Letters (to Various Persons)

coming to us, lest winter again injure the weakness of our stomach; for we have been in great security regarding the Isaurians.

XVIII. To Carteria.

XIX. To Marcianus and Marcellinus.

XX. To Agapetus.

XXI. To Alphius.

XXII. To Castus, Valerius, Diophantus, and Cyriacus, Presbyters of Antioch.

continually seeking from you. That this is difficult, both because of the season of the year and because of the difficulty of the journey, with few travelers appearing who might perform this service for you, we are not unaware; nevertheless, we beseech you, as far as it is possible and as far as such difficulty permits, to write frequently, and from your love we ask for this favor. And to my lord, the most reverend presbyter Romanus, just as you ordered, we have sent, and for this, too, we are very grateful to you. For this also is a sign of those who love us greatly and cherish us with excess, that they should attempt, even through letters, to reach such men, and to take great care to unite us more closely. Having received, therefore, our letter to him, we ask that you also deign to give it, and to greet him again for us, even apart from the letter. For we have been his most fervent lovers from above and from the beginning, as you know; and let him learn through your own lips that we remain keeping the same love, granting ourselves the greatest gifts; and that we have not caused the silence between us through negligence, but by waiting to receive letters from his reverence. Since he asked that we write first, behold, we do this, and we beseech him also to do this continually for us.

XXIV. To Hesychius.

XXV. To Elpidius the Bishop.

XXVI. To Magnus the Bishop.

XXVII. To Domnus the Bishop.

we have received this plea. For to have such men as such fervent lovers provides no ordinary consolation to those who are loved. And I did indeed wish to encounter your reverence face to face, and to be fulfilled by the sweetest disposition of your company. But since this is not possible (for it is neither possible for us, nor is it easy for your reverence, given the care of the Church there), we have of necessity turned to the second course, bestowing upon ourselves the relief that comes from letters. For a letter, seasoned with sincere love, has not a little power to console those who are separated in body. Therefore, in order that we may continually enjoy this comfort, do not hesitate to write to us of your health as often as it is possible and practicable. For we consider your friendship a very great treasure and a wealth of goods beyond description. And if we should frequently receive such goods—that is, your letters—we will not even feel this solitude, reaping great joy from your letters.

XXVIII. To Basil the presbyter.

Even if we have not enjoyed a meeting with you face to face, yet, hearing of your virtue and the zeal you have against the Greeks, overthrowing their error and leading them by the hand to the truth, we honor and revere you as if you were present and had spent a long time with us. For this reason, we have written to you before, calling you blessed for your achievements and admiring you, and asking that you also write to us whenever you are able. For although we are separated by body, we are joined by the bonds of love, keeping your reverence in our thoughts. Knowing this, do not hesitate to write to us frequently and to report your successes, so that, even while dwelling in solitude, we may reap great consolation from this.

XXIX. To Chalcidia and Asyncritia.

Let nothing of the griefs that befall you trouble you, nor let the waves of affairs that come one after another disturb your mind. For such is the narrow and constricted path, having much difficulty, sweat, and toil. But these things pass by and are dissolved with the present life. Even if the path is narrow, it is still a path; and from it, one bears away mild and generous rewards, everlasting and immortal, and far greater than the toils. Therefore, consider the bitterness and the fleeting nature of this present tribulation, and the everlasting and immortal nature of the rewards; endeavor to endure all things generously, and do not be troubled by any of the difficulties that occur. For only sin is a grievous thing; all other things—exiles, sequestrations of property, abductions, plots, and all such things—are a shadow, and smoke, and spider's webs, and whatever else may be of less worth than these. Therefore, as you have practiced in the past in enduring many temptations, display now the patience that is fitting for you. For this shall have the power to establish you in great security and tranquility, and to make you more proven. And if you find any who are coming here for their own business, send us letters frequently concerning your health. For you know how very anxious we are about it, and how frequently we desire to hear something of it.

XXX. To Heortius the bishop.

I, for my part, desired to receive letters from your honor concerning your health. For you know, most honorable master, how I have always been disposed toward your reverence. But since a shortage of letter-carriers has perhaps deprived you of this, I, having found men going to you, assail you with letters, and I ask and beseech you that as often as the opportunity is given, you also write to us as frequently as possible, and explain what state your health is in. For although we dwell in the most desolate place in the world, and are besieged by fear of robbers, and suffer many calamities, as in a foreign land and in such great isolation, yet if we receive frequent letters from you, whom we love so much, informing us of your health, we will derive great consolation from this, however much we are oppressed by such calamities. For you know what power love has, and that not only the presence of friends, but also letters bring great comfort. Since these things are so, I pray you to grant us this pleasure more frequently, informing us of your health, concerning which we desire above all else to hear something.

XXXI. To Marcellinus.

Although we have both maintained silence toward one another for a long time, yet we have not forgotten that ancient and sincere love of yours, but we keep it flourishing and entire, and wherever we go, we carry it about with us, reaping the greatest consolation from it. And for this reason, having now found men who are setting out to you, we pay you the debt of greeting, and we signify that even if we are led away to the very ends of the earth, we nonetheless depart in such a way that we keep you deeply inscribed in our mind and in our conscience. But since for those who are disposed in this way, it is very delightful not only to write, but also to receive letters from those they love so much, I would wish, master most worthy of reverence, that you double this pleasure for us; and as often as the opportunity arises, write to us frequently, and explain what your health is like. For you know how much we care to learn of these things, and how much consolation we derive from this, even while dwelling in a foreign land.

XXXII. To Euthalia.

Even if I receive fewer letters from your modesty than I send to you, I will not therefore cease writing. For I do myself a favor by writing frequently to a soul possessed of such sincere benevolence toward me. But since I vehemently desire to understand what the state of your affairs is, I am also sending...

I desire to hear of your affairs, as I desire to learn what it is that stirs you, and so I am constantly eager to receive letters, that I might learn continuously—which is what I desire—that you are passing your time in great contentment and security. For that you are enjoying these things, because you take great care of your soul, and, looking past worldly affairs, are walking the road toward heaven, I do not think there is any need to doubt. For I know the nobility of your soul, and its freedom, and that it is full of freedom from business and exempt from worldly cares. Since you know, then, how great a favor you grant us by doing this, whenever it is possible and feasible, be exhorted to write to us constantly, as we have said before, so that we may receive from this, even here in this desert where we dwell, great consolation. For when the letters of you who love us are brought to us constantly, declaring your health, they fill us with no ordinary joy, but produce such pleasure in us that we do not even feel the slightest sense of this desert in which we dwell.

XXXIII. To Adolia. In this too you have shown your love—genuine and fervent—that even when you were in such illness, you wrote to us so constantly. We, for our part, desire that you be delivered from your illness and, whenever it is possible, that we might see you arriving here. And this you know yourself, most respectable and most reverent lady. Since, therefore, as I have written before, we are now in greater anxiety (for from your letters we conjectured the extent of your illness), because of this, whenever your body improves for the better, be exhorted to declare this very thing to us with speed, so that you might ease us of a very heavy anxiety. For that we are even now in no small despondency because of your illness, you yourself are not unaware. Knowing, then, the anxiety in which we now are, be eager to do what we have requested. Even if there is no need at all to exhort you to this, yet I know well that as many letter-carriers as you might obtain, you will not cease writing to us through each one.

XXXIV. To Carteria. This too is a sign of your love, of your soul which is so deeply concerned for us: that you not only sent the [polyarchion], but also considered how it might be useful, and added to it both the nard and the sweet oil, to correct its dryness from the long journey. And that you should prepare it yourself, and not entrust it to others, and not allow it to be delayed, but strive to have it be done quickly—this is what has truly made us admire your disposition toward us. For this we give you thanks, and find fault in only one thing: that you did not send in your letters what was most desirable for us, I mean the good news of your health. And as we are now in anxiety, not knowing the state of your illness, so if you send us letters with speed announcing that your sickness is dissolved, you will grant us a great favor. Knowing then how strongly we desire to learn that you have recovered from this infirmity, grant us this joy, which will be no small consolation to us in this most difficult desert and siege.

XXXV. To Alphius. May God give you your reward, both in the present life and in the age to come, for your genuine and fervent love for us—sincere and unfeigned, immobile and unchangeable. For you have shown no small proofs of your disposition toward us—and these, sitting at such a great distance, most honorable and noble sir—but many and great ones. For this we give you thanks, and we wish to write constantly, but we are not able to every time we wish; we write, however, as often as we are able. You know yourself the difficulty that arises in the roads on account of the winter and the raids of robbers. Do not, then, think that we are slothful when we remain silent for a long time, but attribute this to the scarcity of letter-carriers, not to any neglect of ours. If it were possible to write more constantly, we would not have shrunk from sending you frequent letters. For we would be doing a favor to ourselves, by paying you the customary greeting more constantly. Knowing these things, then, write to us constantly yourself concerning your health. As for what you said you had sent us, no one brought it here; the person who had it turned back on account of the fear of robbers. But we exhort you not to do this, nor to provide difficulties and troubles for yourself. For your great gifts are your genuine and fervent disposition, the enjoyment of which we continually relish as we remember your love.

XXXVI. To Maro, presbyter and monk. We are bound to you by love and by disposition, and we see you as if you were present here. For such are the eyes of love; they are not cut off by distance, nor do they wither with time. We wish to write more constantly to your reverence, but since this is not easy due to the difficulty of the road and the lack of travelers, whenever it is possible we greet your honor and make it clear to you that we hold you in memory continuously, carrying you in our soul wherever we may be. Declare, then, also to us more constantly the state of your health, so that, though we are separated in body, by learning constantly of your well-being, we may become more cheerful and receive consolation while sitting in this desert. For it brings us no small joy to hear of your health. And before all things, I entreat you to pray for us.

XXXVII. To Tranquillinus, bishop. My most honorable lord bishop Seleucus—the longing for us roused him from his home, and here...

a longing for your affection. It was he who emboldened him to disregard both the winter, and the difficulty of the road, and the most grievous illness. Therefore, having commended his love and zeal, most esteemed master, pay him back the reward for this long hardship, by showing him your customary kindness on this occasion as well. For we have sent him to your hands as to a calm harbor, knowing your gentleness, and your sincere, fervent, firm, and constant love. And if anyone should come from there, and it be easy, I desire that you write to us regarding your health. For Eupsychius did not come to us just now; therefore, we have been unable to learn those things which you said he would tell us when you wrote to us previously, for the reason that he himself nowhere appears. Since, therefore, these things are not at all unknown to you, then whatever you had intended to signify to us through him previously, and if there is anything else [635] that it is necessary for us to know, make it known to us now at least, and signify something to us regarding your health, which is of the greatest concern to us, and about which, since we labor with constant anxiety, we also desire to hear constantly.

XXXVIII. To Hymnetius the Archiater

Although we have not written to your Honor frequently, we nevertheless always hold you in our memory, as we have received a great proof of your fervent, upright, and sincere love in a few days. And for that reason, we send to your hands, not otherwise than into a harbor, my most reverend lord, the bishop Seleucus. For he is vexed by a most grievous cough, which the season of the year makes even more fierce, and renders more difficult. Since, therefore, you have understood the nature of his ailment, most venerated master, apply your efforts to rescue him from this tempest, opposing the strength of your art to this troublesome malady, by the help and assistance of which you have often snatched many, when they had come into the same danger, from shipwreck, so that they might not be overwhelmed by such billows.

XXXIX. To Chalcidia

I know the love which you have had for us from the beginning, and that you keep it blooming, and that you bring about its increase, and you do not allow it, through our separation and such a length of time, to become obscured, but rather inflame it all the more. I also know that you receive our letters with great joy of soul; and that you, whether writing or silent, still remain always in the same frame of mind toward us: for this I have experienced in many things, and often. Wherefore I pray you to continue to maintain the same mind toward us; for we have many tokens, many memorials of your sincere love. Therefore we carry you about constantly, as if inscribed upon our soul, and we hold the memory of you in such a way that it can be destroyed by no oblivion, even if we do not write frequently owing to the scarcity of letter-carriers. Knowing these things, therefore, most noble and most religious lady, write to us continually regarding your own health. For although we, when no letters are delivered to us from you, are always inquiring of those who come from there regarding this matter: yet we desire to receive letters from you as well, which may tell us happy things regarding the state of your health.

XL. To Asyncritia

I know that you are currently involved in great calamity. But just as I know this, so also do I know that a huge reimbursement and an ample reward and recompense remain for you for these calamities. For grief brings utility to the soul, and procures for it many rewards. Therefore, knowing and considering these things, receive the greatest consolation from this; and may not only the bitterness of the calamities be set before your eyes, but also the gain which is gathered from them; and write to us continually regarding your health. For we were affected with no small pain when we learned that you were in poor health. Therefore, with great speed, we vehemently desire to know if your condition has eased in any way, so that the worry which we have conceived from this might be lightened.

XLI. To Valentinus

I am sending this third letter, though I have received none from you. But we have understood that you received our letters with great joy of soul, and that you treated him who delivered them with the honor that was fitting, and likewise that you performed all that was your part in those matters which required your aid, and not one of these things escaped us: yet in the meantime, we have received no letter. And if anyone else among those who are of a less generous mind had used such silence, we would have thought that he was pretending the burden of business as an excuse. But since we have proven the sublimity of your mind and the fervor of your love, its sincerity, purity, and constancy, we cannot be brought to be satisfied with this excuse. Do not, likewise, say that you do not reside there: for that is known to us. But we shall take the consolation for your long silence in this one thing only, if you are willing to compensate for what has hitherto been neglected by you, and to send very many letters poured forth from that tongue from which honey flows, which may clearly explain to us the state of your health. For although we sit in solitude, and are encompassed on all sides by a heavy siege and numberless bitter things, we nevertheless do not cease to be in care and solicitude for you, and we ask every day how your affairs stand. Wherefore, I ask that you write to us regarding your health continually, so that we may not learn these things from others, but from you, whose benevolent kindness is sweet and most pleasant to us. For there will be nothing which we do not consider that we have received from you, if we shall have received letters carrying this happy news to us.

XLII. To Candidianus

The space is great that separates us, nor is the time short since we were parted from your admirableness. There is also the great crowd of business that surrounds us, the most grievous loneliness of the place, the unbearable siege, the sudden attacks, the incursions of robbers, and yet another distress: the sickness of the body. Nevertheless, none of these things has rendered us more sluggish in our love for you; rather, we keep it flourishing and blooming, bearing you in our mind wherever we might be, and holding an unforgetting memory of you, 617 and we have graven upon our mind the nobility of your soul, your freedom, your constancy, the stability of your genuine love, and the warmth of your disposition. Thus we pass our time here, holding the memory of your noble achievements as the greatest consolation in such utter loneliness. Do you yourself also write to us continually, my most admirable and most magnificent lord, bringing us good tidings of your health. For you know how we grasp at it (since it is a matter of great eagerness to us to learn of it), and that we shall reap a double joy—both by your writing and by our receiving such letters from your magnificence.

XLIII. To Bassiana

You have been silent for a long time, and this while you have my most honored and most pious lord, Theodotus the deacon, who is able easily to find those arriving here from your parts. For our part, we do not even then suspect your love, as though it had become more sluggish toward us; for we have received much experience of it and through many things, and we have known its brilliance and sincerity, its genuineness and constancy. Wherefore, whether you write or are silent, we are disposed toward your nobility in the same way, and we have confidence in your disposition, as remaining whole and unalloyed. But even so, being thus disposed, we exceedingly desire to receive continual letters from you, bringing us good tidings concerning the health of your own self and of all your house. Since we desire this especially and grasp at it, as you yourself know. Knowing these things, therefore, my most modest and most noble lady, grant us this favor, which is a light, easy, and reasonable thing, and provides us with great consolation while we sit in this loneliness.

XLIV. To Theodotus the Deacon

I know indeed that you would not have joined us by letter if it had been possible to join us by presence; but you would have left everything to be with us, were there no obstacle, and a great obstacle at that: the season of the year, the difficulty of business, and the loneliness here which increases for the worse every day. And I have no need to learn this from you. For since I have known once for all that you are a fervent lover of us, I have known this well also. We, then, would have written to everyone even without your reminder; but we admired you also for this affection toward us, that you added an exhortation concerning this at the end of your letter. For this is the mark of a soul that greatly cares for our affairs, that is concerned, that is solicitous, and that knows how to love genuinely. I have written to all the others; but since we had recently written to my lady Carteria, and we learned that she is not staying there, but has gone abroad on a long journey: if it is possible for our letters to be sent on there, let this be done, if you should approve; if that is not possible, at least speak with my most honored and noble lords, those around Marcellianus, so that if they should at any time write to her, they may make an apology for us, that we have not been negligent, nor kept silence during the intervening time, but have been hindered by her long absence from writing to her more frequently.

XLV. To Symmachus the Presbyter

It is nothing new or strange that one walking a narrow path should be in distress. For such is the nature of virtue; it is full of labors and sweats, of conspiracies and dangers. But the path is indeed of this kind: the crowns, the prizes, the ineffable goods that follow therefrom, have no end. Exhort yourself, therefore, with these thoughts; for both the ease and the affliction of the present life pass by, and are brought to an end with the life itself. Let neither of those things, then, puff you up, nor let these things humble and shrink you. For the excellent pilot is neither puffed up in the calm nor troubled in the storm. Knowing these things, therefore, exhort yourself, and reap the greatest consolation therefrom. Write to us continually concerning your health. For if we are separated by a great length of road, and we have been left a long time from your 618 pleasant company, yet we are not separated from your love; but we always bear it unforgotten and flourishing, wherever we may be, since such is the nature of loving genuinely.

XLVI. To Rufinus

I wished to write more frequently to your reverence, since I love you—and I love you greatly, my most reverend and pious lord; and you yourself know both of these things. But since the one rests with us, and the other is not in our power: for we are masters of loving, but no longer of writing continuously, due to the difficulty of the road and the season of the year; that we do constantly, but this we do whenever it is possible—or rather, we do this also constantly. For even if we do not write continuously with ink and paper, we do so with mind and purpose; for such is the nature of loving genuinely.

XLVII. To Namaea

Why do you go about seeking an apology and 619 pardon?

demanding an account for the reasons for which we crown and proclaim you. That you have written is something we welcome; but that you have done so late and slowly—are we to complain about this? So if you think it acts as a great piece of audacity to have written to us, set that aside and consider ^A a defense for the crime of tardiness. For the more you say that you sincerely loved us both when present and absent, the more you increase the accusation. For if you were among those whose love for us was common, it would not have been strange to me that you were silent for so long; but since you assert that you bore such sincere and fervent charity toward us that you would not have refused to take even so difficult a journey, beset by the fear of so many robbers, had not sickness stood in the way, only one form of defense remains for you: to send us a flurry of letters that can compensate for the long silence. Do this, and we shall forgive everything. Since this letter, too, arrived quite late, because it breathed a burning charity, it has paid the debt of the past time. However, see to it that the remaining ones do not imitate the tardiness of this one. For in this way, this too will be able to show that it came late not out of laziness, but because of the futile fear—as you yourself said—if the rest arrive quickly and with great persistence for us.

XLVIII. To Arabius.

I know your charity, I know your warm, genuine, sincere, and constant love; and I know well that neither the difficulty of affairs, nor the throng of cares, nor the multitude of circumstances, nor the length of time, nor the distance of the journey can make it grow dim. For this reason I am very eager to receive letters continuously from your nobility, bringing us the news we desire about your health. And if we complain, we do not complain because you are negligent, but because we long for more letters of this kind. Knowing these things, my most honorable and noble lord, grant us this favor, which is both light and easy for you, and brings us great comfort, even while we sit in this solitude.

XLIX. To Alphius.

I, for my part, wished to write more frequently, but the scarcity of couriers does not allow me to fulfill this desire; for neither the solitude of this place, nor the fear of the Isaurians, nor the severity of the winter allows anyone to visit us frequently. Nevertheless, whether we write or remain silent, we maintain the same disposition toward you always, recognizing the zeal and care with which you provide for the needs of your soul, while you endeavor to refresh those who live in piety and occupy yourself in this noble task. Knowing this, most reverend and religious lord, do not cease to inform us of your health and that of your whole house. For ^B in this way, even while we are in solitude, we shall draw great comfort if we receive such letters from your honor.

L. To Diogenes.

Although we knew of the sincerity of your charity toward us beforehand, we have recognized it much more now, when, at the onset of such a great storm, you have shown yourself to be not only none the less lethargic, but actually a much more zealous friend to us. For this reason we admire you, and we do not cease to proclaim it daily. For you indeed are about to receive from the philanthropic God, who always far surpasses with His rewards those who perform or speak of something good, a reward exceeding every word. We, however, repay you with gratitude for what we have, and we do not cease to admire you, praise you, call you blessed, love you, revere you, honor you, and carry you everywhere in our thoughts, bound and attached to you by the law of charity. For you know clearly yourself, my most venerable and admirable lord, that we have always been among those who love you dearly. Therefore, do not complain to us for the sake of the gifts you sent us. For after we had pressed out and received the honor flowing from them, as if it were a bunch of grapes from a harvest, we returned the gifts themselves—not because we despised you, nor because we did not trust in the nobility of your soul, but because we were not in need of them. This is what we have also done with many others. For many others, your equals in nobility and most ardent lovers of us, as your greatness will be able to learn, have done the same thing; and among them, this same excuse of ours sufficed—which I would like you also to accept. For if we should happen to be in need, we will ask with greater confidence, just as if they were our own; and this you will see in reality. Wherefore, accept them and guard them diligently, so that if the time should ever call for it, we may ask for them from you with a confident and free spirit.

LI. To the Same.

After I had written the former letter, and saw that the most reverend and religious Aphraates was so attached to us that he would neither depart from here, nor would he threaten to receive letters from us unless I accepted the gifts you had sent, I placed upon this matter 621 a form most pleasing to your nobility, and one that will refresh your soul; which, when you have learned of it from him, command him to become the minister of this fine arrangement. For it escapes you not how great the usefulness of this matter will be, both on account of his arrival in Phoenicia and on account of your liberality and munificence. And you yourself will receive the reward for both of these, in that you have given a demonstration of your liberality toward those who instruct the Greeks in Phoenicia in the rudiments of the Christian faith and labor for the construction of churches, and furthermore have stirred up such a man and sent him to console them—especially now, when they are in such difficulty and are being troubled by many.

Having reflected, therefore, on the gravity of the undertaking, do not allow him to delay even a little, but prepare him to set out upon this journey without hesitation, storing up for yourself by this good zeal, my most admirable sir, a great reward from God, who loves mankind.

^D LII. To Adolia. (Cucusus, in the year 404.) We have learned that you have been ill, and indeed that you were so severely and bitterly ill that you even approached the very gates of death; but we also know that you have recovered from the illness, and, now delivered from the danger, are on your way to health. I did not, however, learn any of this from your letters, for which reason I was greatly pained, but from elsewhere and from others. Nevertheless, it is enough for our consolation that your reverence has been freed from the illness. But although it is enough, I do not bear your long silence calmly. For I wished, as you yourself also know, to see you had you come here. And indeed, if illness had not supervened, nothing would have prevented it. For the winter here has so far mimicked a very mild spring, and Armenia has been freed from the Isaurians. But still, I do not compel or force you to come here against your will. But this, which neither the fear of the Isaurians, nor the severity of the winter, nor the hardship of the journey, nor anything else prevents, this we unceasingly ask to have from you: letters, those signs of your warm and genuine affection. For if we enjoy these unceasingly, bringing us news of your health and cheerfulness, we shall reap no small consolation from them. Thinking, therefore, of what a great favor you will be doing us, do not hesitate to act accordingly. For you know how we hold your nobility in esteem, and how much love we have always displayed toward your gentleness.

LIII. To Nicolaus the presbyter. (Cucusus, in the year 405.) You have greatly lifted my spirits and filled me with enormous pleasure by signifying that you have a great care for Phoenicia, and that, although separated by such a distance, you sharpen and encourage with your letters those who dwell there, thus fulfilling an apostolic zeal. For this reason we do not cease to admire and bless you: because you previously sent the monks, and because now, in so great a difficulty of affairs, not only have you not withdrawn them, but you have ordered them to stay, doing the work of an excellent commander and a noble physician. For each of them, when he sees the waves rising, displays all the more great zeal, and when he sees the fever stirred up into a greater flame, makes use of much skill; and you yourself, therefore, my most honorable and reverend master, have done things worthy of your virtue, when you saw matters ailing and in conflict, then especially you applied yourself to those who dwell there, so that they might not desert, but persevere and contribute what is in their power. Since you emulate your own deeds, if my most honorable master, the presbyter Gerontius, has recovered and returned to perfect health, urge him immediately to begin that journey. ^D For we desire to see him arrived here; but since the affairs there also have need of speed and much wakefulness, so that no great amount of time is spent on the road and the winter that has set in does not block his way, we beseech your honor to urge him to recover and hasten to depart, and to prepare the most sweet and most beloved John the presbyter to join him on the journey. For you yourself know that now more than ever the things there have need of those who will set them right, in as much as the evils have crept further. Thinking upon this, therefore, and knowing how great a thing the salvation of a soul is, and what you have accomplished by your honor through your previous zeal, take courage to do everything both through yourself and through others, as far as it is possible, so that what has been corrected may remain unmoved, and that even a much greater addition may accrue to them. You yourself, however, have cheered us no less than those who have come here; for in your mind you have arrived, and we see you every day with the eyes of love, even though you are not present in body, carrying you about everywhere in our thoughts. And perhaps the meeting face-to-face will also be granted to us when the season permits. As for now, even though we desire greatly to see your love and embrace you, we deem your remaining where you are to be necessary. For I know well that you will not cease doing everything and taking measures to fill Phoenicia with noble men, and strengthening those who have remained there all the more, so that they may not abandon the place and return, and searching out those who are near and sending them forth with much eagerness, becoming a very great gain to all, both those near and those far away, and imitating the nature of perfumes, which fill not only the place that receives them, but also the air that is at a distance with much fragrance.

LIV. To Gerontius the presbyter. (Cucusus, in the year 405.) I have already written to your reverence, thinking you to be in Phoenicia, and now I write the same things as I did before—that now more than ever it is necessary to do and undergo everything so as not to leave your good husbandry desolate, and to let none of the things already accomplished be destroyed. For shepherds, when they see much harm being inflicted upon the sheep from all sides, then especially are they wakeful and aroused; they wield the sling and make use of other skill, so as to drive away all harm from the flock. If you have been entrusted with irrational sheep, think how much you ought to do and endure when you are entrusted with rational ones, so that none of them may perish. I beseech your reverence, therefore, by as much as the winter is greater, and the evils more numerous, and the obstacles severe, and those who plot against them many, all the more rise up yourself and stir up others. For Jacob spent fourteen years serving, suffering from heat and cold and much sleeplessness, and he performed his service to the full.

to beseech you to lend a hand in this good undertaking, and with great speed to hasten your arrival there. For there will be a reward for your departure, and it will be by no means small; but if you show great zeal in these works, the reward will be much greater. For it is far better and more useful to undertake such a journey than to sit at home. For it is not possible for those who sit there ^A to reap as much gain as you can if you reside in those parts—gain in the salvation of such souls, gain from the dangers faced, and the reward for such readiness; for there is a recompense for such readiness. Therefore, considering how great are the crowns you are laying up for yourself, do not hesitate, do not delay, but once arrived, set about the departure with all concern, caring nothing for needs. For I have spoken to my most honorable and godly presbyter Constantius, that whether there is need to spend on the building of churches or on relieving the needs of the brothers, he should provide you with the means more liberally and with greater abundance than before. Therefore, having the ease of providing from there, and above all doing that which is pleasing to God, cast away all hesitation, hasten to arrive quickly, and from there make it known to us; that we, even though we live in a grievous wilderness, may reap great consolation from it. For if we learn that you have arrived there with this mind, prepared to do and suffer everything for the salvation of the souls in that place, we shall not consider ourselves to be living in a wilderness, by reason of such great joy. We desire, indeed, to see you arrive; but because I have said this is more necessary, we fear lest the winter might close the road to you there; for this reason we urge you, and beseech you to make haste.

LV. To Symeon and Marus, presbyters, and to those living the monastic life in the region of Apamea.

Although we are separated from you by a great distance of travel, and are living in a grievous wilderness, yet having learned of the virtue of your souls and your great philosophy, by which you bring light and splendor to all who are there, we have become your ardent lovers. And since, because of the severity of the winter and the length of the journey, it is for now impossible to enjoy your physical presence, we have been eager to communicate by letter, beseeching and entreating you to offer at length prayers to God for the warding off of the evils that have seized the whole world, and to rouse all others with great zeal to do the same, and to inform us—whenever the opportunity arises—of your health by letter; so that, although separated by distance, ^B and relegated to the very corners of the earth, we may yet reap great consolation by hearing often of the state of your health. Indeed, the most beloved and sweetest presbyter John has filled us with great pleasure, because in such a hardship of time he decided to depart from home and set out for Phoenicia. Therefore I beseech you, having weighed in your minds the magnitude of such a noble work, if you find any excellent and generous men who are able to lend a helping hand to the magnitude of these achievements, that you send them along with him with great alacrity of mind, considering how great a reward you will reap from this.

LVI. To the monks Romulus and Byzus.

For my part, I desired to see you arrive here; and having heard of your piety, I have become your ardent admirer, and in the eyes of love I imagine you present. But since this is for the time being impossible, both because of the length of the journey, the season of winter, and the fear of the Isaurians, I have been eager to converse with you by letter, making clear to you the affection which we have for your piety. For it is possible to love even those who are far away and have never been seen. Such is the power of love: it is not divided by the length of the road, nor withered by the passage of time, nor overcome by the imposition of trials, but it conquers all these things, and rises to a height ineffable. For this reason we too, since we love you exceedingly, ^C have not become sluggish in any of these things, but rather we both write to you and ask you to inform us of your health. For thus, even living in the wilderness, we shall be filled with great consolation when we learn that those who live in such a way, and walk this narrow and constrained road, are in sound and robust health.

LVII. To Adolia.

Although you yourself write to us rarely, we, however, as often as we find men going from here to those parts, shall not cease to write to your nobility. And we would indeed have wished you to come here and see us, and we desire this above all else. But since this has perhaps seemed to your nobility to be arduous and difficult (for otherwise the danger of the Isaurians is completely gone), we for our part will not cease to provide for ourselves that consolation which we are accustomed to receive while we write to you frequently. For as often as there is opportunity for a carrier who is traveling that way, we experience no ordinary pleasure when we send letters to you. Now that these things are known to you, my most charming and godly lady, I wish that you too would take care to write to us as often as possible concerning your health and state of mind. For just as we in no way reproach you concerning the departure, since that matter has appeared to you to have difficulty; in the same way, we shall not cease to be vexed with you for a long silence.

...for of the health of yourself and your whole house, we shall never cease asking, because we desire exceedingly to learn continuously news thereof.

