書信集 第 1 章 第 8/11 段

Behold, even we Cappadocians are engaged in factious strife, so to speak — an evil never before heard of nor believed possible — so that no flesh should boast before God;

but let us all recognize that we are but human, and not rashly condemn one another.

Yet even from this misfortune I gain some profit (if I may speak paradoxically), and indeed, as the proverb says, I truly gather roses from thorns.

As for me, though I had never before met your Reverence face to face, nor corresponded by letter, but was illumined only by report of you, I have now come even to the necessity of communication by letters; and great thanks be to him who granted this.

As for writing to the other bishops about the matters you wrote concerning — for the time is not yet ripe for this — I shall pass it over; and at the same time my illness makes me more reluctant to do so;

but what I write to you, I write also to them through you.

Let my lord, the most God-beloved bishop Helladius, cease his meddling inquiry into our affairs;

for he pursues these things not by a spiritual, but by a contentious course, not with the precision of the canons, but to satisfy his anger, as is evident from the timing and from the many things stirred up alongside this, beyond all reason;

for one ought to speak in such a way as not to cause pain.

For if I were so disposed in body as to be able to preside over the church of Nazianzus, to which I was originally proclaimed — and not to Sasima, as some wrongly persuade you — I should not be so wretched, nor so ignorant of the divine ordinances, as either to disregard the Church, or to pursue the ease of this life above the rewards laid up for those who labor according to God and work out the talent entrusted to them.

For what profit would my many labors and great hopes be to me, if I should counsel badly in matters of the greatest moment? But since my body is also in poor condition, as is evident to all, I feared no burden from this withdrawal, for the reason I have stated;

as for the urgent affairs [of the church], almost dissolved through my own dissolution, I have asked, both before and now, my lords the most God-beloved bishops — I mean my fellow countrymen — to give the Church a head, one whom, with God's help, they have given, worthy both of my desire and of your prayers.

Know this yourself, then, most honored lord, and instruct the rest of the bishops both to accept him and to vote together in his favor, and not to burden my old age by yielding to slanders.

Let this also be added to the letter:

as for my lord, the most God-beloved fellow-minister Bosporius — if your inquiry finds any fault concerning the faith (which it is not even lawful to speak of, for I pass over his long tenure and my own testimony), judge this for yourselves.

But if it is the dispute over parishes that fabricates the charge of false doctrine, and the accusation is a new one, do not be swept away by slanders, nor make them stronger than the truth, I beseech you; do not cast into despondency the many who have chosen to do what is right.

May you be granted to us and to the Church, in health, good cheer, and progress according to God, as our common boast.

To Amphilochius. May the Lord fulfill all your requests, and do not disdain a father's prayer;

for you have amply given rest to my old age, both by journeying as far as Parnassus, just as you were invited, and by refuting the slander brought against the most honored and most God-beloved bishop;

since wicked men are wont to turn their own guilt back upon those who convict them.

For stronger than any accusation is the man's long record and his life, and we who have many times both heard from him and taught the same things, as well as those who have been brought back from error and added to the common body of the Church;

yet, since the season was evil, it required also a more precise demonstration, on account of the malicious slanderers — which demonstration you yourself granted to us, or rather also to those lighter-minded persons who are easily deceived by such men.

And if you should be willing, undertaking even a longer journey, to bear witness to these things in person and to render judgment concerning the disputed matters together with the other bishops, you will accomplish a spiritual work, worthy of your perfection.

I, and all who are with me, greet the brotherhood that is with you.

To Nectarius. When one person praises one thing of yours, another another, and all set forth your good report as it were in the marketplace, I too bring my own contribution, and in no way less than anyone, because you deem us worthy of honor, and, like a beloved child, console a father's old age.

As for the dispute concerning the parishes, you yourself will surely resolve it, according to the grace of the Spirit that is in you and in accordance with the canons.

But let this seem intolerable to your Reverence: that our affairs should be publicly pilloried.

