書信集 第 1 章 第 31/32 段

OF THE SAME. WITHOUT ADDRESS, CONCERNING PATRONAGE. When your Honor was present among the brothers, I spoke on behalf of the men from the village of Caprales and brought them before your Gentleness, urging you, keeping before your eyes the reward that comes from the Lord, to take them under your protection as poor men who are oppressed in all things.

And now again by this letter I renew the same exhortation, praying to the holy God that the distinction and splendor of life which you now possess may be preserved and may increase to still greater things, so that from greater power you may be able to benefit us more generously.

For I believe you are convinced that our one prayer is the salvation of your whole household.

For from a prosperous life—the Lord having thus ordered things for the profit of his soul—he has now been reduced to the utmost poverty, so that he can scarcely provide his daily food, and possesses not a single slave any longer, out of the many he formerly held in his own household.

All that is left to him is his own body—and this weak and aged, as you yourself can see—and three children, an added burden of cares for a poor man.

That he had no need at all of our intercession, since his poverty alone was sufficient to move you to compassion because of the kindliness of your character, I knew very well.

But since those who ask are hard to satisfy, I was afraid that something owed to him might be lacking, and so I wrote, knowing that the day on which he first sees your Reverence will be for him, for all the time thereafter, the beginning of a cheerful life, and will bring about some improvement for the better in his affairs.

OF THE SAME. WITHOUT ADDRESS, ON BEHALF OF KINSMEN. It was itself a matter of great eagerness for me to meet with your Eloquence, for many reasons:

first, so as to enjoy the good qualities in you, after so long an interval of time; and next, also to entreat you concerning the people of Ariarathia, who have long been afflicted, and to whom the Lord has given a worthy comfort by granting them the oversight of your uprightness.

There is also another matter concerning my kinsmen that is greatly burdensome, and is nearly the most critical point of the difficulty at Ariarathia, which I entreat may, so far as possible, be remedied by your kindness, so that it may henceforth become bearable for those who possess it.

TO THE LEADING CITIZEN. It is those who pay no heed to our assurances, but seek some special and exceptional favor for themselves, who cause us to write so many letters to your Honor.

For long ago we solemnly assured them that you would be so impartial and even-handed a guardian of what is just for us, that no one would seek anything further in the way of kindness, unless perhaps he should exceed all bounds through insatiable greed.

and because his household has long been worn down by the burdens of public liturgies, [I ask that] he be deemed worthy of whatever relief is possible for him.

TO THE CENSITOR. You know both the benefits and the harms that arise for men from the census assessments.

Therefore, forgive this man, who has taken great pains to suffer no harm, and be eager to assist him, as far as you are able, toward what is just.

For you surely remember how much we then chafed at the responsibility laid upon us, and how many of our friends we enlisted in order, through them, to ward off the insolent oppression.

For that is indeed what we called the matter.

But now you see what the present circumstances are.

For God has given you the occasion to make manifest the nobility and goodness of your character, and to leave behind, for all your life to come, the grounds for a good remembrance.

For whatever these assessments turn out to be, such also is the memory of them naturally preserved by those who come after; and I am fully persuaded that not even had the Galatians prayed for it could they have obtained a more humane character than yours.

And I have reason to count blessed not only the Galatians for your oversight, but myself as well.

For I too have a household in Galatia, and, thanks be to God, the most distinguished of households; and if I should obtain from you some assistance for it (and obtain it I shall, as long as friendship retains its proper strength), I shall owe great gratitude to God.

If, then, my friendship counts for anything with your Honor, be persuaded, for our sake, to grant some acknowledged benefit to the household of the most admirable governor Ulpicius, so as to reduce something from the present assessment—something considerable indeed, and worthy of your magnanimity; and I will add, worthy also of our intercession, we who love you.

But if not, then at least reduce it so far as circumstances allow and the nature of the matter admits, and by all means do not leave it unchanged—so that, of the countless benefits we have received from that good governor, we may through your Reverence repay this one favor in return.

