Letters to Olympias — Letters to Olympias

The most reverend and divinely favored deaconess Olympias, I John, Bishop, send greeting in the Lord.

The most reverend and divinely favored deaconess Olympias, I John, Bishop, send greeting in the Lord.

Come now, let me heal the wound of your despondency and scatter the thoughts that gather this cloud of worry around you. For what is it that upsets your mind, and why are you sorrowful and dejected? Is it because of the fierce dark storm that has overtaken the Church, wrapping everything in darkness like a moonless night, growing worse every day, laboring to bring about disastrous shipwrecks, and increasing the ruin of the world? I know all this as well as you do; no one will deny it, and if you wish I will create an image of the things now taking place so as to present the tragedy even more clearly to you. We see a sea stirred up from its very deepest parts, some sailors floating dead on the waves, others swallowed up by them, the planks of the ships breaking apart, the sails torn to shreds, the masts broken, the oars knocked out of the sailors' hands, the pilots sitting on the deck, clasping their knees with their hands instead of holding the rudder, bewailing the hopelessness of their situation with sharp cries and bitter laments, neither sky nor sea clearly visible, but everything one deep and impenetrable darkness, so that no one can see his neighbor, while the roaring of the waves is mighty, and sea monsters attack the crews on every side.

1. Come now let me relieve the wound of your despondency, and disperse the thoughts which gather this cloud of care around you. For what is it which upsets your mind, and why are you sorrowful and dejected? Is it because of the fierce black storm which has overtaken the Church, enveloping all things in darkness as of a night without a moon, and is growing to a head every day, travailing to bring forth disastrous shipwrecks, and increasing the ruin of the world? I know all this as well as you; none shall gainsay it, and if you like I will form an image of the things now taking place so as to present the tragedy yet more distinctly to you. We behold a sea upheaved from the very lowest depths, some sailors floating dead upon the waves, others engulfed by them, the planks of the ships breaking up, the sails torn to tatters, the masts sprung, the oars dashed out of the sailors' hands, the pilots seated on the deck, clasping their knees with their hands instead of grasping the rudder, bewailing the hopelessness of their situation with sharp cries and bitter lamentations, neither sky nor sea clearly visible, but all one deep and impenetrable darkness, so that no one can see his neighbour, while mighty is the roaring of the billows, and monsters of the sea attack the crews on every side.

But how much further should I pursue what cannot be grasped? Whatever image of our present troubles I might seek, words shrink back defeated from the attempt. Nevertheless, even when I look at these disasters, I do not abandon hope for better things, considering who the pilot is in all this—not someone who overcomes the storm through skill, but who calms the raging waters with his rod. But if he does not accomplish this at the outset and quickly, that is his custom—he does not put down these terrible evils at the beginning, but when they have increased and reached their extreme point, and most people have fallen into despair, then he works miraculously and beyond all expectation, thus displaying his own power and training the patience of those who endure these disasters. Therefore do not be discouraged. For there is only one thing, Olympias, that is truly terrible, only one real trial, and that is sin; and I have never stopped constantly repeating this point. But all other things—plots, hostilities, deceptions, slanders, insults, accusations, seizure of property, exile, the sharp sword of the enemy, danger at sea, warfare by the whole world, or anything else you can name—these are mere empty stories. For whatever the nature of these things may be, they are temporary and passing, and they affect a mortal body without doing any harm to the watchful soul. Therefore the blessed Paul, wishing to prove how insignificant both the pleasures and sorrows of this life are, declared the whole truth in one sentence when he said, "For the things which are seen are temporal." 2 Corinthians 4:18 Why then do you fear temporary things that pass away like a flowing river? For such is the nature of present things, whether they are pleasant or painful. And another prophet compared all human prosperity not to grass, but to something even more fragile, describing the whole of it as the flower of grass. For he did not single out any one part of it, such as wealth alone, or luxury alone, or power, or honor; but having gathered all the things that are considered splendid among people under the one term "glory," he said, "all the glory of man is as the flower of grass." Isaiah 40:6

But how much further shall I pursue the unattainable? For whatever image of our present evils I may seek speech shrinks baffled from the attempt. Nevertheless even when I look at these calamities I do not abandon the hope of better things, considering as I do who the pilot is in all this — not one who gets the better of the storm by his art, but calms the raging waters by his rod. But if He does not effect this at the outset and speedily, such is His custom — He does not at the beginning put down these terrible evils, but when they have increased, and come to extremities, and most persons are reduced to despair, then He works wondrously, and beyond all expectation, thus manifesting his own power, and training the patience of those who undergo these calamities. Do not therefore be cast down. For there is only one thing, Olympias, which is really terrible, only one real trial, and that is sin; and I have never ceased continually harping upon this theme; but as for all other things, plots, enmities, frauds, calumnies, insults, accusations, confiscation, exile, the keen sword of the enemy, the peril of the deep, warfare of the whole world, or anything else you like to name, they are but idle tales. For whatever the nature of these things may be they are transitory and perishable, and operate in a mortal body without doing any injury to the vigilant soul. Therefore the blessed Paul, desiring to prove the insignificance both of the pleasures and sorrows relating to this life, declared the whole truth in one sentence when he said — For the things which are seen are temporal. 2 Corinthians 4:18 Why then do you fear temporal things which pass away like the stream of a river. For such is the nature of present things whether they be pleasant or painful. And another prophet compared all human prosperity not to grass, but to another material even more flimsy, describing the whole of it as the flower of grass. For he did not single out any one part of it, as wealth alone, or luxury alone, or power, or honour; but having comprised all the things which are esteemed splendid among men under the one designation of glory he said all the glory of man is as the flower of grass. Isaiah 40:6

You will say, nevertheless, that adversity is terrible and hard to bear. But look at it again in comparison with another image, and then learn to despise it. For the insults, abuses, reproaches, and mockery inflicted by enemies, along with their plots, are compared to a worn-out garment and moth-eaten wool when God says "Fear not the reproach of men, neither be afraid of their revilings, for they shall wax old as does a garment, and like moth-eaten wool so shall they be consumed." Therefore let none of these things that are happening trouble you. Stop calling on this person or that for help, and stop running after shadows (for that is what human alliances are). Instead, persistently call upon Jesus, whom you serve, merely to bow his head, and in a moment all these evils will be dissolved. But if you have already called upon him and they have not yet been dissolved, this is the manner of God's dealing (for I will return to my former argument): He does not put down evils at the outset, but when they have reached their peak, when scarcely any form of the enemy's malice remains ungratified, then He suddenly converts everything to a state of peace and brings them to an unexpected resolution. For He is not only able to turn to good as many things as we expect and hope, but many more—infinitely more. This is why Paul says "now to Him who is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think." Could He not, for example, have prevented the three children at the outset from falling into trial? But He did not choose to do this, thereby allowing them to suffer great pain. Therefore He allowed them to be delivered into the hands of barbarians, and the furnace to be heated to an immeasurable degree, and the king's wrath to blaze even more fiercely than the furnace, and their hands and feet to be bound with great severity, and them to be cast into the fire. And then, when all who watched despaired of their rescue, suddenly and beyond all hope, the wonder-working power of God, the supreme craftsman, was displayed and shone forth with exceeding splendor. For the fire was bound and the bondsmen were released, and the furnace became a temple of prayer, a place of fountains and dew, of higher dignity than a royal court, and the very hairs of their head prevailed over that all-devouring element which conquers even iron and stone and masters every kind of substance. And a solemn song of universal praise was instituted there by these holy men, inviting every kind of created thing to join in the wondrous melody. And they uttered hymns of thanksgiving to God for having been bound and also burnt (as far as the malice of their enemies had power), for having been exiles from their country, captives deprived of their liberty, wandering outcasts from city and home, sojourners in a strange and barbarous land—for all this was the outpouring of a grateful heart. And when the malicious devices of their enemies were perfected (for what further could they attempt after their death?) and the labors of the heroes were completed, and the garland of victory was woven, and their rewards were prepared and nothing more was wanting for their renown, then at last their calamities were brought to an end. And he who caused the furnace to be kindled and delivered them over to that great punishment became himself the panegyrist of those holy heroes and the herald of God's marvelous deed. Everywhere throughout the world he issued letters full of reverent praise, recording what had taken place and becoming the faithful herald of the miracles wrought by the wonder-working God. For since he had been an enemy and adversary, what he wrote was above suspicion even in the opinion of enemies.

