I shall take this food alone, tasting strictly nothing else; while for you alone let that which was wont to be provided for two serve as nourishment; although it will scarcely suffice for you, being so very small. But perhaps you will thus sustain your little body with this light consolation, and you will prolong your life, and bring word of my passing to the *oikonomos* and the brethren, if indeed the Lord so ordains.”

^C XCII. *A pious man relieves the destitution of both in prison.* Yet He who fills every living thing with blessing did not overlook His servant, nor did He allow him to be consumed any longer by that intolerable hunger; but He deigned to provide for him by His providence, and sent him food beyond his expectation. For one of the illustri-ous men, who held a leading position with the emperor, happening to make a journey along that road, and having learned about the holy man—what state he had been reduced to, and how he was being tortured by hunger and other more grievous things—feeling for him, and God indeed moving him to mercy and providing him with the confidence and power, gave orders that food be provided for him and his disciple, and that all other things be supplied, and that they should not henceforth be left behind, despised and uncared for. And thus, by the goodness of God, his strength was restored, and he escaped that death.

XCIII. *He is scourged again with Nicolaus.* ^D For an entire three-year period after that time, remaining in that prison, he was troubled by many inconveniences, and—as is natural—struggled against many necessities, so that his stomach caused him to swell up and...

as it were, grew up alongside him as a companion in suffering. ^A Yet not even then did he find respite from these evils, but—oh, the judgments of God!—he was tested by others yet more severe, being reduced to a body dried up and consisting only of bones. For letters which the saint had dictated fell into the hands of the tyrant, I know not whence, and kindled that savage man into an immense fury, containing as they did a mark and indication of his own madness and stupidity. He immediately sent them to the aforementioned general of the East, with a mandate that he himself should go to the saint, show the letters, and scourge him most severely to the very last breath, so that, he said, he might no longer be stubborn. He, having arrived all the more quickly, first asks whether that letter which he held in his hands was his or some other person’s. When the Father affirmed that it was his and no one else’s, he did not deign to say another word, but immediately orders the disciple Nicholas, as the writer of it, to be stretched out naked before the eyes of his teacher and beaten. Then, stripping the saint himself, he inflicts one hundred lashes of the whip, cutting his limbs almost to pieces and shattering the joints of the very bones which alone remained to him. ^B He then crosses over again to Nicholas, thinking that he, having become softer on account of the lashes, would be persuaded by very harsh words to renounce the holy icons and his teacher. But when he found him firmer than before, tearing apart his hands and feet and the rest of his body with plaited leather thongs and freshly cut withes, and wounding him with repeated lashes, he left him exposed under the open sky to be tormented by the twofold pain of the cold and the lashes; for it was then the month of February.

XCVI. A demon-possessed woman reveals the situation of Theodore, though he was far away.

At the time when the saint was suffering these things in that place together with his disciple, a woman in Bithynia, who was possessed by a demonic spirit, began at that moment to be convulsed by the one operating within her. She rolled her eyes indecorously, spat foam from her mouth, and uttered such broken words as these: "My Leo has again sent lashes to Theodore, and has torn his flesh. ^C But go," she said, "and bring me an answer. Yet do not approach him, lest the flame which he carries in his mouth burn you." Then, after a brief silence, she cried out again: "What is this? Nothing that we wanted has happened. I knew that he would not be bent by the lashes, as he has the Power helping him and present, sitting upon his shoulders." And this demon-possessed woman, though she was situated far away and at a great distance from him, was declaring these things, indicating, I believe, the great grace and power that resided in the saint, and that he would remain unconquerable in all that he suffered; and that the evil spirits themselves recognized their own defeat, having raged in vain, and having armed their own servants against the invincible athlete.

^A But the divine Father, I think, suffering intolerable pains from those cruel lashes, lay upon the ground, entirely as if dead, and not even perceiving anything, except insofar as he was only aware of his pains; he was unable to partake of food, or drink, or sleep and rest, nor of any of the other things that are usually given to those who are about to expire. The disciple, seeing him in such a state, and he himself being in an equally terrible condition, nevertheless turned his attention entirely to the care of the Father. He requested a decoction of barley, and began to moisten the dried-out tongue of the Father, and by pouring a small draught into his mouth, he refreshed him a little, and, as it were, restored one who was dead to life. And when he sensed that the vital strength was returning to him little by little, he turned to tending the gangrenous limbs; for much of the flesh had rotted away, consumed by a foul-smelling discharge and pus, and it was possible to see parts hanging from other parts, all rendered useless for any function; for which reason he cut them away with a small knife and removed them from the healthier parts, so that, if possible, what remained might hold together and begin to heal.