WITHOUT ADDRESS, ON BEHALF OF A SUPPLIANT. And how could I possibly overlook so fitting an occasion for a letter, and fail to address your Honor, now that this man is coming to you? He would have been quite able, even on his own, to convey our sentiments and fulfill the purpose of a letter; yet he wished also to become the bearer of an actual letter, so greatly does he love us and so wholeheartedly is he devoted to us.

In every way he desires both to bring back word from you and to be of service to you.

We have therefore given him this letter, in which, first, we wish for you all the good things that this present life holds, as well as all that the beatitude laid up in the promises reserves for us; and next, we beseech the holy God that a second meeting with you may be granted to us, while we are still above the earth.

As for your love toward the aforementioned brother, I do not doubt that you will multiply it many times over for our sake.

So be persuaded to give him proof of it in deed.

WITHOUT ADDRESS, ON BEHALF OF A KINSMAN. Being fully persuaded that I shall in no way fail in whatever, with justice, I entreat of your Honor, I have come eagerly to give this letter to this most respectable woman, guardian of orphans, who manages a household more troublesome than some many-headed hydra.

And in addition to all this, there is also the fact that we are related to one another by kinship.

WITHOUT ADDRESS, ON BEHALF OF ONE AFFLICTED. Being quite convinced that those who come to your kindness have no need at all of letters—since you do, out of the nobility of your own character, more than anyone could urge you to do through entreaty toward what is good—nevertheless, because I care exceedingly for this son of mine, I was moved to write to your pure and guileless soul, commending the man to you and entreating you, in whatever way is possible, to afford him, for the matters before him, whatever assistance lies within your power.

And I know very well that he will need no other patron, once you have deigned to employ, on his behalf, the full power which the Lord has given you for his protection.

Yet again the thought of the multitude of affairs surrounding you turns my mind another way; and I forgive you if, having so much on your hands, you forget us—us whom it would not be easy to remember even if you had complete leisure and quiet, on account of the lowliness of our way of life.

May the Holy One, then, lead you on to still greater distinction, and by his own grace preserve you in your present splendor.

As for us, we repay every occasion with a letter, and not least this present one, through this man, whom we also commend to you, and whom we deem worthy to receive some sense of the service our letters render him.

WITHOUT ADDRESS, ON BEHALF OF A FELLOW-COUNTRYMAN. Those who come from our homeland are commended to you by the very claim of our shared homeland—although indeed, by the goodness of your character, you take under your own care all who in any way stand in need of some assistance.

Receive, then, this man—the son of so-and-so—who is delivering this letter into your Decorousness, both as a fellow-countryman and as one in need of assistance and as one commended to you by us; and from all these grounds let there arise for him this one thing: that he obtain from you whatever help is possible for the matters at hand.

Close on the heels of your departure, this son, who is delivering this letter to you, came to us, being in need—as a man living in a foreign land—of all the comfort that is owed by Christians to strangers.

The matter itself he will explain to you more clearly in person; but the help you yourself will provide, whatever lies within your power and is necessary for the matters at hand.

If, then, the governor is present, you yourself will of course introduce him to him.

But if not, then through the city magistrates you will procure for him what he seeks.

For it is no small concern of mine that he should accomplish everything according to his purpose and return home.

For he has been a whole year away from his native land.

Led astray by the deceptions and dissipations of men—supposing that, if he should overcome the villainy now confronting him, he would prevail in the whole affair—he perceived, only too late, the full extent of his loss, his judgment having been stolen away little by little by the gradual deceit.

Since, then, he is now returning, having been delivered both from the troubles of the climate and from the wickedness of those men, we greet you through him, entreating you to remember us in your prayers (for we stand in great need of the help that comes from prayer); and at the same time we let you know that those who were left responsible for the payment of the debt—the blessed bishop having made mention in his will both of the debt itself, and of the source from which it ought to be paid, and by what means—having disregarded our friendly reminders, are now awaiting the compulsion that comes from the courts.

