Letters to Olympias

TO MY LADY, THE MOST VENERABLE AND RELIGIOUS DEACONESS OLYMPIAS, JOHN THE BISHOP, GREETING IN THE LORD.

EP. I

1. Come now, I will once again alleviate the ulcer of your despondency and scatter the thoughts that gather this cloud. For what is it that disturbs and grieves your mind, and makes you so anxious? Is it because the tempest that has taken hold of the Churches is fierce and dark, and has turned everything into a moonless night, and is intensified day by day, and brings forth, as it were, bitter shipwrecks of labor, and the ruin of the world is growing heavier? I know this, and no one will deny it; and if you wish, I will fashion an image of what is happening, so as to make the tragedy clearer to you. We behold the sea being churned up from the very abyss, with sailors floating dead upon the waters, others sinking below the surface, the planks of the ships being dissolved, the sails being rent asunder, the masts being snapped, the oars escaping from the hands of the sailors, the pilots sitting on the decks instead of holding the rudders, clasping their hands to their knees, and wailing at the desperation of their plight, crying out sharply, mourning, and lamenting—nothing but darkness everywhere, deep and sunless and gloomy, so that one cannot even see those nearby, and the roar of the waves is great, and sea-monsters are attacking those sailing from all sides. Rather, how long shall we pursue things that are immovable? For when I seek an image for the present evils, my speech, overcome, retreats. Nevertheless, seeing even these things, I do not despair of a better hope, contemplating the Governor of this whole, who does not overcome the storm by art, but dissolves the surge by a nod. But if He does not do so from the beginning, nor immediately, it is His custom not to dissolve troubles at the outset, but when they have grown and come to their peak, and have been despaired of by the majority, then He works wonders and creates paradoxes, both exhibiting His own power and exercising the endurance of those who fall into them. Therefore, do not be cast down. For there is but one thing, Olympias, that is terrible—temptation, sin alone; and this word I have not ceased to repeat to you constantly. All other things are a fable—whether you speak of plots, or hatreds, or deceits, or slanders, or insults, or accusations, or confiscations, or exiles, or sharpened swords, or the sea, or the war of the whole world. For whatever these things may be, they are transitory and perishable, and they occur in a mortal body, and they do not harm the watching soul in the least. For this reason, the blessed Paul, wishing to show the worthlessness of both the good and the grievous things of this present life, indicated the whole in one word, saying, "For the things that are seen are temporary" (2 Cor. 4:18). Why, then, do you fear things that are temporary, which flow past like river currents? For such are the present things, whether they be good or grievous. Another prophet compared all human prosperity not to grass, but to another, more worthless matter, calling it all together "the flower of grass" (Is. 40:6). For he did not assign even a part of it—such as wealth alone, or luxury alone, or power, or honors; but, having encompassed all things that appear to be brilliant among men with the one name of "glory," he thus brought in the image of grass, saying, "All the glory of man is as the flower of grass."

2. But, you say, this misfortune is terrible and heavy. But see this, too, compared to another image, and despise it as well. For, comparing insults, and abuses, and reproaches, and the jeers of enemies, and plots to a garment that has grown old and wool that has been eaten away, he said, "Fear not the reproach of men, and be not overcome by their contempt, for as a garment they shall be worn out, and as wool they shall be eaten away by the moth" (Is. 51:7, 8). Let nothing, therefore, that is occurring disturb you, but leaving off calling upon this person and that, and running after shadows (for this is what human assistance is), call upon Jesus, whom you serve, to nod but once; and everything is resolved in a single moment of time. But if you have called upon Him, and it was not resolved, such is God's custom, not to dissolve the terrible things from the outset (for I will resume the former argument), but when it has reached its peak, when it has grown, when almost nothing is left of the malice of those fighting, at that point to change everything suddenly into calm, and to lead the very matters to unexpected states. For He is not only able to do such good things as we expect and hope for, but even much more, and infinitely greater. Wherefore also Paul said: "Now to Him who is able to do above all things, far more than we ask or think" (Eph. 3:20). For could He not have prevented the three children from falling into that temptation from the outset? Yet He did not...

gain for themselves a profit. And for this reason, He allowed them to fall into the hands of barbarians, and the furnace to be stoked to an incredible height, and the king's wrath to be inflamed more fiercely than the furnace, and them to be bound very tightly hand and foot and cast into the fire. But when all who were watching them had given them up as dead, then at length, suddenly and beyond all expectation, the power of God, that most excellent Artificer of miracles, revealed itself and shone forth in a pre-eminent way. For the fire was constrained, while those who were bound were loosed; and the furnace was transformed into a temple and a fountain and a dew, and it appeared more majestic and august than the royal court; and the nature of the hair overcame that all-consuming substance which masters even iron and stone and, in short, all matter. ^A And that most harmonious choir of the saints stood there, calling upon both of those created things for this miraculous concert, and they sent up hymns of thanksgiving to God, for the fact that they were bound, for the fact that, so far as it lay with their enemies, they were burned, for the fact that they were cast out from their fatherland, for the fact that they were carried off as captives, for the fact that they were stripped of their liberty, for the fact that they were bereft of cities and homes and were exiles, for the fact, finally, that they dwelt in a foreign and barbarian land; for this is the mark of a grateful soul. ^B And after the wickedness of the enemies had been fully accomplished (for what more could they attempt beyond death?) and the virtue of the athletes had been fulfilled, and the crown was woven, and the rewards for them were collected, and no further splendor remained to be added to the glory of the name, then at last the evils were dispelled; and he who had kindled the furnace and had condemned them to such a grievous punishment, the same man extols those holy athletes with miraculous praises and proclaims the miracle performed by God, and sends letters filled with great praise to every part of the world, recounting what had happened and showing himself to be a witness to the divine miracles, worthy of belief. For since he was himself an enemy and an adversary, for that reason what was written was beyond all suspicion even among enemies. ^C Hast thou seen what He wrought beyond the expectation of men? Hast thou seen His kindness and His care? Do not, therefore, be disquieted or troubled, but for all things steadfastly give thanks to Him, and praise Him, ask, and supplicate Him as a suppliant; even if six hundred tumults, six hundred perturbations and storms arise before thine eyes, let nothing of these trouble thee. For the Lord is not forestalled by the difficulty of things, even if all things have fallen into total ruin. For He is able both to rouse those who are lying low, and to call back those who are wandering into the way, and to correct those who have suffered a stumble, and to deliver and make upright those who are covered with countless sins, and to grant life to the extinguished, and to provide greater splendor to things that have been destroyed, and to renew those things which have contracted age. For since He brings it about that things which were not come to be, and brings it about for those things which were in no way visible that they should exist, ^D much more will He amend those things which exist and which have been made. But are there many who are perishing, many to whom scandal is given? But many such things have often happened, which nevertheless afterwards obtained such healing as was proper; unless, perhaps, some have remained stubbornly in an incurable malady even when things have changed. But why dost thou afflict thy soul and cast it down on that account, because this one has been cast out, that one introduced? Christ was being led to the cross, and Barabbas the robber was being requested, and the corrupted mob was crying out that the homicide should be preserved rather than the Savior and the author of so many benefits. How many men dost thou think these things caused to stumble, how many men did they lead to ruin? But it is better to repeat the discourse from higher up. Was not He who was fixed to the cross, immediately as He came into the light, forced to migrate, and with His whole house banished from His very swaddling clothes to a foreign land, being led off into the region of the barbarians, separated by such a long interval of journeying? For which cause also a great flood of blood was poured out, slaughters and massacres occurred, and every tender age was cut down just as in battle and in the battle-line, and infants were torn from the breasts and butchered, and while they still had milk in their throats, the iron was driven into their gullet and neck. What can be imagined more grievous or bitter than this tragedy? And these things were being perpetrated by him who was seeking to kill Him: and yet God in His long-suffering, when such a tragic crime was being designed and such a flood of blood was flowing, allowed it—allowed it, I say, when He could have prevented it, displaying in an ineffable wisdom such great equanimity and long-suffering.

Chapter 3.

[GREEK COLUMN] 553... a glutton and a wine-bibber, a friend of tax collectors and sinners. And when He spoke with the harlot, they called Him a false prophet. For if He were a prophet, they said, He would know what kind of woman this is who is speaking to Him. And daily they whetted their teeth against Him. And it was not only the Jews who fought against Him in this way, but not even those who were considered to be His brothers were sound towards Him, but rather the war against Him was fanned among His own kin. 552 Behold, then, how even they were corrupted, from the fact that the Evangelist afterwards added: For not even His brothers believed in Him. ^A 4. But since you have mentioned many who were scandalized and led astray, how many of the disciples do you think were scandalized at the time of the cross? One betrayed Him, others fled, one denied Him, and when all had withdrawn, He was led away bound alone. How many, therefore, who had previously seen Him working wonders—raising the dead, cleansing lepers, casting out demons, causing loaves to spring forth, and performing other miracles—do you think were scandalized at that time, seeing Him led away alone and bound, surrounded by base soldiers, followed by Jewish priests who shouted and stirred up trouble, with all His enemies having taken Him captive alone in their midst, while the traitor was present and for the moment exulting? And what of when He was scourged? It is likely that a vast multitude was present. For it was a renowned festival that gathered everyone together, and it was the metropolis that received the drama of lawlessness, and at mid-day too. How many, therefore, do you think were present then and were scandalized, seeing Him bound, scourged, streaming with blood, examined by a governor’s tribunal, and not one of the disciples present? And what of when those various, continuous, and repeated mockeries took place against Him—at one time crowning Him with thorns, at another casting a cloak upon Him, at another putting a reed in His hand, at another falling down and worshipping Him, stirring up every kind of mockery and laughter? How many do you think were scandalized, how many troubled, how many disturbed, when they struck Him on the cheek and said, Prophesy to us, Christ, who is it that struck You? And they led Him and led Him around; the whole day they were consumed in this—in taunts and insults and mockery and laughter in the midst of the Jewish theater! ^B And what of when the servant of the high priest struck Him on the cheek? What of when the soldiers divided His garments among themselves? And when He was led up to the cross naked, having the lashes on His back, and was crucified? For not even then were those wild beasts softened, but they became even more manic, and the tragedy intensified, and the mockery increased. For some said: He who destroys the temple and in three days builds it up. Others said: He saved others, ^C He cannot save Himself. Others said: If You are the Son of God, come down from the cross, and we will believe You. And what of when they insulted Him by offering Him gall and vinegar to drink? What of when the robbers reviled Him? And what of that which I said before, that horrific and most lawless act, when they said that that robber and house-breaker, full of countless murders, was worthy to be asked for rather than Him, and having received their choice from the judge, they preferred Barabbas, wanting to heap not only crucifixion but also an evil reputation upon Christ? For they thought they could establish from this that He was worse than the robber, and so lawless, that He could be saved neither by philanthropy nor by the dignity of the festival. For they did everything for this purpose—so as to slander His reputation. It was for this reason that they crucified the two robbers with Him. But the truth was not shadowed, but shone all the more. They even brought an accusation of tyranny against Him, saying: Everyone who makes himself a king is not a friend of Caesar; imputing a charge of tyranny against Him who had nowhere to lay His head. And they also slandered Him concerning blasphemy. For the high priest tore his garments, saying: He has blasphemed; what further need do we have of witnesses? And the death—what kind was it? Was it not violent? Was it not of those condemned? Was it not of the cursed? Was it not the most shameful? Was it not of those who had committed the most extreme crimes, and were not even worthy to breathe out their soul upon the earth? And as for the manner of the burial, was it not filled with grace? For someone came and requested His body. Thus, not even he who buried Him was of His own kin, of those who had been benefited, of the disciples, of those who had enjoyed such boldness and ^D salvation, as all had become fugitives, all had fled. And that evil reputation, which they manufactured by means of the resurrection, saying: His disciples came and stole Him, how many did it scandalize, how many did it trip up for the time being? For indeed the report prevailed at that time, even though it was fabricated and bought with money; yet nonetheless it prevailed among some, after the seals, after such great manifestness of the truth. For the multitude did not know the account concerning the resurrection, since not even the disciples themselves understood: For they did not even know, he says, at that time, that He must rise from the dead. How many, therefore, do you think were scandalized during those days? But nonetheless the long-suffering God endured, ordering all things by His own wisdom and ineffable counsel. 5. Then, after those days, the disciples were again hiding, lying low, fleeing, fearful,

moving from place to place, they were hiding; and after fifty days, when they began to show themselves and work miracles, not even thus did they gain security. For even after those signs were performed, infinite offenses occurred ^A among the weaker: in that they themselves were being scourged, the Church was being troubled, and with them driven out, the enemies in many places were superior and stirring up tumult. For when they had attained great boldness and freedom of speech because of the miracles, then again the death of Stephen brought on a severe persecution and scattered everyone, and threw the Church into tumult and trouble: and again the disciples began to be in fear, again in flight, and again in the greatest anxiety and anguish. ^B Yet even so, the affairs of the Church were always increasing, as they were flourishing through signs, as they had bright beginnings. And one man was being let down through a window, and thus escaped from the hands of the governor; and an angel led others out, and thus delivered them from chains; and others, again, who were vexed and harassed by those who were flourishing in wealth and power, were being cared for in every way by the bazaar-people and artisans—the purple-dyers, namely, and the tent-makers, and the tanners, those dwelling in the furthest recesses of the cities and by the shore and the sea. Often, indeed, they did not even dare to appear in the middle of cities; or if they did dare, the hosts certainly dared not receive them. And thus, through trials and recreations of spirits, matters were woven, and those who had been offended not long before were later healed; and those who had wandered were led back into the way; and what had been prostrate and leveled to the ground was built up more magnificently. For this cause, although Paul had contended in prayers that the Gospel might progress through quiet alone and tranquility, the most wise and most skillful God did not grant the disciple’s request, nor, though he was often asked, did He yield to his prayers, but used these words: *My grace is sufficient for thee; for my power is made perfect in weakness* (2 Cor. XII, 9). If, therefore, you now wish to weigh the successes against the hardships, if you do not see many signs and ^C miracles, you shall nevertheless see many things not unlike miracles, which are indeed clear proofs of God’s great providence and help. But lest you hear everything from us without labor, I leave this part to you, that you may accurately and diligently collect everything, and compare it with the troublesome and bitter things, and thus, distracting your mind with a noble occupation, you may avert yourself from sadness and anguish: for hence you shall perceive the greatest consolation. Pray, give my most earnest greetings to your whole blessed house. May God grant that you are always in firm bodily health and a joyful and cheerful spirit, my most venerable and religious lady. If you wish to write me a longer letter, let me know of this, and do not deceive me; namely, that you have laid aside all sadness of mind, and lead your life in tranquility. For in this is situated the remedy of my letters, that they may produce for you great joy of mind: and you shall receive frequent letters. But do not write to me again that you receive great consolation from my letters: for I know that well enough; but [receive] as much as I desire, so that you are neither troubled in mind nor shed tears, but live tranquilly and with joy.

To the same Epist. II

^D [a] The first letter that came was indeed sufficient to calm your inflammation; but because the bitterness of sadness afflicted you in a greater manner, therefore I thought it necessary to add another letter to the former, so that you might perceive copious and abundant consolation, and your health might now be in safety. Come, therefore, I will also brush away from elsewhere the dust which you have contracted from sadness of mind. For I believe it has been turned into dust from the ulcer and the most grievous tumors. But not even so must the care of your health be deserted: for dust also, unless one repels it with the greatest care, brings destruction to the most excellent part of all, namely, infecting the transparency of the pupil, and troubling the whole eye of the one who is mourning. Lest, therefore, this also happen here, let us tear out the remnants of evil with the greatest care and zeal. But you also, rouse yourself, and offer your hand to us. For just as it is accustomed to happen in those who are of a sick body, that if the physicians indeed perform what belongs to their duty, they themselves however do not fulfill their parts, the gain of health is interrupted: in the same way, the matter is accustomed to be in the soul also. Wherefore, lest this happen, for that prudence which is required of you, take pains that you also fulfill your parts: so that on both sides a huge utility may arise. But perhaps you will say, I desire that indeed, but I cannot, nor, even though using great contention, am I equal to repelling the dense and dark cloud of sadness. These are mere excuses and mere pretexts: for I know the nobility of your mind, the strength of your pious soul, the magnitude of your prudence, the power of your wisdom, and I know it is enough for you to command this raging sea of sadness, so that all things may be rendered tranquil. But so that you may be able to achieve that more easily, let us compare those things which are of our part. By what reasoning, therefore, will you be able to effect that? Namely, if you consider with yourself all those things which are contained in the previous letter (since many things were commemorated by me in it, which look to this argument), and besides this, do that which I now command you. It is pernicious to be broken in mind for others' sins. — What then is this? When it has been brought to you that one of the Churches has perished, another is tossed by a tempest, another is overwhelmed by savage waves, another is even affected by most grievous disasters, another has accepted a wolf for a shepherd, another a robber for a governor, another an executioner for a physician, although it is permitted to grieve;

by most grievous disasters, another has accepted a wolf for a shepherd, another a robber for a governor, another an executioner for a physician, although it is permitted to grieve; yet only so far as to impose a limit upon grief. For if in those matters in which we ourselves transgress, and for which we are about to render an account, it is by no means necessary, nor even safe, but rather most destructive and harmful, to grieve with ^A excessive vehemence, much more is it superfluous and vain, and besides this, Satanic and ruinous to the soul, to be softened and broken down over the transgressions of others.

2. And that you may understand that these things are so, I will tell you an old story. A certain Corinthian, having enjoyed the sacred waters and having been cleansed by the mystery of baptism, and having partaken of that most awesome table, and having participated in all the mysteries among us without exception (many say that he even held the rank of a teacher), after this sacred rite, and after having attained to the possession of all those ineffable goods, and holding the first rank in the Church, fell into a most grievous sin. For having looked with wicked eyes upon his father's wife, he did not stop at this base and impious desire, but he also carried his licentious intention into action; and what he dared was not merely fornication, but adultery, or rather something far more grievous than adultery. Therefore, the blessed Paul, having heard of this, and not having any name suitable to bestow upon the sin, indicates the magnitude of the transgression in another way, saying: *It is actually reported that there is immorality among you, and of a kind that is not named even among the Gentiles* (1 Cor. 5:1). He did not say, "It is not committed," but, "It is not even named," wishing to show the excess of that transgression. And he delivers him to the devil, and cuts him off from the entire Church, and does not even allow him to share in a common table. ^B For he says that one should not even eat with such a person; he breathes much fire, demanding the ultimate penalty from him, using Satan as an executioner for this purpose, and through him cutting his flesh. Yet Paul, who cut the man from the Church, who did not allow him to share in a common table, who commanded all to mourn on account of him (for *you have become arrogant,* he says, *and have not rather mourned, that he who has done this deed might be removed from among you* [1 Cor. 5:2]), who drove him away from everywhere like some pestilence, who shut him out from every house, who delivered him to Satan, who demanded such a penalty from him—when he saw that he had grieved and repented of what he had done, and was singing a recantation through his deeds, he so shifted his own position, that he commanded those to whom he had ordered these things to do the opposite. For he who said, "Drive him out, turn away, mourn, and let the devil take him," what does he say now? *Reaffirm your love for him,* he says, *lest such a one be swallowed up by excessive sorrow, and we be outwitted by Satan; for we are not ignorant of his designs* (2 Cor. 2:7, 11). Do you see how it is Satanic to grieve immeasurably and for the ^C work of that snare to exist, which makes the saving medicine a poison through immoderation? For it truly becomes a poison, and hands the man over to that one, whenever it falls into immoderation; wherefore he also said, *Lest we be outwitted by Satan.* What he means is this: The sheep was full of much mange; it was alienated from the flock, it was severed from the Church; but it corrected the disease, it became such a sheep as it was before; for such is the power of repentance. It has therefore become one of our flock. Let us draw him to ourselves entirely, let us receive him with open hands, let us embrace him, let us fold him in our arms, let us unite him to ourselves. For if we are unwilling to do this, then the devil outwits us, not taking his own, but taking one who has become ours through our own negligence, and, through the immoderation of despondency, plunging him down and henceforth making him his own. Wherefore he also added, *For we are not ignorant of his designs,* that he is accustomed to trip up those who are not watching, even through those things which are beneficial, when these things are not done as they ought to be.