^A LVIII. *To Theodosius, ex-duces.*

You have seasoned your letter with much honey, or rather, you have made it sweeter than honey. For while honey itself, when one enjoys its sweetness too continuously, no longer seems equally sweet—the tyranny of satiety dissolving the pleasure—your letters, announcing to us your health, are so far from suffering this that they increase our joy all the more when they are sent more frequently. You, for your part, have embraced my letter; but I—I have embraced you yourself, the father of the letter, and have folded both my arms around you, and wrapping myself about your neck, and kissing that head so dear to me, I have reaped great consolation. For I did not think that only a letter of yours had come, but that you yourself were present with us and conversing. So great was the power of the letter. For such is the nature of genuine love: even if it pours its streams through writings, it causes the very fountain of those writings to be envisioned; and this is what we have experienced. And neither the length of time, nor the distance of the way, nor the confusion of affairs, nor anything else has been an impediment to this. Knowing these things, therefore, my most admirable master, do not grow weary of writing to us frequently, making known to us the state of your health, of your whole house, and of your cheerfulness. For you know ^B how eager I am to learn of these things.

LIX. *To Theodotus the Deacon.*

You have quickly forgotten us—your departure having been very painful to us, and you adding thereto the despondency caused by your long silence. And you cannot even take refuge in the press of time; for the number of days is sufficient to afford a traveler great ease for a return. But we would not even accept your pleading the Isaurian situation, since we love you so greatly. For many have come here from there since your departure. What then is the cause of your silence? Negligence and sloth. Nevertheless, we forgive you the charges regarding your former neglect, if you are willing for the future to correct what was overlooked by the frequency of your letters. For you know how you will gratify us by writing to us continuously of your health.

LX. *To Chalcidia and Asyncritia.*

I know that the succession of repeated trials that have befallen my most honorable and reverend master, the presbyter, has greatly disturbed you. But let none of this trouble you. For he who suffers these things for the sake of God, by how much more difficult the things are that he suffers, by so much greater favors he enjoys. Having sufficient consolation in this, therefore, bear what happens bravely and thankfully, glorifying God for all that comes to pass. For thus you too will become partakers of the rewards and crowns laid up for him, for which you have bravely and gently borne the things that have happened. For you know that the present life is a way, and its good things and its sorrowful things pass away, and that through many tribulations ^C we must enter into the kingdom of God; and that narrow and strait is the way that leads to life. Being comforted, therefore, both by these words and by his presence, scatter every cloud of despondency, rejoicing and being glad at his sufferings. For indeed, for him there will be stored up from this a fruit unspeakable and incorruptible.

LXI. *To Theodotus, ex-consularis.*

This is what a father is: not only not to be vexed that his son is practicing true philosophy, but even to rejoice with him, and to do everything so that he might reach the height of it; and not to be burdened by the fact that he is far from his fatherland, his home, and your eyes, but rather now to consider him nearer, since he is progressing in virtue. For these things we too owe you many thanks, and we have marveled how, having given us such a gift—your son—you thought it necessary to send us also gifts for the honor of us. As for the honor, we have reaped it from the things sent, but we have sent the things themselves back, not because we despise your generosity (how could we, for one who loves us so strongly?), but because we judged it superfluous to pursue the enjoyment of things ^D of which we have no need. The good Theodotus, the reader, however, we indeed desired to keep with us and to form, but since every place here is filled with murders, chaos, blood, and conflagrations—the Isaurians consuming everything with iron and fire—and we are changing from place to place...

but since every place here is filled with murders, chaos, blood, and conflagrations—the Isaurians consuming everything with iron and fire—and we are changing from place to place, we deemed it necessary to send him away, demanding of my most reverend lord, the deacon Theodotus, that he provide for him constantly, and apply himself to this with great energy and diligence. If you also strive for this, that your son may attain it, you will certainly praise our counsel, and will owe us a great debt of gratitude for this admonition.

LXII. To Castus, Valerius, Diophantus, and Cyriacus, presbyters of Antioch.

^BThat the most honorable and reverend presbyter Constantius has left us, I grieve; but that he has betaken himself to you, I rejoice, and I rejoice more at this than I grieve at that. For I do not doubt that he has put into a quiet harbor, that is, into your charity. For although six hundred tumults surround you on all sides and stir up great waves, yet your circumstances are in such a state that, because of the fortitude, constant charity, and affectionate spirit with which you are endowed, you enjoy great tranquility even in the midst of storms. Therefore, when he comes to your presence, grant him everything that is fitting. For you know what great reward awaits you, if you make it your concern to support one who is being unjustly harassed. For we ask nothing else of you than this: that he himself be not unjustly oppressed, nor rashly dragged hither and thither, nor harassed and torn before the tribunals of judges for the very cause for which he ought to be crowned and celebrated by public proclamation. We ask this on his behalf; on our own behalf, that you write to us frequently and keep us informed of your health. For even though we are separated from you by a long distance, we never cease to carry you in our minds, and to be with you and live among you daily. For such are the eyes of love in those who know how to love sincerely—and this you know clearly, since you yourselves know how to love sincerely.

LXIII. To Tranquillinus.

^CEverything else yields to time and contracts age and decrepitude—flourishing bodies, great buildings, meadows, orchards, and finally everything that springs from the earth. Charity alone is immune from such decay; it not only does not wither with the passage of time, but is not even interrupted by death itself. On this account, we too, though we have been absent from your sweetness for a long time, retain a flourishing love for you—now in language, but always in spirit. For this reason, we have sent letters to your piety as often as possible.

Since, however, we are very eager to know the state of your health (for you yourself know how much we desire your well-being), if it is possible and you can easily find someone who may bring letters to us, I would like you to inform us of it, as the nature of your duty requires. For he who delivers this letter to you will relate to your sincere and ardent charity our affairs and those things which are happening in Armenia and Thrace.

LXIV. To Cyriacus the Bishop.

^DMy lord Sopater, the prefect of this Armenia in which we are now held captive, presided over Armenia like a father, but showed more duty toward us than one would expect from a father. Wishing, therefore, to repay this kindness of his, and seeking how to do so, I think I have found the best way—namely, your own solicitous and vigilant spirit, through whose efforts I shall be able to show him grace. How, then, and in what manner? His son has been staying there for a long time for the sake of his studies. If you strive to see him with a glad and eager mind, as befits your charity, and confer some benefit upon him, you will have repaid all the debts owed by us. Therefore, accomplish this, and bring him to the notice of those who hold office, as well as your own familiars, who can make a foreign region more pleasant for him than home. For thus you will receive gratitude from him, from me, and even from yourself, by aiding an honest and kind man and a common harbor for the poor through his son.

LXV. To Marcianus and Marcellinus.

A sufficiently large comfort for the grief which, as I have received from your letters, you are enduring, is this philosophical mind of yours, and your sublime, firm, and constant affection. For just as even tranquility and a fair course can bring no great benefit to a soft and dissolute man, so a heavy storm never disturbs a firm, solid, and vigilant man, but renders him more bright and illustrious. For such is the nature of temptations, that for those who bear them with a brave heart, they bring forth many rewards and splendid crowns. Since these things are therefore clear to you, my most reverend and noble lords, and since you have this sufficiently large consolation in bitter circumstances, may none of these things which are happening disturb your minds, and I would like you to write to us as often as possible. We would indeed most especially desire to see and embrace you in person. But since many things are an impediment to this being possible now, do not be grieved to write to us without intermission and keep us informed of your health. For you know how much gratitude you will earn from us, and with how much pleasure you will fill us, if you do this.

LXVI. To Castus, Valerius, Diophantus, and Cyriacus, presbyters of Antioch.

In language I have written to you rarely; but in spirit, frequently and often. Therefore do not think that our letters are only as many as you have received by paper and ink, but as many as we have desired to send to you. For if you were to consider the matter that way, six hundred letters have truly been sent to you by us. But if there is no one to carry them, our silence should be attributed not to our sloth, but to the difficulty of circumstances.

645 S. JOANNIS CHRYSOSTOMI ARCHIEP. CONSTANTINOP. 616

[645] …but silence arises from difficulty. I have said these things so that, whether we write or remain silent, you may hold the same opinion concerning our love for you. For we, wherever we may be, having engraved your memory upon our mind, carry it about with us everywhere. And now we owe you great thanks, because you received the good monk with the benevolence that befits you, and you have rendered those who sought to contend with him unseasonably, more gentle. It was not, therefore, in vain that I said, nor by way of flattering you, that even if ten thousand waves arise from all sides, your affairs are in a calm. For those who so easily resolve shipwrecks for others, it is evident that you stand far away from the surges. Write to us, then, continually concerning your health; for you know how much we are concerned to learn of this. For your letters, which announce your vigor to us, possess such great power that even when surrounded by such terrible things—wars, tumults, disturbances, daily deaths—whenever we receive so many letters from you, we are both uplifted by the pleasure and reap the greatest consolation from them. For such is the nature of genuine love, that even through letters, those who possess such good news are able to easily restore those who are separated in body. ^A

LXVII. To Theodotus the deacon. (At Arabissus, it is thought, in the year 406.)

You, indeed, most honorable and devout master, have at least been delivered from the evils in Armenia, but as for us, along with the tumults here, or rather the daily deaths, it causes us no small grief to be separated from your sweetness and from your genuine and sincere disposition. And there has been another addition to this grief: your long silence since your arrival. For since you departed from here, we have received only this second letter; and I say this not to accuse, but in pain. For that the road leading here is impassable to travelers, no one is ignorant; but while this might be enough for your defense, it is by no means enough for our consolation; rather, we are particularly pained by this very thing, that we have been deprived of the consolation of your presence that remained to us. Since, therefore, it is not yet possible for this difficulty to be resolved, but daily the terrible things increase, I ask that you be comforted in another way for the despondency that arises in us from your long silence: by remembering us continually, and whenever you write, by making your letters longer, and by spending time on narratives concerning your health, cheerfulness, and safety. For thus you will be able to compensate for the time we have lost with the length of your letters. ^B

LXVIII. To the same.

This too is yours, as one who loves us most warmly and intensely. After reading the previous letter, I received a second, both on one day, and I was greatly pleased. For it had something more than the previous one, showing us not only your words, but also your letters; which has also made an addition to our pleasure, that we have seen with bounteousness the image of not only your warm and genuine soul, but also of your right hand. Do this, then, continually, and provide, with bounteousness, the consolation which you yourself have devised for us in this way. For we do not dare to entice you here at last; so great are the evils in Armenia, and a different winter has succeeded everything. For wherever one reaches, one will see torrents of blood, a multitude of dead bodies, houses razed, cities destroyed. And we seem to be in safety, as if in a wretched prison, shut up in this fortress; yet we are not able to enjoy security, because of the daily fears, because of the rumors full of deaths, because of the Isaurian incursion constantly expected, because of the weakness of body with which we are still struggling until now. But nevertheless, even being in such evils, and in such a situation, we reap no small consolation when we receive letters conveying the report concerning your health. [651] ^C

LXIX. To Nicolaus the priest. (At Arabissus, in the year 406.)

This too belongs to your genuine and warm love: even from so great a distance, to be trembling for our safety. For while we were previously changing from places to places in the very height of winter, now residing in cities, now in chasms and glens, being driven from all sides by the incursion of the Isaurians, at long last, when the evils here abated slightly, we left the wildernesses and ran down to Arabissus, having found the fortress therein safer than other regions (for we do not even reside in the city, since even this is not safe), while enduring a dwelling place worse than any prison. For with death, so to speak, at our doors every day, with the Isaurians attacking everything, and destroying both bodies and buildings with fire and sword, we also fear the famine, which the narrowness of the place and the multitude of those who have gathered here threaten to cause. And having endured a long infirmity that arose from the winter and the continuous flight, we have now escaped the worst of it, but still carry about a few remnants of it. Yet nevertheless, even while we are in such evils and such great predicaments, we reap the greatest consolation from your warm, genuine, and unshakeable love. Knowing these things, therefore, do not hesitate to convey to us continually the report concerning your health. For even if we sit at such a distance, yet we are bound to you with the chain of love with much precision. And I owe your honor much thanks, that even regarding the affairs in Phoenicia, and while being in such disturbances, you do not hesitate to make them known to us. For no one shows us such diligence. If, therefore, anything more should be announced from there, since no one dares to travel here quickly, as the roads…

Letter LXX to the same

^A ...and although it is difficult to send letters to us frequently, whenever you are able, I would like you to do this, and to explain what is happening there, and to inform us of your health, for which we are extremely anxious.

Ad eamdem epistolam LXX, Aphthonio, Theodoto, Chærea, presbyteris ac monachis. (Arabisso anno 406.)

I, too, should wish to see you and meet you here: but since there are many things that hinder this, I do not venture to ask for this at present; but this I do ask of you, that even though you are far away, you nonetheless bring to us the aid of your prayers, which are of great power. For this assistance is neither weakened by age, nor is it cut off by the length of the journey; but in whatever place anyone who is possessed of confidence toward God, like you, may dwell, he is able to benefit even those who are stationed far away in this manner. Moreover, along with your prayers, I would wish you also to provide us with letters which may frequently inform us of your health. For although many waves surround us from every side—namely, the solitude of the place, and the siege, and the attacks of the Isaurians, and daily death (for we live in perpetual company with death, enclosed in this fortress as if in a prison, and struggling with serious bodily infirmity)—nevertheless, even if our calamities be many, we have no small solace for these evils placed in your charity. For although we have not had long-standing intimacy with you, nevertheless we have often made trial of the sincere, and fervent, and sweeter-than-honey, and firm, and constant benevolence which you show both when present and when absent. Wherefore, although we are removed far from you, and bound by so many and such great adversities, yet in the recollection of your virtue we find rest, as if in a ^B harbor, deeming your charity to be like a most expansive treasure. And indeed, now that winter is over and spring has risen, we have been freed from our serious illness; yet we still carry about its remnants, which the Isaurian tumults, which never cease, further exacerbate. Knowing these things, therefore, although you are far from us, I beg you to remember us always, and, when it is possible, do not be weighed down by sending frequent letters to us, bringing us the joyful news regarding your health.

LXXI. Malcho. (Ab anno 404 ad 407.)

Do not lose heart, nor ascribe the most excellent departure of your blessed daughter to your own sins. For she has reached a tranquil harbor, and has arrived at that life which is to have no end, and, snatched away from the waves of the present life, she stands upon the rock, possessing all the good things she gathered as if in a most secure treasury. And it is right to rejoice and exult and be filled with gladness on this account, that you have presented her soul, like a most excellent farmer, as a ripe fruit to the common Lord of all. Applying these and other such remedies for yourself and for my most honorable mistress, her mother, increase the reward stored up for you on these accounts: so that you may receive a great reward from the beneficent God, not only by reason of her excellent education, but also because you have borne her most beautiful departure from life with a calm and grateful spirit.

LXXII. Alphio. (Cucuso anno 404.)

Even though we are separated far from you, yet hearing of the things that you achieve with praise, and that immense liberality which you exercise toward the needy, we exult with joy and gladness. And it would have been our desire to meet you also, and to offer great thanks to you in person. But since this is in no way possible—for the Isaurian evils are growing, and all the roads are closed; for I do not doubt that otherwise you would have come here yourself, and used great earnestness to hasten to us—but this now cannot be done; therefore we greet you by letter, and we pray that when it is possible, you write to us as frequently as you can, and inform us of your health and that of your whole house. For we, abiding here as well, will derive no common consolation from such letters of yours.

LXXIII. To Agapetus. (Cucusus, year 404.)

Even though a long time has flowed by since we were separated from you, and we are cut off from you by a great interval of distance; yet we are bound to you by love, and we dwell in your proximity, or rather, to speak more correctly, in our very minds, wherever we may be, we carry you about. To such an extent do we hold firmly impressed within our inner heart that fervent and sincere and vehement and constant friendship which has long since and from the beginning existed between us. And we ourselves, my most excellent and highly admirable lord, retain a vivid benevolence toward you, and we do not suffer it to be weakened or extinguished either by the magnitude of time or by the distance of the journey. Wherefore we ask of you, that when it is possible, do not be weighed down to write to us frequently regarding your health. For you know how desirous we are of it, and how much gratitude you will gain from us, by sending such letters to us.

LXXIV. Hesychio. (Cucuso anno 404.)

I myself would have liked to see you, and neither the fear of the Isaurians nor the infirmity of my body could hold me back, if it were lawful for me to set out to wherever I might wish; but you, since that is otherwise in your own power, I do not, in this way, even try to drag, nor do I ask you to leave your home and hasten to us. But although the season of the year permits this, and you could accomplish that journey in a short time (for we are not separated by a great distance), nevertheless I would least of all wish to drag you here because of the fear of the Isaurians. But this at least I do ask of you, that you write to us frequently regarding your health: for the incursions of the brigands will not be ^C an impediment to prevent you from being able to do this. Wherefore, I beg you, favor us with this benefit, that

[...the grace, which was easy, and I possessed, and offered us great gladness. For thou knowest how great a grace thou didst show unto us, by displaying such munificence.]

LXXV. To Armatius. (At Cucusus, year 404.)

What is this I shall say, that whereas I command those about you in things wherein we have need of their service, you have granted us great authority—yet you have deprived us of that which we most desire, namely your letters, which would inform us of your health? Dost thou not know that to those who love with a sincere heart, this is most sought after and longed for, just as it is for us now? If, therefore, you wish to grant us a favor, my most honored lord, cease to command your men to serve us in our bodily needs (for we have no need of these things, but all things flow to us as from fountains); but do you yourself, by means of a small paper and ink, grant us the greatest favor, and the one we most yearn to enjoy. And this is that you write to us continually about your health, and that of your whole house. If it were possible for us to meet one another, I would have set you up from your own home, and I would have asked it as a portion of the greatest grace, to see in person one who is so warm a lover of us. Since, however, the fear of the Isaurians has prevented this, grant us at least the consolation from your letters, and we have received everything.

LXXVI. To Chalcidia. (At Cucusus, year 404.)

I do indeed strongly desire that my most honored lord the presbyter should be with us. If, however, you know that his coming hither is advantageous, I prefer his safety to his presence here, and his being relieved of the impending turmoil. Do not, therefore, think that he is prevented by us, if he wishes to set out. For we, until now, have held him back for this reason, as the nature of the matter did not strictly demand his presence, and fearing lest he fall into the hands of the Isaurians. If, however, it is so necessary that he come thither, we both urge and encourage him to undertake the journey. For even if we be separated in body, yet we remain bound to him by the chain of love. Let nothing, I pray, disturb you regarding the hardships that befall. For the more the trials, the greater is your labor, and the greater the reward and the recompense from the philanthropic God, if you bear what happens pleasantly and bravely. For in this way these things will be easy to overcome, and the fruit produced for you from the endurance of these things will be abundant in the heavens, and far greater than the sufferings.

LXXVII. To Asyncritia. (At Cucusus, year 404.)

I have told your honor before, that we number you among those who have arrived, according to the principle of love, and now we say the same, that you are present in intention. If, however, the weakness of the body and the disturbances that have overtaken Armenia have prevented you, we, from your intention and purpose, hold the same judgment regarding your disposition as we did before. Do not, therefore, neglect to write to us continually, and if your illness has been resolved, inform us of your health. For even now we have been greatly distressed, having heard that you are in illness. In order, therefore, that we may not be anxious about this, tell us quickly if your condition has changed toward health.

LXXVIII. To Romanus the Presbyter. (At Cucusus, year 405.)

Not only as far as Armenia, nor the land of the Cappadocians, but even further, the report of your love and the disposition which you have shown toward us throughout has sounded more brilliantly than a trumpet. Wherefore we also greatly pride ourselves on the disposition of your reverence, and we cease not to call you blessed, and we ask you to write to us continually about your health. For even if we are placed in a desert and far removed from you, yet we are bound to you by the chain of love, which disposition we showed toward your honor from the beginning, and even now, holding it, or rather, having it even much greater and warmer. For nothing—neither the length of time nor the distance of the way—has made you more slothful toward this, but rather more diligent. Knowing these things, therefore, my most honored and reverent lord, and calculating the great grace you will bestow upon us by writing more frequently, write to us regarding your health, and especially by remembering us continually in your holy prayers; so that, residing at such a distance, we may harvest much aid even from thence.

LXXIX. To Gemellus. (At Cucusus, year 404 or 405.)

What is this, that when so great and noble a city holds a brilliant festival (for this I call your beginning), you have then cast us into greater dejection by keeping such a long silence? And if it were any other of the many who had suffered this, I would have easily found the reason. Who is this? It is the custom of many men, when they lay hold of a greater office, to be puffed up with greater pride; but in the case of your majesty—who knows how to philosophize and has accurately contemplated the nature of these decaying and flowing things, and is not deceived by cosmetics and signatures, but perceives and observes things naked of their masks—I cannot find the cause of the silence. But that you love us similarly now as you did before, or rather even more strongly now than before, I know clearly. But for what reason, being so disposed, you have kept silent for such a long time, I cannot say, but I am even on this very account most at a loss. Solve, therefore, the riddle for us by a letter, if it is not burdensome or grievous to you. And before that very letter, take those

651 S. JOANNIS CHRYSOSTOMI ARCHIEP. CONSTANTINOP.

[LXXX.] To Firminus. (Cucusus, A.D. 404.) Your illness was a great loss to us regarding your company, but it caused not the slightest detriment to our charity. For to have met you even once was more than sufficient to arouse in us a vehement love for you. You were the cause of this yourself, displaying from the very beginning a huge and almost frantic love for us, and you did not leave us to wait for the proof of time, but you captured us at the first sight, and bound us to you with the tightest of chains. Therefore we write to you, and we declare what you desire to hear. And what are these things? We are in good health; we finished the journey safely; we enjoy quiet and leisure; we are obtaining the great goodwill of all; and finally, we receive an ineffable consolation. There is no one here who disturbs us or causes us trouble. But why do you wonder that this has happened to us in the city, when we even finished the journey itself quite safely? You truly make us more certain about your own affairs as well, so that just as you have taken pleasure from this account, so we too, having been made more certain about your health, may take great joy. For it does not escape you how much pleasure this injects into those who know how to love sincerely, when they receive some joyful report about those whom they love.

[LXXXI.] To Hymnetius the Archiater. (Cucusus, A.D. 404.) We shall never cease to extol you with wonderful praises before all, both as an honest man, as a most excellent physician, and as one who knows how to love sincerely. For when conversations about our illness are stirred up here, it is necessary that you also come into such commemorations, and since we have experienced the benefits of your extraordinary skill and your benevolence, we cannot be silent about what we have received from you, but we proclaim it before everyone, earning the greatest gratitude from ourselves in this matter. For you have injected such love for you into our souls, that even if we were in fine health, we would still want to buy it at a great price to be able to pull you here, so that we might also enjoy your gaze. But since this is difficult, partly because of the difficulty of the journey and partly because of the fear of the Isaurians, for the present we do not at all attempt this; but we ask this: that you send letters to us as frequently as possible. For you will be able to bring to us through frequent letters the pleasure which your presence itself produces, anointing them with the honey of your manners.

[LXXXII.] To Cytherius. (Written at Cucusus, A.D. 404.) Our company with you there was brief indeed: but the love which arose from it is great, sublime, and noble. For to those who know how to love sincerely, there is no need of a long time for this matter, but it can be accomplished entirely in a brief space. Which also happened to us; for we are burning with love for you just as if we had had a long-standing mutual company between us. Therefore we also write to you, and explain the state of our affairs, namely that we are in good health, and are living in quiet and leisure. For we have no doubt that, in announcing these things, we shall be doing a pleasing thing for you. We ask for your letters in return, which may bring the same joyful report to us. Therefore, do not be weighed down by writing to us often, and reporting joyful things about the state of your health. For thus, even living in a foreign region, you will be doing the most pleasing thing for us, by writing those things which we desire to hear frequently.

[LXXXIII.] To Leontius. (Cucusus, A.D. 404.) We have indeed been driven from your city, but we have not been driven from your charity. For the former, that is, that we should remain there or be cast out, was situated in the power of others: but the latter is in our own power. Wherefore no one will ever be able to tear it from us; but wherever we travel, we carry about with us the honey of your charity, and we take great pleasure from the recollection of you, gathering together your love toward us, your zeal, your prudence, your comity, your hospitality, and finally all other things into one, and fashioning an image of your virtue. Since therefore you have so won us over and reconciled us to yourself that we especially desire your presence, and this is now not at all permitted, I would that you offer us that consolation which is perceived through letters. For since you are of such prudence, through frequent letters you will be able to achieve it such that you fashion for us that pleasure which your presence brings with it.

[LXXXIV.] To Faustinus. (Cucusus, A.D. 404.) We have come safely to Cucusus (for we begin here, whence you desire us to make the beginning of writing), and we have found a place empty of tumults, and most full of quiet and leisure, nor having anyone who might show us trouble and be hostile to us. But why is it a wonder if this happens to us in the city, when we also finished the most deserted, dangerous, and suspect journey which leads from there to here without fear or trouble, and had everything safer than in cities which are governed by good laws? Pay us therefore this reward for this joyful news, that you shall write to us most frequently about your health. For living here in great quiet, we fashion for ourselves in our thought, without any intermission, the nobility of your soul, your ingenuousness, your hatred of the wicked, your freedom of speech, and finally the whole meadow of your virtues, and we are delighted by the memory of you.

^A Since God approves your mind, which in such great confusion chooses what is right, and provides help from Himself.

LXXXVII. To Eulogius the Bishop.

LXXXVIII. To John the Bishop of Jerusalem.

ny scandals, and have nothing in common with them. This is the security of the Churches, this is a wall, this is your crowns and prizes. Knowing these things, therefore, my lord, and most reverend and religious man, exert yourself to keep the Churches in communion in this way, expecting a very great reward for this; and do not fail to remember us continuously, for we love your piety greatly, and hang upon your benevolence. For we have learned by the very works themselves how great a charity you have shown toward us.

LXXXIX. To Theodosius, Bishop of Scythopolis.

We indeed, if the matter is viewed by location, are far distant from you; but if by charity, we are near, and are bound together by the soul itself. For such is the nature of love, that it is neither hindered by place, nor restrained by the length of the journey, but flies easily through the whole world, and holds communion with those who are loved. This we also do now, who carry you about in our mind. And we ask that, just as you have heretofore brought ornament upon yourselves and protection to the Churches, so you may do even now: and those who have thrown so many disturbances into the world, and have troubled the Churches, you may reject with that greatness of spirit which your office requires. For this is the beginning of dispelling the storm, this is the security of the Churches, this is the medicine for evils, when, namely, you who are sound avoid the sight of those who perpetrate such crimes, and have no communication with them. Since these things are so, contemplating with mind and thought the reward for this matter, and the crowns appointed for this cause, I ask that you show for this very thing the greatness of spirit which is fitting, and do not cease to remember us, who love you. And if you do this, you will do that which is most pleasing to us.

XC. To Moses, Bishop.

Although I do not think that you need our letters to show the greatness of spirit that is fitting, and to reject those who have afflicted the Churches with so many evils and filled the world with tumults; for you have declared this by the things themselves: yet since it is my most ancient desire to greet you as often as possible, and at every given opportunity, now also I ask the same thing of you, that you show the fortitude of spirit which is proper for avoiding their assemblies, and that you exhort others also to this same thing. For the reward set for you from this will not be small, if you reject, as is proper, those who have stirred up such a tempest, and filled the whole world with countless scandals. For in this way things will be healed in the best manner possible. I would also like you to remember us, who hold you most dear, continuously. For you know with what spirit we have been toward you until now, and always are.

XCI. To Romanus the Presbyter.

This also is yours, and of your great and sublime and philosophical mind, that you do not forget our charity in such a great tempest, but remain firm and unmoved and retain your love for us blooming. For we have clearly learned this also from those who come from there, and even before I received it from others, I had it confirmed. For I know the firmness and constancy of your mind, and your fixed and unmoved resolve. And for that reason also I give great thanks to your piety: and I pray you, and as if a supreme favor I ask of you, that when it is permitted, you write to us. For you know with what consolation we are affected, even while living in a foreign region, when we receive letters that inform us about your health. For we vehemently desire you to be in sound and unharmed health, since your health is also a support and a harbor and a staff to many, and the material for countless successes.

XCII. To Moses the Presbyter.

The magnitude of the praises which you bestow upon us in your letters far exceeds our insignificance. Wherefore, leaving these things aside, I would like you not to cease to offer prayers to God for the public interests of the Churches, and for me, a wretched little man, and to implore and beseech His goodness that He may dispel those evils which have invaded the world. For the present affairs require prayers only, and yours especially, you who have attained great confidence before God. Wherefore, I ask that you do not cease to do this earnestly and at length: and do not be reluctant to write to us, as often as the opportunity is given (and the length of the journey is not great). For we desire very much to know something about your health: since your health supports and consoles many. For your life is always necessary, but now most of all in such a storm and darkness, so that like a pure star shining, you may shine upon those who are tossed by the storm and waves. Wherefore, that we too may be of a glad and cheerful mind, send frequent letters to us about your health, for we shall receive no small consolation from this, if we learn this about you as often as possible.

XCIII. To Aphthonius, Theodotus, Chæreas, presbyters and monks, and to your whole sodality.

Among those who love, the bodily presence of those whom they love has more power to relieve pain. For even blessed Paul, who continuously, or rather perpetually, carried the whole world of the faithful in his mind, and did not even among chains and fetters and in his defense endure to put them aside, which he indicating said: "In that I have you in my heart, and in my chains, and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel" (Philip. 1:7), desired most eagerly their bodily presence as well, using these words: "But we, being taken away from you for a short time, in countenance, not in heart, have hastened the more abundantly to see your face" (1 Thess. 2:17). This also happens now to us, who look forward eagerly to the presence both of those who have already seen us, and of those to whom we are not yet known by face.

But since this is not presently possible (for the length of the road, and the season of the year, and the fear of brigands, and the fact that it is not easy for us to move from our present position without these things, and the need to embark upon long journeys, prevent it), we have arrived at our second recourse: both to pay you the salutation we owe you, and before that to exhort you, and to ask a very great favor of you: that you remember our humility in your prayers constantly, and fall before the philanthropic God with much nobility of spirit and with tears. For you who have escaped the whirlpool of worldly affairs, and have been set free from the smoke and the storm of the evils in the midst of which others are tossed, and have steered your souls safely into a calm and wave-less harbor—this noble philosophy of yours—and who turn your nights into day with holy vigils, and see more clearly in these than others do in the light of day, you would be right to share with us the aid derived from your prayers. For it is possible for us, even sitting at such a distance, to enjoy these benefits, and there is no place nor time that can interrupt such assistance. Support us, therefore, and reach out a hand through your prayers. For this is a most excellent form of love. And along with your prayers, do not hesitate to inform us about your own health, so that from this also we may receive the greatest consolation, delighting in your love and imagining that those who are absent are present; for a sincere love is able to draw such images. And even if we happen to be in a situation more desolate than this, we will reap great consolation from it.