As for how matters stand with the Churches—whether they have been permitted to remain as they were, or have fallen away toward the worse, or have some hope of a change for the better—deign to make known to us through one of your genuine brothers.

TO THECLA. The year now past brought a severe frost upon our homeland, and struck back the tendrils of the vines just as they were being released into their birth-pangs of budding;

and those vines that survived remained barren, leaving our cups parched and unmoistened.

Why then do I make such a tragic tale to you of the unfruitfulness of the plants? So that you yourself, in the manner of Solomon's Song, may become for us a vine blossoming like the cypress-flower, and a fruit-laden branch—not merely putting forth the blossom of the grape-cluster, but turning the dew, through your labors, into the very wine of the clusters.

There are some men among us who are building the wall around the enclosure of our assembly.

Since I have no mountain wine to give these men to drink, I have turned to your bountiful, grape-laden hand, that you may command the streams of your own vineyards, as from a river, to flow forth to us.

For if you do this quickly, you will bring rest to many souls, and you will gladden, as much as possible, even me—this Attic-speaking beggar.

It was not possible, before the matter reached its conclusion, to give any reply with certainty.

This is the reason for our silence:

for it was certainly not indolence, nor ignorance of what was fitting.

For even if we were altogether indolent, we would in any case have taken pains, in your Honor's presence, to conceal our shortcomings.

But as it is, it is not possible for us to forget you, not even in the very least (sooner might one forget oneself); rather, whether we write or not, we carry you enshrined within our hearts, and we find the long deprivation caused by the winter so hard to bear that we pray, if it is not possible for you yourself, on account of your reported preoccupations, to leave your rustic affairs behind, that some occasion may nonetheless arise for us to come to your region and enjoy the true steadfastness of your character and your decorum.

But at all events, you will surely be eager to keep with us the saving day of Pascha, together with your most respectable wife, whom we also greet through you, and whom we entreat to join her efforts with ours in urging you to hasten to us.

For I would not say that I am grateful to those who have wronged you, on the ground that they have furnished me an occasion for a letter.

But the Lord, who benefits us from every quarter, knows how often, even through painful things, to fulfill our consolations.

Hence he has also turned into an occasion of joy for us the boorishness of those who fled from you.

But do write to us on every occasion, writing such things as come both from a good disposition and from a refined tongue.

For even if we would not claim to affect the pleasantness found in fine diction, still we are somehow naturally charmed by it; and you who are graceful in speech lead us along, just as those who lead bees by the striking of cymbals.

Send us, then, many letters, and as long as possible:

for brevity is certainly not the virtue of a letter, any more than it is of a man.

Write to us how matters stand with your household, and how your own body fares in health, and whether the affairs of the Churches are at peace.

For you rightly take care of these things as well.

And moreover, if you have any power to labor together for peace and the union of those who are divided, do not refuse.

The good Cyriacus first took up the effort, and then delivered the letter to us; and for what remained of the matter he had those who joined with us in what was possible.

For we wrote to the chorepiscopus of the district, who, if he does any of what has been ordered, will himself make the matters known.

It is indeed itself worthy of eager pursuit to receive letters from a friend;

but if what is written also accomplishes some need in the greatest matters, it clearly becomes worth much more.

Know well, then, that the altogether excellent man Patricius carries upon his lips such remedies of persuasion that, not only would you have written in vain to resist him, but even if he took hold of some Sarmatian or Scythian, he would easily persuade him of whatever he wished.

Yet those words of good cheer are not from the heart.

For this manner has long been the practice:

to be good and, so it seems, guileless — but only as far as speech goes — and ready to entrust one's own affairs to any tribunal whatsoever; yet when it comes to the actual matters themselves, may you not happen to be caught there!

But let these things be said by me to you, so that you yourself may know both this and that the man is not otherwise easily led astray, and also that you may be persuaded on your own part not to heed the fair appearance of words, but to await the proofs that come from deeds.

