書信集 第 1 章 第 7/11 段

And why need I speak of other matters? But who will care for your Gregory in his old age, and medicate his infirmity with honors, and hold in greater honor the one who, through you, procured benevolence for many? Now, then, may you go your way with a better guide and escort, leaving behind for us many tears, yet carrying away with you great wealth of your own—such as not many rulers carry away: good repute, and the privilege of being inscribed upon the souls of all, as upon monuments not easily moved.

But if you should return to us with a greater and more illustrious office—for this is what our longing divines for us—we shall by all means offer more perfect thanksgivings to God.

To Asterius. What is this that has befallen us? You are gone, having left us behind, and I am ill, not even permitted by envious fortune so much as to speak words of farewell for your departure.

Oh, what a loss and what an outrage!

I risk saying something rather bold as well:

why should it have been necessary to receive the good thing, if it was not going to remain? For not one of life's pleasures gladdens us so much in its presence as it grieves us when it departs.

We have been honored by you, we have been glorified, we have enjoyed the benefit of your office, we have been filled with your benevolence.

For we have neither forgotten these things, nor shall we ever forget them:

sooner would we forget ourselves than you.

But what have we, in return for these things, to give you? What else, indeed, but the fairest thing we possess? And what we possess are our prayers, by which may you be preserved and may you prosper.

And may we behold you again, should we attain so long a term of life.

To the Same. Great among men is Heracles, as the saying goes (that I may remind you, a man of letters, of something of your own lore):

yet he would not have been so great, had he not had Iolaus fighting at his side, especially against the Hydra, that bitter, many-headed beast — of which the one cut off the heads, and the other cauterized them, just as you do to the heads of vice.

The sons of Actor drove past many with their chariots, as Homer relates:

for they were twins alike in body and in skill, the one holding the reins, the other the whip, dividing the labor between them and jointly winning the victory.

A helmsman saves many sailors, but he could not save them equally well without the aid of a good look-out at the prow, who both watches the winds and points out the reefs beforehand, and becomes, as it were, an eye for the ship.

Such, too, is your service to us.

For though the governor is illustrious in his own right, you yourselves make him even more illustrious through your cooperation:

and while we praise him for many things, this is what we admire most: that while preserving so much good will toward public affairs, you also make room for matters of friendship — not displaying strictness through harshness of manner, as most immoderate men do, but rather taming the severity of office through gentleness.

I will trouble you no further.

Understand as you will, entrench yourselves, take counsel against us.

Let those who hate us prevail:

let the canons be strictly observed, beginning with us, the most unlearned.

But let matters of friendship not be hindered.

The children of my most honored son Nicobulus have come to the city to learn shorthand:

be willing to look upon them, in this as in other matters, as your own and in a fatherly way (for the canons do not forbid this either), and take care that they may dwell near the church.

For I wish their character also to be molded toward virtue, through their constant association with your perfection.

To Eulalius. Nothing is stronger than truth, as it seems to Ezra, and to me as well:

for the virgin Alypiane, when at your command we exacted from her, with all rigor, an account of her own mind and intention, spoke the truth openly and without pretense, confessing her virginity and holding fast to it — more fervently than we had expected, yet more steadfastly than fervently; I mean, with a maiden's zeal, but with the sober answers of grey hairs.

And the harshness of our questioning proved, in the end, to be beneficial:

for it revealed all the more the firmness of her resolve.

Knowing this, then, pray fervently for the girl, and cultivate the beginning of salvation which she has received, to the glory of God, of us, and of the whole company of the devout.

By honoring her fidelity, and helping the infirmity of her body, and therefore extending your hand to her and caring for her in all things, you will do a generous deed, worthy of your piety — and I will add — worthy also of our friendship.

To the Same. It is for this reason that you and I alike wish that justice be done to our daughter Eugenia by your piety, and that you not overlook her being wronged by her own heirs:

and she would indeed be wronged, as it appears to me, if she were deprived of any of the things left to the granddaughter by her grandmother — who also raised her with the utmost care:

and left her with but a few things, in place of the many that she had promised and hoped to leave.

To the Same. What I judged to be just, I have already written.