XCIV. To the Deaconess Pentadia.

I was aware of the love you have for us even before, having learned it from the events themselves; but I have learned it more clearly now from the letter you sent us. And for this I admire you most of all, not only for writing, but also for telling us everything that has happened. For this is a sign of one who is both confident in us and concerned for our affairs. For this reason we rejoice, we exult, we are glad, and though we are sitting in such a desert, we possess the greatest consolation in your courage, your steadfastness, your unshakeable mind, your great prudence, your frankness of speech, and your high boldness, through which you have both put your adversaries to shame and dealt a fatal blow to the devil, and encouraged those who are struggling for the truth; having set up a brilliant trophy like a noble athlete in war, and having carried off a radiant victory, you have filled us with such pleasure that we think we are neither in a foreign or strange land, nor in a wilderness, but that we are present there, and are with you, and are delighting in the virtue of your soul. Rejoice therefore and be glad for having carried off such a victory, and for having so easily muzzled such wild beasts, and for having blocked their shameless tongues, and for having gagged their raving mouths. For such is the power of the truth with which you have struggled, and on behalf of which you have often been slaughtered: in a few words it prevails over those who slander it; just as falsehood, even if it wraps itself in myriads of winding arguments, easily flows away and collapses, and is weaker than a spider’s web. Rejoice therefore and be glad (for I will not cease saying these words constantly), play the man, be strong, and laugh at every snare brought against you by them. For the more savagely they rage, the deeper the wounds they inflict upon themselves—not harming you in the slightest, just as waves do not harm a rock—but dissolving themselves, making themselves weaker, and heaping up excessive punishments upon their own heads. Therefore fear nothing of what is threatened, even if they gnash their teeth, even if they are drunk with great rage, even if they look with murderous intent, having fallen into the savagery of wild beasts through their wickedness. For He who has snatched you until today from their manifold and varied snares, He will also place you in greater security for the future as you play the man; and you yourself will say: "Their wounds became the arrows of infants, and their tongues were weakened against them" (Ps. 63:8, 9). Which indeed has come to pass, and will be; so that you may reap a greater reward, and receive brighter crowns, and those men, suffering from incurable sickness, may be handed over to a greater punishment. For what snare have they left out? What manner of intrigue have they not set in motion, attempting to plot against your steadfast and sincere—nay, rather, your noble and most courageous—soul? They dragged you into the marketplace, someone who previously knew nothing but the church and the bedchamber, from the marketplace to the courtroom, from the courtroom to the prison. They sharpened the tongues of false witnesses, they concocted a shameless slander, they committed murders, and they caused torrents of blood to flow, and they consumed the bodies of young people with fire and sword; they surrounded so many such men with blows, with torments, with myriads of punishments; they moved everything so that they might be able to compel you and force you by fear to say the opposite of what you knew. And like an eagle flying on high, so you broke their nets and climbed to the height of freedom befitting you, not being deceived by them, but also proving them to be slanderers in this charge of arson, in which the wretches and unhappy ones most thought they were doing something great. Thinking therefore of all that has passed: how many waves and what a storm they raised against you, what a surge and tempest they created—but in the midst of a raging sea you sailed with serenity; wait quickly for the harbor also, and for the many crowns. And since you wish to learn about us as well: we are living, we are in health, we have been freed from every infirmity. And even if we were ill, the love of your reverence—sincere, and warm, and steadfast, and unshakeable—is a sufficient medicine for us for our health. Since therefore we derive no ordinary, but the greatest, pleasure from your love...

learn about your health and the security of your whole household, we beseech you—something which we are accustomed to do even without being asked—to write to us more frequently concerning your own health, and that of your whole household and all your kin. For you know how much we are concerned for you and for your blessed household.

XCV. To Paanius.

XCVI. To Amprucla the deaconess and those with her.

XCVII. To Hypatius the Presbyter.

XCVIII. To Chalcidia.

Knowing, therefore, how much you grace us by sending such a letter, do not delay or defer, but be persuaded to do this immediately, so that, just as you have now distressed us by telling of your infirmity, so by announcing your health, you may cause us to be filled with much pleasure.

XCIX. To Asyncritia.

C. To Marcianus and Marcellinus.

CI. To Severus the Presbyter.

CII. To Theodotus the Reader.

CIII. To Amprucla the Deaconess and those with her.

[LATIN COLUMN] 663 S. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM, ARCHBISHOP OF CONSTANTINOPLE

but this I do know, that this did not happen through any negligence of yours; for whether you write or remain silent, I know of your warm and sincere, guileless, strong and solid charity towards me; but rather that, when you were writing, there was no one present to transcribe it. Yet it ought to have been written in your own language, and by your own hand. For I am very eager, as you yourself also know, to receive frequent letters from you, that we might be informed daily of your health: and hence we derive no small consolation from such a vast solitude and from the adverse circumstances with which we struggle here. Since, therefore, most reverend and most religious lady, it cannot escape you with how much desire I am held for this matter, I beg you not to neglect to grant us this favor. For many have come to us from your parts from various places. But I do not complain against you on that account, that they did not bring us letters from you; for it is likely that they were unknown to you. But now, since there is full opportunity, I would wish you to write; and especially since such events have occurred there, I was most especially desiring to receive letters from you. See to it, therefore, that you make amends for what was previously neglected through carelessness, and that you compensate for the length of the previous silence with a frequency and assiduity of letters.

CIV. To Pentadia the Deaconess. (Year 404 or 405.)

I count you blessed for the sake of the crowns which you have gained for yourself, and now also, since through strength of mind you have brought yourself to endure anything for the sake of the truth. Deservedly, therefore, you have God, who most keenly defends your cause. For "until death," says the Scripture, "strive for the truth: and the Lord will fight for you" (Eccli. 4. 33). Which, indeed, has come to pass. For since you have run this noble race even to that point, you have brought back many divine rewards: therefore I am filled with great joy. But because I learned that you are thinking about a departure, and I heard that you wish to migrate from there, I ask of you that you do not think anything of the sort, nor hold it in your mind. First for this very reason, that you are a support to your fellow citizens, and a most ample harbor, and an aid, and a safe wall to those who are exhausted by labors and afflictions. Wherefore do not allow yourself to throw such a gain from your hands; do not, I say, allow yourself to cast away such great profit, when you collect such great treasures daily from your presence. For those who see, or hear of, your noble deeds, derive no small gain therefrom. You know, moreover, how great a reward that secures for you. First, therefore, as I said, for this reason I ask you to remain there; for no small proof of that utility which you have brought by remaining there has been given by you. Secondly, not even the time of the year permits you to do this. For you are not ignorant of what bodily weakness you have, nor that it is not easy for you to move your foot in such great intensity of cold and of winter. To this is added that, as the rumor is, the matters of the Isaurians are now flourishing. Therefore, pondering all these things with yourself as a prudent woman, do not, I ask, in any way sustain the moving of your foot from there at this time: and concerning this matter I would wish you to notify us as soon as possible, and to write often concerning your health. For now, too, we have taken it ill that 664 we have received no letters from you; and we are troubled, lest by chance illness has hindered this. Therefore, that you may remove this anxiety from us, send letters to us quickly which may indicate these things.

CV. To Chalcidia. (Written in the year, as is thought, 406.)

May God pay you the reward for your reverence towards us, and for your honor, and for your sincere charity, both here and in the future age. For I have a clear view not only of your present, but even of your prior and initial, feelings and concern toward us. And because of this, although I am separated from you by a long stretch of road, and here, both on account of the solitude of this place, and on account of perpetual dangers and the frequent attacks of brigands, and on account of the scarcity of physicians, I am involved in many calamities; yet none of these things hinders me from remembering your sweetness perpetually: nay, rather, I retain the charity which from the beginning I held both towards you and towards your house in a flourishing state; nor do I allow it to grow old either because of the length of time or because of the distance of the journey. For that is the nature of sincere charity. But I pray and beseech you, for your prudence and piety, to bear all those things which happen with a steadfast mind. For you know that from your earliest youth until this time you have been assailed by various and almost every kind of temptation; and you can fulfill the contest of patience with ease, just as you have also often fulfilled it, and from it have stored up for yourself illustrious crowns for the future. But if this temptation exceeds the former ones, then the crown also will be more excellent. Since these things are so, let nothing of those bitter things which are brought upon you disturb you: but the more the waves rise and the storm increases, the more also look for a greater gain, and rewards far more copious and ample and brilliant than your sweats. "For the sufferings of this time are not condign to the future glory which shall be revealed in us" (Rom. 8. 18). For the pleasantries and troubles of this present life are like roads, and both flow out in the same way, and there is nothing in them certain and stable, but they imitate the nature of shadows, as things which as soon as they appear, immediately pass away. Just as, therefore, travelers, whether they make their journey through meadows or through rugged and steep places, neither perceive any pleasure from the former, nor feel any sadness from the latter; for they are travelers, not citizens, passing over both and hastening toward their own country: in the same way I ask and beseech you, that you neither gape after the pleasantries of the present life, nor again be depressed by the weight of troublesome matters, but look to this one thing, in what manner you may arrive at our common country with great boldness. Since this alone is a fixed and constant and immortal good: but all other things are the flower of the grass and smoke, and if anything can be fashioned that is viler than these.

CVI. To Asyncritia and her companions. (Written at Cucusus in the year 404.)

With what charity and benevolence you are towards us, I... [index: entries preserved]

you desire us to have. I have been wanting to write constantly; but the fear of the Isaurians, having walled off every road, does not let me find means for those who would serve us in this. Whenever, then, we do obtain these, we are returning to you the salutation that is owed, encouraging you in the usual way: to be in no way disturbed or troubled by these constant and successive temptations. For if merchants and sailors cross such long seas for the sake of small amounts of cargo, and brave so many waves; and if soldiers despise even life itself for the sake of a fleeting and small wage, and often live fighting against hunger, and are worn down by long journeys, and dwell constantly in foreign lands, and many of them eventually suffer an untimely and violent death, having gained nothing from it, neither small nor great—when there is a heavenly prize proposed, and after death a recompense far greater and much more abundant, what forgiveness will they obtain who become soft and do not despise even life itself? ^A Considering all these things, then, and that the present is smoke, and a dream, and all human prosperity is no better than spring leaves, being born and withering all at once, become loftier than all such arrows. For it is possible, if you wish, to trample underfoot this worldly illusion as well. Only consider how, with great eagerness, you might be able to traverse the narrow road that leads up to Him.

To Castus, Valerius, Diophantus, and Cyriacus, Presbyters.

Whatever happens to gold often tested by fire, this also happens to souls that are from the outside being tested by temptations. For the nature of the flame makes that material much brighter and purer, communing with it for as much time as the law of the craft permits; and the furnace of successive temptations fashionably makes men who resemble gold in their mind, brighter and more precious than any gold, with much abundance. ^B For this reason, even though we sit at such a distance, we do not cease to congratulate you constantly. For you know, you know clearly, how great is the gain of such machinations, and how the prosperity of the present life is a mere name, empty of reality, while the future goods are established, immovable, permanent, and immortal. And this is not the only miracle of virtue—that such are the prizes provided to us—but that even before the prizes, its struggles themselves become prizes, and it comes bringing the rewards to the victors not only when the theater has been dissolved, but it also weaves bright crowns for the combatants in the very middle of the stadium. For this reason, Paul also does not rejoice and take delight only in the rewards of tribulations, but is also adorned by the tribulations themselves, speaking thus: “And not only so, but we also glory in our tribulations” (Rom. 5:3). Then, enumerating the chain of the rewards of tribulation, ^C he says that it produces endurance, the mother of good things, the waveless harbor, the life in stillness, stronger than rock, and more solid than adamant, more powerful than any weapon, and safer than walls. This, having been accomplished, makes its pupils proved and noble, and excessively unconquerable. For it allows them to be troubled or tripped up by none of the painful things that occur; but just as a rock, the more it is struck by many waves, is all the more cleansed, being moved not even a little, while it easily destroys the weight of the waters that crash against it—not by striking, but by being struck, it makes them disappear—so also the man who has become proved through endurance stands above every machination. And the wonder of it is that he becomes stronger, not by doing evil, but by suffering evil, easily dissolving those who do it. I have not written these things as if you needed to learn them from us; for I know your understanding, which you have demonstrated through your actions themselves; ^D for as to the things on which we now discourse through words, you have proclaimed them through what you have suffered. Therefore, I have not written these things as if you needed to learn them from us, but because you were silent for a long time—or rather, we were generally silent a long silence—I wanted the letter also to be long. And when writing to such noble athletes of endurance, what else was there to converse about but these things through which you have appeared so bright and well-proved? [alt-version omitted]

being, and that you are not affected with any sadness by the evils brought upon you, but rather that the plots which are being made against you bring material for even greater joy. For if we receive a letter bringing us such tidings, it will be to us a consolation, a remedy, and a healing for the solitude, the famine, the pestilence, the Isaurian wars, and all the diseases by which we are now being troubled. Thinking, ^A therefore, of the great favor you will be conferring upon us, we beg you to write to us, and to write such things as may fill us with great gladness, even though we sit at so great a distance from you.

CVIII. To Bassus the bishop.

What is this? Are you the one who showed such great love toward us both in the previous time and lately in Constantinople, and yet, having heard that we are your neighbors, you have not deigned to honor us with your letters? Do you not know how we are disposed toward your piety, and how we are bound to you by the bonds of friendship? For my part, I expected that you would come here and console us in this solitude. For what could be more desolate than Cucusus, with its solitude and the incursions of the Isaurians by which it is besieged? But if this seems arduous—whether through the fear of the robbers or the difficulty of the road—at least do not hesitate to write, and to let us know of your health, ^B so that, even while we live in a strange land, we may draw great consolation thence.

CIX. To Anatolius, bishop of Adana.

I, for my part, longed to associate with your excellency, having heard from many of the warm affection which you have toward us, and that even without having met with us. Since, however, there is as yet no hope for this, I amend the lack of meeting by the exchange of letters, granting myself the greatest benefit. For although Cucusus, to which we have now been carried away, is a most deserted place, full of many dangers, and besieged by the constant incursion of robbers, none of these things disturbs or confuses us as long as we enjoy your benevolence. For even if we are separated in body, we are bound to you by the strongest bonds of the soul, and we seem to inhabit your tranquil and peaceful region rather than Cucusus, ^C as we are always occupied with you in our disposition, and wherever we may be, we carry you about in our mind and thoughts.

CXII. To Theodorus the bishop.

If it had been possible to come and embrace your reverence, and to enjoy your love through your presence, I would have done so with great diligence and speed; but since this is not in our power now, we fulfill this same thing through letters. For although to your very ...

we fulfill even this. For even if we are carried away to the very ends of the earth, we cannot forget your love—that genuine, and warm, and sincere, and guileless love, ^A which was from above and from the beginning, and which you have demonstrated now. For all that you have labored to say and to do on our behalf, my most honorable and God-beloved master, has not escaped us. And if nothing more has come of it, yet you have God as a debtor for your zeal and readiness, with your reward fully prepared. And we do not cease to be grateful to your holiness, and to herald your piety to everyone, and to urge you to preserve that same love, flourishing at all times. For it is no ordinary consolation that we reap while sitting in this wilderness, seeing that we have so great a treasure and wealth of your vigilant and noble soul's love ^B laid up in our heart.

CXIII. To Palladius, Bishop

Concerning our own situation, we need no consolation; for the subject matter itself is enough to provide us with comfort. We lament, however, the common storm of the Churches and the shipwreck that has overtaken the inhabited world, and we beseech you all to assist with your prayers, so that this utter destruction may finally be dissolved, and everything may change into a clear calm. Do not cease, I pray, from doing this. For hiding and remaining concealed, you have more leisure now to persevere in your prayers, and with a distressed mind. It is no small thing, this, to fall before the ^C kind-hearted God. Do not cease, therefore, from doing this, and write to us continuously whenever it is possible. For even if we have been exiled to so great a length of distance, we do not cease from caring for your affairs every day, and even if we rarely succeed in encountering those who arrive from there, we inquire and search them out. In order, therefore, that we may be more clearly informed of everything, whenever it is possible, grant us this favor, bringing us good tidings of your ^D health, so that even though we live in the wilderness, we may reap great consolation.

CXIV. To Elpidius, Bishop

This also is yours, this is the work of a sober and vigilant pilot: not to collapse, even though the storm has risen to such a height, but still to remain in care and anxiety, and with all your might to exert yourself in every way, running here and there through your letters, supporting those near and those far away, stirring them up, and exhorting no one to be swept away by the surges, but to stand firm and be sober, even if a myriad of even more grievous waves of these things should come upon them, and though you are established in one place, yet to fly everywhere through your exhortations. For nothing that you do has escaped us, even though we sit at such a great distance. ^A Therefore we also bless and admire your piety, and your awakened soul, and your unwavering purpose, and your eagerness that remains youthful in such an old age; and it is nothing out of place. For when the things set before us require bodily strength, old age becomes a hindrance therein; but when it demands the philosophy of the soul, gray hair is not accustomed to overshadow achievements; it has not, therefore, overshadowed yours, but everything has been brought forth by your piety. That this labor and such great sleeplessness will yield the proper fruit, I think there is no need to doubt. ^B Since, however, along with the entire inhabited world you have also accepted the burden of our care, because of your great and warm love, and you desire to learn where we are living, and in what state our affairs are, and who those are that are with us, and to learn not simply, but so that you may also be grateful to them—we, for our part, shall not cease to herald you for such love, crowning you, proclaiming you before all, and acknowledging our thanks before those who meet and associate with us. Do you, however, wait for the greatest rewards, ^C and rewards exceeding your labors, from the kind-hearted God, who in His compensations surpasses by far those who have labored to do or to say something good.

And so that you may also be cheered from another quarter by learning of our state: we have been exiled to the most desolate district, Cucusus, yet we have no sense of desolation; we enjoy such great quiet, such great security, such great care from everyone. For we have laid aside the remnants of our illness through your prayers, and we are now living in health, and we have been delivered from the fear of the Isaurians, and have been established in safety, ^D and we are luxuriously enjoying great lack of trouble. The most honorable presbyters Constantius and Euethius are present with us, and others are expected to arrive quickly, whom their bonds had held until the present; but all have been released, and I know well that they will fly to us. Do not cease, I pray, from praying for us who love you very much.

religiosissime, for us, to whom you are most dear, do not cease to pour forth prayers to God, and to write to us as often as possible, if the opportunity is given, and to make us more certain regarding your health. For it does not escape you how great a concern it is to us to hear something about it, even every single day, if it be possible. I would also have you offer much greeting on my behalf to my most reverend and religious lord, the presbyter Asyncritius, and to his most sweet children, and to your whole clergy.

CXV. To Theophilus the presbyter. (Written after he had arrived at Cucusus, A.D. 404.)

This also belongs to your candor and grateful mind, that although you have received nothing from those to whom you were commended by me, yet, estimating the matter from our zeal and readiness of heart, you think that you have received everything. But we should not consider this to be enough by any means: for we have had much conversation concerning this matter both with my lord Theodore the praetorian, who brought us to Cucusus, and when we wrote to many others, we gave instructions in our letters to this effect as well. Wherefore, whether any result arises from our letters, or whether the letters remain merely letters and fail to accomplish anything with those by whom they are received, take care that I may know this as soon as possible. For in this also we admire your love toward us above all else, and we consider it the greatest proof that you have no doubt concerning our love toward you, that you speak to us about these matters. Wherefore, whether any benefit results from this or if no fruit should come of it, let me know, so that if any progress has been made, I may be grateful to those who have deserved well of themselves; for they are giving to themselves more than to you when they do this; but if otherwise, let us devise some shorter and more ready road and method, by which you may fully receive consolation and no longer be caught in any distress henceforth. For we shall be doing very well by ourselves, when we have undertaken the care of your noble and ingenuous soul. I would have you write to us as often as possible, and make us more certain regarding your health and the renown of your name.

CXVI. To Valentinus. (At Cucusus, A.D. 404.)

What is this? Once you were well aware how great a pleasure we take in your goods, and how we exult in your praises and glory, and since it was above all things your duty to signify to us by letter the magnitude of those honors to which you have now been elevated, did you nevertheless endure to let us learn this first from others, and do you think that you have no need of a long apology for this matter, because you have allowed us to lack such greatness of joy for so long as it depended on you? For your true dignity and greatest empire is the virtue of your soul. But since you have learned to use these worldly honors as well for that gain, and the more powerful you become, the wider a harbor you become to those in need, for that reason we now rejoice and exult, yet we do not remit the blame of silence to you. By what manner, then, will you satisfy us well? Undoubtedly if you write often, and frequently make us more certain regarding your health and that of your whole house. Since, therefore, you have received from us the method by which you may clear yourself to us, now add what is your part. For if, having received this letter, you persist in silence, we shall bring against you a charge of great negligence, and we shall take it ill. Nor, indeed, do I doubt that you will consider it as a most bitter punishment that we are in sorrow on this account: for I am not ignorant how sincerely and ardently you love us.

CXVII. To Theodora. (At Cucusus, as is thought, A.D. 404 or 405.)

I write to you rarely for this reason, that I do not easily find those to whom I may give letters: but I do not remember you rarely, but continually. For this is placed in our power, but that is otherwise: for that we should cultivate the memory of you continually rests in our own arbitration; but that letters should be carried, it does not. Wherefore the latter always happens, but the former only when the opportunity is given. And indeed with other letters we used only to greet you, but in this one we also ask for a favor. And what, pray, is this favor? It is that it may bring more gain to you, who give, than to me, who receive, and may benefit the giver before the recipient. For it has been brought to us that Eustathius has offended your mind, and has been cast out of your house, and removed from your sight. But in what way the matter stands, and why you used such great anger against him, I cannot say: for I only know this: but the things which it is fitting for you to hear from us, who are most studious of your salvation, are these. You are not ignorant that the present life is nothing, but imitates vernal flowers and weak shadows, and is nothing other than the fallacy of dreams; but that the things which are to receive us after our departure from this life are true and fixed and stable. These things you have heard from us very often, and you yourself do not cease to philosophize by yourself. Therefore I do not write a long letter; but this I say: If that was done by some people unjustly and by calumny, for you to eject him, let the law of nature move you to correct what has been done; but if justly and deservedly, accomplish this same thing moved by the laws of humanity: for from this too you will carry away more benefit than he. For just as he who was demanding a hundred denarii from his fellow-servant did not so much injure him as inflict a deadly wound upon himself, since for that rigidity of mind which he exercised toward his fellow-servant, he rendered the remission of ten thousand talents void: in the same way, he who overlooks the sins of his neighbor attains this, that more mildly might the accounts be required from him in the future age; and the more and graver sins he has remitted, the greater pardon he himself shall obtain. Nor is the distinction placed in this only, but also in the fact that when he has given a servile duty, he receives a masterly favor. Wherefore do not recount to me that this and that was perpetrated by him. For the more atrocious you show those things which were committed to be, the more necessary you declare the

673 S. JOANNIS CHRYSOSTOMI ARCHIEP. CONSTANTINOP. you will demonstrate the cause for being forgiven, because by this means a much greater matter of humanity and mercy will be stored up for you in the future. Therefore, loose your anger; and even if it is just, tame your wrath with philosophical reasoning, and offer this as a sacrifice to God; grant this also to us who love you, and show how even from a brief letter we have such power. Grant also to yourself these great things which I have mentioned: tranquility, the removal of turmoil from your soul, and the ability—with great confidence—to ask the merciful God for entry into the kingdom. For friendliness toward one’s neighbor is a great cleansing of sins. For if you forgive men, He says, their trespasses, your heavenly Father will also forgive you. Therefore, having considered all these things, send us a letter indicating what our letters have accomplished. For our part is finished, and we have done that which was within our power; we exhorted, we pleaded, we asked for favor, we advised what was right. All further effort is now up to you. For the reward for this exhortation will be laid up for us, whether anything further comes of it or not; for even words can have their reward. And our entire labor through this work is to gain your ladyship as well, and that you might harvest the future and immortal goods from your present virtuous deeds with great ease. ^C

CXVIII. To the bishops and priests who are in prison.

You inhabit a prison, and are bound by chains, and are shut up with those who are filthy and squalid; and what could be more blessed than you because of these things? For what is a crown of gold placed upon the head like a chain wrapped around the right hand for the sake of God? What are brilliant and great houses like a prison full of darkness, filth, much unpleasantness, and tribulation for the same cause? Because of these things, leap, exult, be crowned, dance, because the things that have happened are a subject of great trade for you. This is a seed proclaiming an unspeakable harvest, this is a struggle having victory and prizes, this is a voyage providing great merchandise. Therefore, having considered all these things, my most honored and most pious lords, rejoice and be glad, do not cease glorifying God in all things, and dealing timely blows to the devil, and storing up for yourselves a great reward in the heavens. ^D For the sufferings of the present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed to you. And write to us continually. For we desire very much to receive letters from men bound for the sake of God, reporting your sufferings; and from this, even while dwelling in a foreign land, we shall harvest much consolation.

CXIX. To Theophilus the priest.

Since I have opened to you the door of writing, I will show that it was not laziness that caused the previous silence, but waiting to receive from us the confidence to write; and send us snowfalls of letters, reporting to us your success; for you know how we hold fast to it. Do not let the tyranny of despondency force you into silence, but having broken it more easily than any spider web, appear bright upon the battlefield, and with great confidence and freedom confound the opponents. For now is the season for success and great profit. For a merchant sitting in the harbor cannot gather goods, but rather by crossing vast seas, and daring the waves, and struggling with hunger and the monsters in the deep, and enduring many other difficulties. Therefore, having considered these things yourself, that this season of distress is a season of trade, and of great success, and of unspeakable rewards, bestir the wing of your mind, and having shaken off the dust of despondency, with great ease run through the whole phalanx, organizing, training, stirring up all, bracing them, making them more zealous. And reveal these things to us through your letters, suspecting nothing—as if you were reporting your own achievements—but as fulfilling our command, grant us this joy, so that even being far away, we may harvest great pleasure hearing these things from your piety, which we desire to learn.

CXX. To Theodora.

We have been consumed, we have been spent, we have died ten thousand deaths; and those who hand over the letters know how to report these things more accurately, and that they were with us for a brief moment; to whom we were not even able to speak a little, being struck down by continuous fevers, which I was forced to carry while traveling by night and by day, being besieged by heat, and corrupted by insomnia, and perishing for lack of necessities, and for lack of those to assist. For we have suffered and are suffering things more grievous than those who work the mines and inhabit the prisons. But at last, with difficulty, I reached Caesarea, as if coming from a storm into a calm and a harbor. But this harbor was not able to recover the evils from the swelling sea; so thoroughly had the previous time worn us out. But nevertheless, having come to Caesarea, I recovered a little, because I drank clean water, because I partook of bread that was neither foul-smelling nor hardened, because I was no longer washing in the fragments of storage jars, but found a bath such as it was, because I have been permitted for a time to be fixed to a bed. It was possible to say more than these things, but so that I do not distress your learning, I stop the discourse at this point, adding this: that you should not cease…

those who love you, and are endowed with such power, we have not obtained that which the convicts obtain, so as to be settled in a milder and nearer place; but with our body already broken and worn out, and with the terror of the Isaurians besieging everything, even this small and cheap favor has been denied to us. Let God's glory be proclaimed for this as well. For we do not cease to give Him glory for all things. May His name be blessed ^A forever. I was very surprised at your behavior, that although I have sent this fourth or even fifth letter to you, I have received only one. And yet it was not difficult to write more frequently. I do not say these things in a spirit of accusation: for the duties of love are of the will, not of necessity. But this hurts me, that you have cast me out of your heart so quickly, such that in such a long time you have sent me only one letter. Therefore, if we do not ask anything burdensome or troublesome of you, grant us this, which is a matter of your own will and authority. For I pass you no trouble concerning other matters; lest, besides achieving nothing, I also seem burdensome and importunate to you.

CXXI. To Arabios

The furnace of grief which you carry in your mind for the things which have been perpetrated against us, I have learned most clearly from your letters; and indeed I knew it before. For we shall never be able to forget the violence of the tears which you poured out when these evils were first being woven. But your letter also, not less than those tears and groans, revealed to us the flame of grief which has crept into your heart. Expect the reward for these things from the benevolent God; for there is also a great and ample reward for grief. For ^B even at that time, when vices were burning among the Jews, there were some who, when they could not correct their wickedness, did nothing but mourn and weep for them, and they obtained such a reward that, when all the others were perishing and were being destroyed in an utter slaughter, they alone escaped the wrath. "Set a mark," says Scripture, "upon the foreheads of them that sigh and that cry" (Ezek. 9:4). And yet they did not prevent these things from happening, but because they performed what was in their power—that is, they sighed and wept—they procured for themselves a great refuge from this. You too, my masters, weep for these things without any intermission, and pray to the benevolent God that He may calm the shipwreck of the common world. For you know, clearly you know, that all things are full of tumult and disturbance, and that one must offer prayers not only for the city of Constantinople, but for the whole world; since the evil, having taken its beginning from there, has been poured out like a certain pestilential flood, and ruins the Churches through the whole world. But as for what you ask of us, even you yourself, as long as we are separated from one another in the body (for we are bound to you in spirit always, and to your entire household), I ask that you do this, namely, that you do not be ^C annoyed to write to us frequently, and to make us more certain about your health. For you know how welcome that will be to us. But since you ordered us to divert into your house, know that after I set out, I learned it did not please our enemies that we be taken to Sebaste, but into the most desert place of Armenia, Cucusus, and one most dangerous because of the incursion of the Isaurians. We nevertheless give thanks to you, and have received the honor, that even when we were far away, such care for us held you, that you even prepared a guesthouse for us, and exhorted us to stay at your home. But if you have any friends at Cucusus, I would wish that you send letters to them.

CXXII. To Marcianus

You are blessed, and thrice blessed, and this often, as one who in such a severe tempest, and in such great storms of affairs, has displayed a specimen of such great liberality towards the poor. For your immense kindness was not unknown to us, and that you have become a harbor common to all, undertaking the patronage of orphans, soothing the grief of widows by every means, sustaining their destitution, relieving their poverty, and not allowing them to be affected by the sense of this constraint, but showing yourself to be whatever they needed, and feeding the whole populace with grain, wine, oil, and all other things. May God pay you the reward of this bounty, of your munificence, of your zeal, of your ardor, of your love towards the poor, and of your sincere charity, both here and in the future age; since you abound and flourish in all these virtues, laying up for yourself maximum rewards in the future age. Hearing these things about you, although we are in such solitude ^D and are vexed on every side by many inconveniences—for both the blockade of Isaurian fear, and the solitude of the place, and the harshness of winter press upon us vehemently—yet we are not even affected by a sense of troubles, but we receive immense consolation, exulting and rejoicing at such great virtues, and at the riches exceeding every power of speech, which you are accumulating for yourself in heaven. That we may therefore rejoice also on another account, do not, I beg you, be annoyed to write to us as often as possible, and to announce joyful news to us about your health. For we desire to hear something about it in a greater measure. And you yourself also know this: seeing as that fact also is known to you, with how much love for you we are always held.