3. If, then, over those things for which he himself has transgressed, and that such a transgression, Paul does not allow him to be carried away by much grief, but hastens and is eager, and does everything and employs every means so as to cut off the weight of despondency, declaring that immoderation is Satanic, and the greed of the devil, and a work of his malice and his wicked intentions—how, over the transgressions of others, and for which other people are to render an account, is it not the height of folly and madness to be so cut up and to grieve as even to bring such darkness, and confusion, and turbulence, and ineffable storm into the mind, and much noise there? But if you say the same things to me again, that "I wish to, but I have no strength," I will say the same things to you again, that these are pretenses and excuses; for I know the nerves of your philosophic soul. But that I may from another direction make your resistance and victory over this untimely and ruinous despondency easier for you, do this which I again command. Whenever you hear someone telling of this utter destruction, leap away quickly from these thoughts, and run to the consideration of that day, the fearful one, and meditate within yourself upon the judgement seat, the awesome one, the incorruptible Judge, the rivers of fire, those that are dragged before that seat and are seething with the most violent flame, the sharpened swords, the severe punishments, the hell that has no end, the sunless gloom, the outer darkness, the venomous worm, the chains that cannot be broken, the gnashing of teeth, and the inconsolable weeping, the theater of the world, or rather the ^D theater of both creations, [558] the upper and the lower. For *the powers of the heavens will be shaken,* he says (Matt. 24:29), Christ says. For even if they are conscious of nothing against themselves, nor are they about to render account, yet beholding the entire race of men, and the countless multitudes being judged, they do not stand there without fear. Such is the sight

there, and how great is the dread at that time. Reflect on these things, and those irrefutable proofs. For that Judge needs neither accuser, nor witnesses, nor proofs, nor arguments; but He brings everything as it was done into the midst, and before the eyes of those who have sinned. Then there will be no one present to rescue one from the punishment—no father, no son, no daughter, no mother, no other kinsman, no neighbor, no friend, no advocate, no giving of money, no abundance of wealth, no tumor of authority or power. But all these things are cast out like dust from the feet, and the one who is being judged, from the things done by him, is either acquitted or condemned. Then no one is called to judgment for things another has committed, but for what he himself has done. Having gathered all these things, therefore, and having heightened this fear, and set it against the satanic and soul-destroying sadness, stand your ground against it in the battle; in which, merely by appearing, you will be able to shatter and destroy it more easily than a spider's web. For it, ^A besides being vain and superfluous, also brings immense detriment and destruction; but that fear is necessary, and beneficial and useful, and has with it great profit and gain. But indeed, I have been swept away by the momentum of the speech, and have undertaken to counsel you, a thing not fitting for you—for to me and those who like me are weighed down and overwhelmed by a multitude of sins, this word is necessary; for it creates fear and rouses—but to you, flourishing in so many achievements of virtue, and already touching the very arch of the heavens, it could not bring even a tiny bit of fear. Therefore I will turn myself to another style of music, addressing you, and I will strike a different string; ^B since this fear cannot fasten onto you, unless it also fastens onto the angels. Let us therefore turn hither; and do you also turn yourself together with my discourse, and ponder within yourself the rewards for the things you have done rightly and with praise, the brilliant palms, the radiant crowns, the choir with the virgins, the holy bridal chambers, the bedchamber of the heavens, the seat with the angels, the confidence and familiar intercourse with the Bridegroom, that marvelous splendor, the good things that exceed all speech and understanding of the mind. Do not hold my words against me, therefore, because I have enrolled you in the choir of the virgins and the class of those holy ones, having lived in widowhood. For you have often heard me, both privately and in public, when I was explaining what the definition of virginity is, and contending that nothing would ever be an impediment to her being referred to the number and order of virgins, nay, that she would even surpass by a long interval those who had manifested a specimen of great philosophy in other matters. And for that cause Paul also, when he was describing a virgin, not only called her a virgin who was free from marriage and bridal intercourse, but also the one to whom those things that pertain to the worship of God were a care (1 Cor. 7:34). ^C And even Christ Himself, showing how much almsgiving, of which you have long held the primacy and obtained the crown, excels virginity, cast out half the part from the choir of virgins, because they had entered without this virtue, or rather because they did not possess it abundantly; for they did have oil, but more sparingly than was fitting. In contrast, those who had approached without virginity, because they were adorned with mercy, He received honorably, calling them the blessed of His Father, calling them to Himself, and bestowing upon them the inheritance of the kingdom, and proclaiming their virtues with the whole world watching (Matt. 25); and indeed, with the angels and the whole race of mortals present, He did not hesitate to call them the nurturers and hosts of Himself. This blessed voice you too will hear then; this reward you will attain most abundantly. Furthermore, since for almsgiving alone such great rewards, such great crowns, such great radiance, such great splendor, such great glory are received, if I should recount other parts of your virtue, what pardon could you obtain, when, while you ought to be keeping a feast, exulting, leading dances, and binding your head with a crown, you are instead, because one person is seized by madness and another has cast himself down, consuming yourself with anguish, and rendering your holy soul an easy encounter for the devil, whom you have not ceased to lacerate to this very day? For why should I mention your varied and manifold patience? What speech, what volume of history could be sufficient for me for this thing, if I should want to recount the calamities which you have endured from a tender age to this present time; that is, which you have received from your own and from others, from friends and from enemies, from those related by blood and those not touching you by any degree of kinship, from those flourishing in power and from the humble and abject, from those holding office and from private individuals, and finally from those who were counted among the clergy? For there is nothing of these which, if related one by one by someone, could not make a complete history. But if one should turn to other types of this virtue, and embrace in speech those afflictions which not others now, but you yourself have brought upon yourself, what rock, what iron, what adamant will he not find surpassed by you? For while you had received a body so tender and delicate, and accustomed to every kind of luxury, you have so besieged it with various afflictions, that now it is in no better state than if it had been entirely extinguished: for you have excited in it such a swarm of diseases, that it outdoes both the art of physicians, and the power and faculty of medicines, and every kind of cure, and you yourself exist in perpetual pains. ^D And as for the endurance and austerity regarding the table and the nightly vigils, what speech would one use? Although there is no longer cause for anyone to use the term "continence" or "endurance" regarding you; but another name much more excellent must be sought for these virtues. For we say a person is endowed with continence and endurance when they are vexed by some desire, and overcome it. You—

[561] …you have no one to overcome; for with such great force you breathed against the flesh right from the beginning, that you extinguished these desires of it, not by bridling the horse, but by hobbling it, casting it to the ground, and causing it to remain motionless. And at that time you achieved self-mastery, but now you have achieved freedom from passion. For the desire for luxury no longer molests you, and you have labor in holding it in check; but having once and for all caused it to disappear, and having rendered the flesh inaccessible to it, you have trained the stomach to enjoy only as much food and drink as is necessary so as not to die and bring upon yourself punishment. For this reason, I call this not fasting, nor self-mastery, but something greater than this. This can also be seen regarding your sacred wakefulness; for the desire for sleep, with that other having been extinguished, was extinguished along with it—for food is the nourishment of sleep. And you conquered it by another way as well, having from the beginning constrained nature itself, and having spent whole nights awake; yet later, by constant habit, you brought the matter into a state of nature. For just as for others it is natural to sleep, so for you it is to be awake. These things truly are marvelous and full of astonishment, even when considered by themselves; but if one were also to examine the time, that these things were being achieved at an untimely age, and the lack of those to teach you, and the multitude of those causing scandal, and that in a soul that had just deserted from an impious household to the truth, and that in a female body, and one otherwise delicate on account of the magnificence and luxury of your ancestors, how many oceans of wonders will he discover opening up in each of these things? For this reason, I will not even mention the others: your humility, your love, the remaining virtues of your holy soul. For just as I remembered these, and spoke their names, my mind caused ten thousand springs to gush forth again, and it struggles to tell of their forms, as of the previous one, even if only in part—or rather, only the subjects themselves; for that is something that seeks a very infinite discourse. But I will not suffer myself, so as not to fall from the subject I chose to complete, to be carried off into an infinite ocean. For if this were not incumbent upon me now—to uproot your despondency 341 from you—I would gladly have lingered on these words, and sailed an infinite ocean, or rather oceans, cutting through the multifaceted paths of each of your virtues, of which each path gave birth to an ocean again—whether in patience, or in humility, or in almsgiving, the multifarious kind, spread even to the very ends of the earth, or in love, which conquers ten thousand furnaces, or in wisdom, which is infinite and full of much grace, and has transcended the measures of nature. If anyone were to wish to go over the achievements born of these, he would do the same as if someone were to attempt to count the waves of the sea.

6. Therefore, having passed by these infinite oceans, ^B I will strive to show the lion by its claw, discoursing a little about your attire, about the garments worn simply and at random. For the achievement seems lesser than the others; but if one were to examine it precisely, he will find it to be very great, and one requiring a philosophical soul, and a soul that tramples upon all worldly things and is flying towards heaven itself. For this reason, not only in the New, but also in the Old Testament, when God was leading the human race through shadow and type, and the things of the commonwealth were being ordered more bodily, and there was not yet any discourse concerning heavenly things, nor mention of things to come, nor any riddle of the philosophy that now holds sway, but the laws were written for the Hebrews in a somewhat cruder and more fleshly way, with much vehemence forbidding the adornment of garments, He says these things through the prophet: *Thus says the Lord to the ruling daughters of Zion. Because the daughters of Zion are exalted, and have walked with a high neck, and with winks of the eyes, and in their walk dragging their tunics, and playing with their feet; and the Lord shall humble the ruling daughters of Zion, and will uncover their figure, and will take away the glory of their apparel. And there shall be to you instead of sweet scent, dust; and instead of a girdle, you shall be girded with a rope; and instead of the adornment of your head, you shall have baldness because of your works; and instead of a tunic of purple, you shall be girded with sackcloth; these things you shall have instead of adornment* (Isa. 3:16-18, 24). Did you see the unspeakable wrath? Did you see the most severe punishment and vengeance? Did you see the intensified captivity? From this, conjecture the magnitude of the sin. For the Lover of mankind would not have brought such a most severe punishment, had the sin that draws it upon itself not been much greater. But if the sin is great, it is evident that the achievement, which stands opposite to it, is also very great. For this reason, also when conversing with worldly women, Paul not only leads them away from wearing gold, but does not even allow them to put on expensive garments (1 Tim. 2:9). For he knows, he knows clearly, that this is a grievous disease of the soul, and one difficult to overcome, and it is the greatest indication ^C of a corrupted judgment, and one greatly needing a philosophical mind; and not only the worldly women, who have associated with men, and none of whom easily bore this exhortation, demonstrate this, but also those who seem to practice philosophy, and who have been chosen to belong to the choir of virginity. For many of them, having successfully fought against the tyranny of nature, and purely running the race of virginity, and imitating an angelic commonwealth in this, and demonstrating in a mortal body the preludes of the resurrection (For in that age, He says, *they neither marry, nor are given in marriage* [Luc. 20:35]), and having set themselves to competition with the bodiless powers, and struggling for incorruption in a corruptible body, and achieving through their deeds things that for many are not even bearable to hear, and warding off desire—just as one would a rabid dog constantly leaping upon one—and stilling the raging sea, and in wild [circumstances]

sailing with tranquility through the waves, borne by the surges of a sea that is stirred up quite violently, and standing in the furnace of natural desire, yet not being burned, but instead walking upon these coals of desire like mud, were nevertheless captured by this very desire in a very shameful and wretched way, and even when they had been able to achieve greater things, they were condemned by this.

[ζ] For the matter of virginity is so great, and it requires such great labor, that Christ, when He descended from heaven to make men into angels and to plant the heavenly mode of life here, did not even dare to command this or to prescribe it by law, but rather He legislated on dying—for what could be heavier than that?—and on being continually crucified, and on treating enemies with kindness; but He did not command virginity, but left it in the discretion and will of those who hear Him, saying, "He that is able to receive it, let him receive it" (Matt. XIX, 12). And the magnitude of the matter and the difficulty of these struggles and the sweat of these contests are great, and this place of virtue is indeed very steep and slippery: this is shown also by those who achieved many things in the Old Testament. For that great Moses, the head of the prophets, the sincere friend of God, who enjoyed such great boldness of speech that he obtained from God the rescue of six hundred thousand men liable to punishment, snatched from the stroke of the divine plague—that man, so great and so distinguished, commanded the sea, and divided the deep, and shattered the rock, and changed the air, and turned the water of the Nile into blood, and brought an army of frogs and locusts against Pharaoh, and transformed the entire creation, and displayed a myriad of other wonders, and provided many proofs of virtue; for he shone in both aspects; yet he could not even turn his eyes toward these struggles, but required marriage and the embrace of a wife and this kind of safeguard, and dared not entrust himself to the sea of virginity, fearing the waves thereof. And the patriarch too, that priest of his own son, was able to trample down the most tyrannical of natural passions, and he was able to put to death his son, and indeed his son Isaac, in the very flower of his age, in the very prime of youth, his only-begotten, his genuine son, given to him beyond all hope, and blooming with many virtues, upon whom alone he relied, and even in extreme old age; and he was able to take him onto the mountain in order to perform such a deed, and he built an altar, and gathered wood, and placed the victim upon it, and snatched the knife, and pressed the sword against the throat of the child. For he pressed it and drew blood, that adamant, or rather, firmer than any adamant. For he possesses this by the force of nature; whereas this man imitated that natural firmness and hardness by a philosophic choice, and displayed angelic impassibility through his actions. Yet nevertheless, he who was able to endure such a great and distinguished struggle, and to issue forth from the very limits of nature, dared not undertake the struggle of virginity; but he himself also feared this arena and embraced the consolation of marriage.

[η] Do you wish me to add Job to these? That righteous man, the lover of truth, the pious one, who abstained from every evil deed? (Job I, 1). This Job, therefore, crushed the face of the devil; being struck himself, not striking, he emptied the devil's entire quiver; and though assaulted by constant arrows from him, he endured every form of temptation, and each one to an immense degree. For those things which have the appearance of troubles in this life, and are truly troubled, these are, above all, poverty, disease, the loss of children, the attacks of enemies, the ingratitude of friends, famine, continuous bodily pains, insults, slanders, and evil reputation; all of which were poured out into one body and constructed against one soul, and what is even more grievous, they arrived unexpectedly. And what I say is to be understood thus: whoever is born of poor parents and brought up in such a house will easily bear the trouble of poverty, as he is exercised by usage and custom; but he who overflows with so much money and abounds in such wealth, and then suddenly slips into the opposite state, will not easily bear such a change; for to the inexperienced, who falls into it suddenly, it seems more bitter. And again: whoever is ignoble, and had obscure parents, and lives in perpetual contempt, is not very much disturbed by curses and insults; but he who, having previously enjoyed such great glory and being surrounded by everyone, and being celebrated in everyone's mouth, and proclaimed with great splendor, then falls into infamy and contempt, to him it must happen as to one who has become poor from being rich. In like manner, whoever is deprived of children, even if he loses them all, provided it is not at the same time, relieves the mourning which he takes from those who have died with the consolation of the survivors: and when that grief which the death of the former brought has been settled, if after some time it happens that another departs from life, this calamity becomes milder for him; for it does not strike a wound that is still recent, but one that has been settled and removed, which indeed takes away no small amount from the pain. But on the contrary, this man saw the entire chorus of his children snatched away in one point of time, and that too by a most bitter form of death. For this death was both violent and premature, and the time and place added no small heap to his grief; for it was at the time of a banquet, and in that house which was open to guests, and finally, the house became a tomb for them. For what new thing, which cannot be expressed in words, should I mention regarding that famine? Should I call it voluntary or involuntary? For I do not know by what name I should call it, and I find no name to impose upon such an unexpected calamity. For he abstained from the table set before him, and did not touch the foods which he saw. For the stench of the wounds by which his own body was afflicted oppressed every appetite, and poured trouble even upon the table itself. This is what he declared also in these words: "I see my food as a stench" (Job VI, 7). And the force of hunger indeed compelled him to taste the food offered; but a certain incredible stench, which proceeded from his own flesh, overcame the force of hunger. Therefore, as I have already said, I have no way to call it. Voluntary? But he was forced to eat the food set before him.

[The text begins with the continuation of the previous section, reflecting the internal struggle and suffering of Job.]

^A ...desire to taste. Coerced? But the food was at hand, and there was no one to prevent him using it. Now, how could I describe his pains, the springs of worms, the fluid flowing down, the reproaches of his friends, the contempt of his servants? For My servants did not spare me, he says, from the face of spittle; those trampling upon me, those leaping over me? For those whom I did not deem worthy of the dogs of my flocks, he says, these now have fallen upon me, and they rebuke me. Does it not seem to you that all these things are grievous? For they are indeed grievous. Shall I tell you the head of his evils, the colophon of his calamity, that which most of all choked him? The storm of unrest occurring within his own mind was what most of all suffocated him, and was unbearable; and his conscience, pure as it was, made the inward tempest all the more [violent], and darkened his reason, and disturbed his pilot. For those who are conscious of many sins in themselves, even if they suffer something terrible, have at least the means to find an explanation for what happens, by considering their own sins, and resolving the disturbance that arises from confusion. ^B Again, those who are conscious of nothing evil in themselves but are flourishing in good deeds, if they suffer something similar, knowing the doctrine of the resurrection and considering those rewards in store, they know that these happenings are but contests and subjects for countless crowns. But this man, being just and knowing nothing of the resurrection, was storm-tossed most of all by this, not knowing the cause of what he suffered, and, concerning the worms and the pains, was more deeply pricked by this very lack of understanding. And that you may learn that these things are so, when the philanthropic God deigned to tell him the cause of these contests—that *in order that you might be revealed as just, these things were permitted*—he breathed again as though he had suffered none of those painful things, and he revealed this by the things he uttered. And yet, even before learning the cause, he was in pain, but he bore it nobly, and after losing everything, he uttered that admirable voice: *The Lord gave, the Lord took away; as it pleased the Lord, so it came to pass; blessed be the name of the Lord forever* (Job 1. 21).

9. On the Difficulty of Virginity

9. But indeed, I appear to have been carried too far from the subject at hand, being enthralled by the love of this man; therefore, having added a few things, I shall return to the matters proposed. This man, then, so great and of such stature, who had trampled underfoot so many necessities of nature, did not dare himself to enter into this contest [of virginity], but he enjoyed the company of a wife, and became a father to so many children. Such is the difficulty of virginity; so high and great are its contests, and grievous its labors, requiring much fortitude. And yet, many of those who have stripped themselves for this contest have not mastered that passion, the desire for the adornment of dress, but have been captured and overcome even more than secular women. Do not say to me, "That gold is not worn, nor are silken and gold-woven garments put on, nor are jeweled brooches held." For this is the most grievous thing of all, and that which demonstrates the excess of their disease and the tyranny of the passion: that they have had the power and have contended and forced themselves, through those lowly garments, to surpass the adornment of those who wear gold and silken robes, and to appear more lovely as a result. This they do, as they think, pursuing a matter of indifference, but as the nature of the matter shows, it is a ruinous and harmful thing, and involves a deep abyss. Therefore, you must proclaim with ten thousand tongues, because of this matter, that while for virgins it has become hard to overcome, for the one living in widowhood it is so easy and light, as the truth of the facts itself has shown. For I do not marvel only at the ineffable lowliness of the attire, which surpasses even those who beg, ^C but also at the lack of affectation and the lack of artifice in the garments, the shoes, and the gait, all of which are colors of virtue, painting from the outside the philosophy stored within the soul. *For the adornment of a man*, he says, *and the laughter of his teeth, and the step of his foot, shall tell about him* (Eccli. 19. 27). For if you had not thrown to the ground and trampled upon the earthen thoughts of worldly imagination with excess, you would not have leapt forth to such a height of disdain for them, you would not have so victoriously conquered and driven away this most grievous sin. But let no one judge the discourse to be excessive if I have called this a most grievous sin. For if among secular and Hebrew women, and in that time, the transgression brought about such great punishment, in the case of those who ought to hold their citizenship in heaven, and to imitate the angelic life, and who walk in grace, what pardon could the same thing have if dared with even greater excess? For when you see a virgin constricted in her garments, dragging her tunics—which the prophet censured—breaking down in her gait, and through her voice, her eyes, and her dress, mixing the poisonous cup for those who look with longing, and digging the abyss ever deeper for those who pass by, and setting traps as a result, how then shall you call her a virgin, or rather, will you not number her with the women who play the whore? For they do not become a lure as much as these do, spreading out the wings of pleasure on all sides. For these reasons we bless you, for these reasons we admire you, that having been delivered from all these things, you have shown forth death [to the world] in this respect, not adorning yourself, but acting with vigor, not beautifying yourself, but arming yourself.