But if something else, and not this, has seemed right to you (for I am persuaded that it seemed so rightly), we will accept this too.

Otherwise we would be doing wrong and acting unlawfully against piety itself: bringing before you, as one who judges justly, those who come to us, and yet not abiding by whatever you should judge:

which is what most wretched and uneducated persons are wont to do.

To the Same. Consider that what has been written to your piety by my lords, the most honored bishops, has also been written by me. Give, I beg you, a helping hand to these free women, and do not overlook them being tyrannized and thrust aside by the power of the man against whom they have come forward, but assist them as is fitting — if indeed you know what they suffer, and for what reasons they suffer it:

but if you do not know, then know that this too is part of what they suffer — namely, that the injustice done to them is neither known nor believed by you.

But if anyone thinks that we are being too officious, in making our own a case that in no way concerns us, let him persuade us of this, and we will be content to desist.

But now I fear that this is not so:

for above all, the things of Christ are not divided, nor is Christ divided, nor does benevolence have any boundaries.

But even should one suppose it to be divided, I know that two persons are burdened by this matter — both your piety and ourselves — should justice be disregarded.

For those under judgment fall under the stewardship of us both.

And there is fear lest the truth be swept away by the persuasiveness of specious argument.

Spiritual matters ought to be carefully weighed and secure, lest it render even us — who are thought to have gained something by reason of our years — more artless than we should be.

Since, then, you desired to take us as partners in a spiritual inquiry (I mean, of course, concerning the oath which George the Paspasine appears to have sworn), we will disclose to your piety what has occurred to us on the matter.

Most people deceive themselves, in my judgment, considering as oaths only those sworn with imprecations, but supposing that written pledges, apart from spoken words, are mere formalities and not oaths at all.

For if a written bond for debts binds more strongly than a simple agreement, how shall we suppose the written oath to be anything other than an oath? In short, an oath, for us, consists in the full conviction of the one who put the question and the one who was persuaded and assented.

Nor, indeed, is it sufficient to plead that one was compelled, as an excuse (for the compulsion was merely the law which he feared), nor is it sufficient to have later prevailed in court:

for the very act of taking the matter to court is itself a mark of perjury.

This is what we also persuaded our brother George of: not to make excuses for his sins, nor to seek out words as advocates for his transgression, but to recognize the written document as an oath, and to weep before God and before your piety over his sin — even though formerly he had understood it otherwise, deceiving himself.

These things, then, we ourselves discussed with the man:

and you, clearly, by discussing it with him yet more carefully, will yourself pierce him more deeply with compunction — being, as you are, a great physician of souls — and having treated him with the medicine of the canon for as long a time as seems fitting, you will thus apply the leniency due to that time;

for the measure of the time is the measure of his compunction.

To Timothy. I am always a good hunter of good things (if I may indulge in a bit of youthful boasting) — I who both discovered your eloquence, though it lay hidden, and your love of wisdom, which sought to remain unnoticed, tracking them down with words as with hounds, and made them known to others also:

and, if I may borrow something of our own Scripture, I have set upon the lampstand the light that was under the bushel.

For, to say nothing of the other good qualities you possess — your learning, your piety, the fairness and moderation of your character (all of which it is exceedingly difficult for one man to unite in himself) — behold how great is even the present instance:

you remember us, you greet us with your letters, and you add praises — not in order to flatter (for I understand the intent of your philosophy), but in order to make us better and to advance us further, since we would be ashamed not to appear such as you suppose us to be.

As for our own affairs, they have reached their end.

We have withdrawn before envy; we now practice philosophy in quiet before God; we commune with ourselves in prayer; we have been freed from the tumults and disturbances of public life.

But you, on our behalf, be manly, be strong, and contend to the utmost of your power on behalf of the Trinity.

And let the gentle man also be a warrior — which you have indeed seen us doing:

for I do not wish that knaves should flourish while lions remain idle.

And pray fervently for us, who are greatly afflicted, that we may attain a peaceful departure, since we are already inclining toward it.

To Stagirius. I have learned that you are bearing your affliction in an unphilosophical manner, and I did not approve:

for one must write the truth, especially to a man who is a friend, and who lays claim to nobility of character.