For ninety whole days, then, the Father was subjected to this unbearable suffering and received not even a moment of respite; and in the midst of these trials, he found others enduring more violent imprisonments and longer journeys—he who could hardly cross the threshold of the prison—with the most cruel tyrant heaping further calamities upon him. For there arrived with great speed from him a certain barbarian, a fierce and inaccessible creature, a slave to money, and one who in his mind and desire anticipated money for himself. For such men were needed to execute the commands of the lawless one. As soon as he arrived at the place, his first task was to search the fissures and corners of the prison, and to pry at the walls and dig up the earth, ^B if he might discover gold, exploring with his hands. For the wretch thought that those who came for the instruction were buying it with money, and that the Father had a great store of gold laid away, and that he was of insatiable mind, even if he lacked other things. But when he saw that he was laboring in vain, and had foolishly persuaded himself (for where was there even a shadow of gold there?), then he vented his evil mind upon the others. For he cast the saint and his disciple out of the prison with insults and blows, and handed them over to the accompanying servants to take both of them to Smyrna with great haste—and there is no way to describe how much haste—for he had been ordered to take them there.

The divine Father, though his strength was already failing completely, nevertheless, trusting in Him who gives breath to the dead, followed those savagers; by day they drove him inhumanly, and by night they bound him to a wooden stake like a fugitive. ^C When, with great difficulty, he finally reached Smyrna, he was handed over to the bishop of that place, to be confined in prison. ^D XCVII. Both are imprisoned by the bishop of Smyrna. The divine Father, therefore, whose strength was already utterly exhausted, relying nonetheless upon Him who gives spirit to the dead, followed those implacable men, who pushed him inhumanly by day, and by night bound him in the stocks like a runaway. But after they labored with the greatest of efforts at last to reach Smyrna...

he was handed over to the prelate of that city, along with his disciple, a man who was a prince among the patrons of heresy and a master of impiety. ^A Thrust into a dark underground prison, he remained there, fixing his gaze only upon the Lord who oversees all things; Him alone he had as his comforter and guardian in his straits, since it was for His sake alone that he had been subjected to so many torments.

XCVIII. Both are beaten with rods there for the third time. Shortly after this, that same Anastasius arrived again, boiling with rage and thirsty for the blood of martyrs; he inflicted blows upon the saint even more severe than the previous ones, and returned cheerful to the emperor, having now struck the saint for the third time, with the result that he endured a hundred lashes each time, while his disciple struggled alongside him in the same punishment. Giving thanks for all these things, the most patient man sang to himself with a cheerful soul the words of the Apostle: ^B *The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory to come, which shall be revealed in us.* And: *If we suffer with him, we shall also be glorified together.* And: *we have need of patience, which we must not lose, because of the blessedness which we hope for, the attainment of which surpasses all speech and perception.*

XCIX.

He urges Bardas, who was sick in Smyrna, to repentance.

^A Recognize yourself now, at least at the end, and make your defense to God, to whom you are about to give an account of your deeds. ^B Having declared these things to the sick man, the Saint simultaneously troubles his mind and brings him to recognize the things he did wrong throughout his life. For a word that stings at the right moment is much better than a softer one; and immediately the man sends to the holy man, pleading for him to pardon him for having acted so evilly, and to free him from the danger before his eyes. "For you shall have me," he says, "living according to your commands henceforth; only do you yourself grant me this favor." The most compassionate man, having received the request of the one asking, heals his sickness with frequent prayer to the Divine, and restores him to health both in body and in soul; and he sends him an icon of the Mother of God, urging him to keep it as the guardian of his entire life. "For if you honor and cherish this," he says, "you will fare rightly and happily in all things; but if you reject it, you will experience the most grave evils, such as no one would wish to suffer."

^C CI. Bardas, having returned to heresy, dies. But that senseless and extremely foolish man, as if nothing new had happened to him, changes again and returns to his former opinion, having used as an evil adviser the bishop who was in Smyrna; from whom he had received oil in a vessel, in the name of a blessing and for the sake of better recovery. And as soon as he anointed himself with it, simultaneously the sickness became inclined toward him, and it turned again upon his impious head. This the Father immediately declared to be death, and a judgment of his infidelity. "For," he says, "the matter of being attached to the wicked does not go unpunished." Whence the wretched man, having quickly cast off his soul, found a most wretched end to his wretched counsel. And to him this was the result of his thoughtlessness. But the servant of Christ, having been held captive for a year and a half in the prison at Smyrna, bore everything cheerfully, not letting the nobility of his soul bow to any of the painful things. At that time, some of his disciples arrived to see him after a long time, among whom was the admirable Dorotheus, who had practiced virtue from childhood, and Bessarion and Jacob, Domitian, and Tithoes, and many others, all of whom were distinguished in their conduct and whose faith toward the Father was without stumbling.

^D CII. Theodorus returns during the reign of Michael Balbus. After God, who removes adversaries, as the Prophet says, remembered the groaning of His saints and exacted punishment from the arrogant and proud apostate—the impious one having received the blow in his bowels in the same places in which he had despised the icon of the Master—then Michael, who had managed the matter, immediately took the empire for himself. And the disasters of the Fathers were immediately brought to an end, as the order of the ruler allowed everyone to return without hindrance. For even if he was of the party of the heretics, he was by no means...