^A But since we have shown [enough of] the lion from his claws, and that in part—for we have not fully comprehended your virtue; just as I said before, I fear to set foot into the immense seas of your other virtues; and it is not my purpose here to deliver praises of your holy soul, but rather to prepare a medicinal balm—come, let us resume what we have said before. What is it that we said before? Namely, that you should cease to ruminate upon who has sinned—or what sort of evil he has committed—and instead constantly reflect upon the contests of your own endurance, your patience, your fasting, your prayers, your sacred vigils, your continence, your almsgiving, your hospitality, and your various, grievous, and frequent temptations. Consider how from your earliest age to this very day you have not ceased to feed Christ when he was hungry, to give drink to him when thirsty, to clothe the naked, to welcome the stranger, to visit the afflicted, and to approach him in bonds. ^B Observe the sea of your charity, which you have opened up so wide that it has reached the very ends of the inhabited world with great force. For your house was not open only to anyone who came, but even everywhere on land and sea, many have enjoyed this bounty of yours through your hospitality. Gathering all these things together, gladden your soul with the hope of these crowns and prizes. But if you desire to see these lawless and bloodthirsty men, and those who have committed even more grievous acts than these, paying the penalty, you will see this too. For even the rich man saw Lazarus in suffering (Luke 16:23). Although their places were divided because of the difference in their lives, and a chaos separated them, and one had his place in Abraham’s bosom while the other had his in the intolerable furnaces, still, nonetheless, Lazarus saw him, heard his voice, and answered him. These things will be so for you also then. For if he who despised one man is given such punishments, and to the one who has scandalized but one, it is profitable that a millstone be hung about his neck and that he be cast into the sea (Matt. 18:6); then those who have brought scandal to such a great part of the world, and have overturned so many churches, and filled everything with tumult and confusion, and have surpassed brigands and barbarians in savageness and inhumanity, and have been moved by such madness by the devil, whom they had as their leader of war, and the demons, whose help and assistance they used, that they offered this fearful doctrine, full of holiness and worthy of the Giver, to be mocked by Jews and Greeks; those who have plunged countless souls and caused countless shipwrecks throughout the world, who have stoked such a fire, and have torn the body of Christ, and scattered his members here and there—"For you," it says, "are the body of Christ, and members in part" (1 Cor. 12:27); ^C indeed, what can I say to express the fury of those who cannot be explained in words? How great a punishment do you think those pestilential and bloodthirsty men will bear then? For if those who did not feed the hungry Christ are condemned to the eternal fire with the devil, you can imagine what punishments those will suffer who drove into famine the flocks of monks and virgins, and stripped the clothed, and not only did not welcome strangers but even chased them away, and who not only did not visit those working in disease but even afflicted them more vehemently, and who not only did not betake themselves to those in chains, but even worked to have those who were free and unencumbered thrown into prison. Then, therefore, you will see them tortured and burning in flames, in chains, gnashing their teeth, mourning in vain, wasting away in useless lamentations, and, like that rich man, repenting to no avail. And, in turn, they will see you wearing a crown in those blessed seats, dancing with the angels, and reigning with Christ, and they will cry out vehemently and groan, repenting of the insults they heaped upon you, and offering suppliant petitions to you, and imploring your mercy and humanity in vain.

^D

Chapter XI: He consoles Olympias for her absence, while she is grieving.

569 S. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM, ARCHBISHOP OF CONSTANTINOPLE

^A ...must we not, instead of wandering about in search of those who love us sincerely (for this is indeed a rare thing), run to the blessed Paul? He will tell us how great this struggle is, and how much it requires a noble soul. For this Paul, who had already put off the flesh and laid aside the body, and who traversed the inhabited world with his soul almost stripped bare, having banished every passion from his mind, imitating the impassivity of the incorporeal powers, dwelling on earth as if it were heaven, standing with the Cherubim on high and sharing in that mystical melody with them—he bore all other things easily, as though suffering in the body of another: prisons and chains, abductions and scourges, threats and death, and stoning ^B and drowning, and every kind of torment. Yet, when he was separated from one soul that was beloved by him, he was so confounded and disturbed that he immediately fled the city where he had expected to see the one he loved, but did not find him. Troas is witness to this for him, having been abandoned by him for this very reason, because he could not show him that person there at that time. For, "Having come," he says, "to Troas for the Gospel of Christ, and a door being opened to me in the Lord, I had no rest for my spirit, because I did not find my brother Titus; but taking leave of them, I went off to Macedonia" (2 Cor. 2:12-13). What is this, Paul? You were bound with wood, dwelling in a prison, with lashes laid upon you—your back flowing with blood—and yet you were performing the mysteries, you were baptizing, you were offering sacrifice, and you did not disdain even one person who was about to be saved! Yet, having come to Troas, and seeing the field already cleansed, and ready to receive the seeds, and the threshing floor filled, and providing you with such great ease, did you throw away such gain from your hands, having come ^C precisely for this (for "Having come," he says, "to Troas for the Gospel," that is, because of the Gospel), and with nothing opposing you (for "A door having been opened to me," he says), yet you fled immediately? "Yes," he says. "For I was held by a great tyranny of despondency, and the absence of Titus so confounded my mind and so overcame and mastered me that it forced me to do this." And that he suffered this because of despondency, we need not conjecture; we must learn it from him. For he stated the cause of his departure, saying: "I had no rest in my spirit because I did not find Titus, but taking leave of them, I went forth to Macedonia."

12. Do you see what a great struggle it is to be able to bear the separation of one who is loved with calmness? And how painful a thing it is, and bitter? How it requires a high and courageous soul? You are now undergoing this same struggle. And by how much the struggle is great, by so much is the crown greater, and the rewards more brilliant. Let this be a consolation for your hesitation, and the fact that you will surely see us again, springing forth with the reward from here, being crowned and proclaimed. For it does not 570 suffice for those who love each other merely to be bound together in soul, nor is this sufficient for consolation, but they also crave a physical presence; and if this is not present, no small part of the joy is curtailed. And coming again to this nursling of love, we shall find it has it so. For writing to the Macedonians, he said: "But we, brethren, being orphaned from you for a short time, in face, not in heart, have endeavored more abundantly to see your face; I, indeed, Paul, once and twice, and Satan hindered us. Wherefore, no longer able to endure it, we thought it good to be left in Athens alone, and sent Timothy" (1 Thess. 2:17; cf. 3:1-2). Oh, the power of every word! For he displays the flame of love that was stored up in his soul with great clarity. For he did not say, "separated from you," nor "torn from you," nor "parted," nor "left behind," but, "being orphaned from you." He sought a word sufficient to express the pain of his soul. And yet, though he was in the position of a father to them all, he speaks like children who were orphans in a premature age, having lost their parent, wishing to show the excess of his despondency. For nothing is more painful than premature orphaning, when their age is not sufficient for them to provide for themselves, and there are no foster parents to take care of them sincerely, and many who would oppress and conspire against them suddenly appear, so that, like lambs, they are thrown into the midst of wolves, who tear and mangle them from all sides. No one can represent the magnitude of this calamity with words. For this reason Paul, having gone around and sought a word indicative of both bereavement and grievous calamity, in order to represent what he was suffering by being separated from those he loved, used this word; and then he intensifies it again in what follows: "Being orphaned," he says, "not for a time, but for the season of an hour, and separated not in mind, but in face only, yet we do not bear the pain arising from this; and yet, having sufficient consolation—to be bound together in soul, to have you in our heart, to have seen you yesterday and the day before—yet none of these things delivers us from despondency." But what do you want and desire, tell me, and desire with such excess? Their very appearance. "For more abundantly," he says, "we have endeavored to see your face." What are you saying, O high and great one? You who have the world crucified to you, and are crucified to the world, you who have been freed from all carnal things, who have become almost incorporeal, have you become so captivated by love that you are brought down to this clay-like, earthly, sensible flesh? "Yes," he says, "and I am not ashamed in saying these things, but I even pride myself on them; for having the mother of good things, love, springing up within me, I seek these out." And he does not seek a merely physical presence, but desires most of all to behold their face.

Chapter 12

^A for he craves not only to see them, but longs to behold their very countenances. "We have," he says, "the more abundantly hastened to see your face." Do you then crave to see the sight, and burn with a longing to behold these countenances? "Indeed I do," he says; because there are the instruments of the senses collected. For the soul, if it be naked and by itself joined to another soul, will be unable either to say or to hear anything; but if it be my lot to enjoy the bodily presence, I shall be able to speak something, and in turn to hear from those I love. For this reason I desire to look upon your face, in which is the tongue that emits the voice and utters the thoughts of the mind, and the ear that receives the words, and the eyes that portray the motions of the mind; for it is possible to enjoy the intercourse of a beloved soul much better through these.

^B And that you may learn how he is kindled toward this contemplation, having said, "We have the more abundantly hastened," he was not content with that expression, but added, "In great desire." And immediately, not enduring to mingle himself with the others, but showing that he loves more ardently than the rest, after he had said these words, "We have the more abundantly hastened and have desired to come to you," he separated himself from the others, and stationing himself alone said, "I, Paul, once and again"—showing by this, of course, that he had labored in this with more intense zeal than the others. Then, because he did not achieve this, he is not content with the letters, but sends his companion, Timothy, who was to be in his stead for the letters; wherefore he added, "Wherefore when we could no longer forbear," that love which could not be curbed or tolerated by any rein, [showing]! And just as when someone is burning with the heat of a fire, and seeking to find some relief from the conflagration, he leaves no stone unturned; in the same way he, too, when he was being kindled, choked, and burnt, devised consolation as far as was possible and practicable. "For when we could no longer forbear," he says, "we sent Timothy, the minister of the gospel, and our fellow-laborer," and tearing a most necessary member from our company ^C and exchanging sorrow for sorrow. For that he could not easily bear even his absence, but that he undertook this trouble for their sake, he signified this very thing by saying, "We thought it good to be left alone." O soul transformed into the very substance of love! For after he was separated from one brother, he says he is alone, and that while he had so many others with him.

— The reward of patience. Do you, therefore, also meditate on these things with yourself continually, and consider that by how much the more this matter brings you greater torment, by so much the more, if you bear it with a grateful mind, will it bring you a greater reward. For not only the bodily wounds inflicted, but also the pain of the soul brings crowns sublimer than any speech, and indeed [the pain] of the soul [brings] more than [that of] the body, when those who are smitten bear it with thanksgiving. As therefore, if your body were lacerated and torn with scourges, you would bear it with a brave and noble mind, and would proclaim the glory of God in this regard, and would have received a great reward for this; in the same way, when your soul suffers these things, wait for great rewards ^D from this. Expect also that it will surely come to pass that you will see us again, and be delivered from this pain, and receive a large and abundant gain from this pain, both hereafter and now. And these things are sufficient for the lightening of sorrow for you; nay, truly, not for you alone, but even for anyone, however else he might be endowed with a senseless and stony mind. But where there is such prudence, and such riches of piety, and such sublime philosophy, and a soul trampling underfoot the pomp of the things of this life, there also the art of curing the malady is easier. Wherefore in this matter also show your love toward us, because we, even while writing, possess great authority with you, and no less than if we were present. But you will show this clearly if we learn that our letters have profited something, and not only something, but as much as we desire. For we desire you to be engaged in the same gladness of mind in which we beheld you when we were there. And if we learn this, we too shall receive no small consolation for this loneliness in which we now are. Therefore, if it is in your heart to settle us in greater peace of mind—and I know that you wish it and are greatly concerned about it—let us know this, that you have removed all the dregs of sorrow from yourself, and that your affairs are in a tranquil state: and repay to us this reward of our benevolence toward you. For it does not escape you, I say, it certainly does not escape you, how much, if you perform this and inform us of it by letter, you will be about to refresh our soul.

To the same letter III

^A those who struggle with severe fevers, or the sea with fierce winds, do not suddenly cast off the storm that the waves have brought, but [settle] gently and little by little. For bodies need a longer space of time, that after the fevers are dispelled they may return to perfect health, and may wash away the weakness which the disease left behind; and the waters, even when the winds have been lulled, are still for a time agitated and stirred up, and are carried and recede with great impetuosity, and need some time to return to perfect tranquility. I have used this kind of introduction [as an example] not idly, but that you may understand that we were driven by necessity to send this letter to you. For even if we have removed the tyranny of sorrow in our previous letters, and have overturned its citadel: yet our speech still needs great assiduity to procure for you a deep peace, and, having blotted out the memory of all the disturbances which flowed from that anguish, to show you a pure and certain tranquility, and to place you in great alacrity of mind. For I am doing this now, and I am laboring that I may not only deliver you from sadness, but also fill you with great and perpetual pleasure. For this can be done, if indeed you are willing. For it is not among the fixed things of nature that we…

but in the free thoughts of the will, which it is easy for us to manage and moderate, the cheerfulness of the soul resides. And you know, if you remember, and lately (for the time between is not long) ^A many and long discourses were expended by me on this subject, when I was continually recounting the histories which I brought into the middle. For cheerfulness is not naturally constituted to stand in the nature of things, as it is in the judgment of men. Since, therefore, this is the case, and many who abound in wealth have considered life unlivable, while others living in extreme poverty have spent the course of their life most cheerfully; and the former, enjoying bodyguards and glory and honor, have often cursed their own life, ^B while the others, obscure and from obscure origins, and known to no one, have considered themselves to be happier than many; for cheerfulness is not in the nature of things, as it is in the judgment of men (for I will not cease continually singing this song): do not be cast down, sister, but arise, and reach out a hand to my discourse, and provide for us this fine alliance, so that we may wholly rescue you from the bitter captivity of your thoughts. For if you yourself do not wish to exert as much zeal as we do, our remedy will be of no use. And what is wonderful, if this happens in our case? For even God, who is all-powerful, when He exhorts and counsels, if the hearer is not persuaded by what is said, it never results in anything more, but this becomes ^C an addition to a greater punishment for the one who is not persuaded. And Christ declared this, saying: *If I had not come and spoken unto them, they had not had sin; but now they have no cloke for their sin* (John 15: 22). For this reason also, mourning for Jerusalem for this very cause, He said: *Jerusalem, Jerusalem, thou that killest the prophets, and stonest them which are sent unto thee, how often would I have gathered thy children together, and ye would not! Behold, your house is left unto you desolate* (Matt. 23: 37, 38).

2.

Consoles the afflicted; explains the nature of sorrow;

3. Why is there need to say much, giving a judgment about it from home, when it is possible to come to those who have been captured, and from thence to learn its entire strength? Or rather, if it seems good, let us first make the demonstration of it from elsewhere. For when Adam committed that cruel sin, and condemned the common race of all men, he was condemned to toil; but she who sinned more, ^C and so much more, that the sin of this one compared to that one does not even seem to be a sin—*for Adam was not deceived, but the woman being deceived was in transgression* (1 Tim. 2: 14)—she, therefore, who was deceived, and was in transgression, and prepared the poison and the drug for herself and for her husband, is condemned with greater sorrow, as being able to stretch [the burden] more heavily than toil. *For multiplying, I will multiply thy sorrows, and thy groaning. In sorrows shalt thou bring forth children* (Gen. 3: 16). Nowhere is labor, nowhere is sweat, and nowhere is toil, but sorrow and groaning, and the punishment arising from these, being equal in weight to toils and ten thousand deaths, or rather even much more grievous. And yet what is worse than death? Is it not considered to be the head of evils among men, this things which is fearful and unbearable and worthy of ten thousand lamentations? Has not Paul said ^D this to be the punishment of the most cruel lawlessness? For those who touch the holy mysteries unworthily, and partake of that fearful table, he said they pay this penalty, speaking thus: *For this cause many among you are weak and sickly, and many sleep* (1 Cor. 11: 30). Do not all lawgivers also condemn to this punishment those who commit the most incurable [crimes], those who commit the most atrocious crimes? Does not God even

Chapter 4: Death is lighter than sorrow

^A ...and did he not appoint this as the final punishment in the Law for those who commit great offenses? Or was it not because of the fear of this that the patriarch was so terrified that he brought himself, nature itself being overcome, to surrender his wife to barbaric lust and Egyptian tyranny, and even to frame this drama of insolence himself, and to beg his wife to play this heavy and tragic role with him? And he is not even ashamed to offer the reason for such a scene: "For I say," he says, "when the Egyptians see you, endowed with outstanding beauty and surpassing in the grace of your face, they will kill me and save you. Say, therefore, that you are my sister, that it may be well with me because of you, and my soul may live for your sake" (Gen. 12. 12-13). Do you see the fear, do you see the trembling shaking that high and philosophical soul? Do you see the adamant broken by terror? He lies about his lineage, and puts one person forward for another as his wife, and exposes the lamb to the wolves as prey; and—what is most unbearable to men of all evils—to see his wife defiled, or even to suspect it—this, and what is much harsher than this (for it was not mere suspicion, but the defilement was actually attempted), he not only sees, but he even acts to ensure it is carried out; and this seems light and bearable to him. For indeed, passion was overcoming passion—the more severe the more severe—and the terror of death was defeating jealousy.

The great Elias also, because of the fear of death, merely fearing the threats of a lecherous and wicked woman, took to flight and changed his soil (3 Kings 19); and he who had closed the heavens, and had done so many miracles, did not endure the terror of words. Indeed, panic so struck that high and heaven-reaching soul that after that confidence, after such freedom of speech, after such a display of virtue, he suddenly abandoned his home, his country, and so great a people, for whose sake he had boldly encountered so many dangers, and traversed a forty-day journey alone, and moved to the wilderness. ^B For the nature of this thing is vehemently horrible, and therefore making an assault upon our race every day, it so strikes and consterns us—until every dead person appears—that it disturbs and contracts us with fear, such that it appears unexpectedly. Nor did meditation on time, or daily custom and exercise in this contemplation, have any power to provide consolation; nor does such grief and terror grow old with the length of time, but it is perpetually rejuvenated and flourishes, bringing a fresh and blooming fear every day. And not undeservedly. For who would not be disturbed and consterned when he sees one who yesterday, or a few days before, was walking, was managing six hundred household affairs, was undertaking the care of his wife, children, servants, and often even of entire cities, was threatening, terrifying, and partly fulfilling punishments, partly inflicting them, was accomplishing countless things both in cities and in regions, suddenly appear more mute and prostrate than a stone? And when countless men weep, and all his closest friends mourn, and his wife is distorted by pain, beats her cheeks, tears her hair, and with a great cry surrounds herself with flocks of handmaids, while he feels none of these things? When he sees all things suddenly taken from the midst—reason, talent, soul, the flower and grace of the face, the movement of the limbs? And that unpleasant things have succeeded them—namely silence, stupor, corruption, gore, worms, ash, dust, stench, complete ruin, and the entire body rushing toward the point where it ends in vile, deformed, and ignoble bones?