For this is my view on these matters, as I am persuaded of myself, and rightly so:

I praise neither excessive impassivity, nor excessive passion:

for the one is inhuman, the other unphilosophical.

But one must walk the middle path, appearing more philosophical than those who are utterly uncontrolled, yet more humane than those who philosophize beyond due measure.

Now if I were writing to someone else, perhaps I should have needed longer words as well, and in some respects it would have been necessary to sympathize, in others to exhort, and in others perhaps to reprove;

for fellow-suffering is sufficient for consolation, and that which is sick has need of therapy from that which is healthy.

But since I am addressing a man of learning, it suffices to say only this much:

Be true to yourself and to the books with which you have kept company, in which there are many lives, many characters, many pleasures and smooth passages, and many, as is likely, misfortunes and rough ones.

These things, as it seems to me, God has interwoven with one another, so that what grieves might not be without remedy, nor what gladdens without instruction, and so that, beholding the instability and unevenness in these things, we might look to him alone.

These things, then, we bring to bear upon your suffering as a rule and a measuring-standard.

If you know of someone praised who has fallen very deeply into grievous sufferings, or who has achieved something through suffering, make use of this to grieve, and enjoy your mourning (there is no envy in a misfortune that is lamented);

but if it is someone who is reviled and blamed, the proverb says:

"The one who wounded shall heal"; but now it is fitting to say instead:

"The one who is wounded [shall heal himself]." But for us it would, in any case, be shameful, and contrary to our law, to imitate the many in such matters;

since reason makes us higher than present things, and persuades us to pass these by as shadows and riddles, and to consider neither what grieves nor what gladdens as the truth, but to live elsewhere and to look yonder, and to know that only vice is grievous, and that only virtue and kinship with God is pleasant.

Sing these things over yourself as a charm, and you will be more at ease;

or rather, I know that you have already sung them, and will continue to sing them, even if we ourselves do not write.

TO THE SAME. I have some benefit from your letter, admirable friend, and perhaps not a small one, as one skilled in healing such things.

Reproof has driven out your grief, and in place of that passion a blush has come in, and you rise up to make a rebuttal most skillfully and nobly.

And you seem to me, like the horses of Achilles in Homer, to have raised your head and shaken off the dust (since it was time to cease mourning Patroclus), and to long again for the plains, for arms, and for displays;

so brilliant and ambitious, and somewhat stinging too, is your letter to us, if I understand you at all.

Only play the man, and philosophize against your suffering, and we shall grant that it is no great thing to judge from the shore those who are sailing, and that it is a greater thing to contend than to anoint others for their contests against misfortunes — unless someone should say this: that there was no necessity for you either to contend or to put out to sea (if indeed philosophy is something better than the circumstances you are now in), whereas for us the battle-line is drawn up against many things, and often, and, I think, for our whole life;

in which, if we do not anoint or contend too unskillfully or unmanfully, many are witnesses to put us to the test.

You will do us a favor by commending him also to the more earnest of the teachers;

and you will do us an even greater favor by shaping his character toward virtue.

This will come about if he is encouraged to be often in your company, and, greatest of all, if he knows that he is not being overlooked;

since the very eye of a teacher is a silent instruction.

You owe us — if it is not burdensome to say so — both spiritual things, as one high priest to fellow high priests, and things of learning, as a man of eloquence to lovers of learning.

TO PHOTIUS. All that you have is mine (for I shall make the voice of God the preface of this letter); and I say "mine" not only with respect to the communion of the Spirit, but because to the present condition of the Church I too, perhaps, contributed no small portion, while I was still engaged in affairs and presided over the community.

For now only one thing occupies my thought: my departure from this world, for which I am gathering myself in and making my preparations.

Let, then, what is mine also be yours, made common through love;

and the fairest of my possessions is our most honored brother and fellow-presbyter Sacerdos, through whom I both address you and imagine that I see you.

TO STRATEGIUS. Oh, how great a wall has been set up between us, God so ordering our affairs!

Oh, the sacred hearth and fellowship, and the common harbor of all who fear the Lord!

Others enjoy the good things that are ours;

but to me there remains only the memory, and the envying of those who partake.