For even if those who judge such matters are Christians — as indeed, by God's loving-kindness, they are — what has the sword in common with the Spirit? And even if we should grant this too, how, or where, is it right that the discourse concerning the faith be entangled with other disputes? Is the most God-beloved bishop Bosporius held today to be of false doctrine? Is the gray hair of one who has brought back so many from error, who has given such proof of orthodoxy, who is the teacher of us all, today weighed in the balance? Do not, I beseech you, do not give place to such slanders;

but if it is possible, make peace between what is divided, and let this be added to your praises;

...heralds of the Godhead, both amid dangers and without danger, and who tolerate no diminishing whatsoever of the one and unapproachable Godhead.

And pray for me, I beseech you, for I am greatly afflicted with illness.

I, and all who are with me, greet the brotherhood that is with you.

May you be granted to us and to the churches, in health, good cheer, and good repute in the Lord, as our common support.

To the Same. What would you have done, if I myself, being present, had troubles? Is it not clear that you would have applied every zeal to free me from the injury, if indeed one must judge by what has gone before?

Grant this now also to me, through my most decorous niece who falls at your feet through me — showing regard for the suppliant's age, showing regard for her character and piety, not such as belongs to many women, showing regard, besides all else, for the woman's inexperience in worldly affairs and for the fact that she now has troubles from her own kin, but above all, for my own entreaty.

But the greater favor is the speed of the benefaction which we request.

For even the unjust judge in the Gospel granted the widow his kindness, but only after much supplication and persistent attendance.

But let speed be found with you, so that she may not be worn out by long anxieties and by the hardships of being in a foreign land;

even though I know very well that your piety toward God will make even a foreign land her own.

And yet, if nothing else, a funeral oration from your pen would be owed to me, as one already as good as dead — to you, for whom speaking and writing are an art.

So much, then, for the reproof;

for indeed, when reproaching as a friend, one ought not to go beyond the bounds of friendship in doing so.

But as for what you write concerning my most beloved son Nicobulus, it is exceedingly great and admirable, and sufficient easily to carry away a father's good nature, which readily believes what it wishes.

But we shall accept it as true only when the young man, giving us proof, shows himself not unworthy either of your promises or of my hopes.

To Stagirius. Are you Attic in your learning? We too are Attic.

Do you preside over the young? We preside over every age.

Do you form students toward eloquence? We form them toward character.

Many things are common between us;

but one thing above and before all: our most beloved son Nicobulus, standing between us.

To him you will do well to display both your learning and our friendship, if indeed you care for it.

For indeed veteran athletes are honored through the young;

and so much so, that by offering to these the prizes of victory, they are deemed fair-minded with regard to the laws of the contest.

To Eustochius. Imitate Alexander for me, O admirable one;

and just as he, in order to please the Athenians, was the more ambitious for honor — and for this very reason used to call Athens the theater of his own kingship — so also you, considering our concerns to be of some worth (even if in no other respect, yet for the sake of eloquence itself and of Athens itself), and moreover, showing reverence toward the common fathers of eloquence, be eager to redouble your zeal for learning, for the sake of the excellent Pronoius.

Whatever contribution you make to the young man, you will surely be making it to me also — I who am well disposed to receive kindness, and perhaps no poor judge of eloquence;

even though I now sit lower than the thrones of the sophists, having imposed upon myself the safe privilege of silence.

To the Same. 'O Odysseus, you have struck me somehow indeed' — reproaching me most diligently with 'Stagirism,' and outwitting me with sophistry.

And while I praise your frankness for writing what you write (for it is better to speak out one's grievance than to win a case in absentia against those who are unaware of it), I also have something to charge against you.

Nevertheless, in order to observe the rule of a judge, I shall first offer my defense, then bring my accusation — both with equal goodwill.

My Nicobulus went to the excellent Stagirius, not at all according to my own intention — do not suppose this;

I am not so forgetful either of Athens or of your friendship and companionship.

Rather, it was I who entrusted him through my letters.

What is there unfriendly or inhuman in this? Now that you have my defense, receive also my accusation.

I do not commend your 'doll-makers' and 'Telchines,' with which you assail your rival in the art, merely because he has succeeded in calling his fellow craftsmen rivals.