CXXIII. To the presbyters and monks of Phoenicia, who are instructing the Gentiles

Governors, when they see the sea stirred up by fury and aroused, and a great tempest and whirlwind, not only do not desert the ship, but even then utilize greater concern and zeal, both themselves keeping watch and rousing others. And physicians again, when they foresee a fever that has been stirred up raging vehemently, not only do not abandon the sick person, but even then at last, both through themselves and through the work of others, they apply more study and labor for the overthrowing of the disease. Why do I mention these things? Surely so that no one of you

so as to resolve the evil. Why do I say these things? Lest anyone deceive you by reason of the turmoil that has arisen into leaving Phoenicia and withdrawing from there; but by as much as the difficulties are many, and the waves more grievous, and the turmoil greater, by so much the more should you persevere, being zealous, sober, and vigilant, displaying greater eagerness, so that your most excellent building may not be demolished, nor such great labor become useless, nor your cultivation be made to vanish. For God is able both to resolve the turmoil and to grant you the reward of your patience. For indeed, the reward for you is not so great when matters are proceeding with ease as it is now, when there is much difficulty, much turmoil, and many who cause scandal. Considering, therefore, both the toil you have expended, and the labor you have endured, and the accomplishments you have achieved, and that by the grace of God you have put an end to such a portion of impiety, and that the affairs of Phoenicia have come to a state of progress, and that the reward is now greater for you and the compensation larger, and that God will soon resolve the obstacles and will give you many compensations for your patience, remain and stand firm. For there is nothing that you should lack even now; rather, I have ordered that you enjoy the same abundance and plenty, whether in clothing, whether in footwear, or in the provisions of the brethren. And if we, being in such 664 distress and circumstance, and dwelling in the desert of Cucusus, take such care for your accomplishments, how much more does it behoove you, who are enjoying much sufficiency—I mean, regarding the need for necessities—to contribute from your own resources? I entreat you, therefore, let no one frighten you. For indeed, the situation has come to have better hopes; and you will be able to learn this from the copies sent by my lord, the most reverent presbyter Constantius. And if you remain, even if there are ten thousand obstacles, you will overcome them all. For there is nothing equal to patience and endurance; for it is like a rock; and these turmoils and machinations that are being stirred up against the Church are like waves breaking against the rock and dissolving into their own foam. Consider how much the blessed apostles suffered, both from their own people and from strangers, and that throughout the whole time of their preaching they passed through trials, dangers, and machinations, being consumed by prisons, chains, abductions, lashes, famines, and nakedness. But nevertheless, even when dwelling in those very prisons, they did not depart from the stewardship entrusted to them; but the blessed Paul, even when residing in prison, and having been scourged, and flowing with blood, and having been bound to a wooden stock, and suffering such things, was still initiating in the prison, and was baptizing the jailer, and was doing all things that belonged to his duty. Considering all these things, then, and such things as these, I have entreated your love: stand firm, immovable, undeceived, awaiting the hope of God and the alliance from Him, than which there is nothing equal; and endeavor to write back to us concerning all things from there. For it is for this reason that we sent John, the most reverent presbyter, to this place, so as to exhort your mind and not allow it to be shaken by anyone. I have done my part, both by exhorting with words, and by setting right with counsels, and by providing an abundance of necessities, so that you should not lack in anything. If you should not wish to bear with me, but to be persuaded by those very people who are deceiving and unsettling you, I am blameless. But you know on whom this condemnation and loss falls. So that nothing of the sort may happen, I entreat you to bear with me, who loves you greatly. And concerning whatever you may need, either write to us, or, if you wish, send someone to us, and you will not lack anything at all.

CXXIV. To Gemellus.

Others indeed rejoice with your magnificence regarding your appointment, but I with the city; and this because of your greatness, not for the sake of the honor from this (for you have studied to be above such things), but because you have found an opportunity which provides you with much freedom to show to the many your prudence 666 and gentleness, and to gather the profit resulting from this. For I know well that even those who are strongly nailed to the earth, and who are gaping after these dreams—I mean the glory that comes from the many—you will be able to instruct that an official is not in the robe, or the belt, or in the voice of the herald, but in restoring what has been labored, and correcting what is in a bad state, and punishing injustice, and not permitting the just to be driven away by power. For I know your boldness, your freedom of speech, the height of your mind, your disdain for worldly things, your hatred of evil, your gentleness, and your philanthropy, which is most needed by a ruler. Therefore, I also know this clearly: that you will be a harbor for the shipwrecked, a staff for those who have bowed their knees, a tower for those who are oppressed by unjust power; and you will be these things easily. For you do not need toil, or sweat, or a long time to accomplish these things; but just as the sun at once appears and dissolves every darkness, so also, now that you have appeared on the throne, I know well that from the first day you have restrained those attempting to commit injustice, and those being wronged, even before they entered the courthouse, you have delivered from every vexation; and the reputation of your philosophical soul has sufficed for the correction of this. Because of these things, although I am sitting in the desert and am held by many circumstances, I am filled with much cheer, considering the alliance of those who are wronged to be my own pleasure.

MONITION CONCERNING THE FOLLOWING EPISTLE TO CYRIACUS THE BISHOP IN EXILE

^A Doubts concerning the authenticity of this epistle were raised by two Englishmen in the Savilian edition. For in the notes on page 856, Halesius, cited by Henry Savile, has the following: “This epistle to Cyriacus has always been highly suspect to me as a supposititious work. For, first, I do not see at all the epistolary character that is present in the others. Furthermore, the prologue is almost identical to that of the first epistle to Olympias, and it even contains entire sentences taken from other works of Chrysostom, which seem to smack of a copyist; and otherwise, certainly, unless where Chrysostom is clearly being compiled, the style does not recall Chrysostom. Moreover, there are certain things here alien to the character and turn of mind of our John. For as for his answer to the charge of adultery, ‘strip my body,’ etc., and his mention of the popular voice, ‘it were better that the sun had veiled its rays, that the mouth of John might be silent,’ and the fact that he inveighs against Arsatius more bitterly than is fitting: these things, I say, do not please me at all. For the first has something crude about it, the second something boastful, and the last, a show of temper. And assuredly, I recall that this last point was long ago observed by Photius, who tries to apply a remedy, though not by a very skillful Aesculapius. Finally, regarding what he says ‘from the Cucusians,’ our author never speaks in this number, but always in the singular. So these are, in general, the things I have observed in this epistle, leaving a complete judgment on the whole matter to the learned reader.”

In the same Savilian notes on page 888, John Boisius replies to these points, and with the single exception of the stylistic dissimilarity, he refutes all the other arguments; Tillemont thought this note belonged to Savile, whose authority would certainly be greater, but it is by John Boisius, as you may see in the top margin of the same page: he speaks as follows: ^B “Of all those reasons which are brought forward against the authority of this epistle, none pleases me more than that which is drawn from the dissimilarity of style. For this note rarely deceives, whereas the others that are added are not of such infallible certainty that on their account that epistle must necessarily be adjudged away from Chrysostom. The beginning of this epistle has many things in common with the first to Olympias. I acknowledge it. Yet it is not on that account immediately to be denied that it is by Chrysostom. For how often does Chrysostom repeat the same things, and that almost word-for-word, both in his epistles and in his homilies? For when things have once been well said, the desire to say them differently, unless some more just cause should impel it, is a sign not so much of an eloquent man as of one who is inquisitive and seeking to show off his abundance. Homer, therefore, is not censured because he borrows quite often from himself and says the same things repeatedly about the same subjects; but among his other virtues this is also numbered, that, having left to posterity a most useful example of frugality, he abstains from necessary variety everywhere by design. As for that affective expression, ‘strip my body,’ etc., it must be considered whether his supreme innocence, joined with incredible grief, and the impudence of his adversaries, who were insulting a miserable and downcast man without restraint, could have wrung such an utterance from him. Perhaps the time itself excuses the mention of the popular acclamation. If the words are viewed by themselves, they might seem to have proceeded from a vain and boastful man; but if we look at the time when they were uttered, there is no one, I think, who is a little more equitable, who would not pardon such behavior in Chrysostom, who was in exile, cast out, exhausted by unspeakable injuries, and oppressed by most unworthy calumnies. ^C For it is helpful for a spirit prostrate with perpetual grief to raise and lift itself up with such supports as these. But, ‘he treated Arsatius more bitterly than was fitting.’ Let this be a fault of Chrysostom, but not an argument that the epistle is supposititious. Nay, I would rather gather from this that it is indeed a genuine offspring. For who does not know how great the spirit was in Chrysostom; with what freedom of speech, with what frankness he used to treat with everyone, even the Empress Eudoxia. If, therefore, he did not spare Eudoxia, is it probable that he would have wished to spare Arsatius? There remains the last argument drawn from the word ‘Cucusians,’ which, although it seems not to be neglected, nevertheless, unless it is corroborated from elsewhere, has little strength in itself. For it could have happened by the fault of either a copyist or a printer that ‘Cucusians’ was written instead of ‘Cucusus.’ Besides, if I am not mistaken, both ‘Cucusus’ and ‘Cucusa’ are read. But worth all of these is that point about the style and character, which alone carries so much weight with me that I do not hesitate, with your Halesius—an excellent and most learned young man—to pronounce that the author of this epistle was not Chrysostom, but some other person not to be compared with Chrysostom in either talent or eloquence.”

That passage of Photius which Halesius commemorates above runs thus: ^D “That in the epistle to the bishop Cyriacus, which he sent from his second exile, he attacks Arsatius, calling him a babbler and an adulterer; and he praises those who turn away from his communion, as having been separated from him on account of God and the injustice...”

CXXV. TO CYRIACUS THE BISHOP IN EXILE

(Cucusus, year 404.)

Come, let me again calm the ulcer of your sadness and scatter the thoughts that have gathered this cloud. For why are you grieving and why are you troubled? Is it because the winter is harsh and the shipwreck that has overtaken the Church is bitter? I know this too, and no one can deny it; nay, if you wish, I will fashion for you an image of the things happening. We see a sea churned up from the very abyss, the sailors having clasped their hands to their knees in place of oars and tillers, and, at a loss due to the magnitude of the storm, they see neither sky, nor sea, nor land, but lie on the mattresses, lamenting and weeping. And this is wont to happen at sea; but now, in our own sea, the turmoil is worse and the waves are more grievous. But do you implore our Master Christ, who does not overcome a storm by skill, but dissolves the tempest by a mere nod. Even if you have often implored and have not been heard, do not lose heart; for such is the custom of the benevolent God. ^A For could He not have delivered those three youths from danger, so that they might not fall into the furnace of fire? But when they had been taken captive, when they had been cast into a barbarian ^B land, and had fallen away from their ancestral inheritance, and were given up for lost by all, and no manner of evil remained for them, then Christ, our true God, performed the miracle and dissipated the fire. For the fire, not bearing the virtue of the righteous, leaped out and scorched the Chaldeans whom it found around the furnace (Dan. 3). And then the furnace became a church for them, and they called upon the whole of creation, both the visible and the invisible, angels and powers, and thus, encompassing all things, they said: Bless the Lord, all you works of the Lord (Dan. 3:57). ^C Do you see how the patience of the righteous turned the fire into dew, and put the tyrant to shame, and sent letters throughout the whole world? Great, he says, is the God of Sedrach, Misach, and Abdenago. And behold what severity He established, that if anyone should speak a word against them, his house should be plundered and his possessions confiscated (Dan. 3:96). Do not, therefore, lose heart, nor be discouraged. For I too, when I was being driven out from the city, was not concerned about any of these things, but I said to myself: If the king—

wishes to send me into exile, let him exile me: the earth is the Lord’s, and the fullness thereof (Ps. XXIII, 1). If he wishes to have me sawn asunder, let him saw me: I have Isaiah as an example. If he wishes to cast me into the sea, I remember Jonah (John I). If he wishes to cast me into a furnace, I have the three youths who suffered this fate (Dan. III). If to casting me to the wild beasts, I have Daniel, who was cast into the lions’ pit, as a reminder (Dan. VI). If he wishes to stone me, let him stone me: I have Stephen, the first martyr (Acts VII). If he wishes to take my head, let him take it: I have John the Baptist (Mark VI). If he wishes to take my property, let him take it: Naked I came out of my mother’s womb, and naked I shall depart (Job I, 21). The ^A Apostle admonishes me: God does not accept the person of man (Gal. II, 6); and again: If I were still pleasing men, I would not be a servant of Christ (Gal. I, 10). David also arms me, saying: I spoke of thy testimonies in the presence of kings, and I was not ashamed (Ps. CXVIII, 46). They have plotted many things against me, and they say that I communicated with some after the meal. If I have done this, may my name be wiped out of the book of the orthodox faith, and may it not be written therein; for behold, if I have done any such thing, may Christ cast me out of His kingdom! But if they perversely keep on objecting this to me, let them also cast out Paul from his rank, who after supper baptized the whole house (Acts XVI); and let them deprive the Lord Himself of authority, who gave the communion to the apostles after supper (Matt. XXVI, 26). They even accuse me of having slept with a woman. Strip my body, and you will find the mortification of my members. But they have done all these things out of envy. But does it, brother Cyriacus, distress your soul ^B at all that those who have driven me out of the city fly about in the forum with impunity, and a huge crowd of bodyguards follows them? But recall Lazarus and that rich man (Luke XVI): was not the former miserable in this life, while the latter flowed with pleasures and luxury? What harm, moreover, did poverty bring to him? Did he not, as a wrestler and victor, reach the bosom of Abraham? What, again, did wealth profit this one who was resting in purple and fine linen? Where are the lictors? Where the satellites? Where are the horses with golden bridles? Where are the parasites and the royal table? Was he not led away to the tomb as a thief, bound, taking his soul naked out of the world, and crying with a hollow voice, Father Abraham, send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger into water, and cool my tongue, for I am tormented in this flame (Luke XVI, 24)? Why do you call him Father Abraham, whose life you did not imitate? He used to welcome every man into his house; you did not care for even one poor man. Nor is there any reason for us to mourn and weep, because he who was endowed with such riches did not receive a drop of water. For because he did not share crumbs with the ^C poor man, therefore he does not receive even a drop of water. In the winter he did not sow the seed of mercy, and therefore he did not reap the harvest in summer. And this was also done by the Lord with a sure purpose, so that the punishment of the wicked and the rest of the just might be placed opposite each other; so that they might see and recognize one another. For then each martyr will recognize his own tyrant, and each tyrant the martyr whom he tortured. Nor do I say these things of myself; hear what Wisdom says: Then the just shall stand in great constancy against those who have afflicted him (Wisd. V, 1). For just as one who is traveling under a blazing sun and is burning with thirst, when he finds a clear fountain but is forbidden to drink, is afflicted with great pain; or again, as when someone, tormented by great hunger, sits down at a table filled with all kinds of food, but is prevented by someone more powerful from touching the table and enjoying the food, he feels severe pain and torture, because though he is reclining at the table, he cannot enjoy the ^D feast, or while sitting by the fountain he cannot draw from the water: so in the day of judgment the wicked will see the saints rejoicing, yet they will not be granted to enjoy the royal table. For even God, when He wished to punish Adam, did this: He made him till the earth outside the region of Paradise, so that, by looking every day and every hour at that pleasant and desirable place from which he had departed, he should drink in perpetual sorrow of soul. If it has not been granted to us to enjoy mutual contact here, no one will prevent us there from living together, and from seeing those who cast us into exile, just as Lazarus saw the rich man, and the martyrs their tyrants. Therefore, do not lose heart; rather, recall this word of the prophet: Do not fear the reproach of men, and be not afraid of their blasphemies: for they shall be devoured by the worm like wool, and they shall be consumed like a garment (Isa. LI, 7–8). Observe also how the Lord, that is, He who holds the world, was harassed from His very swaddling clothes and cast into the land of the foreigners, that He might warn us by His own example not to break down in temptations. Let the passion of the Savior be in your mind, and indeed how many insults He Himself suffered for our sake. For some called Him a Samaritan, others a demoniac, a glutton, and a false prophet. They said, Behold a man who is a glutton and a wine-drinker (Luke VII, 34), and: By the prince of demons He casts out demons (Matt. IX, 34). What when they were leading Him to be thrown down from the cliff, and when they spat in His face? What when they put a cloak on Him, and crowned Him with thorns, and threw themselves at His feet in mockery, and did not omit any kind of derision against Him? What when they struck Him with palms? When they gave Him vinegar and gall to drink? When they struck His head with a reed? When those bloodthirsty dogs dragged Him here and there? What when He was led naked to death, and all the disciples had abandoned Him, and one of them had betrayed Him, another had denied Him, and the others had taken to flight, and He alone stood naked in the midst of that crowd (for it was a feast day, gathering everyone together then); what when, as if He were a guilty person and a criminal, He was nailed to the cross among criminals; and after He was taken down from the cross, He lay unburied until...

was, let him be asked, until someone sought him out to bury him? Remember that he was not deemed worthy of burial, and that a wicked accusation was uttered against him, and that his disciples stole him, and that he did not rise. ^A Call to mind also the apostles, how they were persecuted from all sides and kept themselves hidden, not being able to appear in the cities; how Peter was hidden at the house of Simon the tanner, and Paul at the house of the purple-seller, because they did not have boldness among the rich. But later, everything became smooth for them. So, too, you should not be discouraged now. For I myself have heard about that nonsense concerning Arsacius, where the empress seated him on the throne, that he afflicted all the brothers who were unwilling ^B to communicate with him; and many of them died in prison on my account. For that wolf in sheep’s clothing, who wears the guise of a bishop but is actually an adulterer—for just as a woman is termed an adulteress if she is joined to another while her husband is living, so this man is an adulterer, not of the flesh, but of the spirit; for while I was yet living, he snatched my episcopal throne. And I write these things to you from Cucusus, where the empress ordered us to be exiled. Many afflictions befell us on the road, but we cared about nothing. But when we arrived at the region of the Cappadocians and into Tauro-Cilicia, many choirs of holy fathers and men, and not only they, but also multitudes of monks and virgins, met us, shedding infinite springs of tears. And they wept seeing us going into exile, and said among themselves: "It would have been better for the sun to withdraw its rays than for the mouth of John to be silenced." These things troubled and afflicted me, since I saw everyone weeping for me. For as for all the other things that befell me, I gave them no thought. But the bishop of that city received us very kindly and showed great love toward us; so much so that he would have yielded his throne to us, if possible, had we not been guarding the limit. I beseech you, therefore, and entreat you, and take hold of ^C your knees: cast aside the grief of your despondency, keep us in mind before God, and be persuaded to write back to us.

Epistle CXXVI. To Rufinus the Presbyter.

Word has come to us that the evils in Phoenicia have again been kindled and the fury of the Greeks has increased, and that many of the monks have been struck, and some have even died. For this reason I urge you all the more to set out with the greatest speed and to stand in the battle line. For I know well that by your mere appearance you will rout the opponents, both by prayer and by gentleness, and endurance, and by using your customary bravery; and you will put an end to their fury, and restore those who are with us, and work many good things. Do not, therefore, delay or procrastinate; but use greater speed, and let these things that have been reported work in you more eagerly. For if you saw a house being ignited, you would not withdraw, but you would then take even greater pains so as to forestall the flame; and by yourself and through others you would do everything to extinguish the evil. And now, therefore, since such a 🔥 has been kindled, strive to reach those places without delay, and by all means there will be some good result, and much correction of these things. For to instruct some even among those encountered, in peace and calm and with no one fighting, is one thing; but in this way, when the devil is raging and the demons are arming themselves, to stand bravely and to snatch away those of the people who are positioned with him, and to prevent others from falling into his hands, this is the work of a noble man, this is the sign of a sober soul, this is the mark of your own high and awakened mind, this is worthy of countless crowns, this is the work of ineffable rewards, this is an apostolic achievement. Considering, therefore, that this time is a time of proving yourself and a subject for countless exchanges and dealings, ^D seize such great wealth, and be persuaded to use great speed; and send to us with speed as soon as you arrive there. For if we merely learn that you have crossed the borders of Phoenicia, we are henceforth free from care, we rest, we live in security. For we know that things to follow [will be done well], for like a noble fighter, and one who knows how to act valiantly, so will you pass through everything, raising up those who have fallen, supporting and establishing those who stand, bringing back those who are wandering, and seeking out and finding those who have perished, cutting to pieces the entire phalanx of the devil. For I know, I clearly know the wakefulness of your soul, the anxiousness of your mind, the prudence, the graciousness, the friendliness, the manliness, the intensity, the endurance. Write to us, therefore, continuously, and before you see Phoenicia, send many letters from the road, since even now I have wondered how, when those around my most esteemed and pious lord Theodotus the presbyter were arriving, you did not send. In order, therefore, that we might not again grieve, not receiving letters from your honor, if it be possible, send us letters continuously at every station, so that we may learn how much you have progressed on the road, and if you have come near those parts. For we are very anxious and care deeply, and we wish to learn these things every day. Knowing these things, therefore, my most esteemed lord, grant us this greatest favor, and before you depart, and when you have departed, by sending continuous letters and declaring everything to us, so that if there are achievements, we may rejoice and be gladdened; but if there are hindrances,

by any means, and with all zeal, we strive to remove them. For we shall not rest until, both by our own efforts and through others, if possible, we have accomplished this; even if it should be necessary to send a thousand times to the city of Constantinople, so as to make all things very easy for you, we shall not refuse to do even that. Since, therefore, these things are known to you, perform for us what is your duty: your vigilance and your diligence. And if you think that brethren should also be sent, let me know this as well. As for the relics of the holy martyrs, be without anxiety; for I have straightway sent my most observant lord, the presbyter Terentius, to my lord the most pious Otreius ^A (a) the bishop of Arabissus. For he himself possesses many [relics], and of the most undoubted authenticity, which we shall send to you in Phoenicia within a few days. Therefore, pay attention, that you do not fail in your duty in any respect. For you see with what readiness of mind we perform what is our duty. Make haste, therefore, that you may be able to complete the churches that are without roofs before the winter.

CXXVII. To Polybius.

Another, perhaps, would have lamented and bewailed the intolerable cold of this region, the vast solitude of the place, and the most grievous disease (for from this source we have fallen into illness); but I, leaving these aside, lament your separation, which is more grievous to me than solitude, disease, and winter. And the winter has also increased this bitterness. For the one consolation that I had for my most wretched separation, which is to converse with you by letter, the winter that has set in has taken away from me, having closed the roads with a great mass of snow, permitting neither anyone from outside to come hither and meet with us, nor for anyone to arise from here and set out to you. And the terror of the Isaurians effects this no less, nay even more, for us, and increases our solitude, putting everyone to flight, driving them away, and making them wanderers. For there is no one left who dares to remain at home; but everyone, leaving his own house, flees. And cities are now but walls and roofs, whereas ravines and forests are cities. For just as wild beasts, like leopards and lions, consider the desert safer than cities, so do we who inhabit Armenia feel compelled to move from place to place every day, living the lives of Hamaxobii and Nomads, and nowhere standing with any confidence; to such an extent is everything here full of tumult and disturbance. For some are slaughtered by their arrival, burned alive, and their freeborn turned into slaves; others, however, are put to flight by the spread of rumors and driven from their cities, nay, to speak more truly, they are destroyed. For as many young men as have been compelled to flee their homes, often even in the middle of the night, while all is frozen hard, driven by the fear of the rumor like smoke, they had no need even of an Isaurian sword to meet their death, but died giving up their final breath as they stiffened in the snow; and that which was the cause of their flight, the same became for them the cause of a most bitter death: behold the state in which our affairs ^B are. These things, indeed, we have not said in order to cast you into grief (for I know that these things would be a source of pain to you), but to reveal the reason for our long silence, and what the cause was why we wrote to you so late and slowly. For we were so forsaken by all that we were unable to find anyone to travel to you, and it became necessary for us to rouse our own companion, the presbyter, and send him to you. Wherefore, when you have received him as is worthy of you, send him back quickly, that he may announce to us good news concerning your health. For you know how great is our desire to know this.

CXXVIII. To Marinianus.

To all other mortals, spring is thus joyful and pleasant because it adorns the face of the earth with flowers and transforms it into meadows; but to me it is so for this reason, that it provides me a great opportunity for interacting with my acquaintances by means of letters. And indeed, I should wish to see you face-to-face with my own eyes; but since that is not at all possible, I do what is possible with a most ready mind, that is, to converse with you by letter. Neither do sailors and oarsmen cut the backs of the sea with an equal pleasure of mind, when that season of the year has arisen, as I do when I take up pen and paper and ink in my hands to write to you. For in the time of winter, when all things were freezing ^C from the cold, and a certain incredible force of snow was blocking all the roads, neither was anyone from outside enduring the journey to come to us, nor was anyone enduring to set out from here elsewhere. For this reason we, enclosed in the little huts of this place as in a prison, and through the lack of couriers—bound, as it were, by certain chains of the tongue—were using, however unwillingly, a long silence. But after the time had at last opened the roads and broken the chain of our tongue, we sent to you this presbyter, with whom I share a life of fellowship, so that we might understand in what health you are. When, therefore, you have received him, as is worthy of you, my lord most greatly to be admired, and when you have looked after him as your charity demands, when he returns to us, I would like you to make us more certain concerning your health. For you know how we desire to know something concerning it.

CXXIX. To Marcianus and Marcellinus.

How glorious is this pair of yours, and how dear to us, bound together not by the law of nature only, but also by the chain of a most intense love! On account of this we glory and exult in your friendship, and we desire to congregate with you and see you face-to-face. But since that is not at all possible now, we do what is possible: we write often, we are perpetually mindful of you, we carry you in our thoughts wherever we may be, and we are not in any way separated from your sweetness even by the length of the journey. For such is the wing of charity, that it easily traverses every road and every interval, and there is no inconvenience ^D

and that which remains. Therefore, we too, though affected by many calamities, namely, solitude, the siege, and the constant incursions of robbers, are nonetheless not the less fervent in our love toward you: for we preserve our benevolence toward you perpetually flourishing. Wherefore we ask that you inform us of the state of your health more frequently by letter. For you yourselves know how great a consolation we receive from this, even while sitting in this solitude.

[CXXX] To Castus, Valerius, Diophantus, and Cyriacus, presbyters of Antioch.

Love is a vehement and violent thing, and more violent than any exacting creditor. For those who are owed money do not so press and demand payment from their debtors as you, having cast the chain of love around us, urge us to the payment of letters, even though we have often discharged this debt. But such is the nature of this debt: it is always being paid, and it is always owed. For this reason, you likewise, although you often receive letters, are never satisfied. For this is the advantage of love, and it imitates the sea, which, though myriads of rivers flow into it from everywhere, is never filled. Such is also the breadth of your hearing; for this reason, the more we cast into it, the more we kindle the flame of your disposition. Do not, therefore, suppose that we have remained silent for this brief time because we suspected your friendship. For we would have suffered the exact opposite of this had we suspected it, and we would have written more often. For just as those who are strong have no need of a physician, so those who are neglectful and dejected have great need of treatment. If, then, we had sensed that your disposition was failing, we would not have neglected to contribute what we could, so as to inflame it even more. But by trusting you greatly, and knowing clearly that, whether you receive letters or not, you consistently preserve your disposition toward us as firm, immovable, permanent, unswerving, constant, and perpetually flourishing, we deemed that our letters were not necessary for that purpose, but merely to pay the debt of disposition. For even now, we write not out of need, but out of friendship. For as to the fact that even if many storms arise from many places, and myriads of waves are raised on high, nothing can harm you or cast you into the whirlpool of despondency, the past time has sufficiently shown. We do not, therefore, write as though you were in need of consolation from this source, but to declare that we rejoice, leap for joy, and are gladdened by the pleasure of enjoying, from so great a distance, such love from your diligence. And since I know well that it brings you great joy to learn in what state our affairs are, know that we have been delivered from the ailment of the stomach, we are in good health, and nothing—neither sieges, nor incursions of robbers, nor the desolation of this place, nor the multitude of myriads of tribulations, nor anything else of this kind—constricts or disturbs ^B us, but we enjoy security, freedom from business, and great tranquility each day, mindful of your affairs, and discussing them before those who visit us. For such is the habit of genuine love: it prepares one to have those who are longed for always upon the tongue. This we also do, since we love you vehemently, and this you yourselves know. Considering all these things, then, do not think that we have become sluggish, nor that we have grown neglectful of your disposition over time. For love never falls away; but even if a long time passes, and even if the difficulties of circumstances increase, and even if we are separated by a greater length of road, it is not broken by any of these things, nor does it become faded, but it blooms more greatly and increases.

[CXXXI] To Elpidius, Bishop.

We did not remain silent during the previous time out of neglect or indifference toward your love, but the terrible things that surround us caused this long silence. For we are not situated in one place, but now in Cucusus, now in Arabissus, now in valleys; and all places are filled with noise and turbulence, and fire encompasses the ravines and the deserts. Thus, iron consumes all things, both bodies and buildings. Cities have already been uprooted, foundation and all, and every day, struck by constant rumors, we become wanderers, enduring a harsh and novel manner of exile, and daily, as if now shut up in a prison, we expect death. For there is no confidence even in the fortress, because the Isaurians do not hesitate to besiege even such places as these. To this, a grievous sickness has also been added, the worst of which we have now barely escaped, though we still carry its remnants; and as if relegated to some island surrounded by an unnavigable sea, we can see no one easily, all paths being walled off by the fear of these disturbances. I beg you, therefore, to forgive us, my most honorable and pious master; for you know the love which we have shown from above and from the beginning toward your piety, and do not cease to pray for us. For if you should easily find those to assist with letters, you will have no need of a reminder to write to us frequently concerning your health. And we, if these terrible things should subside, and we should be able to look out from this prison and breathe a little from the siege that constrains us, we shall not cease to write continuously to your honor. For in doing this, we ourselves gain the greatest favors.

[CXXXII] To Gemellus.

Wow, how great is a noble and manly soul, which derives its pleasure and security not from anywhere outside, but from within and of itself, and, wonder of wonders, from circumstances that seem to the many to be fearful and dangerous. For not only not to be disturbed, nor to be pained while being hated by ^D

to glory in such a name, and not only to glory, but also to have compassion on those who hate you, and to desire that they might acquire a better mind and become upright, whose prudence is this, and whose philosophy? And on this account, most admirable and magnificent Lord, we heap praises upon you and look up to you; for this reason, I say, we also greatly exult, glorying in your friendship as if in a splendid crown. ^B Since, however, you also request prayers from us by letter, I would have you know that we did not cease even before these letters to offer up prayers that so great and philosophical a soul might be initiated into the holy rites and be gifted with those holy and tremendous mysteries. And if it is permitted us to receive such joyous news, we shall have been liberated from this exile, and we shall put aside the memory of our solitude, and we shall consider ourselves released from the bodily infirmity with which we currently struggle. ^C Nor indeed is it any doubt to us, O admirable man, that you strive and desire to attain these secret goods by our mediation. Which also, as you yourself know, is for us a matter of zeal and desire. But if some delay should occur on our part, take care that this delay does not reach the thing itself. For generally, even if we were absent, most friendly men would not be lacking to you, who would be able to lead you to these initiations of the mysteries. ^D But if that should happen, we shall be affected with the same pleasure with which we would be affected if we had supplied the service ourselves to the administration of this heavenly benefit, since the grace is also the same.