That you too may partake of the good things that are ours, I make known to you our most honored brother and fellow-presbyter Sacerdos, of whom I know that, upon beholding him, you will say:

"...not of our forwardness, but of your gentleness";

for we have no satiety in conversing with you by letters, since indeed we have no other means, God having so ordered our affairs.

As for our most honored son and fellow-presbyter Sacerdos (whom we have especially loved, and do love, since he practices philosophy sincerely and is united to God through his manner of life), who has set out, on account of his own affairs, for the great city that is great because of you, I know not what greater favor we could have bestowed than by commending him to your goodness.

TO AMPHILOCHIUS. Having at last, with difficulty, recovered from the pains of illness, we have run to you, the procurer of our healing;

for the tongue of a priest, when it philosophizes concerning the Lord, raises up those who are ailing.

Do, then, the better thing, ministering as priest, and loose the magnitude of our sins by touching the sacrifice of the resurrection.

For whether I am waking or sleeping, your affairs are a care to me, and you have become for me a good plectrum, and you have caused a harmonious lyre to dwell within our souls, from which, writing countless times, you have trained our souls to full knowledge.

But, O most devout one, do not hesitate to pray and to intercede on our behalf, when by the word you draw down the Word, when by a bloodless incision you divide the Master's body and blood, having the sword as your voice.

And how should you not, since you have remembrance even of the dead? And when the symbols of the feast are also present, the grace is the greater.

But add to what you give, that for which you ask.

Pray on our behalf that, if it is expedient, we may again be reminded of, and remind others of, the feast;

but if not, that we may be translated to the things yonder, and either receive or behold the true feast, where is the dwelling-place of all who rejoice.

For we have had our fill of the vicissitudes of life.

TO POSTUMIANUS. You are lofty in your learning — whichever kind you please, and in whatever form of eloquence you please.

Of the one kind we hear such report as we hear (for I am not one skilled in the Roman tongue, nor versed in the ways of the Italians), but of the other we have had such experience that we are able to make it known to others as well, if indeed we have any share in judging such things;

and not a few say that I do have a share.

You have been raised up through not a few offices;

or rather, you have raised up not a few offices, if the truer account must be told.

You have come to the very summit of authority, having received this not as a gift of fortune, as many might say, but as a prize of virtue, so that authority itself might become more august, and the emperor might be praised for his judgment in your case.

Yet even these things are small; I shall add something of our own as well:

You were first initiated into piety, and then you received these things.

For I remember your words, and the wonder of them still rings in my ears.

If to these things you should add also the remembering of your friends (and I know that you will add it — I judge this from what has gone before), we shall admire you all the more.

This is the boundary of human happiness, or rather of blessedness.

And that what lies beyond Gadeira is not to be attempted by men, we believe Pindar when he philosophizes on this.

But since, having obtained great things, you are also indebted for great things, and since God, dealing well with us, made you ours first, and then set you over us, and since it would at the same time be absurd not to demand the greatest things of so great a man, accept me as one who offers this exhortation:

Consider nothing so fitting to your office (since once again a synod of bishops is being convened, I know not for what reason or in what manner) as that the churches should be brought to peace in your time and through you, even if it should be necessary to rebuke those who cause dissension more severely.

But if to anyone I seem to be superfluous, having withdrawn from active affairs yet not having laid aside my concern, do not you marvel at this.

For we have not, in the way that we yielded our thrones and our haughty dignity to those who wished for them, likewise yielded our piety;

but now we are even more trustworthy, as I think you too would agree, seeing that we serve nothing of our own but the common good.

For I am the one who writes first, as you see.

It seemed to me necessary, as with a starting-gate rousing a colt, to rouse you to write.

And you would be especially stirred to this if you should consider who it is, and to whom, and on whose behalf, that I write what I write, and that it is fitting that children should inherit friendship, just as they inherit their paternal estate.

And besides, it is well to consider this also: that you are still in your prime of philosophizing, while we are the fathers of philosophers, and it is fitting that you display your virtue to us, just as noble athletes do to their trainers.

Shall I say something even greater than what has been said? We have with you no small pledges of philosophy;

you are educating our own blood, and the blood of our nearest kin.