2. Nevertheless, you will say, adversity is a terrible thing and grievous to be borne. Yet look at it again compared with another image and then also learn to despise it. For the railings, and insults, and reproaches, and gibes inflicted by enemies, and their plots are compared to a worn-out garment, and moth-eaten wool when God says Fear ye not the reproach of men, neither be ye afraid of their revilings, for they shall wax old as does a garment, and like moth-eaten wool so shall they be consumed. Isaiah 50:7-8 Therefore let none of these things which are happening trouble you, but ceasing to invoke the aid of this or that person, and to run after shadows (for such are human alliances), do thou persistently call upon Jesus, whom you serve, merely to bow his head; and in a moment of time all these evils will be dissolved. But if you have already called upon Him, and yet they have not been dissolved, such is the manner of God's dealing (for I will resume my former argument); He does not put down evils at the outset, but when they have grown to a head, when scarcely any form of the enemy's malice remains ungratified, then He suddenly converts all things to a state of tranquillity and conducts them to an unexpected settlement. For He is not only able to turn as many things as we expect and hope, to good, but many more, yea infinitely more. Wherefore also Paul says now to Him who is able to do exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think. Ephesians 3:20 Could He not, for example, have prevented the three children at the outset from falling into trial? But He did not choose to do this, thereby conferring great pain upon them. Therefore He suffered them to be delivered into the hands of barbarians, and the furnace to be heated to an immeasurable height and the wrath of the king to blaze even more fiercely than the furnace, and hands and feet to be bound with great severity and they themselves to be cast into the fire; and then, when all they who beheld despaired of their rescue, suddenly, and beyond all hope, the wonder-working power of God, the supreme artificer, was displayed, and shone forth with exceeding splendour. For the fire was bound, and the bondmen were released; and the furnace became a temple of prayer, a place of fountains and dew, of higher dignity than a royal court, and the very hairs of their head prevailed over that all devouring element which gets the better even of iron and stone, and masters every kind of substance. And a solemn song of universal praise was instituted there by these holy men inviting every kind of created thing to join in the wondrous melody; and they uttered hymns of thanksgiving to God for that they had been bound, and also burnt, as far at least as the malice of their enemies had power; that they had been exiles from their country, captives deprived of their liberty, wandering outcasts from city and home, sojourners in a strange and barbarous land; for all this was the outpouring of a grateful heart. And when the malicious devices of their enemies were perfected (for what further could they attempt after their death?) and the labours of the heroes were completed, and the garland of victory was woven, and their rewards were prepared and nothing more was wanting for their renown; then at last their calamities were brought to an end, and he who caused the furnace to be kindled, and delivered them over to that great punishment, became himself the panegyrist of those holy heroes, and the herald of God's marvellous deed, and everywhere throughout the world issued letters full of reverent praise, recording what had taken place, and becoming the faithful herald of the miracles wrought by the wonder-working God. For inasmuch as he had been an enemy and adversary what he wrote was above suspicion even in the opinion of enemies.

Do you see the abundance of resources that belong to God? His wisdom, His extraordinary power, His loving-kindness and care? So don't be dismayed or troubled, but continue to give thanks to God for everything, praising and calling on Him, pleading and praying. Even if countless disturbances and troubles come upon you, even if storms are stirred up right before your eyes, don't let any of these things upset you. For our Master is not defeated by difficulty, even if everything is reduced to complete ruin. He is able to raise those who have fallen, to convert those who are in error, to set straight those who have been trapped, to release those who have been burdened with countless sins and make them righteous, to bring the dead to life, to restore brightness to decayed things and freshness to those that have grown old. For if He makes things that don't exist come into being, and gives existence to things that are nowhere evident at all, how much more will He set right things that already exist. But you will say there are many who perish, many who are caught in traps. Many such things have indeed often happened, yet afterward they have all received their proper correction, except for a few who have remained in an incurable condition even after their circumstances changed. Why are you troubled and distressed because one person is cast out and another is put in his place? Christ was crucified and the release of Barabbas the robber was demanded, and the depraved crowd clamored for the preservation of the murderer rather than of the Savior and benefactor. How many do you think stumbled at these things then? How many were destroyed? But I must take my argument even further back. Didn't the one who was crucified become a wanderer and fugitive immediately after his birth? Wasn't He removed from the very cradle with the whole household to a foreign land, taking that long journey into a barbarian region? And this removal gave occasion to torrents of blood, cruel murder and slaughter, and all the young children were cut to pieces just as if they had been soldiers arrayed in battle, and infants torn from the breast were handed over to death, and even when the milk was still in their throats, the sword was driven through their necks. What could be more distressing than this tragedy? And these things were done by the one who sought to destroy Jesus, yet the long-suffering God endured this tragic cruelty that caused so much bloodshed, and held back from preventing it although He had the power, displaying His long-suffering for some inscrutably wise purpose. And when Jesus had returned from the foreign land and was grown up, war was rekindled against Him on every side. First of all, the disciples of John were envious of Him and tried to slander Him, although John himself behaved reverently toward Him, and they said, "He who was with you beyond Jordan, look, the same one baptizes and all men come to Him." For these were the words of men who were already irritated, agitated by ill will, and consumed by that passion. For the same reason, one of the disciples who said these things disputed with a certain Jew and raised a contentious argument about purifying, comparing one kind of baptism with another, the baptism of John with that of the disciples of Christ. For there arose, it is said, a questioning on the part of John's disciples with a certain Jew about purifying. And when He began to work miracles, how many slanderers He had! Some called Him a Samaritan and demoniac, saying, "You are a Samaritan and have a devil"; others a deceiver, saying, "This man is not of God but deceives the multitude"; others a sorcerer, saying, "He casts out devils through Beelzebub the prince of the devils," and they continually said these things against Him and called Him an enemy of God, and a glutton, and a greedy man, and a drunkard, and a friend of the wicked and depraved. For He said, "The Son of man came eating and drinking and they say, 'Look, a gluttonous man and a wine-bibber, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.'" And when He was conversing with the prostitute they called Him a false prophet, for one said, "Had He been a prophet, He would have known who this woman is who speaks to Him." In fact, every day they sharpened their teeth against Him. And not only did the Jews oppose Him in this way, but even those who were thought to be His brothers were not sincerely attached to Him; even from His own family, opposition was kindled against Him. See at least how they also themselves were perverted, from the evangelist adding the remark, "For neither did His brothers believe in Him."

3. Do you see the abundance of resource belonging to God? His wisdom, His extraordinary power, His loving-kindness and care? Be not therefore dismayed or troubled but continue to give thanks to God for all things, praising, and invoking Him; beseeching and supplicating; even if countless tumults and troubles come upon you, even if tempests are stirred up before your eyes let none of these things disturb you. For our Master is not baffled by the difficulty, even if all things are reduced to the extremity of ruin. For it is possible for Him to raise those who have fallen, to convert those who are in error, to set straight those who have been ensnared, to release those who have been laden with countless sins, and make them righteous, to quicken those who are dead, to restore lustre to decayed things, and freshness to those which have waxen old. For if He makes things which are not, come into being, and bestows existence on things which are nowhere by any means manifest, how much more will He rectify things which already exist. But you will say there are many who perish, many who are caught by snares. Many such things have indeed often taken place, yet afterwards have all received their appropriate correction, save some few who have remained in an incurable condition, even after the change in their circumstances. Why are you troubled and distracted because such a person is cast out and such another is put into his place? Christ was crucified and the release of Barabbas the robber was demanded, and the depraved populace clamoured for the preservation of the murderer rather than of the Saviour and benefactor. How many think you then stumbled at these things? How many were destroyed? But I must carry my argument yet further back. Did not He who was crucified become immediately after his birth a wanderer and a fugitive? Was He not from the very cradle removed with the whole household into a strange land, taking that long journey into a barbarous region? And this removal gave occasion to torrents of blood, and cruel murder and slaughter, and all the children of tender age were cut to pieces just as if they had been soldiers arrayed in battle, and infants torn from the breast were handed over to death, and even when the milk was in their throats, the sword was driven through their necks. What could be more distressing than this tragedy? And these things were done by him who sought to destroy Jesus, yet the long-suffering God endured this tragical cruelty, which caused so much bloodshed, and forbore to prevent it although He had the power, displaying his long-suffering for some inscrutably wise purpose. And when Jesus had returned from the foreign land and was grown up, war was rekindled against him on every side. First of all the disciples of John were envious of Him and tried to slander Him, although John himself behaved reverently to Him, and they said He who was with you beyond Jordan, behold the same baptizes and all men come to Him. John 3:26 For these were the words of men who were already irritated, and agitated by ill-will, and consumed by that passion. For the same reason also one of the disciples who said these things disputed with a certain Jew and raised a contentious argument about purifying, comparing one kind of baptism with another, the baptism of John with that of the disciples of Christ. For there arose it is said, a questioning on the part of John's disciples with a certain Jew about purifying. And when He began to work miracles how many calumniators He had! Some called Him a Samaritan and demoniac saying You are a Samaritan and hast a Devil John 8:48 others a deceiver, saying This man is not of God but deceives the multitude John 7:12 others a sorcerer saying He casts out devils through Beelzebub the prince of the Devils Matthew 9:34 and they continually said these things against Him and called Him an adversary of God, and a gluttonous, and greedy man, and a drunkard, and a friend of the wicked and depraved. For He said, the Son of man came eating and drinking and they say behold a gluttonous man and a wine-bibber, a friend of publicans and sinners. Luke 7:34 And when he was conversing with the harlot they called Him a false prophet; For had He been a prophet, one said, He would have known who this woman is which speaks unto Him; Luke 7:39 in fact every day they sharpened their teeth against Him. And not only did the Jews thus oppose Him, but even those who were reputed to be his brethren were not sincerely attached to Him, but even out of his own family opposition was kindled against Him. See at least how they also themselves were perverted, from the evangelist adding the remark for neither did His brethren believe in Him. John 7:5

But since you mention many who were offended and went astray, consider how many of the disciples were offended at the time of the crucifixion. One betrayed Him, the others fled, one denied Him, and when all had abandoned Him He was led away bound without anyone accompanying Him. How many do you think were offended at that time—people who had recently seen Him working His miracles, raising the dead, cleansing lepers, casting out demons, multiplying loaves, and doing every other kind of wonderful deed—when they saw Him led away and bound, surrounded by common soldiers, followed by Jewish priests making a tumult and uproar, alone in the midst, hemmed in by all His enemies, with the traitor standing nearby and exulting in his deed? And what do you think was the effect when He was being scourged? A vast crowd was probably present, because it was a major festival that brought everyone together, and this drama of wickedness was performed in the capital city in the very middle of the day. How many who were present then do you think were offended when they saw Him bound, scourged, streaming with blood, examined before the governor's tribunal, with not one of His disciples standing by? What was the effect again when He was subjected to those many kinds of mockery, one after another, when they crowned Him with thorns, then dressed Him in a gorgeous robe, then put a reed in His hand, then fell down and worshipped Him, setting in motion every kind of mockery and derision? How many do you think were offended, how many bewildered, how many perplexed when they struck Him on the cheek and said, "Prophesy to us, Christ, who is it that struck you?" and when they led Him here and there and spent the whole day in mockery and abuse and ridicule and derision in the midst of the Jewish assembly? And when the servant of the High Priest struck Him; and when the soldiers divided His garments among themselves; and when He was led up to the cross with the marks of the scourge on His back and was fastened to the wood, how many do you think were offended? For not even then were those savage beasts softened, but they became more furious than before, and the tragedy became more intense, and the mockery increased. For some said, "Ah! You who destroy the temple and in three days build it up"; and others said, "He saved others, Himself He cannot save."