^A shameless like his predecessor, nor did he at all wish to grieve those who did not obey him, allowing each one to go about doing what he had to do by himself. And when the divine Father was released from exile along with everyone else—having been held fast for seven whole years—let us see here too what kind of return he chanced upon, and how everyone, as he traveled, gave him a brilliant reception, honoring and showing favor to such a man. For people divided themselves by families and sodalities, and everyone vied with each other as to who, having arrived first, might welcome him into their home, and who might be the first to prepare for him the things for his reception, considering it a disgrace, and indeed the greatest shame, to be seen in this duty behind others. And when the noble man reached the place by the lake—which it is customary to call Metata—there the reception was even more generous, with that admirable Leo and the inhabitants of Xerolophos surrounding him, lavishing almost all their own resources for his arrival. For nothing seemed more important to them than to honor the Father magnificently and to obtain a blessing from him, than which they thought nothing more precious. But after he was received there, and treated in accordance with his dignity, he set out from there to Pteleas, where he spent not a few days, both because of the elegant situation of the place and because it was large enough to accommodate many of those arriving. There, along with others of his disciples who gathered, he also received his own brother, Joseph, Archbishop of Thessalonica, the governor of the helm; and, invigorated not a little by the sight of them all, and compensating for his long absence with the present gathering, he was suffused with an extraordinary sense of joy.

CIII. Miracles related by Leo, who later became a monk

[VITA]

^A CIV. Leo’s daughter is healed. Returning, he says, from exile, when Theodore was traveling through these parts, it happened that shortly after he had left my home, I had betrothed a certain girl from among my neighbors to my son, who was already of age and ready for marriage; but during the wedding celebration, amid the clamor of songs and hymns, a violent fever suddenly seized her, filling everything with mourning and presenting to her a most miserable death. We were, therefore, grieving over a double calamity: both because we saw the wedding joy being disturbed, and because of the expected death of the tender and immature virgin. Since there was no other consolation left for me, I sent in haste to the holy man, who had not yet proceeded very far from our house, imploring aid for the girl, and especially for me, who was suffering much more gravely. He immediately sent back oil blessed by him, and ordered the one lying there to be anointed with it. As soon as I performed this, the girl felt better and was freed from the heat of the fever; so that, what is more wonderful than the healing itself, it never troubled her again, not even in the slightest.

^B CV. Leo is saved from a leopard. On another occasion, when I was walking alone to a distant village, as need dictated, a leopard suddenly appeared before me, having arrived from I know not where, and, looking at me with a fierce gaze, it acted as if it were about to seize me and—alas!—make my flesh its own meal. I, being in such unavoidable danger and not knowing what to do, turned to the great Theodore, placing all hope of salvation in him alone; and, relying upon him with unwavering faith, I spoke with an undaunted voice to the leopard: "Depart from me, you beast, and do not dare to touch me; for I am going to Christ’s servant, Theodore, whose servant I am, and who is my guardian and protector in all things." The beast, as soon as it heard the name of the holy man, was immediately terrified and, looking toward the ground, turned its back and, as if deliberately avoiding the road, moved very far away.

^C CVI. An obsessed girl is delivered. There is a village called Achirao. In it dwelt that Leo who had unhappily been joined in marriage to a woman who possessed an unclean spirit. The demon afflicted her with such violence that she would sometimes tear her own flesh and devour it, having no sense of the pain, nor of her own miserable condition. When, therefore, the saint was passing through those regions, riding on a donkey (for in this manner he was accustomed to be carried on longer journeys), Leo met him with his wife, bathed in tears, with a dejected countenance and prostrate with grief, begging him from the depths of his heart to succor the afflicted one and to drive out the violent and ^D extremely baneful demon. Touched by his mercy and feeling for her grievous plight, the saint laid his hand upon the crown of the woman’s head, marking it with the sign of the cross, and recited the customary prayers against the evil...

spirits; and at the conclusion of the prayer, the calamity reached its end, the evil demon having instantly fled, and the woman having recovered her senses. And a certain wonder occurred at that very hour, accompanying the miracle. For at the expulsion of the unclean spirit, the nails of the hands and feet of the suffering woman also fell off ^A at the same time, causing astonishment to those who saw it and serving as a most paradoxical proof of the power of the one who was working.

CVII. *Other miracles.* For me, it would have been enough, even without adding anything else to what has already been said, to show from these things what kind of grace the Father possessed for the performance of miracles: so that one might marvel more at the speed in these cases, and more at the greatness in these cases, and more than both, at the philanthropy of the Giver, which is beyond speech and beyond description; that He might have the most excellent means to do good. And since it is not sufficient for those who know to leave the rest unstated, let our discourse set these forth as well.