CXXXIII. To Adolia.

What are you saying? Are you lamenting treachery again, and do you ask that you are affected by grievous calamities? But what, I pray you, stands in the way of your betaking yourself to a tranquil harbor and being freed from all these waves? Did I not always sing these things to you, and yet you never thought fit to obey me? Nay, rather, you yourself bring upon yourself six hundred evils from the mire of such dealings, falling perpetually into the filth, and inflicting upon us, while you suffer these things, frequent and constant sorrow. ^A Do you think that I am affected with light sorrow when I have heard what you wrote to me, namely that you have been betrayed by kinsmen, or rather by strangers (for I shall use your own words), and have endured grievous tragedies? How long will you sit by the smoke and trouble the clear eye of your soul? Will you never vindicate yourself from this most bitter servitude into liberty? But what prevented you from coming hither, and from our taking counsel together concerning these things? For you write that you would never have grasped any sense of these things if that had happened. I am held in great admiration and astonishment, and I find no other cause for your long absence from us than negligence and laziness. ^B For we are separated by a small interval of journey, and the time of year is most suitable for traveling, as it is neither troublesome by cold nor by heat. But perhaps again, she who is the parent of all evils for you, that is the care of the things of this life, she now also brings you an impediment. As for me, if you come, I am going to have great gratitude; if you do not come, I shall not for that reason accuse you or take it ill; but that charity which I have always shown you, I retain whole and flourishing. But I endure that with an unequal and bitter soul, when I hear that you are held entangled by innumerable dealings, and are carrying about six hundred burdens of the cares of this life. ^C And were it not that the necessity of exile held me as if bound in shackles, I would not cause you trouble, but even if I were laboring under still heavier bodily infirmity than that with which I now am, I myself surely would have run to you, nor would I have stopped doing and contriving anything before I had extracted you from this tempest and from the mire and filth of innumerable evils. But since that is by no means allowed, I would surely desire that you come hither and refer these matters to us. ^D But if not even that is easy, but difficult, I shall not cease to warn and exhort you by letter that you cut the ropes and bonds, and break asunder the shackles of the soul, and walk with great ease and freedom. For by this way you will not only attain the joy of this life, but you will also receive heaven with easy effort. Therefore, put in effort so that those things which, some time later, when you must migrate from here, you are going to leave unwillingly, you may send on ahead of your own accord into the treasuries, free and immune from all injury of robbers, and through them store up for yourself immortal and never-fading crowns.

CXXXIV. To Diogenes.

I would have purchased at a great price, my most admirable lord, that it were permitted me to see your sweetness, and this you yourself know even before our letters, since my love toward you is manifest to you as well. ^A Since, however, that is by no means allowed (for a long journey is interjected between us, nor is it in our power to betake ourselves whither we desire, and finally the fear of the Isaurian incursions increases daily), I ask of you that, because it is the greatest solace for us both of this solitude and of all our distresses and calamities, I may receive letters from you as often as possible, by which I may be made more certain of your health and that of your whole house; I would desire that, if the opportunity be given, you grant this to us as often as possible. ^B Nor is it easy for us to obtain this abundantly, because it is not easy for anyone to come to us from there. Moreover, even if what we ask is arduous, nevertheless, as far as it can be done, I would wish you to put in effort that you send frequent letters to us, which might set forth to us the state of your health. ^C But in order that you may be able to intelligence what we ourselves are doing, we enjoy leisure and great quiet, with great tranquility and moderate bodily health; this one thing troubles our soul, that we are separated from you, by whom we are loved. But your prudence, by the reason which we have spoken of, can apply a solace to this evil also. Wherefore grant us this favor, I pray, by which, although so far from you occupied

well-distanced, yet we hold your sweet, fervent, and sincere love as our greatest delight.

CXXXV. To Theodotus the Deacon.

I am not unaware, for my part, that you would have long been with us had not the fear of the Isaurians walled off the path. For one who endured to run hither when all things were freezing with cold and such heavy snow, would much more have been unwilling to remain there once spring had appeared and there was so much calm in the air. I know the sweetness, the gentleness, and the fervor of your disposition, its sincerity, and your soul, which is filled with great nobility. Therefore, I do not grieve without cause that, in this mildest season of the year, you cause us no small winter of despondency by being separated from us for so long. And I say this not in order to drag you here, even if you yourself wished it a thousand times (for all things have been filled with many wars, ^A and one might say this through those arriving here from that place), but so that you may know that even we, though we enjoy much silence and lack of business, cannot be without sorrow here while separated from your honor; and having learned this, you may write to us constantly, not only through those coming here from your side, but also through those who happen to be on the road and arriving here. We owe you great thanks, my most honorable master, both for your care and for the concern you have for the disturbances here. For the siege here intensifies with every day, and we sit in this fortress as though in a trap. Indeed, even in the middle of the night, against all hope and expectation, a band of three hundred Isaurians ^B raided the city and nearly captured us as well. But the hand of God quickly turned them away, even without our perceiving it, so that we escaped not only the dangers but even the fear, and only when day broke did we learn what had occurred. Because of this, rejoice and be glad, and do not cease beseeching God that He may place us in total safety and deliver us from the illness that hangs over us. For even if we have been freed from being in danger, still, remnants of the illness remain for us, constantly reminding us of the sickness. We have written these things not to cause you grief, but so as to stir you up more earnestly to offer prayers on our behalf. I entrust my most honorable lord, the reader Theodotus, to your piety, so that you may, as far as possible, become a harbor to him in all things. For there are many things, as we realize, that cause him grief.

CXXXVI. To Theodotus the Reader.

Do not weary yourself seeking an apology for your quick departure from here, taking refuge in your eye ailment and the cold, and attributing your departure to these things. For we count you as present, and as being with us no less than before, according to the principle of love, and we expect that we shall one day enjoy the sight of you face to face. ^C Let none of these things disturb you. For even if the winter led you away to Armenia, it did not cast you out of our soul, but we carry you in our mind continuously. And if the war of the Isaurians had not walled off every road and placed us in a scarcity of those to carry our letters, we would have sent you frequent snowfalls of epistles. Now, indeed, we have kept silent with our tongue for the time that has passed, but never with our intention; rather, we are always concerned for you and your affairs, and, for our part, we have written constantly. Knowing this, then, consider that you are with us, and that you are spending time with us in Armenia. And if anyone tries to plot against you and do you harm, become higher than the arrows from these things; since it is not suffering harm, but doing harm, that is truly suffering harm. For we admire you even more for this very reason, and we praise your steadfastness and your bravery, in that even when such a storm is splashing over you, you stand higher, having become superior to the disturbances from these things. Remain, then, with much pleasure, sailing this calm and waveless sea. And do not be surprised if I call the sea "waveless" while you are mindful of many plots. For I do not bring this verdict from the intention of those who disturb, but from the quietness according to virtue. And what is it that I say? This great and lofty life, which is stretched toward heaven, seems in the nature of things to be difficult, but through the bravery and zeal of those who pursue it, it becomes extremely easy. And this is the most wonderful thing about this philosophy, ^D that when the sea is raging, one who pursues it genuinely and fervently sails with power and with much calm; and, that while many disturbances are rising from everywhere, he harvests pure silence, and while ten thousand arrows are being sent from everywhere, he stands unwounded, receiving the javelins but suffering nothing from them. Knowing these things, then, and continuously philosophizing in these matters, harvest the unfading pleasure, awaiting the crowns that are laid up for you by God for these noble labors; and write to us constantly, when you are able, declaring things about your health and the state of your soul and body; and spend all your leisure time on the reading of the divine Scriptures, as much as specifically the weakness of your eyes permits, so that if ever a fair opportunity comes for us to instill their insights into your noble soul, we may do so with much ease. For the knowing of the letters contained therein will be able to contribute not a little to this, whenever you are about to receive the insights in them.

CXXXVII. To Theodotus the Deacon.

Cease accusing us of tardiness, lest you find yourself trapped by the charge. For you have received as many letters from us as you have sent, and except for one, you have received them like a snowfall of writings; you have spoken thus, thinking to rouse us to writing by at least your persistence. It is possible to love even without writing; however, I did not cease writing, and...

writings; you have spoken thus, thinking to rouse us to writing by at least your persistence. It is possible to love even without writing; however, I did not cease writing, and I do not cease loving. And even if the time that has elapsed since our separation should be still further prolonged, and even if we should be taken away to a yet more desolate place, we are still unable to cast you out of our soul, nor can we bring it about that we should not preserve our benevolence towards you as ever flourishing. Since you know this, write to us as often as possible about your health. For this is easier for you to do than for us. But if the time of year and the harshness of the Isaurian evils prevent this, since your disposition towards us is well-known to us, we shall have an abundantly ample consolation for the long silence.

CXXXVIII. To Elpidius the Bishop.

I am not unaware that I have written to you rarely: but this was not from a willing mind, but rather because I was hindered by the straits of circumstances. For both the time of year and the solitude of the place, in which we are held confined more severely than in any prison, and the infrequency of those who come here—and the fact that we do not find even those few to be all sincere and faithful—and finally the bodily illness which has vehemently worn us down and almost finished us off, and kept us bedridden throughout the winter, has brought this long silence upon me: yet it is only that silence which consists in the tongue, not in the mind. And do not think that you have received only as many letters as we have sent, but many more. But you will think this to be the case if you count not only those which we have written by the help of paper and ink, but also those which proceed from the mind and will. For in our mind we have never ceased writing to you, and we are always conversing with you; and neither the length of the journey, nor the duration of time, nor the difficulties of circumstances have brought any clouding to our benevolence towards you. But we keep it perpetually flourishing, and you, who burn with love for us, even if we should go away to a yet more desolate place, we shall carry engraved everywhere in our mind. For such is the nature of sincere love, that it is not blotted out by time, nor place, nor length of journey, nor by adverse circumstances. And this you yourself know also, since you know how to love sincerely.

CXXXIX. To Theodore, Consular of Syria.

You indeed say that this would be the greatest proof to you that your affairs are a concern to us, if after a previous letter you were again to receive another from us. But as for us, if we had men at hand who could perform this service for us, we would have written six hundred times to you, that is, to a man endowed with such probity and ease of manner, and burning with love for us, and receiving our letters with such great desire. But since that is by no means possible, we ask of you not to measure our affection by the number of letters; but whether we are silent or whether we are writing, that you would constantly retain the same judgment which you previously had concerning it; considering with yourself that the cause of our longer silence is not laziness, but the solitude of the place.

CXL. To Theodotus the Deacon.

This was no small consolation to us in such solitude, that we were able to write often to your sweetness: but the Isaurian evils have taken this from us also. For as spring arose, their attack also began to flourish, and they have spread over all the roads, rendering them completely impassable to everyone. Indeed, noble matrons have already been captured, and men slain. Wherefore I would like you to acknowledge why I have not written to you frequently. But since I do not doubt that you desire to be informed about our health, know that we were sick in a rather grave way over the past winter, but now we have been slightly refreshed. Furthermore, having been disturbed again by the inconstancy of the air (for now too the winter is flourishing here), we nevertheless hope that it will come to pass that when the summer has fully shone, we shall put aside the remains of the illness. For our body is not weakened by anything as much as by cold; nor, on the other hand, is it relieved by anything as much as by summer and the consolation of warmth.

CXLI. To Theodotus, ex-Consular.

May many good things happen to you, who have received our son so honorably. For he himself explained this to us, and did not hide it, both showing his affection towards his father, and filling us with great joy. For we consider this to be a double honor bestowed upon us: both because whatever benefit he received, we consider it to have been bestowed upon us, and also because it happened that we received an increase of this kind of benevolence from our letters. But you, my lord, most venerable and most noble, continue to cultivate this beautiful plant. But what will be the method of cultivating him himself? It is assuredly if you perpetually nourish and keep alive in him the study and love of this most beautiful philosophy which he now pursues; for so he will bring quick fruits to us. For generous souls are not accustomed to imitate the slowness of those plants which are entrusted to the bosom of the earth; but as soon as they are sown in the most excellent desire of this virtue, they are lifted up even to heaven itself, and they produce such great fruits that in both abundance and nature they surpass all riches. For they are not extinguished together with the present life, but they pass over with us into the future age.

CXLII. To Elpidius the Bishop.

By tongue indeed rarely, but in mind we have written to you very often, and daily we are conversing with you. And neither the duration of time, nor the length of the journey, nor the adversity of circumstances can snatch this meeting from us. For such is the nature of charity, that it yields to no such thing, but stands firm and overcomes everything. Wherefore, my most reverend and most religious lord, do not weigh my love towards you by the number of letters; but, since my mind and the benevolence which I have always shown to your piety are known to you, do not suspect anything sinister on account of long silence. Since not even we, although we have rarely received letters from you, therefore suspect you of being more sluggish towards us

...receiving letters from your disposition, we do not on that account think you have become more sluggish toward us; rather, we know clearly and are persuaded that you remain keeping in bloom your disposition toward us, not only not collapsing because of the succession of terrible things brought upon us, but even becoming more vehement toward us; and for this we owe you much thanks. But since I know well that you also wish to learn of our situation, we are enjoying health and much freedom from business, and tranquility, and we are living in safety, having been released for the time being from the Isaurian disturbances. For as for the winter of Armenia, I have learned to endure it, harmed indeed by a slight injury, as is to be expected for one endowed with such a weak body, yet overcoming it by being continuously locked indoors when the cold is unbearable, and rarely peeking out from the doorway. Thus we have enjoyed the other seasons of the year, which are very pleasant, so that we have been able easily to correct the infirmity arising in us from the winter.

CXLIII. To Polybius.

From the ground and the walls of the city we have been cast out, but from the city in the true sense we have not been relocated. For if you are the city, and we are always with you and in you, it is clear that even while living here, we dwell in that city; for we reside in your souls, and I know well that wherever we might go, we depart bearing all of you, our vehement lovers, in our thoughts. This allows us to see neither the desertion of this place (for it is the most desolate of the entire inhabited world), nor the siege by the brigands (for it is besieged every single day), nor the famine born from this; since our body is established here, but our soul is with you continuously. But since for those who are disposed in this way, physical presence is very desirable and much sought after, and its absence causes grief, and for the time being this cannot happen, but there is a most important remedy for it, the intercourse through letters, provide this to us with much abundance, and we are relieved of this gloom. For you, my most admirable lord, are capable even through letters of contriving the pleasure of presence.

CXLIV. To Diogenes.

Cucusus is indeed a desert place, and otherwise dangerous for habitation, being besieged by the constant fear of brigands; but you have made it, even from afar, a paradise. For whenever we hear of your great zeal, the love which you have toward us—sincere and warm (for nothing escapes us, even sitting at such a distance)—as if holding a great treasure and inexpressible wealth, your disposition of excellence, we think we are passing our time in a most secure city, being winged by such great joy and reaping a very great consolation from this. So that yet another addition of pleasure may come to us, I beseech you, grant us letters that tell of your health. For even if this is difficult, due to the length of the road and this place being situated so far from the public way, yet to one who loves as you know how to love, even difficult things become easy. Having considered, therefore, how great a favor you will do us by the frequency of such letters, provide this joy to us as well; for we are deeply pained that, having already written a second time, we have not even once received letters from your excellence.

CXLV. To Nicolaus the Presbyter.

I myself also wished, and very earnestly desired, to see your excellence and to embrace you; and this you know even from before our letters. For you know how to love sincerely, and you understand how to discern those who love sincerely. But since this is not possible, I do what is possible: for now I write, I greet you, I demand letters that tell us more frequently of your health. Grant us, then, this favor. For even if you do not need to be exhorted to this, we shall not cease reminding you regarding this. For it is no small consolation and comfort to us, amid the desert and the daily fears resulting from the incursion of brigands, and the infirmity of the body, and the other difficulties, to learn that you who love us are well, and are healthy, and that everything is moving for you with the current, even if you speak to us of ten thousand winters. How and in what way? Because it is possible for the noble, and the vigilant, and the sober man to sail with ease even in a surging sea of troubles, just as it is for the slack, and the one who has collapsed and lies supine, to be disturbed and thrown into turmoil even in a calm.

CXLVI. To Theodotus, Nicolaus, and Chaereas, Presbyters and Monks.

You indeed blame the incursion of the Isaurians as the cause of your absence; but I say that you are present, and are with us, and that nothing became a hindrance to your arrival. For such are the wings of love; they arrive everywhere suddenly and with great ease, even if there are ten thousand obstacles. But if we have been deprived of your bodily presence, do not cease praying, and the man-loving God will grant these things. Since I myself also, bearing you continuously in my mind, not as it happens, long for the meeting face to face, and I know well that this also shall be, through your earnest supplications to Him who can dissolve every winter and lead all things into a clear calm. So that you may also be cheered by learning of our affairs, we are enjoying much tranquility and freedom from business, our body—although there are many things damaging its health (for there is a scarcity of physicians, and a lack of necessary things, for nothing is for sale here, and there is no supply of medicines),

here are many things damaging its health (for there is a scarcity of physicians, and a lack of necessary things, for nothing is for sale here, and there is no supply of medicines), and the inclemency of the air (for the summer causes us no less distress than the cold, as it mimics the intensity of the cold in the opposite way), and a heavy and perpetual blockade, and the frequent fear of Isaurian incursions; these, I say, are all things, along with many others, that undermine our health. Nevertheless, we have now been delivered from heavy danger and from a sickness of this kind, and have obtained a certain moderate state of health.

Do you, however, make it your business to write to us frequently, and keep us informed about your health without any intermission. For we consider your love to be of the nature of the greatest relief, the greatest solace, and a treasure teeming with many goods; and when the thought of your sincere benevolence, your constancy of spirit, and your firm love comes into our mind (and it never ceases to come), we reach for port as if from many calamities into a certain wide and tranquil harbor.

CXLVII. To Anthemus.

^A Some congratulate you for the sake of your consulship and prefecture; I, however, congratulate those very magistracies and commands on account of your magnificence. For they did not adorn you; rather, they were adorned by you. Since the very nature of virtue is such that it does not borrow honors from elsewhere, but carries them within itself, indeed providing honor to these dignities, rather than receiving it from them. And for that reason, we have added nothing now to our love for you. For nothing more has accrued to you; we do not love a prefect and consul, but my most sweet master Anthemus, filled both with great prudence and with huge philosophy. And therefore we also call you blessed—not because you have been raised to this throne, but because you have received a more abundant opportunity to demonstrate your prudence and humanity. And we congratulate all those who are being treated unjustly, as we gaze upon the wide harbor of your soul, which is able to dispel countless shipwrecks and cause those who have encountered a most atrocious storm to sail according to their heart's desire. Therefore we exult and are filled with joy, deeming your rule to be a common festival for those who are being wronged. And we ourselves enjoy this even now, as we fashion a pleasure for ourselves out of the magnitude of your virtues.

CXLVIII. To Cyriacus, Demetrius, Palladius, and Eulysius, Bishops.

Blessed are you, and thrice blessed, and more than blessed, on account of the ^B glorious struggles, contests, calamities, labors, and dangers that you have undergone for all the Churches of the world, and for the glory and splendor you have obtained thereby, both on earth and in the heavens. For all men who are in their right mind proclaim you and adorn you with crowns, marveling even to the point of astonishment at the strength of your mind, your fortitude, your endurance, and your constancy. But the kind God, who always establishes rewards far greater than the labors, will repay you for as many great goods as it is right to be repaid by God to those who fight so strenuously for the peace of the whole world. Therefore, we too do not cease to call you blessed, continually taking pleasure in the memory of you, and carrying you about in our minds, even though we be separated from you by a long distance of travel. ^C Now, the most reverend deacon Cyriacus could not sail at this time, being exhausted by much labor. But indeed, my lords, the most religious priest Joannes and the most reverend deacon Paulus, as they were vexed on every side and had nowhere the power to stop and lay low, thought it necessary to take themselves to your love and be there with you. Wherefore, receive them with love, and show them the benevolence which is their due.

CXLIX. To Aurelius, Bishop of Carthage.

My dear friend, what a thing is a generous soul, teeming with the fruits of love and piety; that, even though you are separated from us by such a great distance of travel, you have embraced us and bound us to yourself as though you were present and living with us! For the ardor of your love, and that fragrance which flows from your freedom of speech and your piety, has penetrated even to us, who are situated in the furthest recess of the world. Therefore we give you great thanks; therefore, I say, we call you blessed, because, having undertaken great labor and sweat for all the Churches of the world, you have stored up for yourself the greatest of crowns before the kind God. And we exhort you to persevere in this noble contest: for it does not escape you what sort of rewards arise from this. For if anyone, by relieving a single person who is treated unjustly and harmed contrary to right, obtains an ineffable reward from God, I would have you consider what great reward you yourself are about to receive, you who, through such egregious zeal, free so many Churches that have been disturbed from tumults and perturbation, and strive to cause them to reach the tranquil harbor of peace.

CL. To Maximus, Bishop.

When I contemplate in my mind those labors and sweats that you have undergone over a long period of time, I take not an ordinary, but a most ample consolation—for those injuries by which I have been afflicted with the highest criminality—in your, indeed, so very ardent and genuine love, your sincere care, and your keen…

of what has occurred, having the most abundant consolation. For it was no ordinary solace that came to me, the reflection that, sitting at such a distance, you who had never seen us, nor been seen by us, nor held speech with us, were suddenly moved by the lawlessness of what was perpetrated and displayed such love toward us as parents do toward their children; or rather, you have even surpassed parents with such solicitude. For this reason we give thanks to your holiness, we admire, we bless, and we exhort you to imitate yourselves, and to bring to its end the zeal you displayed from the beginning. For even if nothing more is achieved toward the correction of what has happened, it is no small consolation to us, as I just said, that we have enjoyed and continue to enjoy such love from your graciousness. ^B CL. To Bishop Asellus. I know indeed that you do not need letters to be aroused and to take up the correction of the evils that have overtaken the Churches of the East. You have demonstrated this by what you have done, having of your own accord offered such zeal. But since the evils remain still uncorrected, because of the folly of those who have acted so lawlessly, we have thought it necessary to exhort your holiness, that you should not grow weary, nor lose heart, but should exercise a vigorous zeal, and contribute everything from yourselves once again. For the more incurable the state of those who create sedition against the order of the Churches may be, the greater will be their condemnation, and the brighter will be the reward and the greater the crowns for you, who do not grow weary. ^C CLI. To the Bishops. We owe thanks to each of you individually, and to all of you in common; and not we alone, but all the bishops throughout the East, the clergy of various cities, and the peoples in many ways driven out, because you have displayed fatherly hearts, have suffered with us, have stood firmly, and have contributed everything from yourselves. For this reason all proclaim you, crown you, and have your achievements on their lips. But if such honors are from men, consider how great will be the rewards for you from the philanthropic God. Knowing these things, then, my most honorable and most devout lords, even if those who disturb the Churches are suffering from incurable ills, do not cease offering your own healing. For by as much as the obstacles are greater and the difficulty more severe, by that much greater is your reward. For if one who gives a cup of cold water ^D will not be without his reward for his brief kindness (Matt. 10:42), consider how great a reward you will receive, having chosen to both do and suffer so much for the sake of the troubled Churches, and how great the prizes for good works await you. ^A CLII. To the same. We do not cease continuously to acknowledge our gratitude to you. For even if we have been treated with many lawless acts by our enemies, yet we have enjoyed much of your alliance, your abundant love, your genuine kindness, and your most fervent zeal; and we have in this no small consolation in the most grievous exile in which we are held, and in the other calamities which have been brought upon us. Therefore, we exhort your holiness to persist in displaying the same disposition and zeal toward us. For what you are doing will not stop with us, but will extend to the common good of the Churches. For it is not one, or two, or three cities, but entire nations throughout the world that are being troubled. And it is right that such zeal be shown by you as it is proper for those who have concerned themselves and laboured for so many souls to show. And if you have done much, and have contributed your own part, we know this too, and we do not cease to thank you; but we ask you not to cease doing so. For your endurance, your patience, and your right-minded judgment will be able to turn even those who are very contentiously disposed and are suffering from incurable ills away from the madness that now holds them. But if they persist in being so incurable, yet for you the reward will be perfected, and the rewards full, and the crown of these good things entire. ^B CLIII. To the same. We do not cease continuously to acknowledge our gratitude to you. For even if we have been treated with many lawless acts by our enemies, yet we have enjoyed much of your alliance, your abundant love, your genuine kindness, and your most fervent zeal; and we have in this no small consolation in the most grievous exile in which we are held, and in the other calamities which have been brought upon us. Therefore, we exhort your holiness to persist in displaying the same disposition and zeal toward us. For what you are doing will not stop with us, but will extend to the common good of the Churches. For it is not one, or two, or three cities, but entire nations throughout the world that are being troubled. And it is right that such zeal be shown by you as it is proper for those who have concerned themselves and laboured for so many souls to show. And if you have done much, and have contributed your own part, we know this too, and we do not cease to thank you; but we ask you not to cease doing so. For your endurance, your patience, and your right-minded judgment will be able to turn even those who are very contentiously disposed and are suffering from incurable ills away from the madness that now holds them. But if they persist in being so incurable, yet for you the reward will be perfected, and the rewards full, and the crown of these good things entire. ^C CLIV. To the same. We have indeed longed to see you with the eyes of the body; but since this is not possible, as we are held by the bond of exile, we visualize you with the eyes of love each day, and we embrace you, and we do not cease to applaud and admire that you have persisted from the beginning until now in displaying such zeal and earnestness for the Churches of the East; and we exhort you to show an end worthy of the beginnings. For if those who have disturbed everything and filled all with tumult use such contentiousness, it is much more right for you, who have been zealous to correct what has gone wrong, to make use of great patience and endurance in such zeal. For thus your reward will be greater, and the recompense larger, when, even though many obstacles arise, you do not pull back, but remain, walling off the difficulty of the situation with your own vigilance and zeal. ^D

CLV. To Chromatius, Bishop of Aquileia.

drawing from such a distance and breathing through the vast space, reaching even to the ends of the earth. Nor are we, though separated by such a long and arduous journey, less aware than those who are present of your vehement and fire-filled charity, your sincere tongue, infused with great liberty and confidence, and your adamant struggle. Therefore, we should have greatly desired to enjoy your presence and meeting. But because this solitude, by which we are now as if bound by fetters, has denied us this, we have found my lord, the most reverend and most religious presbyter, and we satisfy our desire, writing and greeting you, and offering our most abundant thanks for the zeal which, throughout this long period, you have exhibited with great perseverance. And we entreat and beseech you, when he returns—and furthermore, if any messengers happen to come this way to this desert—that you write to us concerning your health. For you know what great joy we shall receive from hearing more frequently of the prosperous health of those who love us so ardently.

CLVI. To the Bishops.

CLVII. To the Bishops who came from the West.

CLVIII. To the Same.

CLIX. To the Same.

and for these noble struggles, and we cease not to bless you for this noble zeal and diligence. For this reason, we have exhorted my lord, the most reverend and devout presbyter, to hasten unto you. Having received him, therefore, with the kindness that is fitting for you, we beseech you to bring the matter to a worthy conclusion. For although those who have wrought so many storms and wars against the Churches are for the time being sick with an incurable malady, it is necessary not only to lament and weep for them, but to be astonished at you and to proclaim you, because, even as evils increase, you manifest ever greater diligence in working for the correction of such things.

^B

*CLX. To a bishop who came from the West.* When I consider the labors you have undergone, both at home and in undertaking so long a journey across the sea for the sake of the interests of the Churches, I do not cease, even before the end, to praise and proclaim you blessed. For whether or not something more is accomplished by your diligence, my most honorable master, or whether those who at the beginning cast these disturbances remain in the same contentiousness, sick with an incurable malady, your reward is already complete, based on your intention and the fact that you have contributed everything in your power. For this reason, we bless you, we admire you, and we cease not to render thanks to you. We desired to write more frequently, but because the solitude of this place where we are confined has deprived us of this, now that we have chanced upon my lord, the most honorable and devout presbyter, we both write and render the greeting owed to you. For in intention and disposition we have written often, but by paper and ink only now for the first time, since now for the first time we have found one arriving to you. Having received him, therefore, as is fitting for you, and having shown the kindness becoming to him, grant him encouragement from your disposition. For it will be no small comfort and consolation for such great toil, that of the journey, to enjoy your goodwill. For that you will need no reminding from others to use the most robust zeal for the interests of the Churches, you have demonstrated by your deeds themselves.

*CLXI. To the Roman presbyters who came with the bishops.* You have undergone much labor, having undertaken so long a journey across the sea, and much sweat, but not on behalf of worldly and perishable matters, ^C but on behalf of what is profitable for the Churches, for which you shall receive from the loving God awards far greater than your toils. Your labor and zeal, therefore, will be no small consolation to both you and us: to you, because this noble struggle of yours is on behalf of the peace of so many Churches, and the recompense will be in much greater crowns; to us, because we have enjoyed such love from you, and have met with much zeal from such great and important men, and, though separated to such a degree in body, you have bound us to yourselves with the chain of love with great exactitude. For these things we render you many thanks, and we cease not to proclaim your great goodwill. For the very voice of events cries it out, and we do not cease to echo it through our own tongue. And if we have written to you now for the first time, we have suffered this not from sloth, but from the solitude of the place. Now, therefore, having taken hold of the lord most honorable and devout presbyter, who is passing through where you are, we both render the greeting owed to you and beseech you to receive him with the love that is fitting for you, and, upon his return, to inform us concerning your health, about which it is very important for us to learn. As for manifesting the proper zeal for the matter at hand, to which you are come, I do not think your reverence has any need of reminding from elsewhere; and this you have made clear by the zeal which you have manifested throughout all this time.

*CLXII. To Anysius, bishop of Thessalonica.* We have written to your love late and tardily; but this long silence of ours has not occurred willingly, but through the solitude of the place in which we are confined, not through sloth regarding your love. Now, therefore, having taken hold of my lord the most honorable and devout presbyter, we have rendered the greeting long owed to your honor, rendering many thanks to your devoutness for your steadfastness and bravery on behalf of the Churches. Having received him, therefore, my most honorable master, as is fitting for you, and having manifested the kindness becoming to him, do not grow weary of acting and managing those things that contribute to the common correction of the Churches. For you know the magnitude of the success, and on behalf of how many Churches you have undertaken this noble struggle, and ^D how many crowns are laid up for you by the loving God for having wrought this for the common peace.