^C This is terrifying, but that it is shown by the dread of those holy men, death is far lighter than grief. For I have traversed these long courses of arguments for the sake of this, that you might learn from me how great a punishment you pay, and that you might look for a reward of goods equal to it, or indeed in many parts greater. And that you may understand that these things are so, I will now take refuge with those who are captured by that affection, to which our speech was previously hastening. The people of the Hebrews, upon Moses coming and announcing liberty and the end of the Egyptian captivity, could not even bear to hear him. And explaining the cause, the legislator said: "And Moses spoke to the people, and the people did not listen to Moses because of pusillanimity" (Exod. 6. 9). Furthermore, when God threatens grave things to the Jews because of their many sins, after the captivity and dwelling in a foreign region, after slavery, famine, plague, and the eating of human flesh, he added this punishment, using these words: "I will give them a grieving heart, and failing eyes, and a consuming soul" (Deut. 28. 65). But why do I mention the Jews, a lecherous and ungrateful people, addicted to the servitude of the flesh, and not knowing how to philosophize, when I may take the argument for this thing from great and high men? ^D For the chorus of the apostles, when they had already had three years of association with Christ, and had learned many things about immortality and other secret matters from him, and had produced signs that were admirable and remote from human senses, and had beheld him performing wonders for so long a time, and had been participants of the same table and conversation, and of such excellent sermons, and had been instructed in every kind of doctrine—after they heard words that brought grief, those who previously held him perpetually and hung upon him like nursing infants, and ceased not from asking, "Where do you go?"—they themselves were again so oppressed by the tyranny of this grief, and resigned themselves so entirely to anguish, that they no longer asked him these things. For which reason Christ, rebuking them, said: "You have heard that I go to him who sent me, and I come to you, and no one among you asks me, 'Where do you go?' But because I have spoken these things to you, sorrow has filled your heart" (John 16. 5-6). Do you see how the tyranny of grief cast darkness upon love, and reduced them to captivity, and made them its own? Again, that Elias (for I will not even now depart from him), after his flight and secession from Palestine, not bearing the bitterness of grief (if indeed he was occupied in great grief and anguish—which even he who committed that history to writing declares with these words, "He went away according to his soul").

^A his soul), hear what he says as he prays: "Let it be enough now, O Lord. Take my soul from me, for I am no better than my fathers." And that more terrible thing, the crowning point of punishment, the head of all evils, the penalty for every sin—this he asks for in the order of prayer, and wishes to receive as a favor. So much more terrible than death is despondency ^B. For in order to escape the latter, he takes refuge in the former.

5. Here I wish to resolve a certain question for you, for I know your desire for the resolution of such matters. What, then, is this question? If he considered death lighter than despondency, why did he leave his country and people to flee, so as not to fall into death? And if he was fleeing from it then, why does he seek it now? I do this so that you may know from this, above all, how despondency is more grievous than death. For when that ^C fear alone agitated him, it was natural that he should do everything to escape it. But once this [despondency], having taken up its seat, showed its true nature—gnawing, consuming, devouring him with its teeth, and becoming unbearable to him—then, at last, he judged that which is the most grievous of all to be lighter than it.

In the same way, Jonah also, fleeing from that [despondency], took refuge in the latter, and he too asks for death, saying: "Take my soul from me, for it is better for me to die than to live" (Jon. 4.3). And David also, whether speaking in his own person or writing a psalm for others who are lamenting, indicates this self-same thing. "For when the sinner stood before me," he says, "I was dumb and was humbled, and I kept silent from good, and my pain was renewed. My heart was hot within me, and in my meditation a fire shall be kindled." (Ps. 38. 2-4). He designates that fire, which is more vehement than this [physical] fire, as the passion of despondency. Therefore, no longer bearing its wounds and pains, he says: "I spoke with my tongue." But what do you say, tell me? He too asks for death, saying: "Make me to know, O Lord, my end, and what is the number of my days, that I may know what I am lacking" (Ib. v. 5). With different words, but the same thoughts, he utters the things of Elijah. For what he said, "For I am no better than my fathers," this [David] also signified by saying: "Make me to know, O Lord, my end, that I may know what I am lacking." Why was I left behind, he says, and am lacking, and linger in the present life while others have departed? And he seeks it so—whether he speaks for himself or for those in whose person he speaks—that he craves to learn the time of his presence here, even though he is not present. "Make me to know," he says, "my end," so that he might reap from this the greatest pleasure. Thus the dreaded becomes desirable because of the unbearable pain of despondency and the fire kindled in his mind. For "in my meditation a fire shall be kindled." Expect, therefore, great rewards for such punishment, many prizes, ^D unspeakable compensations; bright, very flourishing crowns for such struggles. For not only doing some good thing, but also suffering some evil, holds many rewards and great prizes. And I will now direct my speech to this point, which is very useful for both you and all, and capable of spurring [the soul] to patience and arousing the heart, not allowing it to be softened or to yield to the sweat of afflictions.

6. That despondency, then, is more grievous than all evils, and is the crowning point and head of all calamities, our discourse has sufficiently demonstrated. It remains, then, to make a comparison between virtuous achievements and sufferings, so that you may clearly learn that not only for achievements are there rewards, but also for sufferings, and those rewards are very great—not less, perhaps, than for achievements, and indeed sometimes even more so for sufferings. And let us introduce, if you please, the great athlete of patience who shone in both ways: the adamant, the rock, he who was born in the land of Ausitis but who illuminated the whole inhabited world by the excellence of his own virtue. And let us mention his achievements and his sufferings, so that you may know from what source he shone the more. ^A What then were his achievements? "My house," he says, "was open to every passerby, and was a common harbor for travelers"; and he possessed almost all his own [substance] for those in need. "For I was," he says, "an eye to the blind, and a foot to the lame. I was a father to the helpless, and I searched out the cause which I knew not, and I broke the grinders of the unrighteous, and I snatched the plunder out of their teeth" (Job 29. 15-17). The helpless, whatever need they ever had, did not go disappointed, nor did anyone leave my door with an empty bosom (Job 31. 16, 34). Do you see the different kinds of human kindness, and the varied harbors of almsgiving, and how he helped those in need in every way? Do you see him supporting poverty, correcting the widow, standing up for those being wronged, and being terrible to those who used them insolently? For his zeal did not end merely with standing ^B by and becoming an ally (this is what many do), but went even to the point of bringing the matter to an end, and with great vehemence. "For I broke," he says, "the grinders of the unrighteous," establishing his own providence as a bulwark against their contentiousness. And he countered not only the insults of men, but also the treacheries of nature with his care, correcting its shortcomings by the abundance of his own succor. Since it was not possible to restore their [proper] limbs, yet for the crippled, the eyes, and for the lame, the feet—he became for them a substitute for their limbs; and through him, both those who were blinded in their eyes and those who were cut in their legs, the former saw, and the latter walked. What could be equal to this philanthropy of his? You know also his other virtues—so as not to make the discourse long by recounting everything—[you know] his gentleness, his meekness, his temperance, his exactness, [and] how, being fierce to those who wrong others (for this is truly admirable), [alt-version omitted]

and it was even sweeter than honey, both to all others and to his own servants; they, showing a great proof of their love for him, used to say, "Who would give us of his flesh, that we might be satisfied?" (Job XXXI, 31). If he was so dear and lovable to servants, to whom it is often necessary to be a terror, how much more so to all other men?

^C 7. Since you have collected these things and more, come now, walk with me to the accounting of his sufferings, and let us see by comparing them: when was he more brilliant, when he was performing those works of virtue, or when he was enduring the painful things which brought him so much heaviness? When, therefore, was Job more brilliant? Was it when he kept his house open to all who traveled that way, or when, after it was destroyed, he uttered no bitter word, but offered praise to God? And yet that was a work of virtue, but this was a suffering. In which time was he more illustrious, tell me, when he offered sacrifice for the sake of his children, and reconciled them among themselves, or when, after they were buried by the ruins of the house and had been removed from the midst of men by a most bitter kind of death, he bore this incident with great philosophy? When did he shine more, when his shoulders were warmed by the fleeces of his sheep, or when, the news having been brought that fire had fallen from heaven and consumed the entire herd together with the shepherds, he was not in the least stirred or troubled, but bore this catastrophe with an equal mind? When was he greater, when he enjoyed the firm health of his body, which he used for the defense of those who had received injustice, crushing the molars of the unjust, snatching away plunder from their very teeth, and becoming a harbor to the oppressed; or when he saw his own body, the protection of the oppressed, being corroded by worms, and sitting on a dunghill, he took a potsherd and scraped it himself? "For I scrape the clods of earth from the discharge," he says (Job VII, 5). And yet those were all works of virtue; on the contrary, these were all sufferings; and yet these brought him greater splendor than those. For this was the most bitter part of the battle, and it required greater fortitude, firm-mindedness, wisdom of soul, and a more abundant love for God. For this reason, while those things were being done, the devil was indeed struggling, though impudently and most wickedly, using these words: "Does Job worship God for nothing?" (Job I, 9). But when these [latter] things had happened, covered with shame, he turned his back and departed, as one who did not have even a shadow of any impudent objection to set forth. For this is the colophon of crowns, this is the highest apex of virtue, this is the most clear proof of fortitude, ^D this is the pinnacle of the highest philosophy. Showing even this, the same blessed Job, [to show] how much more bitter the tyranny of despondency is than death, called this rest: "For death," he says, "is rest to a man" (Job III, 23); and he sought it in place of grace, that he might be freed from despondency, saying: "Who would grant that my petition might come, and that God would grant me what I wait for? And [that] He who began, might bruise me, and cut me off even to the end: and let that city, upon whose walls I leaped, be a grave to me" (Job VI, 8-9).

8. How Much Fruit Arises from Calamities

But in order that you may learn from elsewhere, too, how great a fruit arises from calamities, even if one is not suffering for the sake of God (let no one think that I am speaking hyperbolically here), provided that he bears it with a strenuous and calm mind, glorifying God in all things—this same man, though he did not know he was suffering these things for God's sake, was nevertheless crowned because, even if he did not know the cause, he bore the calamities with a strenuous mind. Even that Lazarus, having fallen into disease (this, moreover, was not suffering for the sake of God), nevertheless, because he bore with a strong mind the lack of those to care for him, and that heaviness which both sores and hunger and the contempt and cruelty of the rich man brought, you do not fail to see what crowns he obtained. And yet we find no illustrious work of his; not that he followed the poor with mercy, not that he brought aid to those who were injured, or did anything else of that kind along with virtue; but only that he lay before the rich man's doors, that he labored with ill health, that dogs moved their tongues [to lick] his wounds, and finally that the rich man despised him—all of which pertained to suffering. And yet, although he performed no other excellent work of virtue, because he alone bore such despondency with a strenuous mind, he attained the same lot as the patriarch who had performed so many things with virtue. I will say something further, which although it may seem alien to the opinion of men, is nevertheless true: namely, that even if someone has produced some great and illustrious work, but without labor, dangers, and calamities, he will hardly receive a great reward from this: "For each one shall receive his own reward according to his own labor" (1 Cor. III, 8): not according to the magnitude of the things done out of virtue, but according to the weight of the calamities which he has endured. Wherefore Paul also, boasting, does not glory for that reason only, that he did some good and excellent thing, but also that he was affected by evils. For when he had said, "They are ministers of Christ; I speak as a fool, I am more" (2 Cor. XI, 23); and when he was eager to demonstrate from comparison how much he was superior to them, he did not say, "I have preached to so many men"; but omitting those things which he had done out of virtue, he enumerates the evils which he suffered, in these words: "In labors more abundantly, in stripes above measure, in prisons more frequently, in deaths often. Of the Jews five times I received forty stripes save one; thrice I was beaten with rods, once I was stoned, thrice I suffered shipwreck, a night and a day I have been in the deep: in journeys often, in perils of rivers, in perils of robbers, in perils from my own nation, in perils by the Gentiles, in perils in the city, in perils in the wilderness, in perils in the sea, in perils among false brethren: in labor and hardship, in watchings often, in hunger and thirst, in fastings often, in cold and nakedness; besides those things that are outside, my daily pressure" (Ibid. v. 23-28).

9. Do you see the sequence of sufferings and the occasions for boasting? Following this, he introduces his accomplishments, yet even in these, the greater part belongs to the suffering rather than the accomplishment. For when he had said, *My daily pressure* [2 Cor. 11:28], referring to the constant abductions, the tumults, and the tribulations (for this is what "pressure" signifies), he added, *the care of all the Churches* [ibid.]. He did not say, "The correction," but "The care," which was more of a suffering than an accomplishment. And in what follows, he does so similarly: *Who is weak,* he says, *and I am not weak?* [Ibid. v. 29]. He did not say, "I correct him," but "I am weak." And again, *Who is offended, and I do not burn?* [Ibid.]. He did not say, "I have freed him from the offense," but, "I have shared in the distress." Then, showing that these things have the greatest rewards, he added: *If I must boast, I will boast in the things of my weakness* [2 Cor. 11:30]. And he adds another thing of the same kind: the flight through the window, through the basket, through the wall—yet this belonged to suffering evil. If, therefore, sufferings have great rewards, and of all sufferings distress is more grievous and painful, consider how many are the recompenses. I will not cease constantly to chant this refrain to you, that I may fulfill what I promised at the beginning, weaving from the very distress itself the arguments that produce consolation for that distress. And that you may learn from another source how much it is worth to do something noble with sufferings, and how far short of this it falls to do the same without toil: that Babylonian Nabuchodonosor, living in scepters and diadems, once accomplished an evangelical word. For after the furnace and that miraculous event, he received the proclamation from above for the inhabited world, not by tongue alone, but also by letters, and he wrote everywhere on earth as follows: ^A *Nabuchodonosor the king to all the peoples, tribes, and tongues that dwell in all the earth, peace be multiplied to you. The signs and wonders which the most high God has done with me, it has pleased me to declare to you, how great and mighty they are; his kingdom is an eternal kingdom, and his power is for generation and generation* [Dan. 3:98-100]. And he set a decree that any people, tribe, or tongue that should speak a word against the God of Sidrach, Misach, and Abdenago shall be for destruction, and his house for plunder. And he adds: *Because there is no other god who will be able to save in this way* [Dan. 3:96]. Do you see the threat in the letters? Do you see the fear? Do you see the teaching? Do you see the exalted herald and the letters extended to every part of the inhabited world? What then, tell me? Will he receive the same reward as the apostles, since he thus proclaimed the power of God, since he took such pains to herald the word everywhere? Not even a thousandth part, but rather it is incomparably inferior. And yet, he did the same work as they did. But ^B since there is no toil knit together therein, nor sufferings, for this reason the recompense is diminished. For he was doing this with authority and security, whereas they, being hindered, driven, beaten, scourged, tormented, thrown down precipices, drowned at sea, perishing by famine, dying every day, their souls being tortured, being weak with everyone who is weak, burning with everyone who is offended—and of these toils, and of the distress especially, were their rewards the greater. For *each one shall receive his own reward according to his own labor* [1 Cor. 3:8], for I shall not cease constantly to append this saying. For this reason, the philanthropic God did not consent when Paul ^C often besought Him to release him from his sufferings, his distress, his pain, and his dangers. *For this I besought the Lord three times* [2 Cor. 12:8], he says, *and I did not attain my request*. For for what reason was he about to receive the greatest rewards? Because he preached without difficulty, living in luxury and passing his time in pleasure? Because he opened his mouth and moved his tongue sitting at home? But this was an easy task even for any ordinary person, and for one who was utterly slothful, and for one living a relaxed life of earthly and seafaring ease. Now, however, for his wounds, for the distress itself, for his tears, for his pains (*For three years*, he says, *I did not cease night and day with tears to admonish each one of you* [Acts 20:31]), he will receive the recompenses and the crowns with great boldness.

10. The Calamities of Olympias

Thinking and pondering these things, therefore, how great is the profit of a painful and hardworking life, rejoice and be glad, you who have walked from your first youth on a path that is profitable and full of countless crowns, and through constant and grievous sufferings. For the infirmity of the body, varied and of every kind, and more grievous than ten thousand deaths, did not cease to besiege you; and drifts of reproaches and insults, ^D and false accusations did not cease to be brought against you; and frequent and constant distresses and fountains of tears annoyed you through tears all the time. But each one of these by itself sufficed for those who endured them for great benefit. For Lazarus, from his infirmity alone, shared the portion of the patriarch; and to the tax collector, the reproaches of the Pharisee brought a righteousness exceeding that of the Pharisee; and the chief of the apostles, from the ulcer of that grievous sin, he corrected. When, therefore, each one of the things previously mentioned appears even alone to have sufficed as one of these sufferings, consider how many rewards you will receive, having endured all of them together with great excess, and throughout all of time. For nothing, nothing makes men so bright, and enviable, and fills them with ten thousand good things, as the multitude of temptations, and dangers, and toils, and distresses, and being continuously plotted against, and by those whom one should not at all be plotted against, and bearing everything gently. For even regarding the son of Jacob, nothing made him so blessed and approved as that false accusation at that time, and the prison, and the chain, and the misery resulting from them.

for great, indeed, was the achievement of his temperance when he overcame the Egyptian lust and repelled that wretched woman inciting him to wicked intercourse (Gen. 39). Yet this is not as great as what he suffered. For tell me, I pray, what praise is there in having committed no adultery, in not having violated a strange marriage-bed, in not having defiled a couch that did not belong to him, in not having done an injustice to one who had treated him well, and in not having cast the house of his master into disgrace and infamy? ^A But that which rendered him illustrious is exactly this—namely the peril, the traps, the fury of the woman who held him captive by her lust, the violence brought upon him, the inescapable prison of the bedchamber which the adulteress had prepared for him, the nets which she had spread on every side, the accusation, the slander, the prison, the chain, and the fact that, having obtained no justice after such a struggle, for which it was fitting he be crowned, he was led off to bonds like a guilty criminal and was enclosed with those who had committed the most grievous crimes—the squalor, the iron, the affliction of the prison. Then, in truth, I behold him more ^B splendid than when he sat upon the throne of Egypt, distributing grain to the needy, driving away famine, and becoming a common harbor for all. Then, I say, I behold him more brilliant when shackles and manacles bound him than when he was clothed in brilliant robes and possessed such power. For the former time in prison was one of business and great gain; this latter one, however, was of luxury, relaxation, and honor, possessing indeed many pleasures, but not much gain. Therefore, I do not admire him so much when he is honored by his father as when he is agitated ^C by fraternal envy and has his own household as enemies. For at home, from his very first years, a grievous war was being ignited against him: indeed, by those enemies who had nothing to reproach him with, yet were pining away and being torn apart with grief because he possessed more of his father’s benevolence. Moreover, the legislator Moses asserts that this intensity of affection took its beginning not from the boy’s virtue, but from the time in which he was born. For since he was born later than the others, he says, and in extreme old age (and children of this kind are especially ^D dear because they are born beyond expectation), he was therefore dear to his father. For his father loved him, he says, because he had begotten him in his old age (Gen. 37:3).

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and of the youth being burned; and this warfare was twofold, nay rather threefold and manifold. For just because he had leapt over the nets and severed the noose in the briefest moment of time, do not think that he had completed this contest without struggle; for he endured much sweat.