CVIII. *The river is restrained.* A certain river flows through the region of Pteleae, which is called in rustic language Onopnictes, having been given this name, I suppose, because it drowns many beasts of burden of that kind, namely asses. This river often swelling and pouring its many currents out of its channel, not only seizes animals and beasts of burden, but also devastates and floods almost the entire land of the Pteleans, along with its inhabitants. When, therefore, the inhabitants saw the saint arriving in that place, they all with one accord addressed a common petition to him, imploring him to put a stop to this calamity for them, which they spoke of as their undoing and destruction; and while it prevailed, they affirmed that life was unlivable for them. ^B Without delaying for even a moment, Theodore hastened to the river. There, having offered vesper hymns to God, he fixed a cross constructed of wood into the bank that was accustomed to overflow. The course of the river, beholding this sign from that time on, never overflowed, but restrained its waves within its own channel, and caused no further damage by flooding.

CIX. *Miracles recounted by Sophronius.* But now, having omitted those miracles that occurred at Pteleae, regarding which the account—both that of the admirable Leo and of many others—is not obscure, as the discourse has already said, it is fitting for me to commemorate what has been done in other places, and especially those things which the truly divine man Sophronius—who lived for a very long time and was also the superior of this monastery—clearly related to us. The details of these are as follows:

CX. *He obtains an easy end of life for an invalid.* While the Father, he says, was living in the monastery, it was his task and earnest endeavor to go frequently to the infirmary, both to visit the sick and to provide for other things. When one day he went there, he saw a man afflicted by a grievous illness, who, because of the severity of the pains [that he was suffering...]

was longing for death. When the one who was ministering to him asked whether it would be favorable to him to depart from the present life—and he had replied that the exchange of his tabernacle would be the greatest pleasure and joy of soul for him, so grievously and bitterly was he suffering in his body—the other reported this conversation of his to Theodore, and described the things of which the sick man was in need. ^A Having been immediately moved deeply in his soul, and feeling pity for the pains of the sick man, he turned to prayer and besought the migration of the brother, pouring forth prayers with great movement of soul and much mourning. When these were finished, "Go," he said to the man who had reported the matter, "and prepare the things necessary for the brother's burial. For he has fallen asleep, just as he requested." When the man went back, he found that he had already breathed his last and given up his soul.

And the divine Sophronius used to relate this about himself. "I once had occasion," he said, "to travel into Paphlagonia, together with the disciple Nicholas, who was a companion of the Father and a fellow-laborer. ^B In the evening, we both rested in a field where there was an untold amount of hay. There was in that place at that time a body of armed soldiers, who had encamped there; these, having lit fires, were preparing their supper. Since I do not know how the fire spread, and, as is the way with easily inflammable material, had consumed everything with it, a clamor and confusion immediately arose in the army; they all rushed upon us in disorder, and were on the point of doing violence, saying no word, not questioning, not addressing us in any other way, but only tacitly laying the whole cause of the smoldering fire upon us. ^C Fearing their intent, as was natural, and despairing of everything, we called upon the great Theodore, so that he might deliver us from the sudden danger, and provide a way and means of salvation. For to you alone, we said, most holy Father, it belongs to stop those who are unjustly lying in wait for us and who are about to commit against us the most extreme slaughter. And, oh, the speed of his kindness! For while we were still turning the petition upon our tongue, a heavy rain suddenly poured down, both extinguishing that prevailing fire and changing the soldiers into a state of wonder; for those who before were breathing slaughter against us, he made humble, and as they looked downward, he subdued them.

And a certain woman of noble birth related to the divine Sophronius a miracle that happened to her, describing it in this way: ^D 'A fire,' she said, 'had broken out in the house that I then had, the one in Rhabdos; the fire encircled it, surrounding the whole house; I was in danger of seeing all my possessions consumed as fodder for the flame, with neither the pouring of water, nor any available specialized instrument capable of extinguishing the fire, as it had seized everything with such violence. In the meantime, however, I had a thought pass through my mind, and the thing that was close at hand—'

^A I decided to take the Father’s letter, which he had sent me shortly before, out of my bag and throw it into the fire, in case the fire, in reverence for it, might check the violence of its onrush. When, therefore, I set to work and threw that venerable letter into that useless flame, crying out at the same time, "Saint Theodore, help your handmaiden in her peril," one could immediately see that fierce power of the fire extinguished and grown weak, settling down into nothing but ash and smoke. Who among those living now, or among any who have ever lived, has heard of such a wonder from a small letter? Compared with this, all other notions of miracles are nothing. Thus, for us, even the simplicity of the language will not diminish the greatness of the deed. For it is as it appears in the works themselves, and it surpasses all rhetorical art, and transcends every narrative composition. ^B

CXIII. He who despised the sacred hymns of Theodore is punished.

^A leaping from his bed, and feeling bitter pain, trembling with fear, and with his body swollen from the blows, which he immediately showed to everyone, recounted with great emotion the whole incident that had befallen him, uttering grievous reproaches against those corruptors on whose account he had suffered such things; and he cast them out of his house as quickly as possible. And wishing to appease Theodore, he thenceforth strengthened his faith in him, following the poems of the great man with veneration and love, and treating them with more honor than can be described; and thus he brought true healing to his soul.