You know whom I mean: the children of our most genuine and most honored son Nicobulus.

In whatever you undertake together with these men, consider that you are thereby remembering us — who, if one must believe those who say it, are inferior to none in judging discourses, in testing earnestness, and in exalting skilled teachers the higher by our praises.

TO THE SAME. Again my Nicobulus comes to you;

and again I am superfluous, urging on one who is himself already quite eager.

Since the young man has a good natural disposition (unless my wishing deceives me), but — as is often the case with the gifted — is somewhat indolent and in need of the spur, do you in return contribute your own zeal.

And, to borrow something from your own art, imitate the legendary cicada, and, becoming in place of the broken string a help to your Eunomus, complete the song.

Thus you seem to me likely to win renown through the young man, and to grant us the greatest favor — we who set little before you and your eloquence.

TO THE SAME. What shall we say has befallen you toward us, O admirable one? What is the reason for your not writing? We shall charge you neither with disdain, nor with idleness, nor with having nothing to write;

it is not like you to suffer from such things.

Do you perhaps still bear us a grudge over the iambic verses, at which that Valentinus — may he come to a wretched end — spat in contempt, and this even though you yourself were willing?

For it was not fitting for a rhetorician, a man so clever, to retaliate against another man, when someone had earlier dared to compose such iambics.

But, Achilles, tame your great spirit;

and set in motion again for us your pen — your ashen spear;

do not think that, having suffered slight wrongs, to meet them with greater retaliation is the way befitting a bishop.

Ride, hunt, walk about as you please, for all I care — we for our part shall neither write anything more, nor jest with you further.

And let this suffice; at so high a price do we value your friendship.

So much, then, for our jesting, and let it go this far and no further.

But what follows is no longer a matter for those who jest, but for those who are in deep earnest: we again entrust to you our sweetest son Nicobulus.

May you receive him from us as [belonging to] us, gratifying his father in the rhetorical task, and us in the sophistic one.

For I know that, if you are willing, the task is a light matter for you.

To the admirable sophists you will leave only the raised eyebrow, and the contest over who is greater.

TO THE SAME. How do matters of virtue stand with you? And have we made any progress according to God? This, we suppose, befits you more than anything else.

For these are the things it is dear to us both to ask about and to hear.

But as for the rest, let us bid them farewell, however they may stand.

And yet, even if we should wish these other things to go well for you too, we should wish it for this one reason alone: that you might have enough of what you have disdained, and philosophize the more concerning greater things.

Consider this said to you by us; and toward our good Nicobulus be such as we hope.

And if we ask even more of you, satisfy our insatiable demand, generous man that you are.

TO THE SAME. There was an ancient law at Athens — and, I would say, an excellent one — that when the young men reached the age of maturity, they should be led to [choose] trades; and they were led in this manner:

the instruments of every trade were publicly set out, and the young men were brought before them;

and whichever [instrument] each happened to delight in and run toward, in that trade he would be instructed;

on the ground that what accords with nature generally succeeds, while what goes against nature generally fails.

One ought not to push toward pursuits foreign to oneself, but rather to hold fast to that toward which one inclines — not only because it is best, but also because it is more fitting.

Not to force the current of a river — this the proverb bids; and poetry does not wish one who has learned horsemanship to attempt song.

Lest what happen? Lest you fail at both horsemanship and song.

But what, then, is your fitness? As it appeared to me upon reflection: first, your character, and the calm, guileless quality of your disposition, ill-suited to these turnings and windings of public life;

next, the good endowment of your soul, its loftiness of mind, and its readiness for contemplation;

third, your frequent sickness and the weakness of your body, since even this seems to Plato to count for no little in the pursuit of philosophy.

And indeed you are also of such an age that the passions are already beginning to subside;

and by your poverty you seem to me not so much bowed down as adorned;

you also know how to feel shame — not in the manner of the rhetoricians.

Moreover, your voice is not coarse, nor have you become base, nor are you a man of the marketplace, nor do you possess any of those traits — to put it briefly — with which Aristophanes fashions his Agoracritus for demagoguery;

but although called a rhetorician, in everything except character you fully belong among the rhetoricians.