12. And if you wish clearly to learn this too, consider what youth is, and the bloom of youth. For he happened to be at that very flower of age, when the flame of nature is kindled more vehemently, when the surge of desire is great, when the reasoning power is weaker. For the souls of the younger are not fortified by very great prudence, nor do they exercise great zeal for virtue; but the winter of the passions is more severe, and the reason that governs the passions is weaker. And along with nature and age, there was also the great incontinence of the woman. And just as those Persian hands kindled that Babylonian furnace with great zeal, providing abundant fuel for the fire, and casting in various materials for the flame, so too did that wretched and miserable woman then kindle a stiffer flame than that furnace, smelling of ointments, with rouge on her cheeks, paint on her eyes, a broken voice, and gestures and gaits ^A that were self-indulgent ^B, with soft garments, an array of gold, and ten thousand other such witcheries, bewitching the young man. And just as a cunning hunter, intending to catch a beast hard to capture, sets in motion all the instruments of his art, so too did she, knowing the temperance of the youth (for it was not likely that after so much time it should remain hidden from her), judge that much preparation was needed for the capture of the youth, and for this reason she set in motion all the machines of incontinence. And she was not satisfied with these things alone, but she also watched for a time and place suitable for the hunt. For this reason, she did not attack immediately upon being caught, but waited a long time, travailing with this wicked desire and preparing herself, fearing lest by haste and by her improvised plots the prey should escape. And once, having found him alone in the house doing his customary work, she digs a deeper pit henceforth, and having spread out the wings of pleasure from every side, as though now holding the youth in the middle of the nets, she enters in and catches him alone, all alone; or rather not alone, for she had also his age and nature and her own machines present with her; finally she drags the noble youth by force to the unjust act. What could be more severe than this temptation? What furnace and flame is not less fierce than this? To be a youth, vigorous, a slave, destitute, without a city, a stranger, an exile, and held under the power of a mistress so incontinent and frantic, so wealthy, and clothed with such authority, in such a wilderness (for this also contributes to such a capture), to be seized and flattered, and to be led to the master's couch, and this after so many dangers and plots? For you know how the many, when they happen to be exhausted ^C and are in dire straits, then are called to luxury and rest and to a fluid and dissolute life, they run to it all the more readily. But not he; rather, he remained through everything demonstrating his own endurance. I would confidently call that chamber ^D and that Babylonian furnace, and Daniel's den of lions, and the belly of the sea-beast into which the prophet fell, equal to this, or rather far more severe than these. For there, the victory of the plot was the destruction of the body, but here it was the total ruin of the soul, and an immortal death, and a calamity having no consolation. And not only in this way was this den severe, but because along with force and guile, it was full of much flattery, of much diverse and manifold fire, not burning the body, but scorching the soul itself. And Solomon, who knew most accurately how great a thing it is for a man to have dealings with a woman who has a husband, revealing this very thing, says: *Can a man bind fire in his bosom, and his garments not be burned? Or can one walk upon coals of fire, and his feet not be scorched?* (Prov. 6. 27-29). So is every one who goes in to a woman who has a husband, and whoever touches her shall not be innocent. What he says is of this kind: As, he says, it is not possible to consort with fire and not be burned, so neither is it possible, while consorting with women, to escape the burning that arises from them. But he endured what was far more severe than this. For he did not touch her himself, but was held captive by her, fenced in, alone by one woman alone; and this, though he was already worn down by so many evils, and exhausted by so many plots, and desiring rest and security.

13. But yet, being in such nets, and seeing the manifold beast attacking him, and wounding him from every side, by touch, by voice, by eyes, by colors, by paint, by gold, by ointments, by garments, by character, by words, by the finery worn about her, by solitude, by remaining hidden, by wealth, by authority—having as an accomplice with these things, as I said before, his age, his nature, his slavery, his being in a foreign land—he overcame all that flame. I assert that this temptation was far more severe than the envy of his brothers, and the hatred of his kin, and the sale into slavery, and the bondage to barbarians, and the long exile, and the sojourn in a foreign land, and the prison, and the chain, and the long time, and the tribulation there; for the danger was concerning the final things. And since he also escaped this warfare, and there was there a spirit of dew whispering, from both the grace of God and the virtue of the young man—for so much tranquility and temperance abounded in him, that he even strove to dissolve her madness—yet, since he himself came out untouched, just like the youths who escaped the Persian flame (For not even the smell of fire was on them).

[...and] ^A his own [Dan. 3. 28], and stood forth as a great champion of chastity, and imitated the adamant: let us see what he immediately attained, and what prizes awaited the victor. Again, ambushes, and pits, and death, and dangers, and slanders, and hatred unjust and senseless. For that miserable woman alleviates her love with heavy fury, and couples one passion with another, and the unchaste woman joins wicked anger to her desire, and after the adultery becomes a slaughterer. And breathing out great ferocity, looking with bloodthirsty eyes, she establishes a tribunal, and places a corrupt judge, that is, his master, her own husband, a barbarian, an Egyptian; and introduces a charge without a witness. And she does not even grant the accused the power to enter the tribunal, but she accuses him confidently, relying on the folly and benevolence of the judge—as if on testimony worthy of belief—and finally on the servitude of him who was being accused; and by narrating the matter contrary to how it had occurred, she overcame the judge and led him to judge according to her, and to condemn the innocent, and to impose upon him the most grievous penalty—and immediately, the prison, and the abduction, and the chains. And without even seeing the judge, that excellent man was condemned. And, which is harsher, he was condemned as an adulterer, as one who desired the master’s bed, as a violator of another’s marriage, as one caught and detected. For both the judge, and the accuser, and finally the penalty that followed, effected this among many who were ignorant of the truth: that the fable found belief. But nothing of these things disturbed his mind, nor did he say: "Is this the recompense for the dreams? Is this the outcome of those visions? Are these the rewards of chastity? A headlong and senseless judgment, an iniquitous sentence, and a wicked estimation again. As a lover I have been recently cast out from my father’s house: as an adulterer and violator of a woman’s chastity I am now led into prison, and all pass judgment upon me. And my brothers, by whom I was to be worshipped (for this is what the dreams showed), are in liberty and security, and in delights, and in their fatherland and paternal home: but I, under whose rule and power they were to be, am held here in chains with grave-robbers, with brigands, with thieves; and not only am I driven from my ancestral seats and not freed from ^B turmoils and business: but even in a foreign region, pits and sharp arrowheads again await us. And while she who designed such things, and constructed the slander, and deserves extreme punishment in the name of both crimes, now leads dances and exults, and as if adorned with trophies and signs of victory: I, on the contrary, who have committed no crime, pay the most grievous penalty." Nothing of these things did he even say, or agitate in his mind: but, as a pugilist walking through crowns, he himself was of a joyful and cheerful spirit, and so prepared that he retained no memory of the injuries which he had received from his brothers and from the adulteress. Whence, however, is this evident? From those very words which he himself had toward one of those who were there in chains. For so far was he from being seized by sorrow, that he even dispelled the sorrows of others. For when he had seen some there disturbed and affected with sorrow, he immediately approached them, that he might understand the cause. And when he had learned that such disturbance had proceeded from certain dreams, he resolved those dreams. And afterwards, acting with one of them, that he might make words to the king for his own liberation—for although he was a strong and admirable man, yet he was a man, and did not desire to waste away in those chains; with him, I say, acting, that he might be mindful of him before the king, and persuade him to release him from the chains, and being compelled to mention the cause for which he had been cast into prison; so that clearly he who would plead for him might have a specious cause for his advocacy: he made mention of none of those by whom he had been harmed; but when he had freed himself from the crimes, he held himself to these limits, nor did he add those by whom he had received injury. "For I," he says, "was stolen away by stealth from the land of the Hebrews, and here, having committed no crime, I have been cast into the pit" (Gen. 40. 15). But why are you silent about the harlot, about the adulteress, about the fratricides, about the envy, about the sale, about the mistress’s fury, about the assault, about the lust, about the snares, about the machines, about the slander, about the iniquitous judgment, about the corrupt judge, about the nefarious sentence, about the condemnation alien to all reason? Why do you keep silent about these and conceal them? "Because," he says, "I do not know how to retain the memory of injuries; because these are for me crowns and prizes, and an occasion for greater gain."

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the Egyptian race), that passionate and irascible man—for indeed that emotion attaches to them to a degree of excess—whom he believed to be an adulterer and to have wronged his wife, did not cut him down immediately, nor deliver him to the fire. Instead, being so irrational as to reach a conclusion from a single side, and without even granting a word to the accused, at the very time of the punishment, he ^A displayed such great gentleness, and this while seeing his wife maddened, raging, wailing violently, carrying about her garments torn, and even more inflamed by this, and mourning and lamenting! Yet, notwithstanding all this, nothing stirred him to slaughter. Whence, tell me, was this? Is it not manifest that He who muzzled the lions and cooled the furnace, He also restrained the boundless passion of that beast, and extinguished his unspeakable anger, in such a way that the punishment was tempered with measure? One might see that this also happened in the prison. For he allowed him to be bound, indeed, and to be with the condemned, but he snatched him away from the harshness of the jailer. For you know what a jailer is; yet at that time he was gentle and mild ^B toward him, and not only did he not afflict him with any labors, but he even made him lord over all who were there, and this although he had received him as an adulterer, a condemned man, and a notorious adulterer. For it was thought that this drama had been dared not in a lowly house, but in a great and splendid one. Yet nothing of this terrified him, nor persuaded him to become harsh toward him. But rather, crowns were being woven for him out of these sufferings; and the alliance of God flowed down upon him with great abundance. I wished to add further length to my letter; but since I think that this too has exceeded measure with great superfluity, I shall conclude my discourse here. I exhort your reverence regarding that which I have always ^C exhorted you: to be rid of despondency, and to glorify God, as you have always done and continue to do, offering thanks to Him for all these heavy and painful things. For in this way you will both reap the greatest goods yourself, and you will deal a timely blow to the devil, and you will provide us with much consolation, and you will be able to cause the cloud of despondency to vanish with great ease, and to enjoy pure tranquility. Do not, therefore, let yourself become soft, but recover yourself from this smoke (for, if you wish, you will easily dispel all this despondency, for it is but smoke), and make this clear to us again, so that we, being far off, may reap much joy from such letters.

To the same letter. IV.

1. Regarding the severity of the winter, and our stomach’s infirmity, and the Isaurian incursions, have no anxiety on our account, nor strain yourself with cares. For the winter has become such as it is wont to be in Armenia; for there is nothing more that needs to be said; and it does not harm us greatly. For foreseeing these things, we devise many things to ward off the harm arising from them, both by kindling fire continuously, and by fencing in the room ^D where we dwell on every side, and by using many coverings, and by staying inside throughout. This is indeed burdensome to us, yet, because of the gain that comes from it, it is bearable. For as long as we remain inside, we are not greatly oppressed by the cold; but if we are forced to go out a little and converse with the outdoor air, we suffer no small harm. Wherefore I also exhort your honor, and ask it as a matter of the greatest favor, to take great care to correct the infirmity of your body. For despondency also causes sickness; but when the body is also exhausted and weakened, and remains in great neglect, and enjoys neither the help of physicians, nor the tempering of the air, nor an abundance of necessary things, consider that this becomes no small addition to the evil. Therefore I exhort your honor to use various and experienced physicians and medicines, such as are able to correct such things. Since we too, a few days ago, when our stomach was prone to vomiting because of the state of the air, having used other care, and the medicine sent by my most modest lady Synclitia, and not having needed more than three days to apply it, we corrected its infirmity. I exhort you, therefore, yourself also to use this, and to arrange for more of it to be sent to us. For when we sensed some upset again, we used it again, and corrected the whole thing. For it suppresses internal inflammations, draws out moisture, and is moderately warm, and imparts strength to the...

brings a vigor not common, and whets the appetite for food, and of all these things it has given us a trial in a few days. See to it, therefore, that my most venerable Lord, the Count Theophilus, be entreated to prepare this same remedy for us again and send it to us. ^A And do not be distressed on this account, that we are wintering here; for we are in much better and more comfortable health now than we were last year; wherefore, if you also would show the care that is right, you would be in much better health. But if you say that your maladies have taken their rise from the sadness of your mind, why do you ask for letters from me again, when you have derived no fruit from these unto cheerfulness of spirit, but have been so engulfed by waves of sorrow that you desire to depart from this life even now? Are you ignorant of what a great reward is appointed for a soul that gives thanks even on account of sickness? Have I not very often discoursed to you on this matter both in person and by letters? But since perhaps the crowd of affairs, or the very nature of the disease, and frequent adversities do not ^B permit you to have the memory of what has been said by us constantly fixed in your mind, hear us again chanting the same things unto the wounds of your sorrow: For "to write the same things," he says, "to me it is not grievous, but for you it is safe" (Phil. 3:1).

Chapter 2: Nothing is more glorious than patience; nothing more grievous than disease.

What then is it that I say and send in writing? There is nothing, Olympias, that can be compared for the gaining of praise and glory with patience in bearing sufferings. For that is especially the queen of virtues and the perfection of crowns; and just as it excels other virtues, so in this it is superior to all—that is, this kind of suffering is more excellent than the others. Perhaps what I am saying is somewhat obscure; therefore, I will make it clearer and more evident. What, then, is it that I say? Not to be despoiled of riches, even if one were stripped of all his possessions whatsoever; not to be cast out of honor; not to be driven from one’s native seats and led into exile; not to be worn out with labors and sweats; not to dwell in prison and be bound with chains; not reproaches, and insults, and sneers—for do not think that it is a small kind of endurance to bear such things with a brave spirit, and this is shown by Jeremiah, so great and so excellent a man, who was not moderately moved and disturbed by this temptation (Jer. 15); not the loss of children, even if all be carried off by a sudden death; not enemies frequently insulting; not anything else of this kind; not even death itself, which is the head of all things that have the appearance of annoyance and bitterness, and is so formidable and horrendous, is as grave and bitter as adverse bodily health. ^C To this thing the great combatant of patience (Job) is a witness, who, after he fell into bodily disease, judged that death was the removal of the pressing evils; and indeed, while he was enduring all other things, he felt them least, although he was receiving frequent and alternating blows, and finally the most bitter and lethal one. Nor is this to be thought to be of slight moment, but [it is evidence] of the extreme wickedness and craftiness of the one who was waging war against him, that he did not bring this deadly wound—namely, the loss of children—upon him when he was fresh and vigorous and just descending into combat, but only when he was already consumed by the weight of continuous arrows, and that so gravely and bitterly that he destroyed them all, of both sexes, suddenly, at an immature age, and by a violent death, and made the sudden mode of their death a tomb for them. For the father did not see them lying in a bed, nor did he kiss their hands, nor catch their dying words, nor touch their feet and knees, nor draw together the mouths of the dying, nor close their eyes—things which, indeed, bring no small consolation to parents when they are torn from their children; nor did he find others at home while some were sent ahead to the grave, by whose aspect he might diminish the sorrow which those who had departed from life had brought upon him; but at the time of a banquet—and indeed a banquet not of gluttony but filled with charity—at the table of fraternal love, he heard that they were all lying on the couch, buried and overwhelmed, and that all things were mingled together, to wit, the blood, the house, the cups, the roof, the table, the dust, and the limbs of his children. And yet, when he had heard these things, and prior to them also others that were themselves grave and bitter—for others had miserably perished for him; the herds of cattle, and all the flocks, were partly consumed by fire fallen from heaven, and partly snatched away by various enemies, and the wicked messenger of this tragedy reported that they had been cut down and slaughtered together with their shepherds themselves;—when, I say, he perceived such a storm stirred up in the fields, at home, in his cattle, in his children in a short moment of time, and wave succeeding wave, and continuous rocks, and deep darkness, and intolerable billows, he was not weighed down by sorrow, nor did he almost feel the things that had happened, this is, only so far as he was a human being and a father. But after he was given over to disease ^D and ulcers, then truly he both desired death and remained in mourning and lamentations. From this you may understand that this is more grievous than all adverse things, and the supreme kind of patience. And this not even the perverse demon was ignorant of; and therefore, when he perceived the combatant remaining tranquil and immune from disturbance under the trial of all those things, he betook himself to this contest as the greatest of all, judging that all other things were clearly tolerable, even if one should lose his children, even if he should lose his fortunes, even if he should lose anything else (for this is what is designated by those words, "Skin for skin" [Job 2:4]), but that that is in the end a deadly blow when one receives pains in his body. Wherefore, overcome after this contest, he did not dare even to mutter, whereas he had otherwise been resisting and fighting back most impudently beforehand. Here, I say, he could no longer find even an impudent thing to feign; but suffused with shame, he retreated.

Do not think this a sufficient defense, that you take the violence and bitterness of his pains as a reason for his desiring death. For let it come into your mind at what time, and in what state of affairs, he was seeking it: that is, when neither the law had been given, nor the prophets had emerged, nor had grace been so poured out, nor had he partaken of other kinds of divine philosophy.

and we are required to achieve more, and greater struggles lie before us, hear Christ saying: *Unless your righteousness shall exceed that of the scribes and Pharisees, you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven* (Matt. 5:20). Do not, therefore, think that to pray for death now is to be freed from a charge, but hear the voice of Paul saying: *To depart and to be with Christ is much better, but to remain in the flesh is more necessary for your sake* (Phil. 1:23–24). For by as much as the intensity of the affliction increases, by so much do the crowns abound; by as much as gold is fired, by so much does it become purer; by as much as a merchant sails a longer sea, by so much more cargo does he gather. Do not, therefore, think that a small prize lies before you now, but the highest of all those you have endured, I mean that which lies in bodily infirmity. For even for Lazarus (and if I have said this to you often, nothing prevents me from saying it now) this sufficed for salvation; and as for him who possessed a house common to those who arrived, and was a wanderer continually because of the command of God, and who sacrificed his own beloved son, his only-begotten, him given in extreme old age, he who has done none of these went into his bosom ^A, because he bore easily poverty, and illness, and the destitution of those to support him. For so great a good is this to those who bear anything bravely, that even if it finds someone who has committed the greatest sins, it rids him of the heaviest burden of sins; and if it finds one who has succeeded and is righteous, it becomes an addition not of slight, but of very great boldness. For it is both a bright crown upon the righteous, shining with excess beyond the sun, and the greatest purgation for those who have sinned. For this reason, Paul hands over him who had forced his father’s marriage and defiled his bed to the destruction of the flesh, purifying him by this manner. For that what was being done was a purgation of such a stain, hear him saying: *That the spirit may be saved in the day of our Lord Jesus Christ* (1 Cor. 5:5). And when accusing others of another most terrible sin, those who partake unworthily of the holy table and of those secret mysteries, and having said that such a one *shall be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord* (1 Cor. 11:27), see how he says that they too are purged of this grievous stain, by saying thus: *For this cause many are weak and sickly among you* (1 Cor. 11:30). Then, showing that their condition would not stop at this punishment, but that there would be some gain from the fact, the clearing away of the accounts for this sin, he added: *For if we would judge ourselves, we should not be judged. But when we are judged, we are chastened of the Lord, that we should not be condemned with the world* (1 Cor. 11:31–32). And that even those who have achieved great things reap much from this is clear from Job, who shone more greatly from this, and from Timothy, who being so good, and entrusted with such a ministry, and flying with Paul throughout the world, did not for two or three days, nor ten, and twenty, and a hundred, but for many and continual days lived in infirmity, his ^B body having been weakened with much severity. And showing this, Paul said: *Use a little wine for your stomach and your frequent infirmities* (1 Tim. 5:23). And he who raised the dead did not correct his infirmity but allowed him to be in the furnace of the disease, so that a greatest wealth of boldness might be gathered for him even from this. For what he himself had enjoyed from the Master, and what he had been taught by Him, these things he was also teaching his disciple. For even if he did not fall into infirmity, yet trials no less than infirmity scourge him, and bring much pain to the flesh. *For there was given to me,* he says, *a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me* (2 Cor. 12:7)—speaking of the blows, the bonds, the chains, the prisons, the being led away, and being torn, and being stretched on the rack by executioners many times. Wherefore, not bearing the pains that arose in the flesh from these things, he said: *For this I besought the Lord thrice* (thrice here meaning "many times"), *that I might be delivered from this thorn* (2 Cor. 12:8). Then, since he did not succeed, having learned the gain of the matter, he both was quiet and rejoiced at what was happening. And you, therefore, even if you remain at home and are pinned to the bed, do not think that you live an idle life; for you endure things more grievous than those who are dragged by executioners, torn, stretched, and suffering the final things, having as a constant executioner and housemate the excess of this infirmity.