TO MAGNINIANUS. Even your dignity's letter alone sufficed to work in us complete joy.

But now the most decorous of women, Icelium, our common daughter, in delivering the letter has increased our joy more than twofold — not only by being a living image of your nobility of character, but also by displaying on her own part every care for virtue.

But may we one day see you yourself as well, and enjoy the good things that are in you, with neither illness nor any other difficulty hindering our meeting.

UNTITLED, WRITTEN AS AN ADMONITION. The holy God has given us a most fitting subject for a letter, having made known to us this brother — the man whom, on the occasion of his return to your honor, we made use of as the bearer of this written conversation of ours — praying to God that, advancing to ever greater renown and glory, you may adorn both us and your whole homeland with your own virtue.

We exhort you, throughout your whole life, to remember the God who created and honored you, so that in addition to the splendor of this present life you may also be deemed worthy of heavenly glory — for the sake of which we, who direct our life toward the blessed hope, must do all things.

We exhort you, then, first and foremost to render lasting devotion to the Church of God, and next also to increase your goodwill toward us — deeming us worthy of every remembrance and protection — and also to honor us with letters, so that, having proof that you are not burdened by us, we may take courage to write yet more frequently to your greatness of mind.

TO HYPERECHIUS. I greet your honor and pray good things for you, and I make myself known to one who is altogether eager to learn how things stand with us — doing nothing better than what is customary.

For I spare you the more unpleasant details, lest I should greatly grieve one who joins with us in praying for the best.

TO PHALERIUS. I was greatly delighted by the river fish — though I complained of their flight, which they made by taking refuge from the cold.

But your letters are more precious to us than fish.

So write to us rather than send us gifts.

But if it is more pleasant for you to remain silent, still do not cease praying on our behalf.

UNTITLED. That I love you, learn from the fact that I write to you.

That you hate me, I have learned from the fact that you keep silent.

But write to me, at least from now on, loving one who loves you, with pen and ink and a small sheet of paper.

UNTITLED. It is futile to write twice about the same matters.

For either the matter is by its nature incapable of correction, and those who come to us trouble us in vain; or those who receive our letters overlook us, and thus we think in vain, writing to those who despise us.

Since, then, you have already received letters about this same matter, and we have been compelled to write to you a second time as well, either set it right, if it is within your power, or make known to us the reason why what was ordered has still not been done.

ANOTHER UNTITLED LETTER. Speech is one token of being alive.

For how could you be thought to be still above ground, having never once uttered a word? But cast off your silence — write to us, and show plainly that you are indeed alive.

TO THE NOTARY. Words by nature have wings.

You, then, my boy, form the strokes completely, and space out the letters consistently.

For by a small slip much sense is corrupted, but by the diligence of the scribe what is spoken is set aright.

TO A CALLIGRAPHER. Write straight, and use the lines correctly; let the hand neither soar upward nor plunge as down a precipice.

Do not force the pen to walk crookedly like Aesop's crab, but proceed straight, as one walking along a carpenter's chalk-line, which everywhere preserves evenness and removes all irregularity.

For the crooked is unseemly, but the straight is pleasing to those who behold it, not causing the eyes of readers to bob up and down like well-sweeps — something of this sort happened to me too when I came upon your letters.

For with the lines set out in staircase fashion, whenever it was necessary to pass from one to the next, one had to straighten one's gaze toward the end of the line ahead.

And since the sequence was nowhere apparent, one had to run back again and search out the order, retracing one's steps and following the furrow — just as they say Theseus followed the thread of Ariadne.

Write straight, then, and do not confuse the mind with the slanting and crooked shape of what is written.

BASIL TO LIBANIUS. I am ashamed to be bringing the Cappadocians to you one by one, rather than persuading all who are of the proper age to lay claim to eloquence and learning and to make use of you as their teacher in this discipline —

doing them as great a favor by bringing them to you as those who lead the thirsty to springs of water.