Do not, then, be willing to give up as much of philosophy as you have already gained, nor to hold second rank among things of the second order rather than first rank among the greatest;

and even if we should grant you first place among the things here, do not endure to excel among jackdaws when you are able to be an eagle.

How long shall we be puffed up over small things that crawl upon the ground, and play among callow youths and empty fancies, and be borne aloft by applause? Let us pass on from here, let us become men, let us cast off our dreams, let us run past the shadows, let us leave to others the pleasures of life, which are more painful than pleasant.

Let envy and time and fortune play at draughts with others, toss them about, and make sport of them — that which men call the instability and inconstancy of human affairs; let thrones, dominions, riches, splendors, exaltations, and falls perish; let this cheap and despicable little glory go, by which a man would be disgraced the more by being exalted than by being mocked — these playthings and stage-shows of this great theater that is the world.

But let us lay firm hold of reason, and choose to possess God instead of all things — the only lasting good, and truly our own — so that for us there may come to be good repute here as well (since we who are still small still seek even this), or in any case that repute from yonder, since the prize of virtue is to become godlike, and to be irradiated by that purest light contemplated in the Triune Unity, of whose rays we now possess but a modest share.

Toward these things go, advance, take wing in your mind, lay hold of eternal life, stand nowhere still in your hopes, until you come to the highest object of desire and blessedness;

and you will praise us, I know well, now but a little, but a little later more abundantly, when you see yourself amid the things we have promised, and find these to be no empty happiness nor fancies of the mind, but the very truth of things.

TO THE SAME. What do you say? Do we persuade you by these words, and will you change your course of formation, and be ranked with us — with those who were once your equals, but now, if you allow me to say so, are above you? Or must I chant longer incantations over you? By no means, O admirable one — do not wait for that.

For it is shameful, having the greater part, to fall short of the whole.

For if the beginning is half of the whole, what else could more than half be, than the whole itself? If, then, we are sufficient for exhortation, this stands well, and let nothing more be sought.

But if you need a better counselor still, Solomon bids you drink wine with counsel, lest you be overturned by the drunkenness and whirl of life; and I, slightly altering his counsel, say something similar:

Take counsel with God, and you will not fail of what is needful.

TO THE SAME. You are the son of a good father, dear child; such are the things I hear concerning you.

Only be exalted, and prosper, and reign;

and we shall rejoice, even if you do not yet openly profess philosophy.

For we pay heed not so much to what you say as to what you do;

since indeed the very fact of not professing philosophy is itself exceedingly philosophical.

TO SATURNINUS. Though the height of your office is unapproachable, yet friendship is kind and humane; and it is on account of this friendship that we have taken courage to bring you this entreaty.

To all the good you have already done us, add this also:

deign to receive our most learned son Eudoxius — a man worthy of your virtue both in life and in eloquence — gladly, in other matters as well, and to deem him worthy of your patronage in whatever he may need from your excellence.

And we, in return, shall give our prayers — the only means by which we are able to repay our benefactors.

TO GREGORY. Woe is me, that my sojourning is prolonged!

and, in short, our affairs are in a state of war and faction, and we have not kept the peace which we received from the holy Fathers.

This peace, then, I know that you yourself will restore, by the power of the Spirit that bears both you and your affairs.

But let no one, I entreat, falsely accuse us — nor the lord bishops either — of having, against our will, proclaimed another bishop for us;

for we have not been so utterly rejected by them, nor are they so hostilely disposed toward us.

But rather, having earnestly entreated on account of my own enfeeblement, and at the same time fearing the burden of the Church's being neglected, I asked of them this favor — one neither contrary to the canons, nor lacking in relief for us — that a shepherd be given to the Church; and one has indeed been given, through your prayers, a man worthy of your piety;

whom I now place into your hands — I mean the most reverend Eulalius, the most God-beloved bishop — in whose very hands I would wish also to breathe my last.

But if anyone thinks that it is not right to ordain another while a bishop is still living, let him know that not even in this matter does he prevail over us;

For it is clear to all that I was put forward not for the see of Nazianzus but for Sasima; and even though only for a short time, out of respect for my father and for those who entreated me, I accepted the oversight as a stranger to it.