CXIV. Various afflictions dispelled by the aid of Theodore.

But since I see that other miracles must be commemorated by me, I shall embrace them in a brief and, as much as possible, concise narrative, lest the discourse linger too long on these matters. And first, let us speak of him who, vexed by a demon, received health without delay when he had poured forth prayers at Theodore’s tomb, and Theodore himself, about to dispel such an illness, offered himself to be seen by him at night. For he appeared healthy afterward, and in his right mind. Furthermore, after this, let us speak of that man who, having consumed some poisoned food and being tormented by the most severe internal pains, so that one would scarcely believe he could be delivered from them, having received oil from the ground near Theodore’s coffin and having poured it into his mouth three times, vomited out that lethal poison and recovered his health, being completely healed and freed from all pain.

But another person, too, pressed by no lesser stomach pains, found a medicine for his grave illness that was neither slow nor difficult, but rather the swiftest of all and beyond all hope. For by merely gazing upon the image of the Father and invoking his name, he was immediately relieved of every infirmity and restored to health. ^B And it seems to me that, in addition to these miracles, there is also this one, not inferior in the speed of its cure, where a certain man, by the consumption of this same sacred oil and the invocation of the divine name, ejected a stone that was obstructing his genital parts. Furthermore, let there come to my memory among other things the one who, constricted by the disease of panic and fearing all things through an insane terror, as soon as he anointed his whole body with the same oil and sat for a while by the sepulcher, was freed from that grave perturbation of soul, and showed thereafter a steady mind in all things. But what need is there for me to enumerate everything? Since it is permitted from what has been said to estimate even those things which we have passed over, and to perceive the grace of him who performed them. Leaving these, therefore, to those who already know, since those things are known to many, I shall turn my discourse to other matters, and to those whose narrative is connected in the order of events. ^C

CXV. The journey of Theodore towards Prusa.

The blessed man, therefore, as has been said by me above, having spent a considerable time in the place at Pteleis, moved thence and arrived at Prusa. And at his arrival...

the monks who inhabit Olympus learned that he had come, and all ran together at once, desiring both to see his appearance and hear his tongue utter something beautiful. For the man was long since beloved and most gracious to them in all respects. Having addressed them all individually with fitting words and having, as he was able, paid the debt of love, he left Prusa and set out on the road to Chalcedon, to see that Theoctistus, who of old had been honored with the rank of magister, but now had embraced the monastic life, with him as his instructor and shepherd. He was not a little refreshed by the sight of him, observing in him so much virtue and such application and example of a righteous life.

^A CXVI. He meets with Patriarch Nicephorus. — He then went to the patriarch—I mean Nicephorus, his companion in the struggle and his friend—who was staying in his own monastery, which lies near the strait. Having deemed this meeting to be the utmost pleasure, he clung to him with his whole being, demonstrating the disposition he held toward him in unspeakable words, and consoled their former separation with their present union. After he had enjoyed the company of the one he longed for to his heart’s content, and since he intended to visit others as well, so that he might have the opportunity to sow virtue, he left him for a short time and headed for the places called those of Crescens; where, being greeted by many monks and laypeople coming together to him for the sake of their duties, he poured forth useful and salutary things to everyone, revealing the abundance of divine things with his flowing tongue.

^B CXVII. Advice given to the monk Peter. — Among the rest, there was present that most celebrated Peter, unmatched in virtue, who came to the great man to confer with him about many other things and about the wicked reputation which some were stirring up against him, criticizing his life and actions. For there were some who carped at the man because they saw him living a life set apart from the common rule and showing no small signs. The Father, having questioned him accurately about each of these things, and having discovered that he reasoned rightly in all matters, and that he had risen above even to virtue, from which grace had also naturally sprouted in him, said to him: "If you listen to me, relax a little this novel and completely untouched manner of life; and choose rather to hold to a way of living similar to others, which is both profitable and expedient. Using for food this bread which others eat, and at times wine, and other foods as much as is reasonable, so that you may appear to partake of these also, and may effectively escape the pride that comes from fasting, and may close the mouth of those who are currently slandering you, and may be found blameless in no matter. Furthermore, since it is your custom, among other things, to go barefoot, in my opinion this seems not at all necessary; indeed, I would deem it better for you to protect your feet with some covering and to keep them unharmed during the winter season." When he had counseled him in this manner, he in turn admonished his accusers with words, that they should not rashly attack such a man, nor draw judgment upon themselves by thinking the opposite of him, but rather that they ought to praise and admire such a man, for his character is such, and truly so based on the truth.