But the one now coming will, a little later, be sought after for his own sake, once he has come to know you.

For the present, he is known through his father — a man who has won great renown among us for the uprightness of his life and for his political influence, and who has been joined to me in the closest friendship.

In return for that friendship, I bestow this favor upon him through his son, by making him known to you — a thing worthy of the greatest desire to those who know how to judge a man's virtue.

This alone is an advantage: that he is a Cappadocian.

But this Cappadocian is also of the foremost lineage.

Moreover, he also brings us a letter from the admirable Basil.

What could anyone say greater than this? For I — whom you think has forgotten you — revered you even long ago when you were young, seeing you rival the elders in self-control (and that, too, in that city teeming with pleasures), and already possessed of a great share of eloquence.

But when you thought it right to see Athens as well, and were persuading Celsus to accompany you, I rejoiced together with Celsus, whose soul was so devoted to yours.

When you returned and once more had your homeland with you, I said to myself:

"What is our Basil doing now, and toward what life has he set out? Does he turn to the law courts, emulating the orators of old, or does he make orators out of the sons of fortunate fathers?" But when some came reporting that you were traveling by a far better road than these, and were considering how you might become a friend of God rather than amass gold, I congratulated both you and the Cappadocians —

for you, in wishing to be such a man; and for them, in being able to show forth such a citizen.

As for that Firmus, I know well how he has continued to excel everywhere;

for from this comes the power of his eloquence.

Though I have enjoyed many praises, I do not know that I have ever before heard such praises from persons of such standing as I have now heard in your letter.

For surely your letter would not have failed to mention him? And now, what is Firminus doing, or what does he intend? Is he still amid the wedding feasts, or have those long since ended, while some weighty decision and sheer necessity compel him to remain there? Or what hope is there that he will again become a partner in learning? Let him give us some answer, and may it be a good one.

But if indeed it should bring us some grief, it will at least free us from gazing toward the gates in expectation.

But if Firminus were now at Athens, what would your councilmen do? Would they send the sacred Salaminian ship after him? You see, I am insulted by your fellow citizens alone.

Yet I, for my part, will not cease loving and praising the Cappadocians.

I pray, rather, that they become better disposed toward me; but even should they remain the same, I shall bear it.

Firminus spent four months with us, and was idle not a single day.

How much has been accomplished, you yourself will come to know, and perhaps you will find no fault with it.

But to enable him to come here again, whom must we further call upon as an ally? For if the councilmen are wise (as would befit educated men), they will honor him the second time, seeing that they grieved him the first.

BASIL TO LIBANIUS. Behold, yet another Cappadocian comes to you — himself, too, a son of mine;

for this position in which we now find ourselves makes sons of them all to us.

So in this respect he would be a brother of the one who came before, and worthy of the same care both from me as father and from you as teacher — if indeed it is at all possible for those who come from us to receive anything more.

I say this not as though your eloquence would not grant something more to your longstanding companions, but as though your beneficence lies open to all without grudging.

It would suffice for the young man to be numbered among your own household even before the trial that comes with time;

whom may you send back to us worthy both of our prayers and of your own reputation, which you hold in eloquence.

He also brings with him a companion of the same age, who shares an equal zeal for learning — himself too of noble birth, and one of our own — whom we believe will lack nothing, even though he may fall far short of the others in wealth.

LIBANIUS TO BASIL. I know that you will often write this: "Behold, yet another Cappadocian has come to you."

For I think you will send many, always and everywhere making use of your praises of me for this very purpose, stirring up both fathers and sons.

But what happened concerning your beautiful letter, it would not be right to pass over in silence.

There sat with me not a few others among those who had held office, and, best of all, Alypius, the nephew of the famous Hierocles.

So when those bringing the letter delivered it, having read it through in silence, I said, smiling and rejoicing at once, "We are defeated."

"And what victory have you been defeated in?" they asked, "and how is it that you do not grieve at being defeated?" "In the beauty of letters," I said, "I have been defeated, and Basil has prevailed."