*CLXIII. To Anysius, Numerius, Theodosius, Eutropius, Eustathius, Marcellus, Eusebius, Maximian, Eugenius, Gerontius, and Thyrsus, and to all the orthodox bishops in Macedonia.* Great indeed was your former zeal for love, and we render thanks for these things, because throughout so long a period you stood with the bravery fitting to you, yielding to none of those who attempt to snatch away; but we beseech you also to bring to pass the end as is fitting. For the more your toils, the greater will be the recompenses.

and even greater rewards will be rendered by a benign God. And indeed, I would wish that it might be granted to us to enjoy your presence also. But since ^A the bonds of exile have taken this from us, and have shut us up in one place, we have sent my most reverend and most pious lord the presbyter, and through him we offer the greeting which we owe to you: and we signify to you that we thank you most abundantly and greatly without any intermission; and we ask you to grant us pardon for the long silence which we have observed heretofore. For we have not been silent for so long out of contempt for you or negligence, but because we have only now found a man who could proceed to where you are now residing, and could carry our letters, we finally write to you and explain how we fare. After you have therefore received him with sincere affection of heart, I would wish you to make us more certain as to your health. For indeed, even being settled in this solitude, we shall derive the greatest consolation from letters of such a kind.

CLXIV. To Alexander, Bishop of Corinth.

CLXV. To the Bishops who had come with the Western Bishops.

CLXVI. To the Bishops who came with the Western Bishops.

CLXVII. To the same.

the greater the judgment that hangs over those who disturb everything, the greater too and more abundant is the reward to be expected by you, who have applied such patience and zeal toward correcting the evils that have been wickedly committed by others. And we indeed desired, while present in person, to meet with your devotion; but since we have been deprived of this by the necessity of exile, and having at long last and with difficulty obtained the presence of my most esteemed and devout presbyter who is arriving to you, we have sent these letters, both offering the duty of greeting that is owed, and giving thanks for what is past, for what is present, and for the entire correction of the evils. For even if nothing more is achieved, you have done your part. Wherefore you have also had [the reward] made complete by the philanthropic God, having used such great zeal and readiness throughout all this time to heal what had been done wickedly. ^A

CLXVIII. To the gentlewoman Proba, in Rome.

CLXIX. To Juliana, and those with her.

CLXX. To Italica.

CLXXI. To Montius.

CLXXII. To Helladius.

CLXXIII. To Evethius.

and am bound to your soul by love. You have deposited with me such pledges of friendship, having shown me such great honor and goodwill there. Therefore, to whatever place I may have come, I do not cease to give you thanks. And I beg you, that you yourself also write to me as often as possible, and make me aware of your health. For I, having traversed the whole way in tranquility and safety, am passing my time at Cucusus, counting the quiet and leisure of the place among my delights, and enjoying the great regard and benevolence of everyone. ^B Therefore, so that I may also conceive joy upon knowing of your health, strive to send us frequent, nay, constant letters, which may bring us news of the health of yourself and your whole house. For from this we shall reap the greatest consolation.

OF THE SAME: EPISTLES TO VARIOUS PERSONS

CLXXIV. To the bishops, presbyters, and deacons confined at Chalcedon.

Blessed are you, both for your bonds, and for the spirit with which you endure the bonds, and in these you exhibit a specimen of apostolic fortitude; ^C since even those men, while being scourged, tormented, and bound, endured these things with much pleasure; nor did they endure them merely with much pleasure, but even when bound in chains, they fulfilled their duty, and were anxious for the whole world. Therefore, I also exhort your love that you do not on this account lose heart, but by as much as you feel greater pain inflicted from the things you suffer, by so much the more show forth greatness of mind, and every day look after the Churches which are in all the world, so that the fitting remedy for the evils may be applied, and do not on this account become more sluggish because you see that you are few in number, and ^D that you are harassed from every side. For there is no doubt that, since you are procuring for yourselves greater boldness before God from the things you suffer, you will also attain greater strength from thence as well. Therefore, strive that, when the occasion offers itself, you may show zeal and alacrity, and both through yourselves, and through others—whichever it may be permitted—make haste to do and to say those things which will be able to calm the storm that has arisen. For in this way it will be possible to profit most, if you apply zeal: but if nothing can be accomplished, you will nevertheless receive a reward from the benevolent God for this alacrity of mind.

CLXXV. To Agapetus.

My lord, the most reverend and most religious presbyter Elpidius, has undergone many and continuous labors, while striving to free the inhabitants of this mountain—that is to say, the Amanus—from the impiety by which they are held. And he has already liberated them, and led them away from error, he has built churches, and has constructed monasteries, and your nobility will be able to learn these things from others. Since, therefore, I know that pious and generous men are vehemently loved by you, [Index: entries preserved] I know that I shall gain no small favor from you if I make him known to you, whose deeds are so illustrious—at the same time, because I strive to greet you whenever any occasion is given, I have thought it right to add these letters, both to pay you the due salutation, and to commend such a man to your nobility. Wherefore, looking upon him with that regard with which it becomes you, my most observant and highly admirable lord, show him by your deeds themselves that not rashly nor in vain has he come to you protected by our letter, but that through the intervention of these letters he has experienced much benevolence and charity from you. For thus it will come to pass that we also have much gratitude for your solicitude, because, although at so great a distance of places from you, through a letter we are able to conciliate and join to your charity those who greatly desire to possess it: of whom this one is here, inflamed with the highest love for your sweetness; for which reason he has requested these letters from me with the highest zeal.

CLXXVI. To Hesychius.

We desire both to behold you present, and to enjoy your sweetest and most pleasant society. But since this is difficult, both on account of the difficulty of the journey, and on account of business, and the weakness of the body, we seek the consolation which is received from letters, which neither sickness of the body nor the roughness of the journey can interrupt. Therefore, grant us this favor, which is both light and not at all troublesome, and brings us much pleasure, and mitigates not a little the sadness contracted from bodily separation. For if we enjoy this consolation, we shall deem ourselves to be near, and to be conversing with your honor perpetually. For charity alone suffices to provide this: yet the thought of the mind itself will be increased with much accession, if it be helped by the assistance of letters.

CLXXVII. To Artemidorus.

My lord Antiochus thought that you would receive him with great benevolence, if he presented himself to your sweetness with our letters. Strive therefore, my most venerated lord, that he may not be disappointed in his expectation, and when you have received him with the benevolence which is proper, if he asks for anything fair and consistent with reason, I pray that you show yourself prompt and prepared for him, and show him by your deeds themselves that not in vain nor rashly has he come to you with our letters: but that there has resulted something more—

to establish a claim on his behalf for kindness and fair assistance in return for our letters. For thus the exchange will result in his obtaining the benefit, and me in being honored by that through which he also has enjoyed its benefit. ^B

CLXXVIII. To Euthalia. (Cucusus, year 405.)

Your letter, full of genuinely sincere and fervent love, is colored by a disposition that is honest and guileless. For this very reason we offer many thanks, both for your writing and for the fact that you show the greatest proof of your genuine friendship toward us. May God grant you the reward for such a disposition both here and in the life to come, and may He wall you about, guard you, and establish you in all security and joy. For you yourself know, my most honorable lady, that it brings us no small gladness—even while sitting in this desert—to hear constantly that things are going according to your intent. Continue therefore to make this clear to us, and do not cease to bring us news of your health, so that even though we are sitting in the desert, we may reap much comfort from it. ^C

CLXXIX. To Adolia. (Cucusus, year 405.)

To arrive here would perhaps be difficult on account of bodily infirmity—for there is no other obstacle, as the business with the brigands has completely ceased—but what toil is there in writing? For you cannot resort to that excuse here as well. I say this because, having dispatched this sixth letter, as I suppose, I have received only two from your nobility. Nevertheless, whether you write or remain silent, we do not cease to do what is our part. For we shall not be able to forget that ancient and genuine friendship of yours, but we keep it ever blooming, and whenever it is possible, we write. Since we are very anxious about your affairs, we are very desirous also of receiving letters from you, bringing us tidings of your health. Do not, therefore, deprive us of this comfort; but knowing how much you grant, even if writing is burdensome to you, endure this labor for the sake of those who love you dearly; and make clear to us the state of your health, for we are filled with the greatest desire to learn of it every day. ^D

CLXXX. To Hypatius the Presbyter. (Cucusus, year 405.)

I shall not cease to praise your honor for the patience, the courage, and the great endurance which you have shown and continue to show in these trials. I also indicated this by my previous letter, that a twofold and threefold reward is laid up for you for these things, both because you yourself show such steadfastness, and because you lead others into the same zeal, displaying such great eagerness for the persecuted people, situated in such deep old age. I desired to write to your honor constantly, but since this is not easy, by reason of the winter season, the fear of brigands, and the solitude of the place in which we sit, whenever it is possible, we greet your reverence, and we ask that you write to us constantly and give us news of your health; for we are most desirous of learning of it. We also praise the most honorable deacons, Eusebius and Lamprotatus, who have shared with you in your persecutions. For you know how great are the crowns that are laid up for them, and how great is the reward and the recompense. Knowing this, therefore, remain steadfast and immovable; for God will render you an abundant reward for your patience, and He will quickly release you from the present tribulations. Write to us constantly, bringing us news of your health, for it is a matter of great concern to us to learn of it.

CLXXXI. To the Bishops. (Year, it is supposed, 406.)

The disturbance that has overtaken the Churches in the East is most vehement and manifold, and the zeal that your reverence has contributed to its correction is both great and abundant. If nothing more has yet come of it, we do not cease to deem you blessed and to admire you, for though it has been such a long time and matters have remained uncorrected, you have not grown weary, nor have you become indifferent, but you continue to press on, contributing your own assistance with still-flourishing zeal—to the condemnation of those who are unwilling to endure you, but to the gaining of crowns and many rewards for your own diligence. For this reason both we and all who dwell in the inhabited world proclaim and crown you, because even though seated at such a distance, neither the length of the journey nor the passage of time made you more remiss, but as if you were near to the events and were seeing the lawless deeds with your own eyes, you were thus eager to contribute your own part with most vigorous zeal. But if those who brought these evils to birth from the beginning do not yet wish to end their untoward contentiousness and irrational war, let none of this disturb you, nor cause you to grow weary; for to the extent that greater toil comes to you, by that much greater shall be the crown, as God appoints for you those unspeakable and ineffable rewards which transcend all speech.

CLXXXII. To Venerius, Bishop of Mediolanum (Milan). (Year 406.)

Everyone knew even before now of your courage, your boldness, and your freedom of speech on behalf of the truth; but the present time has shown more accurately your brotherly love, your charity, your reverence, and your great compassion and care for the Churches. For as the storm most of all reveals the pilot of the sea, and severe bodily diseases reveal the best physician; so...

and has endeavored to live in piety, and possesses great courage, the difficulties of the times demonstrate. Which also happened to you, and as much as was in your power, all things succeeded well, and no part of your duty has been lacking. But since those who raised—and continue to raise—troubles have progressed to such a degree of madness that they are neither ashamed of their former deeds nor refrain from attempting worse, I exhort all of you to apply the strongest zeal of soul, and not to slacken in the least from such great effort, but rather to increase it further, even if countless difficulties arise. For whoever brings to pass some great and generous feat with many sweats and labors will receive a fuller reward than those who did the same easily and without any trouble. For, "Each one," says the blessed Paul, "will receive his own reward, according to his own labor" (1 Cor. 3:8). Do not, therefore, lose heart because you have had to endure many labors, but let this very thing excite you more. For by as much as there is a greater addition of afflictions, by so much the more are the crowns increased, and the prizes that are stored up for you for these glorious contests are multiplied.

CLXXXIII. To Hesychius, Bishop of Salona.

CLXXXIV. To Gaudentius, Bishop of Brixia.

CLXXXV. To Pentadia the Deaconess.

CLXXXVI. To Alypius.

living elsewhere, we shall reap much consolation.

[CXXXVII] To Procopius. (From the year 404 to 407.) We were with you there but for a short time, my most admirable sir, yet we obtained much experience of your genuine love, and of your unburdened soul, and of your sincere and fervent disposition. Therefore, even though we have been removed to the very ends of the habitable world and carried off to this final desert, because we carry you everywhere with us wherever we may go, and have you inscribed upon our conscience, we write to you from such a great distance and render you the due greeting. And we beseech your excellence—if it be not heavy and burdensome—to grant us this favor also, and to bring us the good news regarding your health. For we learn these things even when you do not write, by questioning those who arrive from there, because it is of great concern to us to know about your vigor and your well-being. But we desire that these things be made clear to us also by your own tongue and by your own hand, so that we may reap a double pleasure: both from writing, and from receiving letters from your nobility. Grant us this favor, which is both most sweet and reasonable, and one that provides us with much joy.

[CXXXVIII] To Marcellinus. (Cucusus, the year 404.) We have truly been removed to the most desolate place of all, Cucusus; yet when we contemplate the love you and those who love us have, we reap the greatest consolation, finding ourselves wealthy in the desert. For a treasure of no common kind is it to encounter men who know how to love genuinely. For this reason, even though we are not present in body, we are bound to you in soul, held fast by the chain of love. Hence too, we write from such a great distance and render the due greeting. For that we have enrolled you among the first of our beloved, you yourself do not ignore, my most admirable sir. Do you yourself, therefore, grant us this favor, and write to us continually, bringing us good news of your health, so that by writing and by receiving such letters we may reap much solace and joy, and, though we dwell in the desert, may enjoy the greatest consolation.

[CXXXIX] To Antiochus. (Cucusus, the year 404.) For when could we ever forget your sweet and fervent disposition, your genuine and unsullied love, and your free, high-minded, and bold soul? For even if we should go to the very limits of the inhabited world, we go away carrying you everywhere with us, our fervent lover, and one strongly bound to us by the law of love. Therefore, having been removed to this very desert of the world we dwell in—Cucusus, I mean—and being unable to find those who convey letters easily, we have made great effort to seek and find someone who would convey this letter of ours, so as to greet your excellence and render the due greeting to your magnificence. But that you yourself, from what you have already done, will not need any reminder from us to write to us continually and bring us good news regarding your health, I do not believe there is any need to doubt. For we have reaped no common consolation whenever we receive letters from you who love us so much, declaring your vigor, continually renewing love through letters, and making the presence of your love appear vivid. For the frequency of letters is sufficient, when it is brought by genuine friends, to counterfeit the pleasure of presence.

[CXL] To Brison. (The year 404.) What is this? While we were there, you were eager to do and say a myriad of things, and you became manifest to the whole city, or rather to the entire world, for the affection that you showed toward us, not being able to keep it in silence, but displaying it everywhere through your deeds and your words; yet you have not deigned to write to us even once, and this while we are thirsting for your letters and desiring your writings? You do not know what consolation we were about to reap from such a genuine soul, receiving the offspring of such fervent friendship! And I say this not in reproach (for I know that whether writing or silent, you preserve the disposition toward us in its prime), but because I greatly desire your letters. And though you do not write, we do not cease questioning those who arrive from there about your vigor and cheerfulness, and we rejoice greatly hearing what we desire; but we wish to learn these things from your tongue and from your right hand as well. If therefore we do not ask what is heavy nor burdensome, now at least grant us this favor, which is very great and most sweet, and brings us much joy.

[CXLI] To Amprucla the Deaconess. (Cucusus, the year 404.) I received the second letter, which you said was the first, my most honorable and respectable lady. And I say again, do not call it boldness to have been the first to send letters to us, nor consider it a sin, for it is the greatest praise. For we take this as a token of a fervent and glowing love, and of your genuine and unsullied disposition of…

719 S. JOANNIS CHRYSOSTOMI ARCHIEP. CONSTANTINOP. for she herself is more ardent. Since then these things are explored by you, grant us this grace frequently, that you may inform us of your health, and overwhelm us with a thousand letters that signify this. For if we are certain that you, who love us, are joyful, and are enjoying prosperous health and security, we shall receive no small relief in our sojourn in a foreign region, but shall indeed enjoy the greatest consolation, even though we live in extreme solitude. Considering, therefore, how great an occasion of festivity you will bring to us, do not begrudge us this joy, but as much as is allowed and opportunity is given, send us a continuous happy report concerning your health.

CXCII. To Onesicratia.

I too felt great pain in my soul when it was reported to us concerning the death of your blessed daughter. But since the wisdom of your mind and the sublimity of your judgment are well known to us, we are fully confident that you will rise above such billows. For that you should not be saddened at all is impossible; yet we exhort you to do so with moderation, since you know well how flowing and fleeting are human affairs, and these calamities are common to all, and are the common law of nature, and the decree of God, the Master of us all. For this is not death, but a change of place, and a transition from worse to better. Revolving all these things in your mind, therefore, bear with generosity what has happened, and give thanks to the benevolent God. For even if the blow inflicted is the more grievous because it followed closely upon the previous one, yet by that much more splendid to you will be the crown of patience, and greater rewards will be owed, if you bear this calamity with thanksgiving and praise. Do not, therefore, let us also grieve greatly, but that we may know clearly that our letters have profited you somewhat, do not be grudging to write this very thing to us, that you may indicate that the whole cloud of sorrow has been dispelled, and the ulcer of pain in great part healed. For if we learn these things, we shall not cease to send you a thousand letters, because we are not indifferently devoted to you, since we have always felt sincere and unfeigned honor, 720 reverence, and charity bestowed by your modesty. Remembering all these things perpetually, we preserve a flourishing and vigorous benevolence toward you, even though we are carried off to the very last ends of the earth.

CXCIII. To Paanius.

You have greatly uplifted me, and flooded me with the highest joy, in that, while reporting sad news, you added the word which must be sung over all things that happen, and said, "Let God be glorified in all things." This word inflicts a deadly wound upon the devil; this brings an occasion of security and pleasure in any danger. For as soon as someone has uttered it, the cloud of sorrow is immediately dispelled. Do not, therefore, cease to say this, and to teach others. For if the storm that has invaded you, even though it becomes harsher, shall be changed into tranquility; so they who are tossed by the storm shall receive a greater reward, and at the same time shall be delivered from evils. This crowned Job, this word put the devil to flight, and compelled him to retreat in confusion, this dispels every tumult. Proceed, therefore, to sing this over all things that occur. As for the place, let no one cause trouble for another. For although Cucusus is a deserted place, here we enjoy both quiet, and were able to heal not insignificantly the infirmity contracted from the journey, from the time we began to reside permanently at home. But if you wish to compel us again to change places, we shall be afflicted with the greatest evils, especially since winter is at the door. Let no one therefore be importunate or troublesome to anyone on this occasion. But write to us concerning your health, and concerning your sojourn there, and the fame and cheerfulness of your name. For we shall not derive common consolation, even while dwelling in such solitude, when such letters sent from your reverence are returned to us.

CXCIV. To Gemellus.

We inhabit a desert place, Cucusus, and the most deserted of this whole world of ours. Yet although we are relegated to the very ends of the earth, we can by no means forget your charity; but while we dwell in an external and deserted region, and still carry about the remnants of our illness, and are besieged by the fear of robbers (for the Isaurians do not depart, but block the roads, and fill all things with blood), we perpetually carry you about in our mind, and we fashion your fortitude, your freedom of speech, your sweet and sincere benevolence before us, and we delight ourselves in the memory of these thoughts. Do you, however, write frequently to us, master most to be looked up to, concerning the state of your health, and in what manner the use of the hot waters has succeeded for you, and what you are doing now: so that even when we are separated far from you we may be in no worse condition than those who are always with you, that we may be more certain of your affairs. For you know with how much zeal we desire to hear something of your health; because we love you vehemently, and are most tightly bound with your magnificence.

CXCV. To Claudianus.

What is this that I should say? Are you the one who were burning with love for us, and were in a way beside yourself, who experienced such charity in us, who were always bound with us, that you have not even deigned to favor us with letters in such a space of time, but could use such long silence? What then was the cause? Or did you cast us out of your heart after our departure, and have you become more sluggish

strive to console yourself, since we also, though suffering not a little, find the greatest consolation for our grief in the virtue of the man, ^B which I believe brings you also the greatest consolation. For if the one who departed had been some wicked man, and full of vice, one would need to lament and groan on his account; but since he has lived as all the city knows—with gentleness, with kindness, always honoring justice, using the proper freedom of speech, with independence, with courage, deeming present things as nothing, but having become a stranger to worldly concern—one must rejoice, and take pleasure both with him and with your Excellence, because you have sent ahead such a brother, henceforth in an inviolable treasury, having the good things which he possessed when he departed. Do not therefore deem anything unworthy of yourself, my most admirable lord, by being broken by grief, but show yourself even in this present time, and be entreated to signify to us that you have gained some further benefit also from our letters, so that we, sitting at such a distance, may take pride in having been able, by a mere letter, to cut away much of this despondency.

CXCVIII. To Hesychius.

What is this? Having loved us so vehemently (for you have not escaped us, since it is not possible for a fervent lover to escape the beloved), have you not deemed us worthy of letters, but have you endured to hold your love in silence? What then is the cause? I for my part have no way to say; but it would be yours, after breaking the silence, to also signify the reason for the silence. For it was for this reason that we even previously hastened to send letters to your Nobility, so that not even this path of retreat might be left to you. Write, then, ^C constantly to us, most reverend and noble lord, and fulfill our desire. For, having been once captured by mere rumor alone, and bound to your Nobility, we could not henceforth be silent ourselves, nor endure your silence; but we will provide you with a thousand troubles unless you send us constant and frequent letters, contriving by the frequency of your letters the pleasure [that comes] from your presence.

CXCIX. To Daniel the Presbyter.

Blessed be God, who provides consolation greater than the afflictions, and who gives you such patience that you even bear the accompanying sorrows with much joy. This is what truly doubles your reward, to both bear them, and to bear them with joy; this also provides us with much consolation, when we hear of your courage, your freedom of speech, the unswerving nature of your mind, your vigor, your patience, your endurance, your zeal more fervent than fire. For these reasons, even being in a wilderness, ^D and beset by the fear of brigands, we find the consolation of your fortitude, and of the freedom with which you speak, and of the constancy, patience, and zeal of your minds.

and having been long since worn down by the winter season, we feel nothing of all this, because of the greatness of your commendation; but we exult, and we rejoice, and we take great pride in this your such great patience. In order, therefore, that we may continually rejoice, write these things to us, and write to us most frequently, both about these matters and about your own health. For you will afford us great joy from this, and pleasure.

CC. To Callistratus, Bishop of Isauria.

I indeed was longing to see your reverence here, that I might enjoy your company, and partake of your sincere and fervent love; but since that is not yet possible, both because of the season of the year and the length of the journey, I pay the greeting due to you by letter; and I give thanks to your reverence, because you have deigned to urge us by your letters. For this is the mark of a fervent and sincere friendship; you have acted not only not unsuitably, but also very fittingly for yourself. Bestow this favor upon us now, therefore, continually, and give us news of your health more frequently. But if it is possible that your reverence should undertake the labor of coming to us, you will bind us with the greatest benefit, and will fill us with much joy. Since, therefore, you understand that we also desire to see your reverence, and that the matter is not very laborious, if the time is appropriate for travel, do not deprive us of your company. Until that happens, be persuaded to craft the pleasure that results from your presence by means of frequent letters.

CCI. To Herculius.

Do not labor to seek an apology for your long silence, and take refuge in the scarcity of letter-carriers, my lord requested and most magnificent. For us, whether you write or are silent, we can in no way be moved from the opinion and judgment we have formed concerning your love; for you have expressed that so clearly through your very deeds that it has become known to the whole city how you burned with a fervent and almost frantic love for us. Nevertheless, though so affected, we desire most eagerly to receive frequent letters from your excellence, which might inform us of the state of your health. For as you yourself said, it brings some small solace in separation if one learns about our health (and it does not escape you how much this is valued by a man who knows how to love, since you yourself know well how to love), so this is most close to our heart. Grant us, therefore, this favor, that while living in such solitude, we may derive much consolation from it.

CCII. To Cyriacus, Bishop.

Are these things to be borne? Are these to be tolerated? Do you consider that even a shadow of an excuse is available to you? While we are established in such sadness, in such a long time, in such turmoil and perturbation, in such tribulation and misery, did you not deign to write us even once? But we have written once, and twice, and often; you, however, have been silent for so long, and you think you have committed a trifling sin, having been so ungrateful toward us? You have cast me into extreme uncertainty and anxiety. For I cannot conceive of a cause for your silence, when I call to mind your fervent and sincere love, of which you have always afforded us a specimen. For I cannot attribute it to sloth; for I know what a vigilant mind you have; nor to fear: for I know your fortitude; nor to lethargy and laziness: for I know your diligence and skill; nor to sickness: although not even that would suffice to hinder you; nevertheless, I learned from those who come from there that you are healthy and enjoy well-being. What then is the cause? I cannot say, but this alone: I grieve and am tormented. Try every means, therefore, to free us from this sorrow. For unless you are willing, having received these letters also, to write to us with great speed, you will inflict the greatest pain upon us: so much labor needs to be applied, so that this sadness of ours may be mitigated.

CCIII. To Sallustius, Presbyter.

I did not grieve in a mediocre way when it was reported to me that you and Theophilus the presbyter had become more slothful. For I know that one of you delivered five homilies up until the month of October, and the other not even one, and this has happened to me more grievously in this solitude. If this is false, therefore, I ask you to indicate it to me; but if it is true, apply a remedy, and stir one another up; since you will inflict very great pain upon me, even though you love me very much. And what is more grievous, since you lead your life in so much leisure and inertia, and do not perform your duty, you will bring much judgment of God upon yourselves. For who would consider you worthy of forgiveness, who, while others are suffering persecution, are being sent into exile, and are being banished, do not strive even according to your ability to help the people tossed by the storm with your presence or teaching?

CCIV. To Paanius.

When you reflect in your mind, my lord most admirable and sweeter than honey to us, that it is heavy and burdensome to be separated from us, thinking what sort of task you are handling, and that you are governing the whole city, or rather the whole world through that city, rejoice and exult. For you are able to take no small pleasure from it with utility. For if those who collect money—which both perishes and destroys those who have it—are filled with such joy, although they are separated for a long time from their homes, wife, children, and all their relatives: who would be able to express in words the pleasantness of those riches and such treasures as you gather for yourself there every day by your presence alone? For I do not say these things for the sake of flattery, as those who hear these things from us here even in your absence know well.

and appearing to the people who are there only? For I do not say these things to flatter you—and those who hear these things from us in your absence know it—but because I am exceedingly delighted and rejoice and am uplifted by the gladness. For it is sufficient that you even appear, to set many people there aright, to strengthen them, to encourage, and to confirm them. I know my champion; I know your deeds of valor there, your zeal, your watchfulness, your labors, your soul’s exertion, the boldness, and the freedom with which you stood against even bishops, when this time required it, provided it was with the fitting measure. And I admired you for those things, but much more now, because, with no one standing by you there—but with some fleeing, some being driven out, and others hiding—you alone have stood in the battle line, adorning its front, and allowing no one to become a deserter, but even persuading those who were arrayed with the adversaries to change their allegiance through your grace day by day. ^A I admire you not only for these things, but because, while residing in one place, you care for the whole world, for the affairs in Palestine, in Phoenicia, and in Cilicia, for which you are especially obligated to care. For the Palestinians and Phoenicians, as I have clearly learned, did not receive the one sent there by our adversaries, nor did they deem him worthy of a reply; but the people of Aegae, as I learned, and those of Tarsus are reckoned with them, and the one from Castabala has indicated here to one of our friends that the people from Constantinople are compelling them to agree to their lawlessness, and for the time being they are resisting. Therefore, you need much concern and much watchfulness so that you may also correct this part, by writing to my master, your cousin, the lord Bishop Theodore. As for the matters concerning Pharetrius, they are painful and exceedingly grievous; nevertheless, since his presbyters have neither met with the adversaries, as you say, nor do they choose to hold communion with them, but, as they say, still stand with us, you should hold no communion concerning these things with them; for what Pharetrius has done to us admits of no pardon. However, all of his clergy suffered, and were in pain, and mourned, and were entirely of our mind. ^B But in order that we might not make them recoil and render them even harsher, keep everything that you have learned from the provincial letters to yourself, and treat them with great gentleness; for I know your administrative skill; and say that we also heard that he was exceedingly pained at what had happened, and that he was ready to suffer anything in order to correct all that was rashly done. Our body is in good health, and we have laid aside the remnants of our illness; but when we consider that this is also a concern for you, this becomes no small source of health for us, that we have so fervent a lover. May God give you the reward for such zeal, love, and watchfulness, both in the present life and in the age to come, and may He wall you about, guard you, keep you safe, and deem you worthy of those ineffable good things. ^C May He also grant us quickly to see your longed-for face, to enjoy your sweet soul, and to keep this most beautiful feast. For you know that it is a feast and a festival for us to be deemed worthy of your most sweet company, which is filled with many good things, and to enjoy it again.

CCV. To Anatolius the Prefect

I write late and few things—or rather, slowly—to your nobility; however, it was not sloth that caused the silence, but a long illness; for we are bound together continuously by love, knowing the genuineness of your love, the freedom of your mind, your guilelessness, and sincerity. And we have not ceased proclaiming to everyone the disposition which we have continually enjoyed from your nobility, not only when present, but also when absent; for it did not escape our notice, even after our departure, how much you have sought to do and to say on our behalf. May God give you the reward for such zeal, both here and in the age to come. But that we may enjoy even greater pleasure—not merely writing, but also receiving letters from your grace—please be persuaded to write to us, bringing good news of your health, so that even sitting in this wilderness we may reap much encouragement. ^D For if we receive a letter from your love, announcing the recovery of your health and that of all your kin, we will receive, even while dwelling in a foreign land, great encouragement.

CCVI. To Theodulus the Deacon

Even if the severity of winter is now raging and has been raised to a great height, and those who wish to harm the churches in Gothia are making great efforts, running about everywhere, do not you cease contributing your part. For even if you accomplish nothing more—which I do not believe—even so, you have the reward perfected by the merciful God for your intention and purpose. Do not grow weary, beloved, in studying, being concerned, and taking care, both for yourself and through others, as far as it is possible, so that disturbances and tumults do not arise there. Before all things, pray, and do not cease asking the merciful God earnestly, and with the fitting zeal, that He may dissolve the evils that currently persist, and grant great and deep peace to the Church. For the time being, however, which I have also written previously, do everything so that some delay may occur in the matter, and write to us continuously as long as you are there.