^A When he met with the leading bishops, they took counsel together with the patriarch to go before him who held the scepter, and to lay before him the things they required, so that they might receive back their own churches and drive out the heretics who possessed them. Having discussed each point with the ruler—how they themselves had been violently driven out by the former emperor, how the divine images, whose honor comes from on high, had been shamefully insulted, and other matters besides which needed to be clearly and explicitly set forth—they realized that they were speaking to a deaf man and casting their words before one who had no understanding. For he was completely insensible to the divine word, and was neither able to comprehend what was said by them, nor to apply his mind to these things at all; for how could he, who as yet had seen nothing holy, nor had learned anything better either from himself or from others? ^B Therefore, when the Fathers had gone over the matters of the faith at great length, he replied to them only this, absurdly and foolishly: "Even if your words are noble, they are not to be accepted by me, for as yet I have neither honored nor venerated an image. Therefore it is just for me to remain as I am, and for you likewise to maintain your previous state and follow your own established belief. For I do not forbid any of you from doing this. Only I do not wish for an image to be set up in the royal city at all, but far away, wherever you wish." Hearing this, the Fathers immediately left Byzantium, and Theodore returned to the places of Crescentius, and there ran his course of asceticism with his disciples. ^C A short time later, that Thomas fomented a rebellion against the Romans, plundering everything and running about, in order to shift the power to himself. Therefore, for fear of being captured by those outside, everyone entered the royal city, some willingly, others being led by others. Then the divine Father also entered with them and dwelt there until the uprising that had arisen was quelled and the division of power resolved. ^D Then, when Thomas's forces were suddenly cut off and he became a prisoner of the emperor, the Father left the royal city again. He did not arrive at the places of Crescentius, but set his dwelling in the peninsula of Acritas, at the place sacred to the holy Tryphon, from which he often appeared before the patriarch, discussing appropriate matters and increasing their longing for each other even more, as if the patriarch were returning his love in equal measure, and demonstrating his own disposition of soul in many ways. And indeed, wishing to show once the abundance of his love, he praised the holy man in the hearing of many bishops, and recounted the sufferings he had endured more than all others, enumerating his exiles and imprisonments, and every other kind of bodily affliction. And when it was necessary for both of them to dine together and to share a table

CXX. The Patriarch’s veneration for Theodore.

the Patriarch would have others seated below himself, and those who had been allotted places after them. Only the holy man, however, did he make his companion and fellow-diner at the same table. For this marvelous man was venerable in my eyes, and worthy of such honor, that whatever one might do for him, one would still seem to have done nothing, nor would it appear fitting, because of the excellence of his virtue and his incomparable humility. For not even if one were to offer him all the honor that exists among men, would he ever be moved from his restraint, or persuaded to discard even a little of his humble disposition. For this reason, he was all the more to be preferred to those present to me, and was most distinguished in his love. Such was the honor the Patriarch held toward the great Theodore; such was his disposition and affection; and thus did all defer to him for the first place, deeming it a great thing for themselves to be ranked after him. ^B Away with envy, which is ever begrudging toward what is beautiful and ever casting aspersions upon the better sort. Let the tongue that chatters vanities be silent, and let the shameless one cease from uttering things that have no existence. For who, seeing the benevolence and unanimity of these divine men, and the bond that held them together, would not laugh at those fault-finders who wish to cast aspersions on facts so manifest, obscuring and confusing a truth that shines like the sun, as if they had nowhere to hide their own deeds, or as if it were possible for them to succeed in any other way, unless they set upon others? But let them be as they are; we, having everywhere preferred the truth, shall now cling to it all the more; and having taken heart, as was possible, we have set forth the matters of the Fathers, and we have demonstrated the purity and guilelessness of their mutual affection by the facts themselves. ^C CXXI. The death of Theodore. — But now the time calls us to the end of the blessed one; to which the discourse is reluctant to approach, yet it will approach, even if the narrative be mournful. He had desired his release, he who lived with no other hope than that of the life hereafter, and who had made this his study always. And being so filled with longing, and being entirely given over to thoughts of the life to come, he did not wish even in his final days to hold his tongue even a little, or to see it unoccupied; but he hastened to benefit those who came to him with his words, handing over what was conducive to their good, and bidding them farewell; and for those who were far away and absent, he fulfilled the duties of conversation by hand and ink, commending them to God and praying for the salvation of their souls. For it was the great man’s concern to leave no one behind, ^D but to depart while holding the cares of all in his heart. This he esteemed highly, and made it his care for all. As his death was announced, one could see a throng, not to be numbered, gathering to him. Some one could see arriving from the imperial city, others from the surrounding regions, and others still assembling from elsewhere.

^A Nor were most of the bishops absent, nor again the superiors of the cenobies, and the monks stationed under them; all came racing together at once, so that they might either hear the Father when he spoke, or enjoy a catechetical discourse, or behold him as he was departing, or that they might in any way whatsoever become easier in their minds by that approach. For they considered even the mere fact of being brought near to him to be of the greatest benefit. For the admirable man was sweet in his speech, yet sweeter in his manner, and most sweet in his company; in his character he was orderly, serene, compassionate, gentle, free from anger, humble, and whatever else a man might possess in abundance according to God.