The man is my friend, and for this reason I rejoice.

When I had said this, they wanted to learn from me the nature of this victory in letters.

So Alypius read it aloud, those present listened, and the verdict rendered was that I had not lied at all.

And the one who had read it, still holding the letter, went out to show it, I think, to others as well, and returned it only with reluctance.

Write, then, letters of the same kind, and be victorious.

For this is what it means to defeat me.

And you rightly guess this too: that what we do is not conducted for money, but it suffices for one who is unable to pay merely to wish to receive instruction.

For if I perceive someone in poverty who is a lover of learning, he takes precedence over the wealthy.

And yet we ourselves have not had the experience of such teachers; but nothing prevents us from being better in this regard.

Let no poor man, then, hesitate to come here, if he possesses this one thing alone: knowing how to labor.

BASIL TO LIBANIUS. What might a sophist not say — and such a sophist as this, to whom it is acknowledged as the very property of his art both to make great things small, whenever he wishes, and to invest small things with greatness? Something of this very kind you have shown also in our case.

For that shabby letter of mine — "unkempt," as you refined lovers of eloquence would call it — being in no way more tolerable than this one now in your hands, you exalted so greatly by your eloquence that you pretended to be defeated by it and yielded to me the palm for letter-writing, doing something like the games fathers play, when they let their children pride themselves in victories that are really their own, neither harming themselves in the least and nourishing the children's love of honor.

And indeed the discourse held an untold amount of delight in its playful contest with us, as if some Polydamas or Milo were declining a match of pancration or wrestling against me myself —

for although I looked about extensively, I found no example of such strength — so that those who seek out the extremes of eloquence would admire your power here all the more, in that you were able so to condescend to playful contest with us, than if you had led the barbarian sailing over Athos.

But we, O admirable one, keep company with Moses and Elijah and men so blessed as these, who converse with us in their barbarian tongue about their own matters, and we utter what comes from them with true meaning but unlearned diction, as this very letter itself makes plain.

But you yourself write to us, choosing other subjects for your letters — such as will both display you and not expose us.

I have already brought to you the son of Anysius as my own son.

But if he is my son, then the child belongs to his true father — a poor man's son from a poor man.

And this saying is well known to a wise man and a sophist.

LIBANIUS TO BASIL. Had you spent a very long time considering how best you might respond to what I wrote about your letters, you could not, I think, have done it better than by writing just as you have now written.

For you call me a sophist, and you say that the mark of such a man is to be able to make small things great, and again great things small.

And indeed you say that my letter meant to show your beautiful letter to be not beautiful, that it is no better than the one you now sent, and that there is altogether no power of eloquence left in you — since the books now in your hands do not produce it, and the learning you once possessed has drained away.

And while attempting to persuade me of this, you crafted this very letter — which you call inferior — so beautifully that those present could not help but leap up as it was being read.

I marveled, then, that in trying to disparage the former letter by means of this one — by claiming the former was just like this one — you actually praised it all the more.

Surely one who wished to do this ought to have made this letter the occasion for discrediting the earlier one.

But it was not in you, I think, to do wrong to the truth.

Truth would have been wronged only if you had deliberately written something inferior and had not made use of your real powers.

It would belong, then, to the same virtue neither to disparage what it is right to praise — lest the very matter, in your attempt to bring great things low, should sweep you in among the sophists.

As for the books which you say are inferior in diction but superior in thought, keep to them, and let no one hinder you.

But the roots of what is always ours, and was once yours, remain and will remain as long as you live, and no time will ever be able to cut them out — not even if you should water them least of all.

LIBANIUS TO BASIL. You have not yet relented from your displeasure toward me, so that I tremble even as I write in the meantime.

If, then, you have relented, why do you not write, most excellent one? But if you still hold it — a thing foreign to every learned soul, and to yours especially — you, who proclaim that one ought not keep anger past sunset, have kept it through many suns.