CCVII. To the Goth Monks at Promotus

I knew, even before your letters...

you have endured, how many temptations, how many molestations, I was already aware; and on this account I consider you blessed, when I bring to mind the crowns, the prizes, and the rewards which are being prepared for you. For as those who lay snares for you, and disturb you, bring upon themselves a grievous judgment and heap up the fire of hell upon their own head: so you, who suffer such things, shall obtain a great reward and a great retribution. Do not therefore be terrified, or troubled by this, but rejoice and exult, while you retain the apostolic frame of mind which declares: "Now I rejoice in my sufferings" (Col. 1:24), and again, "Not only so, but we also glory in our tribulations, knowing that tribulation worketh patience, and patience trial" (Rom. 5:3-4). Having become, therefore, more proved and more opulent with heavenly riches, even if more grievous things than these befall you, exult the more. "For the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the coming glory which shall be revealed in us" (Rom. 8:18). Nor, indeed, is your patience, your fortitude, your endurance, your sincere and ardent love, and the firm and immovable constancy of your mind unknown to us. For which cause we give you immense thanks, and we are perpetually bound to your souls, and neither the length of the journey renders us any less diligent toward your charity. But I also give you thanks for the zeal you exhibited so that no tumult might occur in the Church of the Goths, but that the matter might be drawn out by some delay. And I not only do not blame you for sending no one, but I even praise and admire you. For it is much more desirable than that, that you all should apply yourselves to this kind of work. Do not, therefore, cease to carry out what is your duty, both through yourselves and through others through whom it may be possible, so that the business may be prolonged by some delay. For whether anything be accomplished by your efforts or not, a full and heaped-up reward shall be settled upon you for this intent of mind and zeal.

CCVIII. To Acacius the Presbyter.

CCIX. To Salvion.

CCX. To Theodore.

CCXI. To Timothy the Presbyter.

to the future glory which will be revealed in us (Rom. 8:18).

^B CCXII. To Theophilus the Presbyter. (Written from Cucusus in the year 404.)

I was deeply grieved to hear that you and Salustius the presbyter do not attend the assembly regularly; and it did not grieve me as a trifling matter. I entreat you, therefore, if this is a lie, hasten to inform me, so that you may know you have been slandered in vain; but if it is true, correct this negligence. For just as your reward is very great, especially since you are showing the appropriate courage in the present time, so the judgment will be no light one for those who are slothful, and who draw back, and do not contribute what they can. For you know what happened to the man who buried the one talent, who, while accused of nothing else, was punished for this alone, and paid the inexorable penalty. Hasten, therefore, to free me from this anxiety. For just as it brings me much consolation and comfort when I hear that you are with readiness strengthening all the tempest-tossed people; so when I learn that some are slothful, I grieve not a little on behalf of those who are slothful themselves. For the grace of God strengthens that most excellent flock every day, as you yourselves have known from their very deeds; but those who, through sloth, fail to do what they can, store up for themselves no small judgment through this sloth.

^C CCXIII. To Philippus the Presbyter. (Written from Cucusus in the year 404.)

I marveled why, during so long a time, you have not written to us, and yet you show great love for us even while absent, but have granted us none of your own letters. Now, at any rate, do not be sluggish in writing to us, and in informing us about your health: for even if you do not write, we inquire about your affairs, and we have learned that you were expelled from the school, after having shown the frankness appropriate to you. This is your reward, this is a heavenly business, this is an incorruptible crown, this is a multitude of prizes. Considering all these things, therefore, bear what has happened bravely. For God is able both to loose these temptations, and to bring about calm as quickly as possible, and to give you a great reward for this patience in the future age.

^D CCXIV. To Sebastianus the Presbyter. (Written from Cucusus between the years 404 and 407.)

Even if we are separated from your honor in body, we are nonetheless bound to you in love, and wherever we may be, we carry your disposition in our memory, even if we were carried off to the very ends of the inhabited world. That you yourself also have an unforgetful memory of us, I think there is no need to doubt. I know your genuine affection, the firmness of your love, the unswerving nature of your mind. Therefore we also entreat you to write to us frequently, and to bring us good news about your health. For it is very important for us to learn of this; and while living in this wilderness we shall reap much consolation from such letters.

^B CCXV. To Pelagius the Presbyter. (Written from Cucusus between the years 404 and 407.)

I know your gentleness, your moderation, your uprightness, the fervor of your charity, the sincerity of your affection for us. Therefore I greet your honor with much eagerness, and I make it clear that wherever I may be, I carry you in my thoughts. I entreat you, therefore, so that we may receive another joy, not only from writing, but also from learning about your health, make these things known to us frequently. For even if we were carried off to a wilderness more miserable than this, receiving such letters from you who love us, we would enjoy much happiness.

^C CCXVI. To Musonius. (Written from Cucusus in the year 404.)

We have already written to your nobility, my most honorable and reverent lord, and now we do the same thing again, even though you have not written to us even once. But nevertheless, we shall not cease writing to you continuously, and doing what is proper for ourselves. For we wished to do this even more frequently; but since we are living in a wilderness in a very remote region, and the fear of robbers besieges the city, and the winter season walls off the roads, all these things do not permit many [messengers] to visit us frequently; yet whenever it is possible, and we chance upon letter-carriers, we render the due greeting to your reverence. For we know the genuineness of your love, the warm disposition, the unswerving nature of your mind, your freedom, your lack of hypocrisy. Therefore we carry you in our memory continuously, wherever we may be, and we are not able to forget your kindness. But so that we may be cheered, not only by writing but also by receiving letters informing us of your health, send us such epistles continuously. For in this way, even being far away, we shall reap much comfort from such letters, when we hear that you, our ardent lovers and those warm [in affection], are living in good cheer and are safe.

^D CCXVII. To Valentinus. (Written from Cucusus in the year 404 or 405.)

I know your noble soul, and the warm love...

well-tested, the zeal with which you undertake the duty of providing for the poor, and the eagerness you always display toward this noble negotiation, while you bestow—and bestow with pleasure—you thereby acquire a double crown, more splendid both for your mercy and for the purpose of your soul, from which the very liberality itself originates. Since, therefore, the most reverend presbyter Domitianus, to whom the care of the widows and virgins there has been entrusted, has signified to us that they are almost vexed by famine, we flee unto your hands as to a certain harbor, so that they may be rescued by you from this shipwreck of famine. I beg you, therefore, and I beg you vehemently, that by sending the presbyter, you may be willing to be of aid to them as much as it is possible. For the alms which are provided now acquire a much greater reward than that which might be provided at another time, by as much as those who seek this to be given to them—being destitute of their habitual resources—are buffeted by a more grievous tempest and storm. Since, therefore, you understand the utility of the matter, and how great is the accession made by the condition of the time, suffer yourself to be entreated, so that you may perform what is your part. For there is nothing more that needs to be said, seeing that we are writing to a most clement and benign man; for you know that you even owe us ^A *sportulae*. Yet if you perform this which you owe in their name, we shall think it paid in full to us. And I would wish you also to write to us that you have assented to our petition, and to make us certain concerning your own health and that of your entire blessed household.

CCXVIII. To Euthymius the presbyter.

Let it not sadden you at all that you have been driven from the school, but, reflecting in your minds how great a reward you have received from this, and in what way your crowns are being increased, rejoice and exult on account of such afflictions and plots. For these heap up much gain for you in heaven, and render you more illustrious, and constitute greater prizes. For the ^B way that leads to life is narrow and straight. Do not be weary of writing to us frequently concerning your health. For you know by what bonds of charity we are bound to you, and in what way, wherever in the world I may be, I carry you about in my mind, and always burn with love for you; and now indeed I burn so much the more, by as much as you have become more illustrious through such afflictions.

CCXIX. To Severina and Romula.

If I did not have clear insight into your sincere charity and the zeal which you always display toward us, I would accuse you of no ^C moderate negligence on account of this long silence of yours—even though you have received frequent letters from us—which you maintained. But since I know that whether you are silent or whether you write, you are equally affected toward us, for this reason I would not dare to reproach you for the sake of this silence, even though I wonderfully desire to receive your letters often, by which I might be made certain concerning your health. For there is no cause for you to take refuge in this excuse, that you do not find messengers so often; for I know that the most desired and sweet Salustius, dear to us, could have served you in this. Nevertheless, I do not even so accuse you, because I trust greatly in your charity. We therefore, as often as it shall be permitted, will not cease to send frequent letters to you, as to those for whom the sincerity and ardor of your benevolence is known and tested.

CCXX. To Paanius.

We have breathed, we have exulted, we do not deem that we inhabit an external or foreign region any longer, since your Sublimity has returned to the city which has suffered so many things. We are ^D suffused with this pleasure, not because a greater dignity has fallen to you—for your dignity is the virtue of your soul, and no one was able to take it from you before, nor has it now been restored (for how could it, when it was not taken away at all?)—but we exult because your return to that city has brought a great occasion of consolation to those who were vexed, slaughtered, and cast into chains, since you are their common protector, and all those flee to you as to the widest harbor. For you know how to harvest profit from whence profit ought to be harvested. Do you, however, henceforth write of the magnitude of your right actions, and signify clearly how many lying down you have raised up, how many who had fallen you have erected, whom who were wavering you have steadied, to whom who were toiling for so long you have been a support, how many who had become sluggish you have rendered diligent, whom who were diligent before you have rendered more diligent; in short, set forth your every noble deed in this struggle one by one. For I know all these things even before I receive your letters, as one who has known your soul, a generous athlete and a marvelous warrior; but nevertheless, I wish to learn all things from your tongue that is most dear to us. Therefore, assent to this petition of ours, while you understand by how great a benefit you are to bind us to yourself while you do this.

CCXXI. To Constantius the presbyter.

About to depart from Nicaea on the fourth day of the month of Panemus, I have given these letters to your piety, exhorting you to that which I never ceased to exhort: even if a more grievous storm is present in the current tempest, and greater waves are encroaching, that you do not cease to fulfill the things that are of your office, in that administration which you began from the beginning: I speak of the extermination of Greek superstition, the buildings of the churches,

the construction of churches, and the care of souls; and let not the difficulty of affairs make you despondent. For neither does a pilot, seeing the sea raging and stirred up, depart from the helm; nor does a physician, seeing the sick man gripped by disease, withdraw from the treatment, but rather at that time especially does each of them employ his art. You too, therefore, my most honorable and pious master, use much zeal now, and let not what is happening make you despondent; for we shall not give an account for the evils which others do to us, but we shall even receive a reward. But if we ourselves do not bring forward what is ours, but become faint-hearted, the tumult of affairs will not stand in our way at all in this matter; since even Paul, while inhabiting a prison and bound to the stocks, was doing his own work, and Jonah was carried in the belly of the sea monster, and the three children were spending time in the furnace; and none of these were made more faint-hearted by these diverse prisons. Thinking on these things, therefore, my master, do not cease taking care of the Churches of Phoenicia, and Arabia, and those in the East, knowing that you will receive a greater reward, by how much, with such great obstructions existing, you contribute your own share. And do not be slow to write to us continually, but even most frequently. For as we have learned now, we have been ordered to go no longer to Sebaste, but to Cucusus, where it is also easier for you to write to us. Write to us, therefore, how many churches were built per year, and which holy men moved to Phoenicia, and if any further progress has been made. For having found someone from Nicaea living as a recluse, I persuaded him to go to your piety, and to go off to Phoenicia. If he has arrived, therefore, endeavor to inform me. Concerning the village of Salamis, which is situated in Cyprus, which is being besieged by the heresy of the Marcionites, I had been discussing with those whom it behooved, and I had brought the whole matter to a successful conclusion, but I was forestalled by being driven out. If, then, you should learn that my master Cyriacus the bishop is staying at Constantinople, send a letter to him concerning this matter, and he will be able to accomplish the whole. And especially exhort those who have boldness before God to use much prayer, much intensity, so that this shipwreck of the world may cease. For intolerable evils have seized Asia, and other cities and churches, which, so that I may not seem to be making a nuisance of myself, I will leave off mentioning one by one, and state only this: that there is need of many prayers and intense supplications.

CCXXII. To Castus, Valerius, Diophantus, and Cyriacus, Presbyters of Antioch.

Both your writing, and your being the first to rush to send us letters, and your requesting letters from us, and your commanding us to exceed the measure of a letter, has shown our insatiable and maddened lovers. This does not allow the desert in which we are staying to appear a desert; this consoles our diverse and continuous difficulties. For what is equal to love? There is nothing. This is the root, and the source, and the mother of good things, a virtue which involves no labor, a virtue joined with pleasure, and bringing much cheerfulness to those who genuinely practice it. For these reasons we owe you much thanks, because you have so genuinely preserved your affection for us; and we, wherever we may be, even if we are carried off to the very ends of the world, even if to a place more desert than this, we shall go carrying you about, having engraved you in our understanding, and stored you up in our conscience, and neither the length of the road, nor the multitude of time, nor the crowd of difficulties has made us more faint-hearted regarding your affection, but as if we were with you yesterday and the day before, or rather as if we were always with you, just as we truly are, so we see you, and perceive you with the eyes of love. For such is loving; it is not divided by distances of road, it is not withered by the multitude of days, it is not overcome by a succession of afflictions, but is raised to a height at all times, and imitates the course of a flame. And you know this most of all, since you also know how to love most of all; and for this we greatly bless you. For even if we are wretched and cheap, yet God is able to give you a reward for this love greater and much more abundant; for He always overcomes with great excess in His repayments those who do or say anything good. I for my part wished to see you with my very own eyes, and to enjoy the interaction face to face, and to be sated with this manner of your love; but since this is not possible, not through malice or faint-heartedness, but through being shackled by the necessity of exile, do not at least deprive us of the second voyage, but send us snowfalls of letters, informing us about your health. For if we receive such letters continually, we shall reap much consolation, even while staying in a foreign land. Knowing, then, how great a favor you will grant us, and in how much cheerfulness you will place us, do not grudge us such pleasure. For by conversing with your letters, we shall consider that you yourselves are present here, and we shall receive from them a clearer vision of your presence.

CCXXIII. To Hesychius.

I for my part desired, even without writing to your gentleness first, to receive a letter; for this is characteristic of a most ardent lover; but we have not awaited your letters, but have rushed to write first, showing the warm love which we have for your gentleness, even in this. Nevertheless, we owe you thanks for this too; for I know well that it is not out of neglect, but out of your great modesty, that you have been moved to this. Show, then, in the future with full confidence your love for us, sending us snowfalls of letters, informing us about your health. For if we receive such...

we receive your letters, even if we are taken away to the furthest ends of the world, even if we are consigned to a place more desert than this, the service of your charity will greatly alleviate our despondency. For nothing can so much raise up the soul and fill it with great pleasure as to love and be loved sincerely. And you know this most of all, since you also most of all know how to love.

CCXXIV. To Marcianus and Marcellinus.

CCXXV. To Constantius the Presbyter.

CCXXVI. To Marcianus and Marcellinus.

CCXXVII. To Carteria.

CCXXVIII. To Theodorus the Physician.

we desire; but lest we harm those who are in need of your hands and your tongue, and close that great harbor and refuge to them, we do not dare to draw you hither. But whenever it is possible, we urge you to write to us constantly, and to bring us good news concerning your health. For in this way, even though we are far apart, we will gather much consolation if we receive such letters from your gentleness.

^C CCXXIX. To Severa. (Cucusus, year 404.) I have never seen your nobility with my bodily eyes, but I have seen it most clearly with the eyes of love; since, however great the interval of regions may be, this sight is never severed. For my most loving master Libanius, by describing to us your nobility’s zeal for the orthodox faith and your diligence, has greatly elated us. Therefore, although we have never seen you, we have been the first to leap to letters for your reverence, urging you also to write to us whenever it is possible. For if a letter should come from your gentleness reporting to us concerning your health and that of your whole house, we shall, even while dwelling in a foreign land, gather the greatest consolation from it. For there is nothing equal to love.

CCXXX. To Elpidius the Bishop. (Cucusus, year 404.) I have many thanks for my most loving master Libanius, because he set out from home, and arrived here, and returned again to your reverence, and I know that I owe him special thanks for this. For all my desire is that you should enjoy the honor and service provided by everyone: not because you yourself have need of these things, but because it is beneficial for the Churches, both for those that are being storm-tossed and for those that are untroubled. Receiving him, therefore, for his goodwill, my most honorable and God-beloved master, and having learned everything from him with accuracy, both what is happening at Antioch and our own affairs (for he will tell you these things too, having been with us for a little time, and having learned how we live), send him back rejoicing and glad. For he hangs upon your piety, and is a vehement lover of us. I beg you to greet, in our name, my most loving and honorable master, Asyncretius the presbyter, together with his most loving children, and all your clergy, whom you have taught in a short time to imitate your own love for us. For we have not failed to notice how great a love they show for us, and how they are prepared both to suffer and to do everything for this reason. This is entirely the achievement of your piety.

CCXXXI. To Adolia. (Cucusus, year 404.) We have written to your reverence many times, but this "many times" is not enough for us; rather, we wished to do this every day. For you know how we are disposed toward your gentleness. Since this is not possible, whenever it is allowed, we grant ourselves the greatest of gifts by fulfilling the duty of greeting you, wanting to learn constantly and continuously about your health and your cheerfulness. Therefore, I entreat you, knowing how much you gratify us by writing these things, to take it upon yourself, as a work to be performed, to write these things to us constantly. For even now, we were not in a small way pained that you did not write to us when my most honorable master Libanius, a man known to all, so to speak, and dear to us, was about to arrive here—perhaps because you were unaware. Yet we are pained even for this very reason: that you are ignorant of those coming to us from there. For we do not cease to inquire and search out those who arrive here from your parts, filling our own desire through them whenever it is possible; and this is to write constantly to your gentleness.

CCXXXII. To Carteria. (Cucusus, year 404.) If you knew clearly how much grace you give us by writing, and writing constantly, and bathing your letters with your honey, you would have done everything to be able to send letters to us every day. For we no longer think we are living in Cucusus, nor dwelling in a desert, gathering such cheer from your letters and your genuine love. But to not only send letters, but also to persuade my most loving brother Libanius to set out from there and undertake this journey: how much affection is this? How much care? Because of these things we leap and are glad. For there is nothing equal to genuine love. And you indeed deem us worthy to preserve the same affection which we manifested from the beginning toward your gentleness. But we do not bear to remain at this measure, but are seeking additions to our affection for you every day, granting ourselves the greatest of gifts. For we do not cease to turn over in our minds the nobility of your soul, its simplicity, its freedom, its friendliness, its genuineness, its lack of hypocrisy, and we gather the greatest cheer from the memory of these thoughts. Therefore we entreat you, being confident in our love, not to be pained at all concerning the things sent by your honor, that we sent them back. For we both received them and enjoyed them in our affection; but because we were not in need, we made it known that they are to be kept by your nobility. And if ever we are in need, you shall see with what freedom and confidence we shall write, so that they may be sent to us, thus also observing your word. For at the end of the letter you say: Show that your piety deems us worthy to be trusted, and to use what is yours as our own. If then you wish us to be disposed in this way—just as you indeed wish—and to use your things as our own, whenever I write, then send them. For the very fact of considering them as one's own, this is the greatest thing.

transmit them when I wish, and not when I have no need of them. Show then, even in this, your genuine friendship, and the reverence you have for us, by bearing with us in this; and send a letter quickly, signifying by it that you were not in the least grieved. For if you do not do this, you intend to plunge us into perpetual anxiety and care; for we will not cease to be solicitous, lest we have been a nuisance, for we are held fast by great desire for your affection, and to refresh your nobility. Since, therefore, we have used an excuse, signify to us how you received it. For as your kindness can understand, we had no need to use an excuse with others who had done the same thing, and who were very dear to us, but it was enough to reject what was sent; but with your reverence we both use an excuse and beseech you not to take it ill, nor will we cease to say these things repeatedly until you signify to us that you were not in the least angry. But if we obtain such a letter, we will consider that we have received double, triple, and many times more than what was sent. For this, most of all, can serve as a token of the reverence and honor with which you hold us.

CCXXXIII. To the Bishop of Antioch.

It was right, indeed, for your piety not to have your mind subverted by the words of those who have spoken, but in such a quantity of falsehoods to investigate the truth with great attention. For if you were to suppose all that is bruited about to be truth, all would be in danger; but if, by judgment and laws, things that are hidden are investigated, I would gladly seek judgment from you, were it not that someone might again cast other shafts of calumny at me. For I fear, I fear now the shadows and images, since you have judged so. The friends have sent away the messenger of friendship; those who were near have stood at a distance, and those who were far off have hurled the shafts of calumny. You have brought it about that I suffered shipwreck in the midst of the harbor. But even if I am cast out of the city, and severed from the Church, I am resolved to prepare myself to bear any punishment. It has been decreed for me to philosophize, and to bear adversity bravely; for I know, I know most certainly, that solitude is firmer than the city, and the beasts of the field are more gentle than friends. Farewell.

CCXXXIV. To Brison.

Having spent almost seventy days on the journey, from which your majesty can reckon how many and how great the evils we have suffered, as the fear of the Isaurians pressed upon us on all sides, and we contended with intolerable fevers, we at last reached Cucusus, the most desolate place in the whole world. And I do not say these things to weary anyone, or to ask that you should be annoyed, and to beg that we be transferred hence—for we have already endured what was most grievous, namely the hardship of the journey—but I ask this favor of you, that you write to us assiduously, and do not, because we have been relegated further from you, deprive us of that consolation on that account. For you know how much that brings us relief, however much we are afflicted and beset by calamities, when we can be informed of the health of our friends, and that you are cheerful and safe, and clearly free from care. So that, therefore, we may derive no small pleasure from this, write to us assiduously regarding these things. For you will not refresh us slightly, but you will also soothe our weariness with immense consolation, since you are not unaware of how we are accustomed to rejoice in your prosperity.

CCXXXV. To Porphyrius, Bishop of Rhosus.

How firm, how constant, how immovable your love is, does not escape me, nor that any difficulty of affairs could shake it; and this you have shown by the things themselves. For which reason we too, although afflicted by disease, and brought to Cucusus, the most desolate place of this whole world of ours, and besieged by the incursions of the Isaurians, and vexed by many calamities, both write and pay the due salutation to your piety, separated indeed in body, but united in soul, and receive therefrom great consolation. For although this change is beset by no light difficulties, we yet draw the greatest consolation from the fact that we are not far absent from you, and can frequently, with but a small interval of this journey lying between, both send letters to you and receive them from you. For if we enjoy this festival—for I consider this a festival, and a solemnity, and an occasion of immense pleasure—we will not catch even the slightest sense of this solitude, fear, and anxiety.

CCXXXVI. To Carterius the Governor.

Cucusus is indeed a place desolate beyond measure; nevertheless, it does not so much sadden us with its solitude as it exhilarates us with its quiet, and the fact that it causes us no trouble in any respect. Therefore, having been brought to this solitude as if to a certain harbor, we sit, and we rest from the evils we endured on the journey, and with this quiet we dispel the remnants of the disease and evils we have undergone. I use this language with your magnificence for this reason, that I understand you are wonderfully gladdened by our quiet, since we can never have any forgetfulness of those things which were done by you there, while you were calming those preposterous and importune tumults, and moving every stone so that we might live in security, and were performing in all respects what belonged to your part. These things we proclaim before all, whithersoever we are carried, and we hold no small gratitude for you, my lord, most to be respected, on account of this such great solicitude; but that not

to enjoy those from you that signify the state of your health, we receive great gladness; grant this favor to us. For we shall receive no common consolation, even while dwelling in a foreign land, if we receive such letters from your wondrous self.

ON THE FIVE FOLLOWING EPISTLES OF CONSTANTIUS THE PRESBYTER

In the Morel edition, the first of the five following epistles is inscribed thus: *To Constantius the presbyter, to his mother*; and so it is read also in the Royal Codex, which reading Fronto Ducaeus, in his notes, strives to assert was excerpted from a certain Antwerp Codex; and in this way he wishes the title to be understood: that Chrysostom, to whom Constantius was closely attached, dictated these epistles to be sent to the mother and sister of Constantius himself and to his friends; and truly, adds Fronto, the style savors of Chrysostom. But Savilius, using the Bongarsian exemplar, placed this title: *Certain Epistles of Constantius the Presbyter. I. To his mother.* The Vatican Codex chimes in with this, having *Of Constantius the presbyter, to his mother*: for the fact that [the scribe] erroneously placed *Constantinus* for *Constantius* causes no trouble: for this exchange of names is very frequent in manuscripts. The style, certainly, contrary to what the learned man Fronto Ducaeus opines, [differs] from the manner of Chrysostom’s speaking.

^{A B C} CXCXXXVII. CONSTANTIUS THE PRESBYTER TO HIS MOTHER.

This is the task of a loving mother, who is fond of her children: namely, whenever there is need of any necessary things, to admonish her child, and to urge him forward from home, and to bear his departure with composure, and to show him great thanks for his pilgrimage. You broke the tyranny of nature itself, commanding us to exchange the desert for the city, and fear of the Isaurians for safety, and our separation from your company, so that we were forced to do nothing that was not proper. For these things we owe you many thanks, not because you gave birth, but because you raised us in this way, even in this becoming a mother as one ought to be. For those who are softened by emotion and seek the presence of their children before it is expedient are not mothers, but might justly be called slayers of children. But just as in this you became brave, and firmer than iron, storing up for yourself an ineffable reward before the benevolent God through this determination, so we entreat and beg you, in all other things likewise, to show the same philosophy, and to know that there is one calamity, sin alone, but all other things—powers, and glories, and honors from men—are a fable. And this road, which leads to heaven, is most particularly that which is through tribulations: *For through many tribulations*, he says, *we must enter into the kingdom of God*. And all the saints, both those in the Old and those in the New [Testament], traveled this road, being constantly conspired against, driven out, becoming fugitives and wanderers, cityless, homeless, enduring deaths, and from those from whom it was least of all fitting. For what is more painful, tell me, or more grievous than to be struck down by a brotherly right hand, and to endure an untimely and violent end, after crowns and such great approbation? And what is more painful, and in extreme old age, commanded to be slaughtered by a father’s hand, and the one who begat [the son] to become the minister of such a slaughter? For do not tell me this, that he received him back safe and sound afterward. For that righteous man knew nothing of these things, but, believing that he would utterly slay him, he so led him up to the mountain, and built the altar, and placed the wood, and snatched up the knife, and drove home the sword—for he did indeed drive it home, so far as his own intent went; wherefore he is celebrated everywhere in the habitable world. But if I speak of his grandson, you will see him too, through brotherly envy, again becoming a fugitive and cityless, and a slave, and serving in a foreign land, and fearing the terror of the final dread. But if I speak of Joseph, who was sold, who was [in] slavery

ecoming a fugitive and cityless, and a slave, and serving in a foreign land, and fearing the terror of the final dread. But if I speak of Joseph, who was sold, who was [in] slavery and in bonds for so many years; or if I should speak of Moses, who suffered so many evils at the hands of the Jews; for no one can describe the afflictions of the apostles in a single speech. ^A Gathering all these things, therefore, and weighing with yourself how great is the reward of patience, offer a sacrifice to God by bearing generously whatever happens; and in all things glorify Him. For indeed Job obtained his crown because of such words as these. Then, truly, wait for a change for the better, and do not cease to pray to God for this, and hasten to write to us that you have profited somewhat from our letters, so that we might foster the tranquility of your soul—unless, perhaps, you wish to disturb our joy. For we are filled with much pleasure here, while we are delighted by the company of the most holy bishop, and by the quiet of this place, and by the utmost leisure. For even the fear of the Isaurians has settled down, as winter compels them to keep to their own region. Do not, therefore, disturb this joy of ours. But if letters are brought to us which signify that you are bearing what has occurred in a way that is fitting for you and befitting your lofty mind, our joy will be increased by this occasion with no small addition. Indeed, the fruitful company of the most holy bishop has wonderfully refreshed us, so that it has almost changed us into other men, nor has it allowed us to be affected by the feeling of a foreign land: so much do we abound in the delight of good things, and so many spiritual riches do we overflow with, and for that reason we do not cease to glorify God continually.

CCXXXVIII. The same to his sister.

^B Nature’s law binds us together in charity, as does the fact that we were brought forth by the same birth; but we revere and love you not only for that reason, but for another, which ought to hold the greatest place—namely, that you hold the things of this world for naught, that you have driven away the smoke, crushed the dust, trampled the mud, and prepared for yourself light wings to measure the way that leads to heaven. And neither the care of a husband, nor the solicitude of educating children, nor the administration of a house, nor the tumult that these produce, could interrupt or retard your course; but you have used these very things by which you seemed able to be hindered for a greater speed of flight. And neither that which humbles noble men—since “poverty,” says the Scripture, “humbles a man” (Prov. 10:4)—could cast you down, but it even made you more exalted. For such is the power of virtue, that it is not hindered by things that are like spider webs, but, dissipating them much more easily than spider webs themselves, it reaps much profit therefrom. ^C We have written these things to your veneration not without cause, but because we conjecture that you are greatly disturbed and anxious, both by our departure and by the tumult that has arisen there. Therefore we thought it needful to write to your piety, and to suggest that human affairs are a kind of way—that the way of virtue is indeed narrow, while that of vice is spacious—and that you should not envy those who, together with their sins, succeed happily in everything, but rather bewail them (since this prosperity brings punishment upon them), nor should you consider those wretched who follow the narrow way, but rather proclaim them blessed, if they travel the way with virtue. For the affliction of this life, if it is tolerated with the help of virtue, brings to those people a greater occasion and an increase of honors and crowns. ^D Indeed, that rich man was tormented not because he was cruel and inhuman, but because he abounded in many riches and enjoyed a sumptuous table; Lazarus, however, was rewarded with a crown because he bore with much patience the grave torment of his ulcers, his poverty, the lack of those to help him, the fact that he was cast out, that he was held in contempt, that he lay exposed as prey to the tongues of dogs. For although you were not unaware of all these things before you received our letters, we nevertheless thought it our duty to recall them to your memory by writing, lest you should allow yourself to be disturbed by sadness. For although I do not wish to consign everything to letters, I know well, however, by what evils you are besieged; for which reason I have added this letter. Therefore, that we may be filled with much pleasure even while we are living in a foreign land, send us letters by which you signify that our exhortation has had as much weight with you as we wished and desired. For so it will be that, although we are far separated from you, we shall draw much joy from this. For although we have suffered so much, we feel nothing of it while we keep in mind the reward set for what we have suffered, and we expect that it will come to pass that our affairs will turn out for the better, just as the beginnings themselves show. Therefore, considering these very things with yourself while you tolerate such labors of patience, do not lose heart, but be concerned both for all the care of your children (since a greater reward awaits you now), and make it your study to educate the beautiful Epiphanius as it shall be pleasing to God. For you are not ignorant of how great a reward is established by God for the education of children. Thus, together with others, Abraham attained the celebrity of his name, thus Job merited his crown; and the blessed Paul assiduously commands this to parents, saying: “Educate your children in the discipline and correction of the Lord” (Eph. 6:4). You have obtained a vacation, which can acquire for you an immunity from superfluous and unreasonable cares and useless anxiety; a vacation which brings much profit, from which many fruits of virtue can grow for you, if you are willing to apply all your effort to this matter. For concerning my lady mother, I think there is no need to write to you, since I know well enough that among other excellent deeds this has been accomplished by you, and that you have reaped a copious fruit from it, since by your duties and services to her you have surpassed any servant. Because, however, it is right that this also should not be omitted by me, hear the blessed Paul saying, “Honor your parents,” and adding, “Which is the first commandment in promises” (Eph. 6:2). If you conduct yourself in this way, you will both acquire many crowns for yourself and fill us with much pleasure, and we shall not consider that we have suffered anything of those things which we have suffered for this cause, but, refreshed by the magnitude of the joy which from the good things...