Having lived, therefore, for ^B sixty-seven years, he fell into a grievous illness about the beginning of the month of November; and the complaint of the stomach pressed upon him more severely, and constrained his whole body to that bed, and rendered him almost like a corpse. Yet he, even while possessing such pains and being altogether filled with torments, was yet totally turned toward his disciples, so that he might even speak a little, if the occasion arose; and when he was with difficulty slightly relieved, immediately from his lips would flow his accustomed teaching again. Yet his tongue was in a sorry state, already scorched by the fever, and could only speak with difficulty and in a low tone; having dictated the contents of that discourse to one of his scribes, through him he transmitted his words to the others. The beginning of that discourse for him was thus:

CXXIV. The dying man's speech to his own.

Following the delivery of the present catechesis, immediately the illness also released him; ^D and having become stronger, and walking on his feet, he performed the divine mystagogy in the Lord’s house, for the sake of which God had granted him health all the more so that he might have this [opportunity] and offer the sacrifice in due time. Whence, having duly conversed with the Fathers who were with him and with the others, and having shared the meal with them, he again lay back upon his little bed. And indeed, he summons the steward. Now Naucratius was—

he who also held the administration after him, whom, when he had instructed him thoroughly in all things and had given him many excellent proofs of how he ought to rightly preside over the brethren, he again interrogated concerning those things which he most desired to hear. Is there anything, he says, O Father and brother, that has been left undone by us in our duty? Has anything that was required been passed over or neglected otherwise due to our own indolence or laxity? Have we perhaps, of those who were with us and could have been improved, betrayed their salvation, neglecting such great advantages of profit? For my soul is beset and in such anguish, considering how it is about to undergo the judgment of each person; and what speech will be sufficient for it at such a tribunal, before which even to stand is terrifying and utterly intolerable?

^B CXXVII. He lies back again. — When he had said these things to Naucratius, on the following day, which was the sixth of November, sacred to the memory of Paul the Confessor, he seeks the Church again, both to perform the sacred rites and to address the brethren. When evening came, and he had finished the customary hymns to God with them, he enters his cell alone, and conversing with God alone—a little with his tongue, but more in his mind—as the night was already deep, he felt that his malady was increasing, and that the pains were becoming sharper than before. And as he was no longer able to bear such labor in silence, he summons the man who was sleeping before the doors of his cell, and explains to him the force and sharpness of his pains. As the man was crying out lamentably due to the magnitude of his grief, the disciples ^C ran up immediately, weeping and wailing, as those who thought the Father was about to die at any moment. Tortured therefore by these pains for two days, when he knew that his end would come very soon, and overwhelmed by the separation for the tears of those present, as he was able, he announces the details of his departure to the disciples.

CXXVIII. The final words of Theodore to his own. — Fathers, he says, and my brethren, the end of my life is now at hand, as you see, which I have always held to be expected by me. For this cup is common to all, even if some drink it sooner, and others later. For since we have been brought into this life, it is necessary that we should also grasp the end of life, the good Lord having so ordained, that those who enjoy life should also undergo death. ^D I myself, then, must enter upon the same path as others, and depart to where my fathers have gone before me; where there is eternal life, or rather, where my Master and Lord is, whom my soul has loved, whom my heart has desired; whose servant I was called, even though I have neglected my service; to whom I have entrusted my whole life. But you, O beloved children, remain in our words, keeping what you have received, and guarding your life and your faith undefiled at the same time. For both are necessary for you, if you wish to be pleasing and acceptable in both. You know how I have kept nothing back from you, so as not to announce the truth; but I have declared what was fitting to all, both publicly and privately; which I pray may...

remain fixed and immovable in your minds. ^A I pledge to you, moreover, that if I, a humble man, should find any boldness on the day of the Lord, I will not cease to plead and to pray for you; so that you may be led toward what is better, and that your cenobitic community may ever receive greater increase, as I take each one of you in order and offer you to the Savior. Having finished these words to his disciples, the Father added this at the end: “Greet the absent Fathers on my behalf, both the bishops and those priests who are not present, and speak to them as is fitting; and to those brothers who are everywhere, and to all others who have maintained the confession, deliver this final greeting from me.” Being asked thereafter by the divine Naucratius concerning the monks and laymen who were doing penance, he answered: “God will forgive all, let no one’s faults be imputed to them.”

Having thus [disposed himself], he remained for two other days, blessing those approaching him and signing them with the sign of the cross. For many were coming to him at every hour; others arriving from elsewhere, and those who arrived before the ones who were departing could get away. ^B When Sunday arrived, on which the memorial of the great martyr Menas was also being celebrated, it being the eleventh day of the month, he realized that he was a little way off from passing away; wherefore he also ordered the customary doxology to be performed. Then he also partook of the divine mysteries, that he might have that participation as a provision and as the gladness of his soul. Immediately he also instructed his disciples to light lamps and to begin the funeral hymns. They, standing in a circle and chanting, “Blessed are the undefiled,” ^C as soon as they had spoken the verses, “I will never forget your justifications, for in them you have quickened me,” he also gave up his soul, always seeking the things above and passing over to the blessedness beyond. And the thrice-blessed saint is joined to the saints, the priest to the priests, the martyr to the martyrs, the great voice to the heralds—that which resonated through almost the entire world—and the one illustrious by his confession to the confessors, having obtained this name by a special title. Whose sacred body, having been brought to the island of the Princes with such honor that it cannot be described, could scarcely at last be committed to the grave; for the multitude that had flowed together was, as much as it could, preventing the interment and forbidding it to be laid down. ^D