4. But since you call to mind many who were offended and went astray, how many of the disciples do you suppose were offended at the time of the crucifixion? One betrayed Him, the others took to flight, one denied Him, and when all had abandoned Him He was led away bound without companions. How many then think you who had lately seen Him working His miracles, raising the dead, cleansing lepers, casting out devils, multiplying loaves, and doing all other kinds of wonderful deeds, were offended at that season, when they beheld Him led away and bound, surrounded by common soldiers, and followed by Jewish priests making a tumult and uproar; alone in the midst hemmed in by all his enemies, and the traitor standing by and exulting in his deed? And what was the effect think you when He was being scourged? And probably a vast multitude was present. For it was an illustrious festival which brought all together, and this drama of iniquity was enacted in the capital city, and in the very middle of the day. How many think you who were present then were offended when they saw Him bound, scourged, streaming with blood, examined before the governor's tribunal, and not one of His disciples standing by? What was the effect again when He was subjected to those manifold kinds of mockery, successively repeated, when they crowned Him with thorns, then arrayed Him in a gorgeous robe, then put a reed in His hand, then fell down and worshipped Him, setting in motion every species of ribaldry and derision? How many think you were offended, how many bewildered, how many perplexed when they smote Him on the cheek and said prophesy unto us you Christ, who is He that smote you? Matthew 26:28 and when they led Him hither and there, and spent the whole day in scoffs and abuse, and ribaldry and derision in the midst of the Jewish assembly? And when the servant of the High-Priest dealt Him a blow; and when the soldiers parted His garments among them and when He was led up to the cross, having the marks of the scourge upon His back, and was fastened to the wood, how many think you were offended? For not even then were those savage beasts softened, but became more furious than before, and the tragedy became more intense, and the ribaldry increased. For some said Ah! Thou that destroyest the temple, and in three days buildest it up; Matthew 27:40 and some, He saved others, Himself He cannot save. Matthew 27:42

And others said, "If you are the Son of God, come down from the cross and we will believe you." (Matthew 27:40)

And others said If you are the Son of God come down from the cross and we will believe you. Matthew 27:40

Again, when they insulted Him by offering Him gall and vinegar on the sponge, how many do you think were offended? Or when the robbers reviled Him? Or when, as I have already said, they made that dreadful and monstrous assertion that the robber and housebreaker, the man burdened with the crime of murder, deserved to be released rather than Jesus, and having received permission from the judge to make their choice, preferred Barabbas, desiring not only to crucify Christ but also to involve Him in disgrace? For they thought that by these means they could create the belief that He was worse than the robber, and such a great transgressor that neither on grounds of mercy nor of the privilege of the Festival was it possible to save Him. For they did everything with a view to slandering His reputation, which was also the reason why they crucified the two robbers with Him. Nevertheless the truth was not obscured but shone forth all the more clearly. And they accused Him of seizing kingly power, saying, "Everyone who makes himself a king is not a friend of Caesar," bringing this charge of usurpation against one who had nowhere to lay his head. Moreover they brought a false accusation of blasphemy against Him. For the High Priest tore his clothes, saying, "He has spoken blasphemy; what further need have we of witnesses?" And what was the nature of his death? Was it not a violent one? Was it not the death of capital offenders? Of detestable criminals? Was it not of the vilest kind? Was it not the death of those who have committed the worst offenses and are not worthy to draw even their last breath upon the earth? And then as to the manner of his burial, was it not accomplished as a matter of favor? For a certain one came and begged for his body. Thus not even he who buried Him belonged to his own friends, to those whom He had benefited, to his disciples, to those who had enjoyed such open and beneficial association with Him, for all had taken flight, all had hurried away from Him. And that base suspicion which his enemies contrived in consequence of the resurrection when they said, "His disciples came and stole Him," how many do you think were offended, how many for a time were upset by that? For the story prevailed at that time, although it was a fabrication and was bought for money; nevertheless it held its ground among some people, after the seals of the tomb were broken, after the clear appearance of the truth. For the multitude did not know the prediction of the resurrection—and no wonder—since even his disciples did not understand it; for we read, "They did not know that He must rise again from the dead." How many therefore do you think were offended in those days? And yet the long-suffering God patiently endured, ordering all things according to His own inscrutable wisdom.

Again when they insulted Him by offering Him gall and vinegar on the sponge how many think you were offended? Or when the robbers reviled Him? Or when as I have already said, they made that dreadful and monstrous assertion that the robber and housebreaker, the man laden with the crime of murder deserved to be released rather than Jesus, and having received permission from the judge to make their choice preferred Barabbas, desiring not only to crucify Christ, but also to involve Him in infamy? For they thought that by these means they should be able to manufacture the belief that He was worse than the robber, and such a great transgressor that neither on the plea of mercy, nor of the privilege of the Festival was it possible to save Him. For they did everything with a view to slander His fame; which also was the reason why they crucified the two robbers with Him. Nevertheless the truth was not obscured, but shone forth all the more clearly. And they accused Him of usurping kingly power saying Every one who makes himself a king is not a friend of Cæsar bringing this charge of usurpation against one who had not where to lay his head. Moreover they brought a calumnious accusation of blasphemy against Him. For the High Priest rent his clothes saying He has spoken blasphemy; what further need have we of witnesses? Matthew 26:65 And what was the nature of his death? Was it not a violent one? Was it not the death of capital offenders? Of execrable criminals? Was it not of the vilest kind? Was it not the death of those who have perpetrated the worst offenses, and are not worthy to draw even their last breath upon the earth? And then as to the manner of his burial, was it not accomplished as a matter of favour? For a certain one came and begged for his body. Thus not even he who buried Him belonged to his own friends, to those whom He had benefited, to his disciples, to those who had enjoyed such free and salutary intercourse with Him, for all had taken to flight, all had hurried away from Him. And that base suspicion which his enemies contrived in consequence of the resurrection when they said His disciples came and stole Him Matthew 28:13 how many think you were offended, how many for a time upset by that? For the story prevailed at that time, although it was a fabrication, and was bought for money; nevertheless it held its ground among some people, after the seals (of the sepulchre were broken) after the manifest appearance of the truth. For the multitude did not know the prediction of the resurrection (and no wonder), inasmuch as even his disciples did not understand it; for we read they did not know that He must rise again from the dead. John 20:9 How many therefore think you were offended in those days? And yet the long-suffering God patiently endured, ordering all things according to His own inscrutable wisdom.

Then again after those days, the disciples continued to live in hiding and secrecy. They were fugitives, full of fear and trembling, constantly moving from place to place. Even when they began to appear after fifty days and to perform miracles, they did not enjoy complete security. But even after those events, there were countless stumbling-blocks to offend the weaker brethren: when they were beaten, when the Church was oppressed, when they themselves were driven away, and their enemies had the upper hand in many places and stirred up riots. For when they had gained much confidence through the miracles they performed, then the death of Stephen once again caused a severe persecution that scattered them all and threw the Church into confusion. The disciples were again frightened, fugitive, and distressed. And yet the Church continued to grow. It flourished through the signs that were performed and became famous because of the manner of its beginning. One disciple, for example, was let down through a window and so escaped the hands of the ruler. Others were brought out of prison by an angel and so released from their chains. Others were received into the houses of common people and craftsmen when they were driven out by those in authority. They were treated kindly in every way by female sellers of purple cloth, by tentmakers, and by tanners living on the outskirts of cities and by the seashore. Often they did not dare to appear in the middle of towns, and if they did venture there themselves, their hosts did not. And so, amidst alternating trials and periods of relief from trial, the fabric of the Church was built. Those who once stumbled were later set upright, those who wandered away were brought back, and the ruined places were built up more firmly than before. For this reason, when Paul prayed that the preaching of the word might proceed along a smooth path, God, who is rich in wisdom and resourcefulness, did not yield to his disciple. Even when invoked many times, he would not consent, but said, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness." If you will now count up the good things along with the painful ones, you will see that many events have occurred which, if not actual signs and wonders, still resemble signs and are undeniable proofs of God's great providence and help. But so that you do not simply hear everything from me without any effort, I leave this as your task: that you may carefully count up everything and compare it with the misfortunes. By occupying yourself with this good work, you may turn your mind away from despair, for you will gain much comfort from this task.