745 being winged with good things, both to be in our own [places], and to pass our time with you, and we shall consider that all things are moving for us according to the current. ^B 746 upon [us] being brought—a storm of such magnitude having arisen—neither was anyone able to disturb you nor to harm you in any way; rather, even those who wished to do you evil, against their will, have become the authors of greater praises for you. For which things I ask you to rejoice and exult, and do not cease to pray to God, the one who brings it to perfection and changes it. For He will do it quickly, more than we ask or understand, through His own goodness (Eph. 3:20).

CCXXXIX. From the same to Valerius and Diophantus, priests.

For the most part, it behooved you to write even if I had not written; for such is the law of love: it does not suffer itself to be surpassed, but always strives to overcome those who are loved by the abundance of its affection. Yet, although I myself wrote once and twice, you did not think your letters worthy of being sent, but you kept a silence so long toward a man desiring to receive a snowfall of letters. And I say these things not accusing you—I am not so ignorant of my own measure—but because I am despondent and pained. For by as much as I desire your letters with great excess, by so much the more pain do I endure when I am deprived of them. Do you think that we have need of small consolation, separated from mother and sister, fallen from our fatherland, not being able to see a choir of such sincere friends, dwelling in a wilderness more grievous than any wilderness, besieged by the fear of the Isaurians? ^C Along with my own matters, I hear daily of the common evils, and how they sprout everywhere in the world, and increase from day to day with additions, and are laboring with certain grievous shipwrecks. Would that it were possible for me to express by word the tyranny of [my] despondency; then, even if we did not speak, you yourselves would have repented of your silence. And furthermore, it grieves me that you do not have recourse to the scarcity of letter-carriers to do this. Which is a sign... but I myself would say nothing harsh, but I leave it to you to know if these things are not of great negligence and of contempt toward us. But I care nothing for this, even if you despise, even if you look down upon our smallness; I seek only this alone, that you may be disposed [to send] the letters of your godliness, which have much consolation. For indeed both one and a second [messenger] have frequently arrived to us, and now my most honorable lord brother, Libanius, and you did not think us worthy of your letters. Do not, I pray, add another grief to my grief. For if, even after this letter, you should not wish to write to us, hindered by sloth or negligence, we shall not cease both to write and, along with writing, to lament and mourn because of your silence. For of this we are masters. ^D Nor is this a small thing for us in the way of consolation; rather, apart even from this, our greatest comfort is that, as far as the wilderness itself and the ends of the earth (for we are now near the very ends), a bright report of you is being spread abroad, bringing your accomplishments. For everyone proclaims you, admires you, crowns you, calls you blessed for the courage and firmness which you displayed through your works, fulfilling that scriptural [precept]: "Strive even unto death for the truth, and the Lord shall fight for you" (Eccli. 4:33). Lo, therefore, such waves having risen, and such a storm having stirred, neither was anyone able to disturb you nor to harm you in any matter; but even those who wished to do you evil, against their will, became the cause of it. For these things rejoice, I pray, and be glad, and do not cease to supplicate God, the one who brings [it to pass] and changes it. For He will do it quickly, beyond what we ask or understand, through His own goodness.

CCXL. From the same to Castus, priest.

How clearly it shines, and cannot remain hidden, the soul that has fervent love! This has happened in the case of your honor. For even not knowing that we have written to your reverence (although we have written), you yourself have done what was on your part, having written to us, and in this having displayed your sincere disposition, and having filled us with much joy and consolation. In order, therefore, that we may continually enjoy this pleasure and be gladdened, be exhorted to do this continually, whenever [the occasion] may arise. For we know that the matter is difficult, because not everyone easily arrives here; for this is the most desolate place in the world. But nevertheless, to those who love, even difficult things become easy. For if you should wish to be diligent and inquisitive, you will find those arriving from there for personal needs, and in total nothing will be lacking to one seeking on the road. Knowing these things, therefore, my most honorable master, send us frequent letters. For the matter has no difficulty, nor labor, but the joy from it makes us to be winged and becomes a subject of great comfort.

CCXLI. From the same to Cyriacus, priest.

And in this I have wondered at your fervent, sincere, and steadfast love, through which you showed that, not only when we were present, but even when we are absent, you have great regard. For you yourself said that we had not written to your honor, and this was not sufficient to cause you to keep silent; but even having thought that we had been silent, you sent three letters to us. We, however, wrote once, and twice, and thrice, and many times. And both were clearly shown: both your love, not having need of our letters, and our own gratitude. Since, therefore, [you] know how we are disposed toward your honor, that you abound in the capital of good things, in the bond of perfection (Col. 3:14), pour out this joy upon us. For as many letters as we receive, even if they are many in number, we do not receive satiety, because of being strongly disposed toward your honor.

CCXLII. From the same to Chalcidia and Asyncritia.

There is no need for you to make any excuse for not having arrived; for from [my] intention you have arrived to me, and you have nothing less among us than those who have arrived here. Wherefore I also have much thanks for you, knowing your sincere disposition, and for your absence I have much indulgence, both because of bodily infirmity, and the season of the year, and the fear of robbers. Do not, therefore, delay to write to us continually concerning the...

747 S. JOHN CHRYSOSTOM, ARCHBISHOP OF CONSTANTINOPLE 748 pigeat, and that you might frequently inform us of your health. For although separated from you by a long distance of space, we are solicitous about your affairs; and if by chance we should learn that you are free from every tumult and disturbance and are enjoying good health, we shall be filled with no little pleasure. Since these things are clear to you, notify us as often as possible concerning these matters which we desire to know, so that even we, living in the desert, may draw therefrom much consolation.

MONITION CONCERNING THE EPISTLE TO CÆSARIUS

The Epistle to Cæsarius is said to have been written by Chrysostom at the beginning and end of the time of his second exile. A Latin translation of it had once been transcribed from a certain Florentine manuscript by Peter Martyr Vermigli, who defected from the Catholic religion, and, taking it with him to England, deposited it in the library of Cranmer, Archbishop of Canterbury. But after the death of Cranmer, his library was plundered, and the epistle thereafter appeared nowhere. However, when it had been brought forward as testimony by those who denied transubstantiation, it was denied by the champions of that same transubstantiation that it had ever existed, since no copy could be produced. In the year 1680, however, that illustrious man Emericus Bigot published that Latin translation, which had been transcribed from the Florentine codex in the library of the Dominicans of St. Mark, after the book of Palladius on the life of Chrysostom. But a certain censor thought the epistle, already printed, should be suppressed, and indeed suppressed it along with Bigot’s notes. In the year 1685, however, Stephanus Le Moyne, in the book titled *Varia Sacra*, Volume One, published this epistle at the end as it is found in the manuscript, sprinkled with many errors and deformed in several places, so that hardly any sense can be elicited. The famous James Basnage also published it at Rotterdam in the year 1687, together with that part of Bigot’s preface which concerned this epistle and which had been expunged along with the Epistle to Cæsarius, adding also the Greek fragments which Bigot had collected. Other editions of this epistle also appeared among the heterodox. Finally, the learned man Jo. Hardouin of the Society of Jesus published it in the year 1689 and strenuously defended the Catholic cause against the heterodox, who were usurping this [epistle] to protect their own dogmas. Here we present it again, amended in certain places; however, we provide the Greek fragments, which had been taken from Anastasius the Presbyter, from John of Damascus, and from others, in a more complete form, thanks to the very learned and friendly Michael Lequien of the Order of Preachers, who gathered these more diligently from Anastasius and from John of Damascus.

Now, many things must be examined here: namely, whether this writer is John Chrysostom or someone else who falsely assumes his name; what is the scope of the epistle; and what is to be thought of that passage which gave an opening for so many controversies concerning transubstantiation. Regarding the first question, namely, whether this epistle is truly Chrysostom’s or not: it has been held as the offspring of Chrysostom by John of Damascus, by Anastasius the Presbyter, by Nicephorus, and by others who have disputed concerning the two natures; indeed, the very title declares John, Bishop of Constantinople—that is, Chrysostom—to be the author: for it reads thus: *Here begins the epistle of the blessed John, Bishop of Constantinople, to Cæsarius the monk, written during the time of his second exile*; which same [phrase] is repeated entirely at the end: *Here ends the epistle of John, etc.* It is no wonder, therefore, if the heterodox, thinking that they could borrow from here a very strong argument against the Catholic faith, [bring it forward as] the genuine offspring of Chrysostom, with no previous examination, produced it.

^A The writer of the epistle held the very same manner of life that Cæsarius professed, namely, the monastic life. This could indeed be said of Chrysostom, who, when he was a youth, resided among monks and lived an ascetic life. But is it plausible that, if he had shared the monastic life with Cæsarius—who survived until Chrysostom's second exile and was accustomed to writing letters to him—there would never be any mention of him [738] either in the Epistles or in the Vita Chrysostomi? From this alone, I know not what suspicion arises. The style is remarkably different from Chrysostom's manner of speaking—a fact which is now more easily detected, since far more of his Greek works are published than before. Here, everything smells of a stranger, and not even the slightest detail is observed that would smack of Chrysostom; so that anyone comparing other writings and epistles of Chrysostom with this letter would think himself transported to another world. Who has seen in Chrysostom the phrase *tēlaugōs diagoreusai* [to declare clearly], or who has seen *tauta katēgoreitai* used in this sense, [to mean] "these things are preached"? Where was Chrysostom ever such a dry orator when the matter at hand concerned bringing a former companion and associate back to a sound mind? Chrysostom's style of argumentation shines forth in his orations *Against the Anomœans* and *Against the Jews*; compare these with this epistle, and you will immediately see how great is the difference between this and those. Having weighed these matters, I could never believe the epistle to Cæsarius to be Chrysostom's, but rather [that of] someone who has impersonated Chrysostom.

^B Who that person is who ascribed this epistle to Chrysostom is entirely uncertain. The occasion for sending it, however, was—or is represented as being—that which is narrated at the beginning of the epistle: a book of Apollinarius had been offered to Cæsarius, and upon reading it, he was moved by his doctrine to such a degree that he gave thanks to those who had offered him the book and even proclaimed it to be excellent in that epistle which he pretended to have sent to John. There are not lacking learned men who think this epistle was not written against the Apollinarists, but against the Eutychians, and that it is only by conjecture that the book being discussed here is said to have been by Apollinarius; for they say that Apollinarius never said that out of two natures, one nature was made after the union. But there is certainly no doubt that this concerns the book of Apollinarius and that the doctrine of the Apollinarists is being attacked. For, to go through everything in detail, those things which are said at the beginning of the epistle to be proclaimed in the book of Apollinarius—*syndromēn ousiōdē kai mixin thespesian gegenesthai theotētos te kai sarkos, mian te entauthen apotelesthēnai physin* (a substantial concurrence and a divine mixing of divinity and flesh, and from this, one nature having been completed)—I say these are the very words of Apollinarius, as they are related by Eulogius in Photius, chap. CCXXX, p. 849, excerpted from Apollinarius' book *On the Incarnation*: *ō kainē ktisis, kai mixis thespesia; Theos kai sarx mian apetelesan physin* (O new creature and divine mixture! God and flesh finish one nature). The very same thing is related by Ephræmius of Antioch, in Photius' *Bibliotheca*, chap. CCXXIX, p. 787. Now, who could deny that Cæsarius' epistle concerns this book of Apollinarius?

Let us also review the other points: according to Apollinarius and the Apollinarists, as is said in this epistle, "after the union it was not right to speak of two natures." The Apollinarists also said, "The Lord's body is not a true body, because it was changed into divinity; they devised a Passion for the divinity." They also said, "The Lord Jesus was clothed in our flesh, but it was inanimate." These were the errors of Apollinarius and the Apollinarists, who were called *Synousiastæ*. These errors followed from the aforementioned passage of Apollinarius: for because, according to Apollinarius, through divine commixtion God and flesh made one nature, from this it followed that after the union one should not speak of two natures; that the divine body was not a true body because it was changed into divinity; that the divine nature itself, or divinity, was liable to passion; [and] that the flesh of Christ was void of a human soul, because God and flesh made one nature.

^C These errors of the Apollinarists, or *synousiastai*, are also commemorated by Athanasius, Gregory Nazianzen, and Epiphanius; and the latter, as well as John Damascene in his *De Hæresibus* (p. 94), calls them *dimoiritas*. The reason for this appellation is revealed by Gregory Nazianzen in *Orat.* 46, p. 722, when he states that the body and soul in Christ are *to tritomorion*, the third part. The Apollinarists indeed asserted that one part of man, namely the mind (*nous*), was supplied by the Word in Christ, and that the Word alone, joined to the body and the soul (the sensitive one, as they claimed), constituted the whole of Christ. Wherefore, since…

the catholic opinion was that Christ consisted of three parts—the Word, that is to say, the human mind, and the animated body—those who removed one of these parts, namely the mind, from the two others that remained, were called ^A *dimoiritae* (two-part men): for *dimoiros* in Greek means "two parts of the whole," of which term's signification it is possible to find examples quite frequently in our *Analecta*, p. 519 et seqq.

With this epistle, therefore, those things harmonize which Athanasius says in his epistle to Epictetus concerning the Apollinarists, though without mentioning them by name, which epistle Epiphanius reported in full in *Heresy 77*, where he acts against the Dimoiritae, or Apollinarists. "What hell," Athanasius asks, "eructated that the body born of Mary was consubstantial (*homoousion*) with the divinity of the Word?" Hence, moreover, they were called Apollinarists or ^B *Synusiastae*, because they mixed the substance of the Word with the flesh and made both into one. "Or," continues Athanasius, "was the Word changed into flesh, bones, and hair, and into the whole body, and did it fall away from its own nature?" Here you have that *theospesios* mixture, or divine mingling of Apollinaris, through which God and flesh made one nature. "But who," says Athanasius, "in the Church or among Christians has ever heard that the Lord possessed a body by position, not by nature—*thesei kai ou physei*?"

These matters are explained by that which is read in the Epistle to Caesarius: "For the Apollinarists said," ^C this writer says, "that the Lord's body is not a true body, because it had been converted into the deity." Athanasius continues: "Or who has progressed so far in impiety as to say and feel that the very deity, consubstantial with the Father, had been circumcised, had been imperfect, and had been made from a perfect state; and that what was affixed to the cross was not the body, but the very substance of Wisdom, the Maker of all things?" These points, again, consent with those we were saying a little before: that according to the Apollinarists, the Lord’s body was not a true body. From these statements, likewise, that which is mentioned more than once in the epistle is proven, namely, that according to the Apollinarists ^D the deity itself is passible, a point which Gregory Nazianzen explains in greater detail in *Homily 46*, where he says that according to Apollinaris, the only-begotten God suffered in his own divinity, and that in that three-day death of the body, the divinity also died along with the body, and thus was brought back from death to life again by the works of the Father. Athanasius also mentions and confutes that passibility of the deity according to the Apollinarists in his books *Against Apollinaris* (see p. 924), and a little before, in p. 923, he says that according to the Apollinarists, the Word assumed a body without a mind, which is the last error mentioned in the epistle to Caesarius, and this was, as it were, the badge of the Apollinarists. I think it certain, therefore, that in the epistle to Caesarius the argument is against the book of Apollinaris, and that it is the very book, as it seems, which he had written *On the Incarnation*, mentioned by Eulogius above.

Otherwise, the Apollinarists did not agree among themselves, but while one set of errors flowed from a single source, they argued for others, as can be seen in Athanasius’s epistle to Epictetus, and in the same Athanasius’s books *Against Apollinaris*; likewise in Epiphanius, *Heresy 77*. Yet it cannot be denied that it is entirely probable that this writer, who appears to have lived in the Eutychian century and to have been hostile to that heresy, in order that he might be able to ascribe this supposedly Chrysostomic epistle to Chrysostom, pretended that he was acting against the book of Apollinaris, which agreed with Eutyches in many things, since he could not introduce Chrysostom as speaking openly against Eutyches’s heresy, seeing as he had died long before it arose. That he here largely confutes the Eutychians alongside the Apollinarists is proven by those words and frequent modes of speaking which we mentioned above, which in the time of Chrysostom were scarcely known, and yet in this epistle are used everywhere in the same way as they were used later against the Eutychians.

It remains for us to discuss that clause concerning which many questions have been agitated; it is indeed this: "For just as before the bread is sanctified, we name it bread; but when the divine grace has sanctified it by means of the priest, it is indeed liberated from the appellation of bread; but it is deemed worthy of the appellation of the Lord’s body, even though the nature of bread has remained in it, and we do not preach two bodies, but one body of the Son: so too here, the divine nature indwelling in the body constitutes one Son, one person, both together, known without confusion, in an indivisible manner, not in one nature alone, but in two perfect ones." Hence, the heterodox, believing that they could borrow a very sharp weapon against the catholic faith, fight on the argument that, according to the mind of this writer, the Eucharist is not celebrated without any transformation of the substance of the bread; others, having progressed further, [attack] the appellation of bread...

[753'] ^A ...and of the Lord's body, claiming it is not worthy of being present. They consider it as something certain and fully explored, that this letter is truly by John Chrysostom. But since it has been abundantly proven above that this letter is not by Chrysostom, even if something were to emerge from the words of this unknown writer in their favor—which is, however, far from the case—they could borrow no authority from this source, since it cannot be detected who this writer was, nor whether he was a Catholic or a heterodox heretic; indeed, from what he said regarding the passibility of the Deity, a measure of adverse suspicion arises. ^B But whoever he may be, let us now examine the passage and scrutinize first the artifice by which they distort such a passage to deny the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. "Here," they say, "the bread is said to have been deemed worthy of the appellation of the Lord's body": whence it follows that the bread is called the Lord's body in the Eucharist by name alone; for why would he say the bread was deemed worthy of the appellation of the Lord's body if the Lord's body were truly present? But why such circumlocutions, when this writer clearly says that the nature of the bread and the Lord's body are not preached as two bodies, but as one body of the Son? Does it not follow entirely from this that the Son's body is truly held to be in the Eucharist? Would that comparison of the unity of the nature of the bread and the Lord's body with the divine and human nature, ^C producing one Son and one Person, not be altogether futile if the body of Christ were not truly in the Eucharist? They brandish another weapon, pressing more heavily, and argue that transubstantiation is openly attacked here. For, they say, it is stated clearly here that the bread remains in the Eucharist after sanctification, and this is declared by these words: "Even though the nature of the bread has remained in it, and we do not preach two bodies, but one body of the Son." Truly, as Hardouin proves with many examples, the *nature* and *substance* of any given thing often signify among the Fathers the natural properties of that same thing; but here all the natural properties of the bread remain, and whatever moves the sense in the bread, namely, appearance, touch, and taste; for we perceive this alone in the nature of any sensible thing. So that the nature of the bread is understood here in its entirety, although its material and substance have been changed into the body of Christ. ^D The author of this letter, whoever he may be, surely must have understood the nature of the bread in this way: for it was commonly said at that time in the Greek Church that the bread is changed into the body of Christ; with which change effected, the substance of the bread was no longer in the Eucharist. That the writer is to be explained in this way is proven by John of Damascus, who read this letter and considered it a production of John Chrysostom, and who quoted no small part of it. For John of Damascus himself, in the fourth book *On the Orthodox Faith*, p. 270, has it thus: "Just as naturally bread through eating, and wine and water through drinking, are changed into the body and blood of the one eating and drinking, and they do not become another body beside his previous body, so the bread of the prothesis, and wine and water, through the invocation and advent of the Holy Spirit, are supernaturally changed into the body and blood of Christ, and there are not two, but one and the same." John of Damascus, who seems to have had in mind the passage in question here when he wrote this. If he had not said that the bread and wine are supernaturally changed into the body and blood of Christ, the heterodox would undoubtedly infer from what follows, "there are not two, but one and the same": if bread and wine are one and the same concurrently with the body and blood of Christ in the Eucharist, therefore after sanctification bread and wine remain; but since he previously said that bread and wine are changed into the body and blood of Christ, what he adds thereafter, "there are not two, but one and the same," is not to be understood in such a way that the substance itself of the bread and wine remains, and is one with the body of Christ; otherwise it would not have been changed into the body and blood of Christ; but that all those properties which alone are perceived by the sense in bread and wine remain, and together with the body and blood of Christ form one sacrament—and this is how the author of the letter to Cæsarius, whom John of Damascus then had before his eyes, is to be explained: for what he says, "Even though the nature of the bread has remained," is to be understood only concerning the species and properties of the bread. Nor did he intend to deny the change of the bread and...

though the nature of the bread has remained," is to be understood only concerning the species and properties of the bread. Nor did he intend to deny the change of the bread and the wine into the body and blood of Christ; for that truly happens, and he acknowledges it. ^A And if it has been obliterated by age in one place, let it receive light from another. I am compelled to admit that this is true of the manuscript of this epistle; although it is 500 years old, it is written with little accuracy and requires help from the Greek manuscript, or at least from another Latin one. In the one I saw, sometimes words are continuous, sometimes a simple vowel E is written instead of the diphthong Æ; T instead of D, and vice versa D instead of T; sometimes the words are so corrupted that they cannot be restored to health without the aid of other manuscripts. I opine that the negligence of the scribes deterred Peter Martyr from editing it. I pass over the translation, which seems less accurate, or indeed downright barbaric. I have not thought that benevolent readers would be offended by all these flaws of mine, since I suppose that we are giving the epistle exactly as we received it (as it is currently being rendered in Latin in the way it was written, a fragment of which was published by Peter Martyr and has long agitated the minds of learned men). ^B For who, when he has read it, could grasp the mind of John Chrysostom, or observe on what occasion, or with what intention, those words were written? But even further, one might wonder at the summary and unusual divine charity of a most loving man, who, although he was oppressed by countless troubles and by continual terrors concerning the incursions of the Isaurians—as he writes in his epistles to Olympias—was nearly exhausted; nevertheless, having heard that his friend the monk Caesarius had fallen into the heresy of the Apollinarians and the Synousiasts, he endeavored in this epistle to turn him away from heresy out of his incredible goodness and to call him back to the way of sincere piety. How much the Apollinarian heresy was then spreading, and how many it had invaded, can be gathered from the fact that Diodorus of Tarsus, Gregory of Nyssa, Cyril of Alexandria, Theodore of Mopsuestia, and Theophilus of Antioch, to omit many others, wrote against the Apollinarians and Synousiasts. And so that John might recall Caesarius from that error, ^C and indeed to the Catholic faith, which confesses that in Christ there are two natures, not confused, in one person, he brings in the analogy of the Sacrament of the Eucharist, in which bread after consecration is not yet called bread, but body of Christ. Even though the nature of the bread, he says, has remained in it, it is preached as one body of the Son, and not two bodies. By which words the holy doctor assumes and acknowledges the true and real presence of the body of Christ in the Eucharist; otherwise, no comparison would exist between the human and divine nature in Christ and the Eucharist. Chrysostom himself, in his 2nd Homily to the people of Antioch: "For ^D Elijah left his mantle to his disciple, and the Son of God, ascending, left his flesh to us; but Elijah, having put it off, left it; Christ also left it to us, and having it, he ascended: for Elijah indeed left his mantle to his disciple, but the Son of God ascending into heaven left his flesh to us: but Elijah departed; Christ both left his flesh to us, and having it, he ascended." And in Homily 83 on Matthew: "So also in the mysteries we do; not looking only at what lies before us, but contemplating his words. For his Word is unerring, but our sense is easily deceived. This never failed, but that is frequently mistaken. Since then the Word says, 'This is my body', let us both be persuaded, and believe, and look at it with our intellectual eyes." I would excerpt all these passages from Chrysostom, in which he speaks similarly concerning the most holy Eucharist, if I were to compose an entire book; but it will be more pleasant and salutary for you to read them at the source.

THE EPISTLE OF THE BLESSED JOHN, BISHOP OF CONSTANTINOPLE, TO CAESARIUS THE MONK, AT THE TIME OF HIS EXILE, BEGINS.

We have inspected the letters of your reverence; we have inspected them, however, not without tears; for how shall we not weep, and constrain our soul with grief, seeing a brother who from boyhood chose a solitary life, and who conducted himself consummately—that is, perfectly—in matters of piety, suddenly fallen by the darts of heretics?

cogor; qui licet sit annorum 500, parum tamen emendate scriptus est, et opem a Græco præcipue Codice, aut ab alio saltem Latino, postulat. In eo quem vidi, aliquando voces continu antur. ^A And you might perhaps say that you have come from error to that which is better, and give thanks to those who brought forward that wonderful book, which your best writings call great, as it clearly proclaims ^B a substantial concurrence and a divine mixture to have taken place between divinity and flesh, and that from this a single nature was formed. This, O wonderful one, is the absurdity of the senseless Apollinarius; this is the most impious heresy of those who introduce a mixture and a conflation.

Possess yourself again, therefore, beloved, and return to the former order, away from that abominable opinion, which is that of Apollinarius and those who are called ^C Synusiasts. That impious thought, constantly flowing into the minds of men, knows how to harm those who live according to our simplicity. For the teacher of their heart is free; Apollinarius, even if this reverence of yours does not correctly handle matters. But for us, remembering your conversation with us: perceiving from that which you wrote the error that persists concerning your affection, and their folly; not only concerning the mystery of the dispensation, but concerning the conjunction of names, we have devised, with the Lord helping our infirmity, to make manifest to all an ostentation for the refutation of the evil opinion of those who brought to you the heretical book; and for the correction of your reverence.

Therefore, when you acknowledge, beloved, that which is simple of nature, which is uncompounded, which is unchangeable, which is invisible, which is immortal, which is incircumscriptible, which is incomprehensible, and such things as these. But saying "man," you signify that which is weak of nature, hunger, thirst, tears over Lazarus, fear, the emission of sweat, and the like, by which the divine is outside.

But when you say "Christ," you have conjoined both: ^D whence it is also said that the same is passible and impassible; passible in flesh, but impassible in deity. These same things are preached of the Son, and of Christ, and of Jesus, and of the Lord: for these names are common, and indicate two essences, the conjunction of which in heretics makes error, since they use the common name of Christ. But we, when these common names are used, when the mystery of the dispensation must be confessed. For if you were to say that God suffered in any way, you would say what is impossible and blasphemous; but you have declined the impiety of other heresies: if you were to say that the man who brought it forth, you would find an edifice, the temple of flesh. It is never said that he dwells outside, for the time is not yet when he is no temple. And if they perhaps ask, and how does the Lord say, *Why do you seek to kill me, a man who has told you the truth which I have heard from God* (John 8.40)? It is well and most wisely to be said: for he was not deprived of the indwelling deity; but he wished to signify the passible nature, and made a memorial of the man: because of which he is both God and man, Christ. Therefore, because of the impassibility, man because of the passion. One Son, one Lord, the same one, clearly possessing the unity of natures, one power, even if they are not consubstantial, and each preserves its unmixed property, because of which the two are not confused. Just as before the bread is sanctified, we name it bread; but it is sanctified by divine grace through the priest, it is delivered from the appellation of bread; but it is deemed worthy of the appellation of the Lord's body, even if the nature of bread has remained in it, and we do not preach two bodies, but one body of the Son.

So here too, with the divine

indwelling

^A

759 Being such, union is sometimes spoken of as being united to itself, whether it is one; or that it is impossible for it to be confused or divided. What, then, did hell vomit forth to speak of one nature in Christ? We think that by naming only the divine, they do not altogether deny the one—I speak of our salvation—or by retaining the human, they are making a denial of the divine nature. Let them state what it is that lost what was proper to it. For if it is one, the union is saved for us in every way, and those things which are proper to the union must be preserved. For if not, it is not a union, but a confusion and an abolition. But soon, shifting to the answer of the questioners, they leap to something else, which is not relevant to the question, and they utter inconsistent voices. "God endured and did not endure," and if they are asked to state the manner, they retreat into ignorance, saying, "As He willed," the memory of Christ fleeing from among them. After these things, being rebuked for this, they soon say, "And Christ is not God, but also man." And again they say: "After the unity, it is not proper to speak of two natures." Attend to the meaning of the word. You spoke of a union? You do not find the union of one being made, as we said before, "The Word became flesh" (John 1:14): but the subtlety of those speculating is also sought. For he added, "And dwelt among us." Does it not seem to you that the one who dwells is something other than the habitation? ^B "If they had known, they would never have crucified the Lord of glory" (1 Cor 2:8). When you again say "Lord," it does not signify a proper name, but a common one, susceptible to passion and impassibility. For they are accustomed to pretend this: "We think it is not the body and blood of God that we receive faithfully and piously—not because it possesses body and blood, that which is by nature divine—but because He makes what is of the flesh His own." O lack of judgment! O impious thought! For the mystery of the dispensation is endangered among them, and again they do not allow the Lord's body to be confessed as a true body. For by thought they imagine it to have been converted into deity, building up from this one 760 nature, and not finding even to say whose it is, so that by inventing passion for the divinity on all sides, according to Apollinarius, they fall away from promised goods. Do we not think they will tremble hearing these things? Do they not consider the eternal judgment and the voice of the Lord saying, "I am, and I do not change" (Malachi 3:6). "The flesh is weak, but the spirit is willing." "Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me." "My soul is sorrowful even unto death" (Matt 26:41, 39, 38). "Touch and see, for a spirit does not have flesh and bones as you see me have" (Luke 24:39). Do we think these things are appropriate to deity? Let them hear also Peter saying, "Christ having suffered for us in the flesh" (1 Pet 4:1); and he did not say, "in the deity"; and again: "You are the Christ, the Son of the living God" (Matt 16:16). He said "of the Living," not "of the Dying," and whatever is similar to these, the divine Scripture teaches us, to which the heretics do not cease to be violent.

^C Avoiding these novelties of words, my beloved, let us return to that which lies before us, to confess piously, and very piously, Christ who was encompassed by death as perfect in deity and perfect in humanity, one only-begotten Son, not to be divided into a duality of sons: yet bearing within himself the unmixed properties of the two natures, inconvertibly; not one and another—far be it—but one and the same Lord Jesus, God the Word, clothed in our flesh, and that not inanimate or irrational, as the impious Apollinarius says. Let us apply our mind to these things: let us flee those who divide the nature. For even if there is a twofold nature, nevertheless the union is indivisible and indissoluble, to be confessed in one person of the sonship and one subsistence. ^D Let us flee those who prodigiously speak of one nature after the union: for by the thought of one, they are driven to attach passion to the impassible God, denying the dispensation and seizing the gehenna of the devil. I think these things are sufficient for the measure of the letter for the confirmation of your love, O wondrous man.