CXXX. Prayer to Saint Theodore.

But you, O most holy Father, having thus lived and thus departed, now receive your rewards in the heavens, standing before the Great One, and illuminated by the rays of the blessed and primordial Trinity, more clearly and more purely receiving with your whole mind the brightness of the Godhead, and becoming deified by this union. Remember also your flock, which you

^A loved, and for which you laid down your life; to which you promised that you would always assist and support it. For trusting in you, we implore your intercessions for our aid. For we know your disposition toward us, O best of Fathers and most loving of your children, so that you may both guide us to better things in all respects, and bring us into the most tranquil harbor, granting us this reward of your headship, that we may complete our present life without stumbling; and, with you as our mediator and advocate, may we stand before the God of all and share in that brightness there.

CXXXI. *His translation.*—But since it was also meet that his very holy and sacred body should be honored with a better portion, eighteen years having passed, and the war against the Church—which the detestable Theophilus had lastly stirred up—having already ceased, it was brought back in a brilliant and famous procession to the royal city, the illustrious Methodius and the pious Theodora having brought it from the island, and placed it in the monastery of Studium; in which the ^B rich casket of the great Plato and of the most blessed Joseph is likewise kept. And when it was brought in, the divine Patriarch himself, and the whole clergy, and throngs of monks and of the multitude, having poured forth outside the city with candles and diverse incense, received it with upturned hands, and finding it whole, entire, and sound, and filled with an ineffable fragrance, they returned praise to God, the King of all, and brought it into the resting place of the Fathers. To Him is honor and glory, with His only-begotten Word, and the life-giving Spirit, now and ever, and unto the ages of ages. Amen.

NOTICE CONCERNING THE FOLLOWING LIFE OF ST. THEODORE THE STUDITE

The Life of Saint Theodore the Studite which we publish in the following pages is expressly inscribed to Michael the Monk in two manuscripts of the Vatican Library, 608 and 1256, as we have said in the note on p. 138*, and as Allatius conveniently reminded us in the same place in the chapter on Theodore. Therefore, the Life which is read in the volume of Sirmond does not have Michael as its author, but either an anonymous writer or perhaps a certain John, as Allatius suspects (loc. cit.). We have no time to inquire more curiously into the cause of the error (into which we also fell when we were publishing the new writings of the Studite), since two witnesses claim it for Michael, and Allatius confirms this. The prologue indeed is entirely new; the diction in the remainder always differs from that of the published Life; but the narrated events scarcely vary. We do not permit this lucid biography of the Studite (what a man!) to lie hidden any longer in manuscripts: and so that it may be more useful, we have also labored to provide a Latin translation of the same, although the writing is sufficiently prolix.

LIFE AND CONDUCT OF OUR HOLY FATHER AND CONFESSOR THEODORE, ABBOT OF THE STUDION MONASTERY, WRITTEN BY MICHAEL THE MONK

^A 1. Many holy men, flourishing in times past throughout different lands and countries, have, like the sun, illuminated those who encountered them with the rays of their own virtues, and have incited both the lovers of what is good and those who were living carelessly and heedlessly, urging them toward the pursuit of divine virtue and stirring them to choose a better way of life. Just so, the supreme pastor of our recent congregation and luminous column of the confession of Christ, Theodore, rising as a star of great brilliance in our own age and region, became known to almost the entire world through the splendors of his ascetic life and his athletic contests of confession. He appeared as an exceedingly courageous emulator of those who had excelled in former times; and, having gathered in himself their remarkable achievements, he represented them so effectively that the voice of his teaching reached as far as the east, the south, the west, and the northern lands. Indeed, branches from the orchard of his disciples, planted by him and blessed by God, spread even unto those regions, so that they truly became a most fruitful garden of souls and schools of virtue. ^B There is absolutely no corner of the earth into which the fame of his life and the name of his institution have not penetrated.

But how that illustrious leader and Father lived his life among us, some of his disciples recorded in verse immediately after his passing, encompassing the manifold greatness of his sublime virtues in a few brief lines of poetry. Following them, other priests of the Church composed a commentary in a historical manner and in the form of a panegyric, clearly and at length, preparing a remedy against oblivion for the aging generations. And indeed, it was easy for the dedicated, or at least for those whose mental faculties were not clouded by ignorance, to read those writings and to learn from them the entire manner of life of the most holy Father, which excelled in many respects, and to perceive the utility to be gained from it, if they but wished to admire his profound wisdom and the institution of the cenobitic life,