5. Then again after those days the disciples continued to live in hiding and secrecy, being fugitives full of fear and trembling, continually shifting from place to place, and even when they began to appear after fifty days, and to work miracles, they did not enjoy perfect security; but even after those events there were innumerable stumbling-blocks to offend the weaker brethren, when they were scourged, when the Church was distressed, when they themselves were driven away, and their enemies had the upper hand in many places, and raised tumults. For when they had acquired much confidence by means of the miracles which they wrought, then the death of Stephen again caused a severe persecution, and dispersed them all, and involved the Church in confusion; and the disciples were again alarmed, fugitive, and distressed. And yet the Church continually grew, when it flourished by means of the signs which were wrought and became illustrious from the manner of its introduction. One disciple for example was let down through a window, and so escaped the hands of the ruler; others were brought out of prison by an angel and so released from their fetters; others were received into the houses of common people and artisans when they were driven out by those in authority; they were courteously treated in every way, by female sellers of purple, by tentmakers, and tanners dwelling in the outskirts of the cities, and by the sea shore. Frequently moreover they did not dare to appear in the middle of the towns; and if they did venture there themselves their entertainers did not. And thus amidst alternate trials, and respites from trial, the fabric of the Church was wrought, and they who once stumbled were afterwards set upright, and they who wandered away were brought back, and the ruined places were built up more firmly than before. For this cause when Paul prayed that the preaching of the word might proceed by a smooth course only, God rich in wisdom and resource did not yield to His disciple; nay even when many times invoked he would not consent but said my grace is sufficient for you, for my strength is made perfect in weakness. 2 Corinthians 12:9 If then even now you will reckon up the good things with the painful, you will see that many events have occurred which if not positive signs and wonders do yet resemble signs, and are unspeakable proofs of the great providence and succour of God. But that you may not hear everything from me without any trouble, I leave this as your task, that you may reckon up everything accurately and compare them with the misfortunes, and by occupying yourself with this good employment may divert your mind from despondency; for you will derive much consolation from this work.

Please give my warm greetings to everyone in your blessed household. May you remain in good health and cheerful spirits, most reverend and divinely favored lady.

Pray say many kind words from me to all your blessed household. May you continue in good health and good spirits, most reverend and divinely favoured lady.

If you want me to write long letters, let me know, and please do not mislead me by saying that you have thrown off all despondency and are enjoying a time of rest. For letters are the right kind of remedy to produce great cheerfulness in you, and you will continually receive letters from me. And when you write to me again, do not say "I have much comfort from your letters," for I already know this myself, but tell me that you have as much comfort as I wish you to have, that you are not overwhelmed with sorrow, that you do not spend your time weeping, but in serenity and cheerfulness.

If you wish me to write long letters inform me of this, and pray do not deceive me by saying that you have thrown off all despondency, and are enjoying a season of rest. For letters are a remedy of the proper kind to produce great cheerfulness in you, and you will continually see letters from me. And when you write to me again do not say I have much comfort from your letters, for this I know of myself, but tell me that you have as much as I wish you to have, that you are not confounded with sorrow, that you do not pass your time in weeping, but in serenity and cheerfulness.

Do not worry about me or torment yourself with anxiety because of the harsh winter, my weak digestion, and the raids by the Isaurians. The winter here is just what winter normally is in Armenia—nothing more needs to be said about it—and it does not harm me too much. I have planned ahead and made many arrangements to prevent problems that might come from these conditions: I keep a fire burning constantly, set up screens around the room where I live, use many blankets, and always stay indoors. This confinement bothers me, except for the benefit it brings; as long as I stay inside I am not badly troubled by the cold, but if I am forced to go outside even a little and encounter the outdoor air, I suffer considerable harm. Therefore I beg you, dear lady, and earnestly ask this great favor of you: pay close attention to restoring your physical health. Depression causes illness, and when the body is worn out and weakened and remains neglected, lacking the help of doctors, a healthy climate, and an adequate supply of life's necessities, consider how much additional suffering this creates. So I beg you, dear lady, to use various skilled doctors and to take medicines that can correct these problems. A few days ago when I was suffering from nausea because of the weather, I used among other treatments the medicine that my most prudent lady Syncletion sent me, and I found that using it for only three days cured my ailment. I urge you therefore to use this remedy yourself and to arrange for more of it to be sent to me. When I felt unwell again, I used it again and completely cured my problem; it reduces deep internal inflammation, draws moisture to the skin, produces moderate warmth, gives considerable strength, and stimulates appetite—and I experienced all these effects within a few days. So let my most honored lord Count Theophilus be encouraged to arrange to send more of this to me. Do not be distressed that I am spending the winter here, for I am in much better and healthier condition than I was last year; if you would also take proper care of yourself, you would be in far better shape. Now if you say that your ailments have been caused by depression, why do you keep asking for letters from me, since you have gained no benefit from them toward cheerfulness but have fallen so deeply under depression's tyranny that you even want to leave this world? Do you not know how great a reward awaits someone who endures even sickness with a grateful spirit? Have I not often spoken to you about this, both in person and through letters? But since the demands on your time, perhaps, or the particular nature of your illness and the rapid changes in your condition do not allow you to keep clearly and constantly in mind what I have said, listen once more while I try to heal the wounds of your depression by repeating the same remedy: for to write the same things, it is said, to me indeed is not grievous, and for you it is safe.

Do not be anxious on my behalf, nor rack yourself with solicitude, on account of the severity of the winter, and the weakness of my digestion, and the incursions of the Isaurians. For the winter is only what it is wont to be in Armenia; nothing more need be said about it; and it does not very seriously injure me. For in anticipation of these things I have devised many plans for averting the mischief which might arise from them; keeping up a constant fire, setting screens about the chamber in which I live, using a large number of rugs, and staying always indoors. This indeed is irksome to me, if it were not for the benefit to be derived; for as long as I remain indoors I am not severely distressed by the cold; but if I am compelled to go out a little, and come in contact with the outer air, I suffer no small damage. Wherefore I beseech you dear lady, and entreat you as a very great favour to pay great attention to the restoration of your bodily health. For dejection causes sickness; and when the body is exhausted and enfeebled, and remains in a neglected condition, deprived of the assistance of physicians, and of a wholesome climate, and an abundant supply of the necessaries of life, consider how great an aggravation of distress is occasioned thereby. Wherefore I beseech you, dear lady, to employ various and skilled physicians, and to take medicines which avail to correct these conditions. For a few days ago when I suffered from a tendency to vomiting, owing to the state of the atmosphere, I had recourse among other remedies to the drug which was sent me by my most discreet mistress Syncletion, and I found that no more than three days' application of it cured my infirmity. I beseech you therefore to make use of this remedy also yourself and to arrange that some more of it may be sent to me. For having again felt somewhat upset, I again had recourse to it, and completely cured my disorder; for it allays the deep internal inflammation, draws out moisture on the skin, causes a moderate degree of warmth, infuses no little vigor, and excites an appetite for food; and all these effects I experienced in the course of a few days. Let then my most honoured lord the Count Theophilus be exhorted to take means to send some of this to me again. And do not be distressed at my wintering here, for I am in a much more comfortable and sounder state of health than I was last year; so that if you also would take the requisite care of yourself, you would be in a far more satisfactory condition. Now if you say that your ailments have been produced by despondency how is it that you again ask for letters from me, seeing that you have not derived any benefit from them in the direction of cheerfulness, but have sunk so deeply under the tyranny of despondency as even to desire to depart out of this world. Are you ignorant how great a reward even of sickness awaits one who has a thankful spirit? Have I not often, both in person, and through letters, discoursed to you concerning this theme? But since the pressure of business perhaps, or the peculiar nature of your sickness, and the quick succession of changes in your condition do not permit you to retain what I have said constantly and clearly in your mind, listen once more while I try to heal the wounds of your despondency by repeating the same incantations: for to write the same things, it is said, to me indeed is not grievous, and for you it is safe. Philippians 3:1