For how long shall this go on? And where shall we halt this sophistic malice? Until what happens — until death itself cuts us off from wickedness? For while young, overcome by ambition, seeking after gain, and even then acting with some moderation, this conduct has some excuse (for I shall play the little Demosthenes for your sake);

but for one of this age, and one who fares so well besides, to butt and be butted like rutting animals is altogether unseasonable and contentious — not only because it is unbecoming and wholly illiberal, but also because there is much idle indolence in such a practice.

'Whatever word you speak, such a word shall you hear in return' — like a stream turning back upon itself (for again I shall make use of Homer);

and for the one who scratches to be scratched back in turn is altogether free from reproach.

What wisdom, then, is there in this — when it is possible to excel first in virtue — to be conquered by vice, or even to conquer by it, which is far worse? But I, for my part, find fault also with the judges in this (for the truth shall be told): that the very things they punish when passing judgment, these same things they applaud when listening as an audience.

And not only that, but they also have many accomplices who join in praising them, who fan the flame of malice, and whose zeal has been devoted to this very end.

whereas the proper course would be: if it is not believed, not to be praised;

but if it is believed, to be judged publicly;

or else: if the charges are false, the accusers should be punished;

but if true, those against whom the charge is made [should be punished].

and that so great a matter — the reputation of well-born men — should not be so lightly toyed with.

If then you heed me at all (for my word is addressed to both of you), give up such talk and reproaches, if for no other reason, out of reverence for gray hair, or else because you are weary of such shameful things.

Rather, resolve yourselves to honor the ancient counsel which bids that, when one has sufficient means of life, virtue should be practiced.

And you will not only be plotting against yourselves, but plotting against the hopes of the young, who would surely suffer the most terrible things, if, while training in rhetoric, they were to learn wickedness — and that not without a price — as though they had you as teachers not of virtue but of this.

But if I seem to you burdensome in writing these things, requite me in kind by yourself giving some useful counsel, so that you may either benefit me if I obey, or reproach me if I resist.

TO THE SAME. What a thing I failed to realize!

how exceedingly boorish and uneducated it was —

I admonished a sophist!

and I was not even taught by the common proverb: that a bald man should not butt his forehead against a ram instead of striking its face, nor stir up against himself a wasps' nest — a tongue readier for evil speech than his own.

With this one, then, I am not too much vexed (for I have been added to the company of many, as I hear — or rather, if you reckon among the living, even before many).

but rather I am vexed at him, because I was not trusted to be doing this in a friendly spirit.

Still, may you be healthy both in body and soul, and may you restrain your tongue, if possible;

but for now, we shall be content with what is ours.

TO STAGIRIUS. I shall speak frankly to you about something;

for such is my nature, and such is my wish.

If you do not share Nicobulus with us, you will be doing wrong;

for we shall have offended a friend, and yet gained nothing more from you.

But if you give as much as we hope, you will act graciously, and both matters will turn out as well as possible for us.

For to him we shall make our defense, and you we shall praise.

But if you also allow us to counsel you in fatherly fashion, then do not, out of the habit of ruling, spurn the advice;

receive the word of a man not unversed in such things.

Lay down at last your weapons — the slings and the still more terrible ashen spears, namely your tongues — with which you strike and wound one another, and this before an audience of zealous admirers.

And lay them down all the more, inasmuch as this weapon is readier to hand than ordinary weapons;

[contend] not with words, but with deeds;

for whatever things a person delights to see happen, these he counsels even by his silence.

If you act thus, you will benefit yourselves, and you will have us as friends, and you will not disappoint the hopes of those who have trusted you.

This is your reward for the labors undertaken on Nicobulus's behalf.

But if we should receive a more complete proof of your favor, we shall render in return a more complete praise as well.

TO VITALIANUS. I perceive your accusations even while you are silent.

"We were feasting at a wedding," you will perhaps say, "and that of the golden Olympias, your own kinswoman, and a company of bishops was present;"

"yet you, our noble friend, were absent from us — either disdaining to come, or shrinking back." Neither, O admirable sir.

But it was not fitting, I think — for one faring tragically to celebrate comically; and at the same time it would have been utterly unseemly and unfit for a wedding: two gout-ridden men being carried about and laughed at, in the midst of dancers — but why should I jest with you further in wedding fashion?