4.

ration from Cucusus, how many after the stay in Arabissus. But we have escaped all these, and now we are in health and great safety, so that all the Armenians are amazed that in so weak and frail a body I can endure such an intolerable intensity of cold and can breathe, since even those who are accustomed to winter are affected by it in no ordinary way. But we have remained unhurt and safe to this day; we have escaped the hands of brigands who often made attempts upon us, and we suffer from a lack of necessities, and we are not even permitted to use a bath. And yet, when we were staying there, we had continual need of it; but now we have come to such a state and habit that we are not even held by the desire for such consolation, but have attained better health than to have need of using it. Nor has the intemperance of the weather, nor the solitude of the places, nor the scarcity of things to buy, nor the lack of those to care for us, nor the inexperience of physicians, nor the want of baths, nor the fact that we are kept continually shut up in our room as if in a prison, nor the fact that we cannot go out—which to be sure we had continual need to do—nor the fact that we are always amidst smoke and fire, nor the fear of brigands, nor the constant siege, nor finally anything else of this kind broken or overcome us; rather, we are in better and more comfortable health than when we were there, though we use great care. Therefore, reflecting on all these things with yourself, drive away the sadness which now holds you on account of these causes, and do not exact from yourself unnecessary and heavy penalties. I send to you that which I lately committed to letters, namely that a person who has not harmed himself can be harmed by no one else; for that discourse which I now send to you contends and labors on this very point. Wherefore, see that you read it through constantly, or even, if your health permits, recite it. For that medicine, if you will, is sufficient for you. But if you contend against us with stubbornness, and neither take care of yourself, nor, although you have countless warnings and exhortations at hand, can you induce your soul to emerge from the pit of sadness, we also will not easily comply with you, nor will we be induced to send long and frequent letters if you are to receive no gain or utility from them for the cheerfulness of your soul. How then shall we know this? Not if you say so, but if you show it by the things themselves, since even now you have confirmed this, that nothing other than this sadness has brought this sickness upon you. Since therefore you yourself have confessed this, unless you are freed from the sickness, you will by no means persuade us that you have repelled the sadness of soul. For since this is, as you yourself have written, what summons the sickness, there is certainly no doubt that when it is removed, the sickness too is taken away from the midst, and once the root is pulled up, the branches also perish with it. For as long as they persist in flourishing and being vigorous and bringing forth fruit which is not at all becoming, it will not be possible for us to be persuaded that you have been freed from the root. Wherefore, show me not words, but deeds; and if you attain health, you will see letters again being sent to you which exceed the measure of a discourse. Nor indeed ought you to consider this a light consolation, that we live, that we are well, that, while we are encompassed by such great difficulties and troubles, we are nevertheless free from sickness and ill health; which, as I have learned, affects our enemies with no small sadness and pain. Wherefore it is consistent that you also should consider this a great consolation, and even the head of all consolations. Do not call your company, which is now more inscribed in the heavens through the calamities which it suffers, deserted and forsaken. I have been affected with great pain concerning Pelagius ^A the monk. Think therefore how great and how many crowns they are worthy of who have stood in the battle line with a brave soul, when we see men who lived so piously and holily, and with such great tolerance, being snatched away and driven into deception.

To the same epistle V.

the lists have been set, and longer spaces for the races have been established; and the anger of those who plot against you rises into a greater flame. But you ought by no means to be moved or disturbed on this account, but rather to rejoice and exult for this very reason, and to crown your heads, and join in dances. For if you had not first engaged in mortal combat with the devil, this beast would not be raging so much as to dare to advance further. Wherefore, this is a proof both of your courage and victory, and of that huge defeat of his, that he now attacks and insults you more bitterly, and gives evidence of greater impudence, and pours forth his poison more profusely. For so also in the blessed Job, after he was overcome in the loss of his possessions and the plucking away of his children, then too, clearly showing himself to be affected by heavy wounds, he betook himself to that which was the head of evils, that is, to the siege of the flesh, and the swarm of worms, and the choir of ulcers—for I call a choir and a crown the band of six hundred victories. And not even here did he stop; but since no other machine of equal weight remained to him (for he had brought upon him that sickness as if it were the extreme limit of calamities), he moved other warlike torments again, namely, by arming the wife, provoking friends against him, exciting the servants and making them bestial, and in every way ulcerating his wounds: which even now he does not cease to attempt; but indeed upon his own head; since from this it happens that your affairs shine more, and become more sublime and brilliant day by day: for then greater riches exist for you, a richer fruit, frequent and continuous crowns; great increase of courage is also brought to you through these very bitternesses of things, and your tolerance is sharpened by hostile plots. For such is the nature of affliction, that it renders those who bear it with a calm and strenuous soul superior to bitter things, and more sublime than the darts of the devil, and teaches them to disdain plots. For trees which are nourished in the shade acquire greater softness, and are rendered less fit for the production of fruits; but those which experience the inconstancy of the air, and receive the onsets of the winds, and the burning rays of the sun, gather more strength from this, and abound in leaves, and are bowed down by a store of fruits. Thus indeed it is accustomed to happen in the sea also: for those who first embark upon a ship, even if they are very brave persons, are disturbed through inexperience, and are thrown into confusion, and overwhelmed by dizzying vertigo; while those...

who have traversed many seas, and endured many winters, and rocks, and crags, and shoals, and the onsets of wild beasts, and the machinations of pirates and sea-rovers, and have sustained continuous storms, sit more courageously upon the ship than those walking on land, not just within beside the keel, but even sitting upon the very ribs of the ship, and standing fearlessly upon the prow and the stern. And they who before this lay down to be seen with trembling and fear, after much experience of the winter, both pull ropes, and hoist sails, and take up oars, and run about everywhere on the ship with ease. Therefore, let none of the things happening to you cause you distress. For the enemies have brought us to this point against their will, to the end that it is impossible for us to suffer harm, having emptied all their arrows, and having achieved nothing more from this than to be put to shame, and laughed at, and to appear everywhere as common enemies of the whole world. ^B These are the rewards of the plotters; this is the end of their wars. Marvelous! How great is virtue, and the disdain of present things! It gains through plots, it is crowned through those who plot against it, it shines more brightly through those who do it wrong, it makes those who pursue it stronger, higher, invincible, and unassailable through those who attempt to drag it down, not having need of weapons, nor of spears, nor of walls, nor of trenches, nor of towers, nor of money, nor of armies, but only of a firm purpose, and an unswerving soul, and it confutes every human plot.

2. Therefore, my most God-loving mistress, by chanting these things both to yourself and to those who are struggling with you in this beautiful contest, raise up the spirits of all, consolidating your battle line, so that the crown of virtue may become for you twofold, and threefold, and many times greater, by what you yourself suffer, and by what you urge others to undergo; and persuading them to bear all things gently, and to look down upon shadows, ^C and to disdain the deception of dreams, and to trample upon mud, and to make no account of smoke, and to consider the spiderwebs not to trouble you, and to run past the rotting grass. For all these things are the vanity of human prosperity, and even more worthless than these. And one would not easily find an image accurately representing its vanity. For with this nothingness, it brings no small harm to those who gape at them, not only in the age to come, but even in the present life, and during these very days in which they seem to luxuriate in them. For just as virtue, even at the very moment when it is being warred against, leaps and flourishes, and shows itself more cheerful; so also vice, even at the very moment when it is being served and flattered, shows its own weakness, and the great laughter, and the unspeakable comedy. For tell me, what became more piteous than Cain, even at the very moment when he seemed to be prevailing over his brother, and to have gotten the better of him, and to have been filled with that unjust and abominable anger? And what was more unclean than that right hand which seemed to have conquered, the right hand which inflicted the blow and wrought the murder, and than that most shameful tongue which stitched together the deceit and spread the nets? And why do I speak of the limbs that wrought the murder? ^D For even the whole body was being punished, having been delivered over to the groan, and to trembling continuously. Oh, what strange things! Oh, what a paradoxical victory! Oh, what a foreign trophy! The one who was slaughtered and lay dead was being crowned and proclaimed; but the one who had conquered and had gotten the better remained not only uncrowned, but for this very reason was punished, and delivered over to unbearable torments and continuous torture; and he who was struck and dead accused the one who was moving and living and speaking, and the voiceless one accused the speaker; or rather, not even the dead one, but the blood alone, and parted from the body, sufficed for this alone. So great is the abundance of the virtuous, even when they have departed; so great is the misery of the wicked, even while they are living. But if in the arena the rewards are such, think of what the rewards will be after the contests, in the time of the recompense, through the bestowal of those good things which exceed all reason. For the grievous things, whatever they may be, are brought on by men, and imitate the worthlessness of those who bring them; but the gifts and the recompense are given by God; wherefore they are also such as is fitting to be given by that unspeakable gift. Rejoice therefore and be glad, wearing the crown, celebrating, trampling the stings of the enemies more than others trample mud. And continually let us know about your health, so that from this also we may reap much joy. For you know how it will be no small consolation to us, even sitting in solitude, whenever we learn continuously about your health. Fare well.

To the same, Epistola VI

1. Having returned from the very gates of death, I write these things to your decorum; wherefore I was greatly rejoiced, that the children have now arrived at the harbor, when I was yet expecting the harsh waves of the illness. For if, while I was being tossed on the sea, they had met me, it would not have been easy for me to deceive your devoutness by reporting good things instead of difficult ones. For the winter, having become more severe than usual, brought upon us also a more harsh winter of the stomach; and I spent these two months no better than the dead, but even more harshly. For I lived only so much as to be sensible of the evils circling me on all sides, and everything was night to me, and day, and dawn, and high midday, and I spent the day nailed to my bed; and in contriving myriad things, I was not strong enough to ward off the harm from the cold,

for although I even lit a fire, and endured most grievous smoke, and was kept shut up in a chamber, and wrapped myself in six hundred coverings, and did not dare even to cross the threshold, nevertheless I suffered extreme torments: for vomiting arose continuously, headaches, loss of appetite, and sleepless vigils. I passed, then, a sea of night so long without sleep. But, not to wear out your mind by lingering longer on the mention of troublesome things, we are now released from all these. For as soon as spring arrived, and some slight change in the air occurred, all things departed of their own accord. Nevertheless, there is still need for great care from me in the matter of my diet; and therefore I take pains to impose a light burden upon my stomach, so that it may be able to digest it easily. That, however, affected me with no ordinary concern, that we understood you were struggling at the last breath of life. Although, because of my great love for you and my care and solicitude for your affairs, even before I received your letters, I was released from this worry: for very many came to us from there, and announced that you were in comfortable health.

The calamities of the present life are a mere fable.

you have prevented [them] from suffering. And they, having not even advanced far into the contests, but having been tripped up from the very starting-blocks, one might say, and at the starting line itself: you, however, having circled the final turn six hundred times, have snatched the prize in every race, having displayed varied forms of wrestling and contests, and most justly so. For the contests of virtue are found neither in age nor in body, but in the soul and the mind alone. Thus even women have been crowned, and men have been tripped; thus even children have been proclaimed victors, and old men have been put to shame. It is always necessary to admire those who pursue virtue, but especially when, while many abandon it, some are found clinging to it. For this reason, it is ^B worthy in the highest degree to admire your refinement, because while so many men, women, and old men—those who seemed to hold the greatest reputation—turned away, and while all were in plain view, having fallen not from a great rush of war, nor from a fierce battle line of enemies, but having fallen before the clash and having been defeated before the engagement, you, after so many battles and battle lines, have not only not been softened, nor have you been embalmed by the multitude of evils, but you behave with even greater youthful vigor, and the addition of contests gives you an addition of strength. For the memory of those things already successfully accomplished becomes for you a cause of gladness, of joy, and of even greater zeal. For these reasons we rejoice, we leap for joy, we are glad; for I will not cease speaking of this continually, and carrying everywhere the cause of my joy. So that if our separation disquiets you, yet this is for you the greatest consolation for your successes; since we, too, although living at such a great distance of travel, derive no small gladness from this—I mean from your courage.

On the same letter VII.

1. What are you saying? Have you not set up a trophy, nor attained ^C a brilliant victory? Have you not bound your head with a crown that blooms forever? But is this not what the whole inhabited world says, which everywhere on earth sings of your successes? For even if the sports grounds and the contests are located in one place, and the laps of your races, and your wrestling matches filled with blood instead of sweat took place there, yet their glory and their fame have reached the boundaries of the inhabited world. You, wanting to make them greater and to earn more prizes, have added to them the crowns of humility, saying that you are as far from these trophies as the dead are from the living. For that these words are of humility, I will try to prove to you from the events themselves. You were exiled from fatherland, home, friends, kinsmen; you were transported to a foreign land; you did not cease dying every day, and fulfilling what was lacking in nature by the abundance of the intention. For since it is not possible for a human being by experience to die many deaths, you have done this by your will. And the greatest thing, ^D while suffering some things and expecting to suffer others, you did not cease to offer up glory to God who permits these things to happen, and by doing so, you dealt a vital blow to the devil. For that he indeed received a vital blow, he showed by the way in which he armed himself, approaching with greater fury: therefore the later trials became worse than the first. For just as a scorpion or a snake, when it receives a deeper wound, raises its sting higher and rises up against the one who struck it, providing evidence of the great pain by the violent rush against the one wounding it: so too that shameless beast, since it received wounds into the depths from your admirable and lofty soul, leaped up more fiercely and brought on more temptations. He brought them on, indeed, not God; but God permitted it, increasing your wealth, making the commerce greater, providing a larger reward, and a more bountiful recompense. Do not therefore be troubled, nor dismayed. For who has ever labored while being rich? Who has been confounded when rising to the highest offices? But if those who gather these human things—things that are short-lived and more fragile than shadows, and more withered than rotting flowers—leap for joy, dance, and fly about, driven by a pleasure that both appears and flies away at the same time, and which mimics the course of river currents; it is all the more fitting for you, even if you were previously in discouragement, to make the present time a cause for the greatest joy. For your treasure, which you have gathered, is inviolable; and the dignity, which was built up for you through these sufferings, knows no succession, nor does it await an end, but it is infinite, and not to be interrupted by the difficulty of times, nor by the plots of men, nor by the assaults of demons, nor even by death itself. And if you wish to mourn, mourn for those who do such things, the authors of these evils, the servants, who have laid up for themselves the greatest punishment for the future, and who have already paid the final penalty here, with so many turning away from them, holding them as enemies, cursing them, and condemning them. But if they do not perceive these things, and for this reason especially are they miserable and worthy of tears, just like those possessed by the disease of phrenitis, kicking and striking those they meet at random and in vain, and often even those who have benefited them and their friends, yet not perceiving the madness with which they are mad. Therefore they suffer from incurable diseases, neither admitting physicians nor enduring medicines, but rewarding those who wish to heal and benefit them with the opposite. So that for this reason too they are miserable, if they do not perceive such great wickedness. But if they do not turn toward the condemnation of others, it is impossible for them to escape the judgment of their own conscience, that inescapable one, that incorruptible one, that which yields to no fear, which is not corrupted by flattery, nor by the giving of money, nor is it withered by long time.

2. For that son of Jacob, who said to his father that a wicked beast had devoured Joseph, and who acted out that wicked drama, and by the—

trying to cover up the fratricide, he deceived his father at the time, but he did not deceive his conscience, nor could he persuade it to be quiet; rather, it kept rising up against him continuously, crying out, and it could not be silenced. For when a long time had passed, the one who had denied the deed to his father—never having told anyone else, with no one accusing him, no one convicting him, no one pressing him, and no one reminding him of that drama—when he was in danger regarding his freedom and his very life, he showed that the accuser of the conscience had not been silent or suppressed during that long time, using these words: "Verily, we are in sin regarding our brother, because we disregarded his tribulation and the pain of his soul when he besought us, and now his blood is being required of us" (Gen. XLII, 21). ^A And yet the crime that was being laid to his charge was something else, for he was being judged for theft, as if he had stolen a golden cup, and was being brought into court; but because he was not conscious of any such crime, he felt no pain on this account, and did not say that he was suffering these things for which he was being judged and led in chains, but for those for which no one was blaming him, nor demanding an reckoning, nor dragging him into court—nay, rather, things that he had not yet fully paid for, he himself was confessing and accusing himself. For conscience was griping him; and he who had poured out the blood of his brother with such a firm and bold ^B mind, without being affected by any sense of grief, was now grieving for his sake; and he was accusing those whom he had held as companions and partners in the murder, and he was describing all the cruelty in tragic terms, saying, "When he besought us, and we disregarded his tribulation and the pain of his soul." This is as much as to say: "Nature itself was enough to soften our souls and turn us toward mercy; but he even added tears, and he was beseeching us as a suppliant; and not even then did he soften us—nay, we 'disregarded his tribulation and the pain of his soul.'" "Therefore," he says, "this judgment has been prepared for us; therefore we are in danger of our blood, because we have sinned against blood." In this way, too, Judas, not enduring the trial of his conscience, rushed to the noose, and by means of the rope put an end to his life. And when he ^C was not hesitant to undertake that shameless compact, saying, "What will you give me, and I will hand him over to you?" (Matt. XXVI, 15), he did not fear those who were hearing him—namely, that being a disciple he was plotting such things against a Master—nor during those days that followed between the events was he stung by any pain, but, intoxicated by the pleasure that the greed for money brought him, he did not particularly feel the accusation of conscience. But after he carried out the crime and took the money, and the pleasure of the gain ended, but the accusation of the crime began to flourish, then finally, with no one accusing, no one using force, no one urging him, he went off of his own accord, then threw the money back to those from whom he had received it, and confessed his crime to those who were hearing him, with these words: "I have sinned, in handing over innocent blood" (Matt. XXVII, 4). For he could not bear the ^D conscience that was convicting him. The conscience of sin is an executioner; sinners ought to be mourned; vice is the death of the soul. For such is the nature of sin, that before it is accomplished, it affects a man with intoxication; but after it is finished and complete, then that pleasure takes itself off and is extinguished, and only then does the accuser stand by, with conscience truly occupying the place of an executioner, and tearing the sinner to pieces, and demanding extreme punishments from him, and pressing upon him more heavily than any lead. Moreover, you know what will be proposed in the future for those who have bound themselves to these crimes. Therefore, it is fitting to follow these with tears and to mourn them, for Paul also does so, while he congratulates those who strive and contend and suffer evil, but mourns those who sin: and for this reason he also used to say, "Lest perhaps when I come, my God may humble me before you, and I may mourn many of those who sinned before, and did not commit repentance for the uncleanness and fornication and lewdness which they committed" (2 Cor. XII, 21); and again to those who were involved in the struggle: "I rejoice, and I congratulate you all" (Phil. II, 17). Therefore, let nothing that has happened, nor what is being threatened toward you, disturb you. For waves do not shake a rock, but the more vehemently they rush upon it, the more they are broken and destroyed by it: this also happened in those cases, and will happen, indeed much more so. For while the waves do not shake the rock, yet they have not only not shaken you, but have even made you firmer. For such is the nature of evil, and such is the nature of virtue. The former, while it wages war, is crushed; the latter, while it is harassed by war, shines forth more clearly. And this one obtains the palm not only after the struggles, but even in the struggles themselves, and the struggle itself becomes the reward for the struggle: the former, however, when it conquers, then it is suffused with greater shame, then it is tortured, then it is overwhelmed with great ignominy, and before the punishment stored up for it, it is tortured not only after the crime is committed, but even in the work itself. But if this seems clearer to you, hear the blessed Paul, distinguishing both of these. For writing once to the Romans, and exposing the impure life of some, and showing that sin even before the punishment is brought upon it, has attached punishment in the action itself, when he had commemorated the wicked deeds of both women and men, who had violated the laws prescribed by nature, and had devised a certain monstrous lust, he speaks in this way: "For their females changed the natural use into that which is against nature. In like manner also the males, leaving the natural use of the female, were inflamed in their desires toward one another, males with males working out uncleanness, and receiving in themselves the recompense, which it was fitting, of their error" (Rom. I, 26, 27). What are you saying, Paul? Are those who dare these things not affected by pleasure, and do they not perform this shameful and divinely forbidden union with desire? How then do you say they pay the penalty in this very thing? Because the sentence, he says, is not from the pleasure of the diseased, but from the nature of the things.

by nature. Since the adulterer, even before the punishment, is punished in the very act of adultery, even if he seems to take pleasure in it, making his soul worse and more depraved. And the murderer, before he sees the tribunal, and the sharpened swords, and renders an account of his crimes, has perished in the very act of murdering, again making his soul more depraved for himself. 587 And whatever infirmity is in the body—fever, or dropsy, or something else of this kind—and rust in iron, moth in wool, worm in wood, and wood-borers in horns, this is what vice is in the soul. For it makes it slavish and ignoble; and what do I mean by slavish and ignoble? It makes the soul into one of the irrational creatures, rendering it the soul of a wolf, or of a dog, or of a snake, or of a viper, or of some other beast. And the prophets, by declaring this and making the transformation resulting from vice known to all, one of them said: "Dumb dogs, not able to bark," comparing those who are deceitful among men and who plot secretly to those dogs that are rabid. For when they are rabid, they do not attack with barking, but approaching in silence, they do greater harm to those they catch than those that bark. Another again called certain men "crows." And another said: "Man, being in honor, did not understand; he was compared to the senseless cattle, and was made like them." And the greatest of the prophets, the son of the barren woman, standing by the Jordan, called some "snakes and offspring of vipers." What then could be equal to this punishment, when he who was made in the image of God, and having enjoyed such honor, being a rational and most gentle animal, falls into such bestiality?