What is it then that I say and write? Nothing, Olympias, brings so much credit to anyone as patient endurance in suffering. For this is truly the queen of virtues and the perfection of crowns. And just as it surpasses all other forms of righteousness, so this particular kind of it is more glorious than the rest. Perhaps what I have said seems unclear; I will therefore try to make it clearer. What then am I claiming? Not the loss of possessions, even if one were stripped of everything, not the loss of honors, nor exile from one's country and transportation to a distant land, nor the strain of labor and toil, nor imprisonment and bondage, nor insults and abuse and mockery (though you should not think that courageously enduring such things is a minor kind of fortitude, as Jeremiah, that great and eminent prophet, proves—for he was greatly distressed by this kind of trial). Yet not even this, nor the loss of children, even if they were torn from us all at once, nor the constant attacks of enemies, nor anything else of that nature—no, not even the head and crown of things considered painful, namely death, terrible and loathsome though it is—is as oppressive as physical illness. And this is proved by the greatest hero of endurance, who, when he was surrounded by bodily sickness, thought death would be a release from the calamities that were weighing him down. When he underwent all the other sufferings, he was not deeply affected by them, although he received blow after blow, and finally a deadly one. For it was no small matter, but rather evidence of the most malicious cruelty on the part of his enemy—dealing with someone who was no novice in suffering, nor entering the contest for the first time, but already exhausted from repeated attacks—to inflict upon him that deadly blow: the destruction of his children. It was inflicted so cruelly that all of them, both sons and daughters, were destroyed at the same moment in their youth and by a violent death. Their death was so sudden that it included their burial as well. For their father neither saw them laid on a bed, nor kissed their hands, nor heard their last words, nor touched their hands and knees, nor did he close their mouths or shut their eyes when they were about to die—acts which do much to console parents being separated from their children. Neither did he follow some of them to burial and find others at home when he returned to console him for those who had departed. Instead, he heard that while they were reclining on their couches at a banquet—a banquet full of love, not excess, a table of brotherly kindness—they were all overwhelmed. Blood and wine, the cups and the ceiling, the table and the dust and the limbs of his children were all mixed together. Nevertheless, when he heard these things, and others before them which were also distressing—for they too had perished in a distressing way: flocks and whole herds had been destroyed, the latter consumed by fire sent down from heaven (so said the evil messenger of this tragedy), and the former all seized together by various enemies and cut to pieces along with the shepherds themselves—nevertheless, I say, when he saw this great storm stirred up in a brief moment of time affecting his lands, his house, his cattle, and his children, when he saw wave following wave and long lines of rocks, when the darkness was profound and the surging waves unbearable, even then he was not tortured by despair, and scarcely seemed to feel what had happened, except as he was a man and a father. But when he was handed over to sickness and sores, then he longed for death, then he lamented and mourned himself, so that you may understand how this kind of suffering is more severe than all others, and this form of patience the highest of all. Nor is the Devil himself unaware of this fact. For when, after setting in motion all these trials, he saw that the hero remained untroubled and undismayed, he rushed to this as the greatest contest of all, saying that all the other calamities were bearable—loss of children or property or anything else (for this is what is meant by the expression "skin for skin")—but the deadly blow was when pain was inflicted on a man's body. And therefore, when he was defeated after this contest, he no longer had a word to say, although on previous occasions he had made the most vigorous and shameless resistance. In this instance, however, he found that he could not devise any further shameless scheme, but hid his face and retreated.

2. What is it then which I say and write? Nothing, Olympias, redounds so much to the credit of any one as patient endurance in suffering. For this is indeed the queen of virtues, and the perfection of crowns; and as it excels all other forms of righteousness, so this particular species of it is more glorious than the rest. Perhaps what I have said seems obscure; I will therefore try to make it clearer. What then is it that I affirm? Not the spoliation of goods, even if one were to be stripped bare of all one's possessions, not the loss of honours, nor expulsion from one's country, and transportation to a distant land, nor the strain of labour and toil, nor imprisonment, and bondage, nor reproaches, and abuse, and scoffings (not indeed that you are to think the courageous endurance of such things a slight kind of fortitude, as Jeremiah that great and eminent prophet proves who was not a little distressed by this kind of trial); Jeremiah xv yet not even this, nor the loss of children, even should they be torn from us in one fell swoop, nor the perpetual assaults of enemies, nor anything else of that nature, no, nor even the head and crown of things accounted painful, namely death, terrible and loathsome though it be, is so oppressive as infirmity of body. And this is proved by the greatest hero of endurance, who, when he was encompassed by bodily sickness, thought death would be a release from the calamities which were depressing him; and when he underwent all the other sufferings, was not sensible of them, although he received blow after blow, and at last a deadly one. For it was no slight matter, but rather an evidence of the most malignant cruelty on the part of his enemy in dealing with one who was no novice in suffering, nor entering the lists for the first time, but already exhausted with the frequent repetition of assaults, to inflict upon him that deadly blow, the destruction of his children, so cruelly inflicted moreover that all of either sex were destroyed at the same moment in early youth and by a violent end, and so instantaneous was their death that it involved their burial also. For their father neither saw them laid upon abed, nor kissed their hands, nor heard their last words, nor touched their hands and knees, nor did he shut their mouths, or close their eyes when they were about to die, acts which tend not a little to console parents who are being parted from their children; neither did he follow some of them to burial, and find others on his return home to console him for those who had departed; but he heard that as they were reclining on their couches at a banquet, a banquet full of love, not of excess, a table of brotherly kindness, they were all overwhelmed; and blood, and wine, the cups and the ceiling, the table, and the dust, and the limbs of his children, were all mingled together. Nevertheless when he heard these things, and others before these which were also distressing; for they too had perished in a distressing way; flocks and whole herds had been destroyed, the latter having been consumed by fire sent down from heaven, (so said the evil messenger of this tragedy,) and the former having been all seized together by various enemies, and cut to pieces as well as the shepherds themselves; nevertheless I say when he saw this great storm stirred up in a brief moment of time affecting his lands, his house, his cattle, and his children, when he saw billow following billow, and long lines of rocks, and the darkness was profound, and the surging waves unbearable, even then he was not tortured by despondency, and scarcely seemed to feel the things which had happened, save so far as he was a man and a father. But when he was delivered over to sickness and sores, then did he also long for death, then did he also bewail himself and lament, so that you may understand how this kind of suffering is more severe than all others, and this form of patience the highest of all. Nor is the Devil himself unaware of this fact; for when after having set in motion all these trials he perceived that the hero remained untroubled and undismayed he rushed to this as the greatest contest of all, saying that all the other calamities were bearable, as loss of child, or property, or anything else (for this is what is meant by the expression skin for skin Job 2:4) but the deadly blow was when pain was inflicted on a man's body. And therefore when he had been worsted after this contest, he had no longer a word to utter, although on former occasions he had made the most strenuous and shameless resistance. In this instance however he found that he could not invent any further shameless device, but hid his face and retreated.

Don't think, however, that you can justify your desire for death by pointing to Job's desire for it when he couldn't bear his sufferings. Consider the time when he desired it and the circumstances he faced—the law had not been given, the prophets had not appeared, grace had not been poured out as it was later, and he didn't have the benefit of any other kind of philosophy. As proof that more is required of us than of those who lived then, and that harder tasks are assigned to us, listen to Christ when He says: "Unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees you shall in no case enter into the kingdom of Heaven." So don't think that praying for death now is free from blame, but listen to the voice of Saint Paul when he says: "To depart and to be with Christ is far better, but to abide in the flesh is more necessary for your sake." The more the strain of affliction increases, the more the garlands of victory multiply; the more the gold is heated, the more it becomes purified; the longer the merchant voyages on the sea, the larger the freight he collects. Don't think, then, that the labor now assigned to you is a slight one, but rather that it is higher than all you have undergone—I mean the labor that consists in bodily infirmity. In the case of Lazarus (and although I may have often said this to you, it doesn't prevent me from saying it now), this bodily infirmity contributed to his salvation. He departed to the bosom of the man who had a dwelling he shared with all who passed by, who continually shifted his home on account of God's command, and who sacrificed his own son, his only begotten, who had been given to him in extreme old age. Although Lazarus had done none of these things, he still obtained this blessing because he cheerfully endured poverty, infirmity, and friendlessness. This is such a great good for those who bear anything bravely that it releases anyone who may have committed the greatest sins from the heaviest burden of them. If someone is an upright and just person, it becomes an additional ground for the greatest confidence. It is a bright wreath of victory for the just, shining far above the brightness of the sun, and it is the greatest means of purification for those who have sinned. For this reason Paul delivers the man who committed incest to destruction of the flesh, purifying him by this means. As proof that what was done did purify him even from so great a stain, hear his words: "that his spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord." And when he was accusing others of another very awful sin—partaking unworthily of the holy table and those secret mysteries—and had said that such a person "will be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord," observe how he says that they too are purified from that grievous stain: "therefore are many weak and sickly among you." And then, by way of proving that they will not be confined to this condition of punishment but that some profit will be derived from it—namely release from the penalties the sin deserves—he added: "for if we would judge ourselves, we should not be judged. But now when we are judged, we are chastened of the Lord, that we should not be condemned with the world." Moreover, it is clear from the case of Job that those who have lived very righteously derive much benefit from such chastisement, for he was more illustrious after it than before. The case of Timothy also shows this. Although he was such a good man, entrusted with such an important ministry, and traveled around the world with Paul, he spent not just two or three days, or ten or twenty, or a hundred, but many days in succession in ill health, his body being very seriously weakened. Paul shows this where he said: "Use a little wine for your stomach's sake, and your frequent infirmities." And he who raised the dead did not cure this man's infirmity but left him in the furnace of his sickness so that he might from it gain a very great abundance of confidence. The lessons Paul himself had received from his Master, and the training he had received from Him, he passed on to his disciple. Although Paul was not subjected to bodily infirmity, he was buffeted by trials no less severe, which inflicted much physical pain. "For there was given unto me," he says, "a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to buffet me"—meaning by this the blows, the bonds, the chains, the imprisonments, the being dragged about and maltreated and tortured by the scourges of public executioners. Therefore, being unable to bear the pain these things caused to the body, "for this I besought the Lord thrice" (thrice here meaning many times) "that I might be delivered from this thorn." And then when he did not obtain his petition, having learned the benefit of the trial, he held his peace and rejoiced at the things that happened to him.