Since in will, at least, I am indeed present and share in the celebration, and I join the right hands of the young couple to one another, and both of them to the hand of God.

For it is fitting that, just as every other good thing has come to you, so too this union should come about for the very best, in accordance with our common prayers.

TO THE SAME. Behold, now a second son-in-law for you;

and you are unloading the sweet burden — doing well indeed.

But we are idle, as you yourself might say;

but according to the true account, we are weak, not idle.

Yet what comes from God fares well for us.

For we have yielded the tumults to others, but we ourselves shall enjoy philosophy, once you have withdrawn to God and become wholly of the things above, held fast by no bond.

And now, too, we contribute our prayers to the wedding, if indeed we must bring you the finest gift.

TO GREGORY THE GOVERNOR. I do not commend Hesiod for calling those of the same craft rivals in craft;

saying that "potter is angry with potter, and carpenter with carpenter."

For, according to my own reasoning, one is not more envious than he is eager to run to greet and embrace a fellow craftsman, and to cling to him as to one of his own.

And singer is dear to singer all the more, inasmuch as eloquence is the very object of their pursuit.

This too I myself have experienced toward your eloquence: if I were so disposed in body as to be able to serve the impulses of my soul, no one would have outrun me in running to you, embracing you, and speaking the words of welcome.

But whereas a cloud overshadows the sun, for me it is both my illness and this envious little body of flesh — this prison — that overshadows me.

Will you then accept my letter in place of my presence? Yes, you will accept it, being both learned and forgiving — this I know well, and I need not merely conjecture it.

And that you may know how much I trust in your nobility and goodness, behold, I bring before you a petition exceedingly urgent to us, and I ask of your friendship the things due to friends.

I entrust to you, from my own hand, my Nicobulus together with his brothers — not one who is to undergo judgment, but one who is to obtain it — and their mother, a widow before her time, and a household that was once splendid and admired, so long as the elder Nicobulus, so dear to us, survived, but now is not even permitted to mourn, because of the evils that have already sprung up and those still expected — unless it should find support in you, and, through your justice, stand against the evil spirit, and honor us, and show reverence for our common humanity, and make your governorship illustrious for yourself through your benefaction toward us.

TO HECEBOLIUS. I shall cry out something against myself;

and pardon is due to one in pain even for speaking the words of one in pain.

O wretched and malicious little body of flesh, what evils you do to me, what deeds you work!

A man is nearby whom, even if he happened to be far away, I ought to pursue for matters of necessity, both for the sake of his virtue in governing and his gentleness in other respects.

But you are in a wretched condition and almost immovable, and you look on while others partake of this good, while we are deprived of it.

Such, then, is the substance of my accusation.

But since it is not enough merely to bewail what we suffer, but some remedy is also needed for the wound, this is what I have discovered: to take courage through this letter, and by means of writing to sketch an outline of my presence.

on behalf of orphans whose tears are still warm — I mean my own niece and her children, who, though born of a good father who toiled much for the emperors under arms, not without renown but indeed most gloriously, and who did much service to you who govern (if you have heard of a certain Nicobulus), are now in danger of suffering the harshest things.

For after the surrender of their friends and those oaths which they underwent at the inquiry, they are now again attempting to do violence to the orphans.

TO GREGORY OF NYSSA. Though I had set out toward you with all eagerness, and had reached as far as Euphemias, I was held back by the synod which you are celebrating there in honor of the holy martyrs — both because it was not possible for me to take part in it on account of my illness, and because I would otherwise have proved burdensome by my ill-timed arrival.

I had set out, at once to visit you thus after so long an interval, and at the same time to marvel at you for the endurance and the philosophic spirit in which you are conducting yourself (for I hear of it) at the passing of our holy and blessed sister — as a man good and perfect, one who stands in the presence of God and knows, more than all others, both the things divine and the things human; and who judges to be the lightest of all that which to others is the heaviest burden in such matters — namely, to have lived together with such a woman, and to have escorted such a woman on her way, and to have laid her up in the safe abodes, like a sheaf of the threshing-floor gathered in due season (if I may use the language of the divine Scripture) — she having had her share of the pleasant things of life, yet having escaped its griefs by reason of the measure of her age, and having been honored by you with a fitting funeral and the honors due in such cases, before she had to mourn over you.