4. Have you seen how wickedness holds the punishment within itself even before the chastisement? Learn how it is also in virtue, and how virtue becomes its own reward, even before the promised rewards. For, as in the body—since nothing prevents me from using the same example again, which produces much clarity—just as in the body, he who is healthy and in good condition, and is freed from every illness, finds pleasure even in this very thing before the delicacies, having pleasure conjoined with his health, and neither the unevenness of the air, nor drought, nor cold, nor the simplicity of a table, nor any other thing of this kind could grieve him, as health is sufficient to ward off the harm arising from these things; so it is the custom for it to happen also in the soul. For this reason, Paul also, being whipped, being driven about, and suffering ten thousand terrible things, rejoiced, saying thus: "I rejoice in my sufferings for you." Not only is the reward of virtue laid up in the kingdom of heaven, but also in the very act of suffering, since this too is a very great reward, to suffer something for the truth. For this reason, the chorus of the apostles also returned from the council of the Jews rejoicing, not only for the kingdom of heaven, but because they were deemed worthy to be dishonored for the name of Jesus. Indeed, this very thing, by itself, is a very great honor and a crown, and a prize, and a subject for unfading pleasure. 588 Rejoice, then, and exult. For this is no small struggle, but this struggle of slander is very great indeed, especially when it happens over such a great accusation, for which we have now been slandered, when they accuse us of arson in a public tribunal. Therefore, Solomon also, wishing to represent the harshness of the struggle, says: "I saw the slanders that take place under the sun, and behold, the tears of the slandered, and there was no one to comfort them." But if the struggle is great, as indeed it is great, it is manifest that the crown laid out for this is greater. For this reason, Christ also commands those who are struggling in this struggle with the fitting patience to rejoice and exult. "For rejoice," he says, "and exult when they say every evil word against you, lying, for my sake, for your reward is great in the heavens." Do you see how much pleasure, how much reward, how much joy our enemies cause us? How then is it not absurd, as to the evils those men were unable to inflict, but rather of which they have done the opposite, to inflict these upon yourself? What is it that I am saying? Those men not only were unable to exact punishment from you, but they even provided you with an occasion for joy and a subject for unfading pleasure; but you, by straining yourself so much under despondency, exact punishment from yourself, being confounded, being troubled, being filled with much grief. For this is what they ought to have done, if indeed they ever had the inclination to recognize their own evils. It would be right for them now to mourn, to lament, to hide themselves, to cover their faces, to be buried in the earth, not even to see this sun, but having shut themselves up somewhere in darkness, to lament both their own evils and those that they brought upon so many Churches; but it is for you to exult and rejoice, because the crown of your virtues has been accomplished. For you know, you know clearly, that there is nothing equal to patience, but this is especially the queen of virtues, the foundation of achievements, the harbor without waves, the peace in wars, the serenity in a storm, the security in plots, that which makes the one who has accomplished it stronger than adamant; which no moving weapons, no armies arrayed for battle, no siege engines brought up, no bows, no spears being released, not the army of the demons itself, not the fearful phalanxes of the opposing powers, not the devil himself, arrayed with all his army and his equipment, will be able to harm. Why then do you fear? Why do you grieve, when you have practiced despising even life itself, if the time calls for it? But you desire to see a release from the evils that beset you. This too shall be, and

as we have ^A seen that, by the grace of God, it will soon come to pass. Rejoice, therefore, and be glad, and find comfort in your 589 accomplishments; and never despair, for we shall see one another again, and I shall remind you of these words.

To the same, Epistle VIII.

It was, therefore, not to be that even when I had departed from the city, I should be freed from those things that trouble our mind. For those who meet us on the way—some from the East, some from Armenia, and others from every part of the world—pour forth fountains of tears when they behold us, and utter groans, and accompany us with lamentations along the entire journey. I have mentioned these things ^B so that you may know that I have many who share in your grief; this brings no small measure of consolation. For since the prophet deplores the opposite as something heavy and intolerable, saying, *And I looked for one who would grieve with me, but there was none; and for comforters, but I found none* (Ps. LXVIII, 21): it is evident that it brings great consolation, truly, to have the whole world as a companion in one’s sorrow. But if you are looking for another consolation, we who have suffered so many and such great evils, are enjoying good health and living in security, recounting our varied and continuous afflictions and calamities and plots in great quiet, and refreshing ourselves ^C with the constant memory of them. Therefore, you too, by reflecting on these things, cast aside the cloud of sorrow, and write to us as often as possible about your health. Since now that my most beloved lord Arabius has written to me, I was surprised that you have sent me no letter at all, especially since my lady, his wife, loves you very much. Consider also this, that all the joyful and pleasant things of this life, as well as the grave and troublesome, are passing away. For even if the gate is narrow and the way constricted, it is still a way (Matt. VII, 13, 14); for I shall recall to your memory that word of which I have often spoken to you. Even if the gate is wide and the way spacious, still it is a way.

The impunity of crimes is to be feared. Since these things are so, endeavor to withdraw yourself from the earth, indeed, from the very bonds ^D of the flesh, and rouse the wings of your philosophy, and do not allow them to be engulfed by shadows and smoke (for such are human affairs). Instead, even if you see those who have committed so many crimes against us enjoying their own cities, and being honored, and attended by guards, sing this word: *Wide is the gate and broad the way that leads to destruction* (Matt. VII, 13), and for this very reason lament and weep for them all the more. For he who commits some crime here, and because of this not only pays no penalty but also receives honor from men, will depart in such a way that this honor is the greatest source of punishment for him. For this reason, that rich man also was tormented in a cruel manner—not paying the penalty only for that cruelty which he had shown toward Lazarus, 608 ^A but also for his flourishing state, in which, enjoying such inhumanity throughout his whole life, he did not become any better even from that. By discussing these and other things of this kind with yourself (for we have never ceased to impress them upon you), my most religious lady, cast aside this heavy burden of sorrow, and make us certain of this: that—just as I have also written to you—when I perceive that your sorrow has been alleviated by our letters, I may more frequently apply this medicine.

To the same, Epistle IX.

When I see men and women in great throngs, pouring themselves out through the stations ^B and the cities, and shedding tears at the sight of us, I perceive the state in which you yourselves are. For since those who have seen us now for the first time are so broken by sorrow that they cannot easily recover, and yet, when we entreat and exhort and admonish them, they pour forth even hotter fountains of tears, there is certainly no doubt that the storm is more violent among you. But the more violent the storm is, the greater will be the rewards, if you continue to endure them with thanksgiving, as you are indeed doing. For even helmsmen, when a violent wind is blowing, if they stretch the sails beyond measure, capsize the ship; but if they direct them moderately and as is proper, they navigate most safely. Since you possess this knowledge, my most religious lady, do not surrender yourself bound to the tyranny of sorrow, but overcome the storm with reason; for you have the power to do this, ^C nor does the storm exceed your skill; and send us letters that signify this, so that we, even while living in a foreign land, may derive the greatest pleasure from understanding that you have borne this sorrow with that prudence and wisdom which becomes you. These things I have written to you when I was already not far from Caesarea.

To the same, Epistle X.

But I would also have you cast aside that fear which you have conceived from our journey. For, as I have already signified to you by letter, my body has received an accession of both health and strength. For the air has dealt kindly with us, and those by whom we are being conveyed into exile ^D are showing every care and zeal, even more than we desire, to refresh and restore us, and they are laboring to that end. But when I was about to depart from Nicaea, I sent this letter to you, on the third day of July. See to it, therefore, that you write to us about your health as often as possible. For my lord Pergamius, in whom I have great confidence, will labor for you in this matter. Nor do I wish that you only make us certain of your good health, but that you also signify that the cloud of sorrow has been dispelled from you. For if we learn this from your letters, we shall also send letters to you more frequently, so that we may achieve something by writing. Therefore, if you desire to receive frequent letters from us, clearly indicate to us that some benefit flows from our frequent letters: and you will see us bestow that favor most abundantly.

[GREEK COLUMN]

609 S. JOANNIS CHRYSOSTOMI ARCHIEP. CONSTANTINOP. ^A ...since those who could have carried letters have arrived from there, having received no letter from your Honor, I was deeply grieved.

To the same, Epistola XI

As our temptations intensify, so too does our consolation increase, and we hold better hopes for the things to come; now, however, everything is flowing for us according to the current, and we are sailing with a fair wind. Who has seen it? Who has heard of it? Submerged reefs and rocks, whirlwinds and tempests are breaking; it is a moonless night, deep darkness, precipices and cliffs; and yet, sailing through such a sea, we are in no worse a condition than those tossing in the harbor. Therefore, considering these things yourself, my most God-beloved Lady, rise above these commotions and billows, and deign to inform me concerning your health; for we are living in health and good cheer. For our body has become stronger, and we are breathing pure air, and the ^B military prefects [a] who are traveling with us serve us in such a way that they do not even allow us to feel the need of servants, doing the work of servants themselves. Indeed, they have seized this duty because of their love for us. And there are guards everywhere, as each one counts himself blessed on account of this service. There is one thing that grieves us: the lack of confidence that you yourself are living in health. Declare this, then, so that we may enjoy joy from this, and that we may give many thanks to my Lord, our most beloved son Pergamius. If you wish to send us letters, use him for this, being a genuine friend and one most devoted to us, and who greatly respects your modesty and piety.

To the same, Epistola XII

Having escaped the illness which I endured on the journey, the remnants of which I carried even as far as Caesarea, and having returned at last to perfect health, I write to your piety from Caesarea itself, in which, having enjoyed much care, I was disposed more easily, having attained the best and most famous physicians, who treated us with sympathy and affection rather than with skill alone, one of whom even promised to accompany us, as did many others who are in places of authority. And we indeed have written often concerning our affairs; but you, as I complained even before, do this rarely. And so that you may learn that this is because of your negligence, and that the scarcity of letter-carriers does not cause this, my Lord, the brother of the blessed Bishop Maximus, came two days ago, and having been requested by us for letters, because the place is most desolate, the Lord... said that no one was willing to give him any; but also that Tigrius the presbyter, when asked by him, did not provide any. I entreat you, rebuke him for this, and our genuine and ardent lover, and all the others who are with Bishop Cyriacus. For there is nothing better for us than... ^C ...in order that there might be a change, you should not trouble him or anyone else. We have accepted the favor. Perhaps they wanted to, but were not able. Glory to God for all things; for I will not cease saying this always for all things that happen to me. Let it be so, they were not able. Were they not able even to write? Give many thanks to the ladies, my sisters of my Lord the most honorable Bishop Pergamius, who are exerting great effort on our behalf. For they have prepared my Lord the Duke, his son-in-law, to be so well-disposed toward us that he himself greatly desires to see us there. And you yourself also, keep declaring to us continuously concerning your health, and of those who love us. But for our sake, be free from care. For we are in health, and good cheer, and are enjoying much relief, up to this present day. We desire to know concerning the affairs of Cyriacus the bishop, whether they have been released; and no one has reported anything clear to us; if you could, declare this to us. Tell Bishop Cyriacus that, being grieved, I am not writing to him.

To the same, Epistola XIII

With difficulty at last we caught our breath upon reaching Cucusus, from whence we also write; with difficulty at last we saw clearly through the smoke and the variety of the cloud of evils ^D that overtook us on the journey. For now, since the painful things have passed, we are relating these things to your piety. For when I was in the midst of them, I was not willing to do this, so as not to grieve you greatly. For I spent nearly or more than thirty days struggling with most severe fevers, and thus traveling this long and difficult road, and being besieged by other most severe illnesses from the stomach. Reckon the things coming from this: with no physicians, no baths, no suitable supplies, no other relief, with the fear of the Isaurians besieging us on every side, with the other evils, which the difficulty of the journeys is accustomed to beget, anxiety, care, despondency, the dearth of those who would care for us. But now all these things have been resolved. For having come to Cucusus, we have laid aside all our illness together with the remnants, and we are in most perfect health, and we have been delivered from the fear of the Isaurians, as there are many soldiers here, and they are very well drawn up against them; and the abundance of necessities flows to us from every side, with everyone receiving us with every goodwill, even though it was a very difficult time for us.

[LATIN COLUMN] 611 S. JOANNIS CHRYSOSTOMI ARCHIEP. CONSTANTINOP. ...[this is the first page of the chain]... with all treating us with the utmost benevolence, even though this place is otherwise completely deserted. But by some chance my lord Dioscorus was here, who also sent a servant to Caesarea for this very purpose, to ask and entreat that I should not prefer another house to his own; and many others likewise did the same. But I thought it necessary to prefer this one to the others: and so we stayed with him. And he is everything to us, so much so that because of his immense generosity and liberality, which he wishes to exercise toward us, we are constantly expostulating with him. For our sake he even moved from his own house to a villa, that he might embrace us with every kind of service; and furthermore he builds for us a house suitable for enduring the winter, and for this reason he leaves nothing undone or unattempted; in short, no kind of service toward us is omitted by him. Besides these, many other agents and administrators of his affairs, since their masters command it to them by letters, come hither continually, ready in every way to refresh and recreate us. But I have related all these things for this reason, and some, that is, the former, I have lamented, but others, that is, the happy and pleasant ones, I have set forth to you, so that no one may rashly move us from here. For if those who wish to confer a benefit upon us make this dependent on our will, so that it may be permitted us to be in whatever place we desire, and they are not about to assign another place to us again according to their own judgment and pleasure, accept this benefit. But if they are about to send us away from here to another place, and it is necessary for us to undergo a journey again and to go into exile, this would certainly be far more grievous and bitter to me—for first of all, it is to be feared that they might lead us to a more distant or more rugged place: then, I consider the hardship of the journey to be more burdensome than a thousand exiles. Since the difficulty of this journey brought us to the very gates of death: and now, dwelling in Cucusus, we recreate ourselves in perpetual rest and quiet, and we are healed of the afflictions of so long a time, and of our broken bones, and of our fatigued flesh, by the aid and assistance of rest. Also my lady Sabiniana the deaconess ^A was present on that very day on which we came, though she herself was broken and cast down, and afflicted with miseries, since she is already at that age in which it is difficult even to move; yet she is endowed with a youthful spirit, and feels nothing of adversity. For she said she was ready to set out even for Scythia, since this rumor was constant, that I was going to be deported there. But she is resolved, as she says, not to return to her own, but to stay where we are. And the alumni of the Church received her also with great humanity and zeal, and with much benevolence. Certainly, my lord Constantius, the most religious priest, would have been here long ago. For he had also treated with me by letters, that I might grant him the power of coming hither: for he said that he did not dare to do it without my will and judgment, although he was otherwise burning with a great desire for this thing; he added also that he could not remain there either: for he seeks shadows, and hides himself. Therefore I contend with prayers from you, that you should not act otherwise concerning the place. But if you think that the matter of what they have in mind should be tested, you yourself say nothing, but according to your prudence, explore whither they have decided to lead me: for you can do this. And if you see that they have it in mind to carry me off to some maritime city not far from here, say, Cyzicus, or not far from Nicomedia, accept this. But if anywhere further from here, or as far as this place is, do not accept it: for this would truly be grave and very troublesome to me. For here we live in great quiet and relief of mind, so that we have washed away in two days all the annoyance contracted from the journey.

To the same letter, in which he commemorates what happened to him at Caesarea. XIV.

^Ba'. Tiρnνeῖς; Why do you strike yourself, and demand recompense which even your enemies could not force from you, thus delivering your soul to the tyranny of despondency? For that letter which you sent to us via Patricius revealed to us the very wounds of your mind. Wherefore I grieve and am tormented exceedingly, because although you ought to do and attempt everything ^C to drive grief from your soul, yet you yourself turn hither and thither, collecting troublesome and bitter thoughts, and fashioning in your mind things which do not exist (for you said this too), and you are afflicting yourself in vain and to no purpose, nay, with the greatest detriment. For why are you angry that you were not able to transfer us from Cucusus elsewhere? Although you did transfer us in some way, while nothing was left untried and undone by you for that end. Yet if the matter could not be performed, one should not on that account be angry. For perhaps for this reason God wished longer courses to be proposed to us, that we might obtain more splendid ^D crowns. Why then are you in pain over those things for which we are praised? When, on the contrary, it is fitting for you to exult and dance and bind your head with garlands, because by divine benefit we have obtained a result so great and far superior to our merits. But does the solitude of this place bring you grief? And what, finally, is more pleasant than this abode? Solitude, immense tranquility, rest, soundness of body. For although this city has neither a forum nor anything for sale: yet that makes no difference to me. For to me all things flow as if from a fountain. Since I have my lord the bishop of this place, and my lord Dioscorus, who seem to have no other duty or work than to recreate me. Nay, the illustrious man Patricius will also tell you in what state of cheerfulness of mind, in delight, and with many services we live, as far as this commemoration is concerned. But if those things which happened to me at Caesarea cast you into mourning, in this too you do not act worthily of yourself. For there too glorious crowns were again woven for us: so that all praise us, proclaim us, and admire us to the point of astonishment, because having received grave injuries we were cast out.

For my master Pharetrius also signified to me that his presbyters were present there, who stated they were in communion with us, and that they had nothing in common with our adversaries, nor would they associate or communicate with them. That we might not disturb them, therefore, let no one know these things; for indeed the events that befell us were severe. And if I had suffered no other hardship, the things that happened there were enough to procure me countless rewards; so great did the danger become for us, and that at the very end. But I beg you, let these things be kept secret between us, and I will relate them to you in brief, not to cause you grief, but consolation. For these are the themes of my business, this is my wealth, this the expenditure for my sins, that I am constantly traveling through such temptations, and that they are brought upon me by those from whom I did not at all expect them. ^B For as we were about to enter the region of the Cappadocians, having parted from the Galatian—and even he had almost threatened us with death—many met us on the way, saying: "The master Pharetrius awaits you, and is going about everywhere, lest he miss your encounter, and he is doing and contriving everything so that he may see you, and embrace you, and show you every affection." And he stirred up the monasteries of men and women. I, hearing these things, expected nothing of the sort, but suspected the opposite in my mind; yet of those who brought these reports, I said nothing to any of them.