3. Think not however that it is an excuse to justify you in desiring death, that Job desired it, not being able to bear his sufferings. For consider the time when he desired it, and the disposition of his circumstances — the law was not given, the prophets had not appeared, grace had not been shed forth as it was afterwards, nor had he the advantage of any other kind of philosophy. For as a proof that more is demanded from us than from those who lived then, and that harder tasks are assigned to us, listen to Christ, when He says Unless your righteousness exceeds the righteousness of the Scribes and Pharisees you shall in no case enter into the kingdom of Heaven. Matthew 5:20 Do not think therefore that to pray for death now is exempt from blame, but hearken to the voice of St. Paul when he says To depart and to be with Christ is far better, but to abide in the flesh is more necessary for your sake. Philippians 1:23-24 For in proportion as the strain of the affliction is increased are the garlands of victory multiplied; in proportion as the gold is heated does it become purified, the longer the merchant makes his voyage on the sea, the larger is the freight which he collects. Do not then think that the labour now allotted to you is a slight one, but rather that it is higher than all which you have undergone, I mean that which consists in infirmity of body. For in the case of Lazarus Luke xvi (and although I may have often said this to you, it nowise hinders me from saying it now) this bodily infirmity availed for his salvation; and he departed to the bosom of the man who possessed a dwelling which he shared with all who passed by, and was continually shifting his home on account of God's command, and sacrificed his own son, his only begotten, who had been given him in extreme old age; although Lazarus had done none of these things yet he obtained this blessing inasmuch as he cheerfully endured poverty, and infirmity, and friendlessness. For this is so great a good to those who bear anything bravely that it releases any one who may have committed the greatest sins from the heaviest burden of them; or if any one is an upright and just man it becomes an additional ground of the greatest confidence. For it is a bright wreath of victory for the just, shining far above the brightness of the sun, and it is the greatest means of purification for those who have sinned. On this account Paul delivers the man who had made the incestuous marriage to destruction of the flesh, purifying him by this means. For as a proof that what was done did purify even from so great a stain hear his words that his spirit may be saved in the day of the Lord. 1 Corinthians 5:5 And when he was accusing others of another very awful sin, that of partaking unworthily of the holy table and those secret mysteries, and had said that such a person will be guilty of the body and blood of the Lord, 1 Corinthians 11:27 observe how he says that they also are purified from that grievous stain — therefore are many weak and sickly among you. 1 Corinthians 11:30 And then by way of proving that they will not be confined to this condition of punishment, but that some profit will be derived from it, namely release from the penalties to which the sin is liable, he added: for if we would judge ourselves, we should not be judged. But now when we are judged, we are chastened of the Lord, that we should not be condemned with the world. 1 Corinthians 11:31-32 Moreover that they who have lived very righteously derive much benefit from such chastisement is plain from the case of Job, who was more illustrious after it than before, and from the case of Timothy, who although he was such a good man, and entrusted with such an important ministry, and made the circuit of the world with Paul passed not two or three days, nor ten or twenty, or a hundred, but many in succession in ill health, his body being very seriously enfeebled. Paul shows this where he said Use a little wine for your stomach's sake, and your frequent infirmities. 1 Timothy 5:23 And he who raised the dead did not cure this man's infirmity, but left him in the furnace of his sickness so that he might therefrom contract a very great abundance of confidence. For the lessons which Paul himself had enjoyed from his Master, and the training which he had received from Him, he imparted to his disciple. For although he was not subjected to bodily infirmity, yet he was buffeted by trials not less severe, which inflicted much physical pain. For there was given unto me he says a thorn in the flesh, a messenger of Satan to buffet me meaning by this the blows, the bonds, the chains, the imprisonments, the being dragged about, and maltreated, and tortured by the scourges of public executioners. Wherefore also being unable to bear the pain occasioned to the body by these things for this I besought the Lord thrice (thrice here meaning many times) that I might be delivered from this thorn. And then when he did not obtain his petition, having learned the benefit of the trial, he held his peace, and rejoiced at the things which happened unto him.

Even if you stay at home and are confined to your bed, do not think your life is useless. You endure more severe pain than those who are dragged about, mistreated, and tortured by executioners, since in your extreme weakness you have a permanent executioner living with you.

Therefore even if you remain at home, and are set fast in bed, do not consider your life an idle one; for you undergo more severe pains than those who are dragged, and maltreated, and tortured by executioners, inasmuch as in this excessive infirmity of yours you have a perpetual executioner residing with you.

Do not desire death now, and do not neglect the means of healing, for this would not be safe. For this reason Paul also urges Timothy to take the greatest care of himself. Enough has now been said about illness. But if it is separation from me that causes your despondency, expect release from this. I have not said this simply to encourage you, but I am sure it really will happen. For if it were not destined to happen, I believe I would have departed from this world long ago, considering the trials that have been inflicted on me. To pass over everything that happened in Constantinople, after my departure from there you can understand what sufferings I endured on that long and cruel journey, most of which were enough to cause death—what I endured after arriving here, after being removed from Cucusus, and after staying in Arabissus. Yet I have survived all these things, and now I am in sound health and great security, so that all Armenians are amazed that with such a feeble and weak body as mine I can endure such an unbearable amount of cold, or that I can breathe at all, when those who are used to the winter are suffering from it terribly. Nevertheless I have remained unharmed up to this day, having escaped the hands of robbers who have repeatedly attacked us, and yet in daily need of life's necessities and deprived of the use of a bath. Although I have been constantly without this luxury since living here, I am now so used to the habit that I do not even long for the comfort it provides, but am in better health than before. Neither the harsh climate, nor the desolation of the region, nor the scarcity of food, nor the lack of attendants, nor the inexperience of physicians, nor the lack of a bath, nor constant confinement in one room as in a prison and the inability to move about which I always continually needed, nor constant contact with fire and smoke, nor fear of robbers, nor a constant state of siege, nor anything else of this kind has overcome me. On the contrary, I am in better health than I was elsewhere, although I received great care and attention there. Taking all these things into consideration, therefore, shake off the despondency that now weighs you down, and do not impose excessive and cruel punishments on yourself. I sent you the treatise I recently wrote, that no one can harm the man who does not injure himself, and the letter I now send you contends for the same position. I beg you therefore to read it constantly, and if your health permits, recite it aloud. For if you are willing, it may prove an effective remedy for you. But if you are stubborn with me and do not try to heal yourself, and will not rouse yourself from these dismal swamps of despondency despite the unlimited amount of advice and encouragement you receive, I shall not on my part readily agree to send you frequent and long letters if you are not going to derive any benefit in the way of cheerfulness from them. How then shall I know this? Not by your merely saying so, but by practical proof, since you recently stated that it was nothing but despondency that caused this sickness of yours. Since you have made this confession yourself, I shall not believe you have gotten rid of your despondency unless you have gotten rid of your bodily illness. For if it is the former that causes your disorder, as you say in your letter, it is obvious that when that has been dispersed the other will be removed at the same time, and when the root has been pulled up, the branches perish with it—and if the branches continue flowering and flourishing and producing an unnatural amount of fruit, I cannot believe you have been set free from the root of your distress. Therefore do not show me words but deeds, and if you get well, you will see letters sent to you again that exceed the length of former communications. Consider it no small consolation that I am alive and in good health, and that in the midst of such circumstances I have been freed from sickness and weakness, which, as I know, is a great annoyance and vexation to my enemies. It follows therefore that you should consider this the greatest encouragement and the crown of your consolation. Do not call your household desolate, which now has a higher place assigned to it in Heaven because of the sufferings it endures. I was deeply distressed on account of Pelagius the monk. Consider therefore what great rewards those deserve who bravely hold their ground, when men who spend their time in such a habit of discipline and endurance are found capable of degradation.

4. Do not then now desire death, nor neglect the means of cure; for indeed this would not be safe. On this account Paul also exhorts Timothy to take the greatest care of himself. As regards infirmity then enough has now been said. But if it is separation from me which causes your despondency expect release from this. And I have not said this now merely to encourage you, but I am sure that it really will be the case. For if it were not destined to happen, I should long ago, so at least I think, have departed from this world, considering the trials which have been inflicted on me. For to pass over all that occurred in Constantinople, after my departure thence, you may understand what sufferings I endured on that long and cruel journey, most of which were sufficient to produce death; what I endured after my arrival here, after my removal from Cucusus, and after my sojourn in Arabissus. Yet I have survived all these things, and now I am in sound health, and great security, so that all Armenians are astonished that with such a feeble and flimsy frame as mine I can support such an intolerable amount of cold, or that I can breathe at all, when those who are habituated to the winter are suffering from it in no common degree. Nevertheless I have remained uninjured up to the present day, having escaped the hands of robbers who have repeatedly attacked us, and yet in daily want of the necessaries of life, and deprived of the use of a bath; and although since my sojourn here I have been constantly without this luxury I am now so established in the habit that I do not even long for the comfort to be derived from it, but am in sounder health than before. And neither the inclemency of the climate, nor the desolation of the region, nor the scarcity of provisions, nor the lack of attendants, nor the unskillfulness of physicians, nor the deprivation of the bath, nor perpetual confinement in one chamber as in a prison, and the impossibility of moving about which I always used continually to need, nor perpetual contact with fire and smoke, nor fear of robbers, nor a constant state of siege, nor anything else of this kind has got the better of me; on the contrary I am in a sounder condition of health than I was elsewhere, although I then received great care and attention. Taking all these things then into consideration pray shake off the despondency which now oppresses you, and do not exact inordinate and cruel penances from yourself. I sent you the treatise which I have lately written, that no one can harm the man who does not injure himself, and the letter which I now send your honour contends for the same position. I beg you therefore to go over it constantly, and if your health permits you, recite it aloud. For if you will, it may prove an effectual remedy for you. But if you are contentious with me, and do not try to cure yourself, and will not rouse yourself from these dismal swamps of despondency in spite of the unlimited amount of advice and exhortation which you enjoy I shall not on my part readily consent to send you frequent and long letters, if you are not to derive any benefit in the way of cheerfulness from them. How then shall I know this? Not by your merely saying so, but by a practical proof, inasmuch as you lately affirmed that it was nothing but despondency which caused this sickness of yours. Since then you have yourself made this confession I shall not believe that you have got rid of your despondency unless you have got rid of your bodily infirmity. For if it is the former which causes your disorder, as you say in your letter, it is obvious that when that has been dispersed the other will be removed at the same time, and when the root has been plucked up, the branches perish with it — and if the branches continue flowering and flourishing, and producing an unnatural amount of fruit I cannot believe that you have been set free from the root of your distress. Therefore do not show me words but facts, and, if you get well, you will see letters sent to you again exceeding the limits of former communications. Deem it then no small consolation that I am alive, and in good health, and that in the midst of such circumstances I have been set free from sickness and infirmity, which, as I know, is a great annoyance and vexation to my enemies. It follows therefore that you should deem this the greatest encouragement, and the crown of your consolation. Do not call your household desolate, which has now a higher place assigned to it in Heaven by reason of the sufferings which it endures. I was grievously distressed on account of Pelagius the monk. Consider therefore what great rewards they deserve who bravely hold their ground, when men who pass their time in such a habit of discipline and endurance are found susceptible of degradation.