I myself too, be well assured, long for departure — though not equal to yours (for that would be too much to say), yet immediately after yours.

But what must one suffer before the law of God which has long prevailed — the law which now possesses my own Theosebia (for I call her "mine," the one who lived according to God, since spiritual kinship is greater than bodily)?

Theosebia, the boast of the Church, the adornment of Christ, the benefit of our generation, the glory of women;

Theosebia, who amid so great a beauty of the brethren was the most comely and the most distinguished.

Theosebia — truly holy, wife of a priest and his equal in honor, and worthy of the great mysteries;

Theosebia, whom future time also shall receive, inscribed upon immortal monuments — the souls of all, both of those who now know her and of those who shall come to know her hereafter. And do not marvel that I invoke her so often;

for I take delight even in the memory of the blessed woman.

This is, from me, a funeral speech for her — brief, yet weighty — and a word of consolation to you, although you are yourself capable of consoling others in such matters, on account of your philosophic bearing in all things.

As for our meeting together — since I long for that too — we are for the present deprived of it, for the reason I have mentioned; yet we join in prayer for ourselves that, if we are still above the earth, the common end to which we draw near may not part us.

TO NEMESIUS. Some praise Pythagoras of Samos because, when he was obliged to offer sacrifice (since otherwise he did not approve of sacrificing), he discharged his offering with an ox made of clay;

for, calling our bodies 'dead things,' he said that it was not right to purify dead things by dead things.

It would be well for you also to imitate this man for my sake, admirable friend — since indeed you have forsworn the imposing of fines, and, alone among rulers, or very nearly alone with but a few others, have instilled in your subjects a fear that costs them nothing — and not to penalize Valentinianus, who is yours as well as mine (for we plead on behalf of a kinsman), but, having only gone so far as to pronounce the threat of a fine, to withhold the penalty itself.

For, if I may make bold to say so, he is not even being punished for negligence of his own.

If, then, we persuade you as a judge, this is best;

but if not, we will take refuge with the friend, and we will say to your eloquence what someone is said to have written to his own friend, namely:

'So-and-so, if he has done no wrong, release him on account of justice;'

even if a fine of two horses would bring great profit, yet to us the favor would stand recorded.

And let this also be added:

come to the aid of the man's misfortune, for he has been severely crushed by this mishap.

TO THE SAME. If I seem to you burdensome for writing letters so often, do not marvel at all — or rather, I will accuse you before yourself, the just judge, and I know that you will acquit me of the charge.

You yourself have become for me the cause of my boldness, by readily granting my requests and inviting me to ask;

For there are many things for which you would readily grant your favor: old age, illness, fellowship in learning (if indeed my part in learning counts for anything), the very fact that I long for our meeting, yet am hindered by weakness and am missing out on so great a thing.

But what is my petition? And if it is unjust, I would be ashamed before so great a man;

but if it is just, grant it readily.

Again the most reverend son of ours, Theodosius, comes to your eloquence — mine and yours — my protégé, and your suppliant.

And he comes pleading on behalf of a pitiable matter;

orphans are in danger, and the human condition amid it all is uncertain what turn it will take; and we hold in reverence the passing of a father who lightened the orphaned state of many.

Grant one favor for all these things;

extend a hand to the misfortune, in whatever way you yourself shall determine.

But if you seek any further reason, be well assured that none greater or more illustrious than this could be found, as many who wish to speak the truth will teach you of your own nobility of character.

TO THE SAME. From the very beginning you have shown us philosophic kindness, and I know that you will continue to do so, if indeed God cares for our affairs.

Nevertheless, it would be best of all to be with you now, while you enjoy the leisure from public affairs that you had desired, and it is possible in quiet to relish your understanding — of which we, having had but a small share, and that only such as one has of a flash of lightning that the eye cannot hold, have missed the greater part.

But this is a great thing to pray for, yet not easy to obtain, our body being in such a state as it is.

If, then, we should obtain this also, we shall have everything (for indeed you owe us a certain meeting, by promise, concerning the discourse about us, which you somehow left unfinished);

but if not, we ourselves shall bear the loss unwillingly.