2. But when I arrived late at Caesarea, exhausted, embalmed, and lying in the very heat of the fever, in despair, suffering the extremity of pain, I obtained an inn situated on the outskirts of the city, and made haste to meet physicians and to quench that furnace; for it was the very height of the tertian fever. And there was also the hardship of the journey, the fatigue, the exhaustion, the lack of those who could provide care, the scarcity of necessities, the fact that no physician was present with us, the being worn down by toil and heat and sleeplessness, and having almost become a corpse myself, I entered the city. Then indeed the whole clergy, the people, monks, and nuns came, and physicians arrived; I enjoyed great care, with everyone providing everything for us, serving us. But even so, being held fast by the great intensity of the heat, I was in extreme peril. At length, little by little, the disease abated and subsided. But Pharetrius was nowhere; rather, he was awaiting our departure, I know not what he thought. Since, therefore, I saw the evil had quietly abated, I was deliberating then about my departure, so as to reach Cucusus and get a little rest from the calamities of the journey. And while we were in this state, suddenly there were reported to us a countess multitude of Isaurians overrunning the country of the Caesareans, ^C having burned some large village and inflicted the worst. Having heard this, the tribune, taking the soldiers he had, went out. They feared lest they should attack the city too, and all were in fear, all in anxiety, risking danger even for the very soil of the fatherland, so that even the elders themselves set about the guarding of the walls.

While affairs were in these circumstances, suddenly, around dawn, a regiment of monks (for so one must describe them, and by the word indicate their madness) stood over the house where we were, threatening to burn it, to set it on fire, and to inflict the worst upon us if we did not leave. And neither the fear of the Isaurians, nor the sickness lying so heavily upon us, nor anything else made them gentler, but they pressed on, breathing such rage that even the provincial soldiers themselves were afraid. For they even threatened the soldiers with blows, and boasted as those who had already shamefully beaten many provincial officers. When the provincial officers heard these things, they fled to us, and entreated and begged us, saying: "Even if we are going to fall into the hands of the Isaurians, deliver us from these beasts." The governor, having heard, ran down to the house, wishing to help us. Nor even when he entreated them did the monks refrain; rather, he himself also grew weak. Seeing, therefore, that affairs were in great straits, and neither daring to advise us to go out to an obvious slaughter, nor yet to stay inside, because of such madness of those men, he sent to Pharetrius, entreating him to grant a few days’ time, both because of the sickness and because of the impending danger. And not even so did anything more come of it; but on the following day they arrived even more fiercely, and no one of the presbyters dared to stand by and help, but shamefaced and blushing (for they said these things were done according to Pharetrius’s will) they hid themselves, went unnoticed, and when called by us they did not heed. What need is there to say many words? And with such fears pressing upon us, and death almost certain, and the fever wasting me (for we had not yet found any relief from the evils from that source), at midday I threw myself into the litter, and was carried out from there, as the whole people were wailing, screaming, cursing the one who had done these things, and all were lamenting and mourning. When I had gone out of the city, some of the clergy also went out and quietly escorted us, lamenting. And when they heard some saying, "Where are you taking him, to an obvious death?" another said to us, [one] of those who loved us deeply—

me, saying, "Go, I beseech you, even to the Isaurians, only escape from us. For wherever you fall, you fall into safety, provided you escape our hands." Hearing and seeing this, the noble matron Seleucia, the wife of my lord Rufinus (for she tended us most officiously), pleaded with me and begged me to lodge in her suburban villa, which was five miles from the city, and she sent certain men with us, with whom we set out to that place.

^C 3. But not even there was this treachery to have an end. For when Pharetrius learned of this, he uttered many threats against her, as he claimed. When I was received into her villa, I myself knew nothing of these things; for she came out to us and kept this hidden from us, but disclosed it to her steward who was there, and commanded him to offer us every kind of service, but if any monks came, in order that they might harass us or mistreat us, he should collect laborers from her other villages, and so join battle with the monks. She also begged me to flee into her house, which had a fortress and could not be conquered by any forces, so that I might escape the hands of the bishop and the monks. But I could not be persuaded to do this; I remained in the villa, ignorant of all these things which were being prepared against me afterwards. Not even this sufficed for them to curb their madness against us. For afterwards, in the middle of the night, I being unaware of any of these things (for Pharetrius was pressing hard, hurling, as she said, grave threats against her, and forcing and pushing her so that she might cast me out ^D even from the suburb), the woman, not bearing the man’s importunity, unknown to me, gave notice that the barbarians were present, since out of shame she could not bear to say the violence she was suffering. And in the middle of the night Evethius the presbyter entered, and waking me from my sleep, he said with a great cry: "Arise, I beseech you, the barbarians are approaching, and are not far off." I wish you to consider here what my state of mind was when I heard these things. When I asked him what needed to be done—for we could not flee into the city, lest we suffer things there more grievous than what the Isaurians were about to do to us—he forced us to go out. The night was moonless, it was midnight, gloomy, dark; this very thing again cast us into the greatest perplexity; there was no one to help, for all had abandoned us. Nevertheless, compelled by fear and expecting to die at any moment, weary and worn out, I arose and ordered lamps to be lit. But the presbyter ordered these also to be extinguished, lest, as he said, the barbarians, roused by the brilliance of the light, make an assault upon us. When the lamps were extinguished, the mule that was carrying our litter (for the road was extremely rough, steep, and stony) fell to its knees, and I, who was shut in the litter, was cast to the ground, and I was within a little of perishing. Then I arose and walked along slowly, while Evethius the presbyter, who had himself dismounted from his horse, held me by the hands; and thus led by the hand, or, to speak more correctly, dragged along, I crept: for in such difficulty of the place, and on dangerous mountains, it was impossible for me to walk in the middle of the night. Think, I pray, what my state of mind was, when I was constrained by such evils, and pressured by fever, and knew nothing of what had been plotted against me, but feared and trembled at the barbarians, and expected nothing else than to fall into their hands. Do you not think that these sufferings alone, even if nothing else had happened, could blot out many of our sins, and provide me with a great opportunity for glory?

The cause of these calamities, as I suppose, was this. As soon as I entered Caesarea, all who were in office, from the ex-vicars and governors to the sophists and the tribunes, and the whole common people, visited me every day, honored me, and almost carried me in their eyes; this, I believe, stung Pharetrius: nor did the envy which drove us from Constantinople cease here, as I opine; for I do not affirm and assert, but I conjecture. And who finally could encompass in speech the other things which we had to endure on the road? The fears, the dangers?

Chrysostom rejoices in his calamities. Sadness is a grave evil.

617 S. JOANNIS CHRYSOSTOMI ARCHIEP. CONSTANTINOΡ.

to move me from here. I had it in my mind to reflect on this, that you needed much apology, and much sweat and labor, in order that you might be able to offer an apology for this remark. Perhaps you have partly apologized, by saying that I simply imagine this for the sake of increasing my grief. But I consider even this again a very great accusation, that you say I am even ambitious to add pains to my reflections; for when you ought to be doing and arranging everything for the sake of ending the grief, you are doing the devil’s will by increasing despondency and sorrow. Or do you not know what a great evil despondency is? As for the Isaurians, fear nothing further; for they ^B have returned to their own land; and the governor has done everything regarding this; and we are in greater safety being here than when we were in Caesarea. For I fear no one anymore except the bishops, with few exceptions. Therefore, fear nothing at all concerning the Isaurians; for they have withdrawn, and since winter has set in, they are shut up at home, if indeed they are to come out at all after Pentecost. And why do you say that you do not receive letters? I have already sent you three letters: one by the provincial officials, another by Antonius, and a third by your servant Anatolius—all of them long; and the two were, in particular, like a saving medicine, capable of restoring anyone who is despondent, anyone who is scandalized, and of bringing them to pure peace of mind. Having received them, therefore, go through them ^C continuously and constantly, and you will see their strength, and you will have ample experience of the healing and benefit, and you will inform us that something more has come to you from them. I have even a third one ready, similar to them, which I did not want to send now, having been greatly pained by what you say, that I am even gathering painful thoughts for myself and inventing things that do not exist, speaking a word unworthy of yourself, at which I myself am ashamed and cover my face. Nevertheless, read those, and you will no longer say these things, even if you strive to be despondent ten thousand times. Since you also informed me about Heracleides the bishop, it is possible for him, if he wishes, to lodge a plea ^D and be rid of all things; for nothing else remains. Although I was accomplishing nothing great, I nevertheless informed my lady Pentadia to display all zeal, in case she might devise some consolation for the evil. You said that you had dared to inform me of the painful matters because you were commanded by him. What kind of boldness is that? I have not ceased saying, nor will I cease, that there is only one painful thing: sin; all other things are dust and smoke. For what is difficult about dwelling in a prison, and being bound in chains? And what is difficult about suffering evil, when the suffering of evil becomes the basis for such great profit? And what is difficult about exile? What about confiscation? These are words empty of terrible realities, words that are merely sorrow. For whether you speak of death, you are speaking of a debt of nature —which one must pay in any case, even if no one inflicts it; or if you speak of exile, you are speaking of nothing other than a change of place and seeing many cities; or if you speak of the confiscation of property, you speak of freedom, and of being easily released.

5. Concerning Maruthas the bishop, do not cease, as far as it lies with you, to show him favor, so as to draw him out of the pit. For I especially need him because of affairs in Persia. And learn from him, if it becomes possible for you, what has been accomplished there through him, and for what purpose he has come, and inform us whether you have delivered the two letters that I sent him; and if he wishes to write to us, we shall write to him again; ^B but if he does not wish to, at least inform your reverence if anything more has happened there, and if he intends to accomplish anything again when he returns. For this reason I was eager to associate with him. Nevertheless, let everything be done by you; even if everyone should be turned upside down, fulfill your own part. For your reward shall be complete. Therefore, win him over entirely, and as far as you are able. I implore you, do not pass over what I am about to say, but show great zeal concerning it. The Marssi monks, the Goths, among whom Serapion the bishop was always ^C hidden, informed me that Moduarius the deacon came, reporting that the marvelous Bishop Unilas—whom I had recently ordained and sent to Gothia—has fallen asleep after achieving many great things; and he came bearing letters from the king of the Goths, requesting that a bishop be sent to them. Since, therefore, I see nothing else contributing to a settlement for the threatened destruction other than delay and postponement (for it is not possible for them to sail to the Bosporus now, nor to those parts), arrange to put them off for the time being because of the winter; but do not pass over this lightly; for it is a very great achievement. There are two things, above all, ^D that trouble me if they were to happen—which God forbid: the fact of it being about to happen at the hands of these, those who have done so many evils, and from whom it is not right [that it should happen], and also that it should simply be someone. For you know as well as I do that they do not care to appoint anyone noble. But if this were to happen—which God forbid—you know what follows. Therefore, so that none of these things may occur, spare no zeal; and if it were possible for Moduarius to slip away to us quietly, the greatest ends would be achieved. But if it is not possible, let what is possible be done from the available resources. For what happens with money, and (as it happened) with the widow, occurs also with these matters. For just as she, by casting in two copper coins, surpassed all who cast in more,

[LATIN COLUMN]

619 : S. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM, ARCHBISHOP OF CONSTANTINOPLE

had poured out (Luke 21:2-3): so also those who apply themselves to their business with every effort of mind, as far as it lies within them, have completed everything, even if no utility results from it, and they have their reward fully and in all respects rendered to them. I have given the greatest thanks to Bishop Hilary; for he asked me by letter to grant him permission to go back to his own city, and he promised—his affairs having been settled—to return to us. Since, therefore, his presence is not a little useful (for he is a pious man, with a constant and fervent spirit), I have exhorted him that, when he has set out, he should return immediately. And therefore apply your effort so that our letter may be delivered to him quickly and safely, and not be cast aside, since he requested our letters with great desire and vehemence, and his presence brings immense utility. I would wish, therefore, that you should diligently take care of them, so that if the presbyter Helladius is not there, they may be delivered to [your] friends by some prudent man endowed with [good] sense.

To the same, Letter XV.

You, having given such a specimen of philosophy from your early youth, and having trampled upon human pride, did you have the hope that you would lead a tranquil and peaceful life? But how could that be? For since men, when they struggle with men, receive countless blows both in the wrestling schools and in wars: you, who have girded yourself against principalities and powers, against the rulers of the darkness of this world, against the spiritual forces of wickedness (Ephes. 6:12), and indeed so valiantly, and have erected so many trophies, and in so many ways have afflicted that fierce and pestilential demon, from where at last did you come into that hope that you would lead a tranquil life, free from the molestations of affairs? ^A Wherefore, it is not fitting to be disturbed by the fact that many wars, and many tumults and perturbations arise on every side; ^B rather, if none of these things had happened, then at last there would be cause for you to wonder. For labor and danger are attached to virtue. And this you have understood clearly even before you read our letter, nor is there any need for you to learn it from others; for we do not write these things as if to teach one who is ignorant. For we know that neither exile, nor the loss of property—which most men consider intolerable—nor contumely, nor any other calamity of this kind can disturb you. For since the companions of those who have endured these things are called blessed, those ^C who are occupied in them are certainly much more blessed. And for that reason, Paul praises those who had turned from the religion of the Hebrews to the Christian faith with these words: "Call to mind the former days, in which, having been illuminated, you endured a great struggle of sufferings, partly being made a spectacle by reproaches and tribulations, and partly having become companions of those so occupied" (Hebr. 10:32). ^D Since, therefore, we also know how much philosophy you have shown in the things that have befallen you, we deem you blessed and we admire you, both for your patience and for the rewards which are stored up for you from this source in the future.

Since, however, I know that you desire to be made certain of the state of our affairs (for I have been silent for a long time): know this, that we have emerged from a most serious illness, but we still carry around the remnants of the disease. We certainly have excellent doctors at hand, but the lack of necessary things weakens the utility of the medicine. For here there is not only a shortage of necessary medicines, and of other things by which a sick body can be relieved, but even famine and pestilence are imminent. And these evils are being spawned by the perpetual incursion of robbers, who, ranging as far as possible and blocking all the roads on every side, create no small danger for those who are traveling. Andronicus, indeed, as he himself says, fell into their hands, and having been stripped by them, so he escaped safe. Therefore I ask you not to send anyone here henceforth. For it is to be feared that the cause of a journey to us might bring death to him who undertakes this path. But if this should happen, it does not escape you how much grief that would bring to us. But if you should find a man of proven faith who might come here for other business, through him let me know in what state your health is. But privately and for our own need, let no one come here, on account of the fear we have mentioned.

Ad eamdem Letter XVI.

God governs the life of the pious through joyful and adverse things. Both are a proof of the ineffable kindness of God; namely, that He both permits so many and such great temptations to be brought upon you, in order that you may obtain more splendid crowns, and that He frees you from them as soon as possible, so that you may not be crushed again by the duration of the calamities brought upon you. For in this way God governed the life of those strong men, that is, the Apostles and prophets, now allowing waves to be stirred up, now however rebuking the sea of adverse things, and converting the savage tempest into a pleasant calm. Therefore, cease to weep and to waste yourself away in sorrow, and do not place before your eyes only those frequent—nay, perpetual—bitternesses which are brought upon you, but also their most rapid removal, and the reward which is prepared for you from this, which is more excellent than any speech. For as cobwebs, and shadow, and smoke are, and if anything more worthless than these can be imagined, such are all the bitterness inflicted upon you, if they are compared with those rewards which are to be bestowed upon you from this. For what is it to be driven from one’s city, to migrate from other places to others in turn, and to be harassed and proscribed on all sides, and to be dragged before tribunals, and to be seized by soldiers, and to suffer the contrary from those who have been affected by six hundred benefits, and to be vexed both by servants and by free people, when the reward for these things is heaven, and those purest goods, which can neither be explained by any words nor have an end, but have an immortal [result].

providing the enjoyment derived from them? Therefore, put aside considerations of plots, injuries, losses of money, continuous migrations, and living in a foreign land, and—trampling these underfoot more easily than mud—consider the treasures laid up for you in heaven as a result of them, and the indestructible business, and the inviolable wealth. But is your body in poor condition from these labors and trials, and have the plots of your enemies worn you down with illness? Once again, you are telling me of another matter, one of great and unspeakable gain. For you know, you know clearly, how great a thing it is to bear bodily illness courageously and with thanksgiving. This, as I have often said, crowned Lazarus; this put the devil to shame in the contests of Job, and revealed that athlete of endurance as more radiant. This proclaimed him even more than his poverty, and his disregard for money, and that sudden loss of his children, and his ten thousand trials, and it stopped the shameless mouth of that wicked demon with great abundance. Therefore, as you continually ponder these things yourself, rejoice and be glad, having finished the greatest contest, bearing the head of temptations meekly, and for these things glorifying the benevolent God, who is able to strike them all down at once, but allows them to happen so that this noble business of yours might become more brilliant. For this reason, we too do not cease to call you blessed. And we were glad that, having been relieved of both lawsuits and affairs, you have, as was fitting for you, put an end to the matter according to the dissolution, neither cowardly casting them aside, nor again holding on and exposing yourself to courts and the evils resulting from them; but you have walked the middle path, and having enjoyed the freedom that is fitting for you, you have displayed great discernment in all things, and endurance, and patience, and have shown the un-deceivability of your intelligence.

To the same person, Epistle XVII

Nothing strange or unbecoming has happened to your reverence, but it is highly likely and consistent that, by the continuity of successive temptations, the nerves of your soul should have become sturdier, and your eagerness and strength for the struggles greater, and that you should reap from this great pleasure. For such is the nature of affliction: when it overtakes a noble and youthful soul, it is its nature to work these things. And just as fire makes gold more tested when it is combined with it, so too does affliction, when it comes upon golden souls, render them purer and more tested. Wherefore Paul also said: "Affliction produces patience, and patience, probity" (Rom. 5:3, 4). For these reasons, we leap and rejoice, and we reap a very great consolation from this bravery of yours in our isolation. For these reasons, even if ten thousand wolves surround you, and many assemblies of evildoers, we fear nothing; but we pray that the temptations which are present may be extinguished, and that others may not be added, fulfilling the Lord's command, which bids us pray not to enter into temptation; but if, in fact, it should be permitted to happen again, we are confident concerning your golden soul, which gathers from this, too, the greatest wealth for itself. For what will they be able to terrify you with, those who dare everything against their own heads? The loss of money? But I know that you consider this to be dust, and cheaper than any mud. But by exile from your country and home? But you know how to dwell in even great and populous cities as if they were solitudes, having lived your whole time in quiet and freedom from business, and having trampled underfoot worldly illusions. But they threaten death? But you, having anticipated this, have studied it for all your life, and even if they drag you to slaughter, they will drag a body that is already dead. Why say much? No one will be able to do any such thing to you, for whose patience they will not find long ago established in you with great abundance. For having always walked the narrow and afflicted path, you have trained yourself in all these things. Wherefore, having practiced this most beautiful science in the training grounds, now in the contests you have appeared more brilliant, not only not being disturbed by what is happening, but even being winged, and leaping, and dancing. For you now handle the contests of those exercises which you previously undertook with great ease, in a woman's body, and one weaker than spiderwebs, trampling underfoot the madness of strong men gnashing their teeth with much laughter, and being more ready to suffer than they are to prepare it. Blessed are you, and three times blessed, for these crowns, or rather, for the contests themselves. For such is the nature of these struggles: even before the prizes, and in the very arena itself, it possesses both the rewards and the recompenses—the pleasure which you are now reaping, the gladness, the bravery, the endurance, the patience, the indestructibility, the unconquerable nature, being higher than all things, having so trained yourself that you can suffer nothing terrible from anyone, having stood on the rock after so many surging waves, and of being borne through the raging sea with great calm. These are the rewards of affliction even here, before the kingdom of heaven. For I know, I know that now you do not even think you are wearing a body, being winged by pleasure, but when the time calls, you will cast it off more easily than others do the garments they wear. Rejoice, therefore, and be glad for yourself, and for those who have died the blessed death, not on a bed, nor in a house, but in prisons and chains and tortures. But lament and weep for those alone who do these things. For this too is worthy of your philosophy. Since you also wish to learn about the health of our body, we have been freed for the time being from the illness that was previously bothering us, and we are now feeling better; unless we are again