Having risen from the very gates of death, I am writing this letter to the discreet lady. I am very glad that your servants have reached me just as I am finally anchoring in harbor. If they had met me when I was still being tossed on the open sea and experiencing the cruel waves of bodily sickness, it would not have been easy for me to deceive your cautious spirit by sending good news instead of sorrowful news. The winter, which became unusually severe, brought on a storm of internal disorder that was even more distressing, and during the last two months I have been no better than a dead man—actually worse. I had just enough life to be aware of the horrors surrounding me, and day and dawn and noon were all one night to me as I spent all my time closely confined to my bed. Despite endless efforts, I could not shake off the harmful effects of the cold. Even though I kept a fire burning and endured a very unpleasant amount of smoke, and remained shut up in one room, covered with plenty of blankets, and not daring to set a foot outside the threshold, I underwent extreme suffering. Constant vomiting came on top of headache, loss of appetite, and continual sleeplessness. This is how I restlessly passed through my long dark sea of troubles. But so as not to distress your mind by dwelling on my miseries, I am now relieved from all of them. As soon as spring came and the temperature changed a little, all my troubles spontaneously vanished. Nevertheless, I still require great care regarding my diet, so I put only a light load on my stomach so that it can digest easily. But it has caused me no little concern to learn that my discreet mistress was brought to the verge of death. Nevertheless, because of my great affection and anxiety and concern for your welfare, I was relieved from this worry even before your letters arrived, since many people had come from there who brought me news of your restoration to health.

Having risen from the very gates of death I address this letter to the discreet lady; and I am very glad that your servants have met me just as I am anchoring at last in harbour. For had they met me when I was still tossing on the open sea, and experiencing the cruel waves of bodily sickness, it would not have been easy for me to deceive your cautious spirit, by sending good tidings instead of sorrowful. For the winter, which has become more than commonly severe, brought on a storm of internal disorder even more distressing, and during the last two months I have been no better than one dead, nay worse. For I had just enough life to be sensible of the horrors which encircled me, and day and dawn and noon were all one night to me as I spent all my time closely confined to my bed, and in spite of endless contrivances I could not shake off the pernicious effects of the cold; but although I kept a fire burning, and endured a most unpleasant amount of smoke, and remained cooped up in one chamber, covered with any quantity of wraps, and not daring to set a foot outside the threshold I underwent extreme sufferings, perpetual vomiting supervening on headache, loss of appetite, and constant sleeplessness. Thus restlessly did I pass through my long dark sea of troubles. But not to distress your mind by dwelling upon my miseries, from all of them I am now relieved. For as soon as spring approached, and a little change in the temperature took place, all my troubles spontaneously vanished. Nevertheless I still require great care as regards diet; therefore I put only a light load on my stomach, so that it may be able to digest it easily. But it has occasioned me no little concern to learn that my discreet mistress was brought to the verge of death. Nevertheless in consideration of my great affection, and anxiety, and solicitude for your welfare I was relieved from this care, even before the arrival of your letters, many persons having come from thence who brought me tidings of your restoration to health.

Now I am exceedingly glad and delighted to hear not only that you have been released from your illness, but above all that you bear whatever happens to you so bravely, calling it all nothing but an idle tale. What is even more remarkable is that you have applied this description even to your physical illness, which shows a strong spirit rich in the fruit of courage. For not only to bear misfortunes bravely but to be actually insensitive to them, to overlook them, and with so little effort to wear the victor's crown of patience—neither laboring nor toiling, neither feeling distress nor causing it to others, but as if leaping and dancing for joy the whole time—this is truly proof of the most complete philosophy. Therefore I rejoice and leap for joy. I am excited with delight, I am insensitive to my present loneliness and the other troubles that surround me, being cheered and brightened and not a little proud on account of your greatness of soul and the repeated victories you have won. This is not only for your own sake but also for the sake of that large and populous city where you are like a tower, a safe harbor, and a defensive wall, speaking in the eloquent voice of example and through your sufferings instructing people of both sexes to strip readily for these contests and descend into the arena with full courage and cheerfully bear the hardships that such contests involve. What is wonderful is that without thrusting yourself into the public square or occupying the city's public centers, but sitting all the while in a small house and confined room, you serve and prepare the combatants for the contest. And while the sea is raging around you and the waves are rising to their height, and cliffs and reefs and rocky ledges and fierce monsters appear on every side, and everything is shrouded in the deepest darkness, you set the sails of patience and float on with great calm, as if it were broad daylight with calm weather and a favorable breeze carrying you forward. So far from being overwhelmed by this terrible storm, you are not even sprinkled by the spray—and quite naturally so, such is the power of virtue as a rudder. Now merchants and pilots and sailors and travelers, when they see clouds gathering or fierce winds rushing down upon them or the breakers foaming violently, keep their vessels moored inside the harbor. And if they happen to be storm-tossed in the open sea, they do their best and devise every means to bring their ship to some anchorage or island or shore. But you, although countless winds and fierce waves burst upon you all at once, and the sea is churned up from its very depths by the severity of the storm, and some people are submerged, others floating dead upon the water, others drifting naked on planks—you plunge into the middle of this ocean of calamities and call all these things an idle tale, sailing on with a favorable breeze in the midst of the tempest. And naturally so, for pilots, even if they are infinitely wise in that skill, nevertheless do not have ability sufficient to withstand every kind of storm. Consequently they often shrink from doing battle with the waves. But the skill you possess is superior to every kind of storm—the power of a philosophical soul—which is stronger than ten thousand armies, mightier than weapons, and more secure than towers and fortifications. For the weapons and fortifications and towers that soldiers have are useful only for the security of the body, and not always or in every way. There are times when all these resources fail and leave those who flee to them for refuge without protection. But your powers do not repel the weapons of barbarians or the schemes of hostile people or any assaults and stratagems of that kind. Rather, they have trampled underfoot the constraining forces of nature, overthrown their tyranny, and leveled their fortress. And while constantly contending with demons, you have won countless victories yet have not received a single wound. You stand unharmed in the midst of a storm of arrows and turn the spears that are hurled at you back upon those who throw them. Such is the wisdom of your skill: by the sufferings you undergo you take revenge on those who inflict them; by the plots directed against you, you cause pain to your enemies, finding in their malice the best foundation for the materials of fame. And knowing these things well yourself and having gained understanding through experience, you naturally call them all an idle tale. For how could you not call them by that name, when you possess a mortal body yet despise death as if you were hurrying to leave a foreign country and return to your own land? You suffer chronically from the most severe illness, yet you are more cheerful than those who are thriving and healthy. You are not depressed by insults nor elated by honors and glory, the latter being a cause of infinite harm to many who, after a distinguished career in the priesthood and after reaching extreme old age and most venerable gray hairs, have fallen into disgrace on this account and become a common spectacle of mockery for those who wish to make fun. But you, on the contrary, though you are a woman clothed with a fragile body and subject to these severe attacks, have not only avoided falling into such a condition yourself but have prevented many others from doing so. They indeed, before they had advanced far in the contest, even at the very beginning and starting point, have been overthrown, whereas you, after having gone countless times around the far turning post, have won a prize in every race, after playing your part in countless kinds of wrestling and combat. And quite naturally so, for the wrestlings of virtue do not depend on age or bodily strength but only on the spirit and the disposition. Thus women have been crowned victors while men have been upset; likewise boys have been proclaimed conquerors while old men have been put to shame. It is always fitting to admire those who pursue virtue, but especially when some are found to cling to it at a time when many are abandoning it. Therefore, my dear lady, you deserve the highest admiration, since after so many men, women, and elderly people who seemed to enjoy the greatest reputation have been put to flight, all lying prostrate before the eyes of the world—and this not after a severe attack or any alarming gathering of the enemy's forces, but overthrown before the encounter and defeated before the battle—you, on the contrary, after so many battles and such a large gathering of the enemy are so far from being weakened or dismayed by the number of your adversities that you are all the more vigorous, and the increase of the contest gives you an increase of strength. For the memory of what has already been achieved becomes the source of cheerfulness and joy and greater zeal. Therefore I rejoice and leap for joy, for I will not stop repeating this and carrying everywhere with me the material of my joy. So although my separation from you distresses you, yet you have this very great consolation arising from your successful achievements. For I too, though banished to such a great distance, gain no small cheerfulness from this cause—I mean your courage.