But know that you are with us, wherever you may be, and may you be guided by our prayers.

And know for your own part that you abide among us for as long as we draw breath, having inscribed yourself among those who are no less honored than any monument; and you shall be inscribed still further, when you become God's, and plainly ours — or rather, we yours, if it is sweeter to put it so.

TO THE SAME. What is this? You passed us by without our knowledge, and it was impossible to catch hold of you — no more than it is possible for those who suppose they have an echo close at hand, and are deceived by its answering calls;

or would this alone, of all things, have been an act of tyranny on our part?

But do write to us, admirable friend, and we shall have this instead of you — a shadow, as the saying goes, instead of the body.

TO VALENTINIANUS. We are being driven out of Carbala in the most impious manner — I shall borrow the tragic poet's phrase, with but a slight alteration.

We are being driven out — in word, not at all, but in deed, quite vehemently.

For it would have been far better to proclaim our expulsion by public edict, than to settle women directly opposite us — thereby curtailing the dignity of our life, and yoking to it daily indecency and slander from those who readily malign those who have chosen to live as we do.

And if it is not too bold to say, you have also cast us out of paradise through Eve.

For it is easy to find some plausible pretext and to make excuse, and to seem to speak justly — saying that we are not being cast out by you, but rather honored, since you wish to dwell near us;

and you will perhaps add that you wish to receive us with friendship and kinship, and to enjoy some share of our friendship.

But this is a word, not a deed.

For we do receive and welcome you when you visit this place;

but thus we shall withdraw, as one withdraws from the incursions of vipers.

So then, our own case has reached its end.

We have been outwitted, we have been forced to retreat, and we have done ourselves great honor indeed — abandoning both the labors of our hands and our hopes, and offering many apologies to the holy martyrs.

At any rate, grievous and hard to bear though these things are, still they are borne with the philosophy proper to our course of life, and are not yet more burdensome than moving from city to city — a thing we have already been bidden to endure.

But may you dwell in that place for a longer time than those who lived there before you, yet more soberly than we expect — so that you may neither dishonor the holy martyrs, nor yourselves be smitten by your sojourn there.

But above all, make certain of this: spare the things that have been consecrated to the martyrs, lest you take counsel to your own harm, both for yourselves and for your own people, ruining what already exists by an evil intrusion.

As for the first bond between us, it stands very well indeed.

We both praise virtue; we both incline toward God; we are not bound to the things below, save by sheer necessity; we embrace the better and more divine friendship; we have clasped one another's hands and pledged our faith.

Come, then, let us now bring before you our plea concerning the second bond of kinship as well, setting God at the head of our discourse and moving in step with him, whom indeed we make the patron of every deed and word.

And if we entrust so great a matter to a letter, do not marvel.

For above all, your ready courtesy and the simplicity and generosity of your character (which one would find but little, and among few) have emboldened us to venture even such things.

Furthermore, we are not entrusting the whole matter to letters alone (we are not so old-fashioned as to handle great matters in a small way, nor to treat serious things carelessly); rather, for now, as Pindar says, we are setting up, as it were, golden pillars beneath a well-built chamber, and a little later, in person, whenever God grants it, we shall also raise a wondrous hall, joining, as the saying goes, deed to word.

Many among you, men of noble birth, come forward as suitors (for indeed I am persuaded that many come forward;

for who among you is not desired, and who does not long for alliance with your house?) — many of the haughty and eminent sort, offering wealth, kinship, friends, power in the cities, power at court — everything that is but the playthings of blind fortune and circumstance, falling now to one, now to another, and, as in a game of draughts, forever being tossed from hand to hand and reshuffled.

But we offer you one thing instead of all these: ourselves; and indeed we also seek one thing instead of all these: you.

If, then, they are both superior and of superior lineage (this we grant — indeed it redounds to our credit as well), yet in one thing, at least, they shall not surpass us — be this said in God's presence — namely, in fidelity and sincerity toward the relationship;

of which one ought to take account more than of all those other things together, at least those who have any sense.

This much suffices, addressed to your perfection, and this perhaps beyond the proper measure of a letter.

It remains that I offer up a prayer both for myself and for you;