And now I am exceedingly glad and delighted to hear, not only that you have been released from your infirmity, but above all that you bear the things which befall you so bravely, calling them all but an idle tale; and, which is indeed a greater matter, that you have applied this name even to your bodily infirmity, which is an evidence of a robust spirit, rich in the fruit of courage. For not only to bear misfortunes bravely but to be actually insensible to them, to overlook them, and with such little exertion to wreathe your brows with the garland prize of patience, neither labouring, nor toiling, neither feeling distress nor causing it to others, but as it were leaping and dancing for joy all the while, this is indeed a proof of the most finished philosophy. Therefore I rejoice, and leap for joy; I am in a flutter of delight, I am insensible to my present loneliness, and the other troubles which surround me, being cheered, and brightened, and not a little proud on account of your greatness of soul, and the repeated victories which you have won, and this, not only for your own sake, but also for the sake of that large and populous city, where you are like a tower, a haven, and a wall of defense, speaking in the eloquent voice of example, and through your sufferings instructing either sex to strip readily for these contests, and descend into the lists with all courage, and cheerfully bear the toils which such contests involve. And the wonder is that without thrusting yourself into the forum, or occupying the public centres of the city, but sitting all the while in a small house and confined chamber you serve and anoint the combatants for the contest, and while the sea is thus raging round you, and the billows are rising to a crest, and crags and reefs, and rocky ledges and fierce monsters appear on every side, and everything is shrouded in the most profound darkness you, setting the sails of patience, float on with great serenity, as if it was noonday, and calm weather, and a favourable breeze wafting you on, and so far from being overwhelmed by this grievous tempest are not even sprinkled by the spray; and very naturally so; such is the force of virtue as a rudder. Now merchants and pilots, and sailors and voyagers when they see clouds gathering up, or fierce winds rushing down upon them, or the breakers seething with an abundance of foam keep their vessels moored inside harbour; and if they chance to be tempest-tossed in the open sea they do their best, and devise every means to bring their ship to some anchorage, or island or shore. But you, although such innumerable winds, and fierce waves burst upon you together, and the sea is heaved up from its very depths owing to the severity of the storm, and some are submerged, others floating dead upon the water, others drifting naked upon planks, you plunging into the mid ocean of calamities call all these things an idle tale, sailing on with a favourable breeze in the midst of the tempest; and naturally so; for pilots, even if they are infinitely wise in that science, nevertheless have not skill sufficient to withstand every kind of storm; consequently they often shrink from doing battle with the waves. But the science which you have is superior to every kind of storm — the power of a philosophic soul — which is stronger than ten thousand armies, more powerful than arms, and more secure than towers and bulwarks. For the arms, and bulwarks, and towers which soldiers have, are serviceable for the security of the body only, and this not always, nor in every way; but there are times when all these resources are baffled, and leave those who fly to them for refuge destitute of protection. But your powers do not repel the weapons of barbarians, nor the devices of hostile men, nor any assaults and stratagems of that kind, but they have trampled under foot the constraining forces of nature, put down their tyranny and levelled their citadel. And while ceaselessly contending with demons, you have won countless victories, yet have not received a single blow, but stand unwounded in the midst of a storm of darts and turn the spears which are hurled at you back upon those who discharge them. Such is the wisdom of your art; by the sufferings which you undergo you take vengeance on those who inflict them; by the plots of which you are the subject you put your enemies to pain, possessing in their malice the best foundation for the materials of fame. And you, knowing these things well yourself, and having gained perception by experience, naturally call them all an idle tale. For how, pray, should you not call them by that name, possessing as you do a mortal body, and yet despising death as if you were hastening to quit a foreign country, and return to your own land; a chronic sufferer from the most severe infirmity, and yet more cheerfully disposed than the thriving and robust, not depressed by insults, nor elated by honours and glory, the latter being a cause of infinite mischief to many who after an illustrious career in the priesthood, and after reaching extreme old age, and the most venerable hoar hairs, have fallen into disgrace on this account, and become a common spectacle of derision for those who wish to make merry. But you on the contrary, woman as you are, clothed with a fragile body, and subject to these severe attacks, have not only avoided falling into such a condition yourself, but have prevented many others from so doing. They indeed before they had advanced far in the contest, even at the very outset and starting point, have been overthrown; whereas you, after having gone countless times round the farther turning post, have won a prize in every course, after playing your part in manifold kinds of wrestling and combats. And very naturally so; for the wrestlings of virtue do not depend upon age, or bodily strength, but only on the spirit and the disposition. Thus women have been crowned victors, while men have been upset; so also boys have been proclaimed conquerors, while aged men have been put to shame. It is indeed always fitting to admire those who pursue virtue, but especially when some are found to cling to it at a time when many are deserting it. Therefore, my sweet lady, you deserve superlative admiration, inasmuch as after so many men, women, and aged persons who seemed to enjoy the greatest reputation have been turned to flight, all lying prostrate before the eyes of the world, and this not after a severe onslaught, nor any alarming muster of the enemy's force, but overthrown before the encounter and worsted before the struggle, you on the contrary after so many battles and such large muster of the enemy are so far from being unstrung, or dismayed by the number of your adversities, that you are all the more vigorous, and the increase of the contest gives you an increase of strength. For the recollection of what has been already achieved becomes the ground of cheerfulness, and joy, and greater zeal. Therefore I rejoice, and leap for joy; for I will not cease repeating this, and taking about with me everywhere the material of my joy; so that although my separation from you distresses you, yet you have this very great consolation arising from your successful exploits; for I also who am banished to so great a distance gain no small cheerfulness from this cause — I mean your courage.

Why do you lament? Why do you torment yourself and inflict on yourself a punishment that your enemies could not inflict on you, having surrendered your soul to the tyranny of depression? The letters you sent me through Patricius have revealed to me the wounds inflicted on your mind. This is why I am very sorrowful and deeply distressed that when you should be making every effort and applying yourself to drive depression from your soul, you go about collecting distressing thoughts, even inventing things (as you say) that do not exist, and tearing yourself apart for no reason and to your very great harm. Why are you grieved because you could not remove me from Cucusus? Yet in fact, as far as you were concerned, you did remove me, having made every effort and endeavor for this purpose. Even if it has not actually happened, you should not be upset on that account. Perhaps it seemed good to God that I should run the longer double course so that the victory garland might be made more glorious. Why then are you upset about these things, which spread my fame abroad, when you should be leaping and dancing for joy and binding wreaths on your head because I have been considered worthy of such a great honor, which far exceeds what I deserve? Is it the desolation of this place that grieves you? Yet what can be more pleasant than my stay here? I have quietness and tranquility, plenty of leisure, and good physical health. Although the town has neither market-place nor market, that means nothing to me, for all things are poured out abundantly upon me as from a flowing spring. I find my lord the Bishop here and my lord Dioscorus constantly occupied with providing for my refreshment. The good Patricius will tell you that as far as my stay here is concerned, I pass my time cheerfully and gladly, surrounded by attention. But if you lament the events that occurred in Caesarea, here again your conduct is unworthy of you. For there also bright victory garlands were woven for me, since everyone was proclaiming and publishing my praises and expressing wonder and astonishment at the mistreatment I suffered followed by expulsion. Meanwhile, however, do not let anyone know these things, although they are the subject of much gossip. My lord Pœanius has disclosed to me that the presbyters of Pharetrius himself have arrived on the spot, who declare that they were in communion with me and had no communication or association or partnership with my adversaries. Therefore, to avoid upsetting them, do not let anyone know these things. Certainly the things that happened to me were very grievous, and if I had suffered no other distress, the events that happened there would have been enough to procure countless rewards for me—so extreme was the danger I encountered. Now I ask you to keep these matters secret, and so I will give you a brief account of them, not to grieve you but rather to make you glad. For herein lies the material of my gain, herein lies my wealth, herein the means of getting rid of my sins—that my journey is continually surrounded by trials of this kind and that they are inflicted on me by persons from whom they were quite unexpected. When I was about to enter the region of Cappadocia, having escaped from that man of Galatia who nearly threatened me with death, many people met me on the way saying the lord Pharetrius is waiting for you, going about in all directions for fear of missing the pleasure of meeting you, making every possible effort to see you and embrace you and show you all kinds of affectionate regard; and he has set the monasteries of men and women in motion for this purpose. Now when I heard these things, I did not expect that any of them would actually happen, but formed an impression in my own mind precisely the opposite—but I said nothing about this to anyone who brought me this message.

Why do you lament? Why do you belabour yourself, and demand of yourself a punishment which your enemies were not able to demand from you, having thus abandoned your soul to the tyranny of dejection? For the letters which you sent to me by the hands of Patricius have discovered to me the wounds which have been inflicted on your mind. Wherefore also I am very sorrowful and much distressed that when you ought to be using every exertion and making it your business to expel dejection from your soul, you go about collecting distressing thoughts, even inventing things (so you say) which do not exist, and tearing yourself to pieces for no purpose, and to your very great injury. For why are you grieved because you could not remove me from Cucusus? Yet indeed, as far as you were concerned, you did remove me, having made every exertion and endeavour for this purpose. And even if it has not been actually accomplished you ought not to be vexed on that account. For perhaps it seemed good to God that I should be set to run the longer double course, in order that the garland of victory might be rendered more glorious. Why then are you vexed on account of these things, in consequence of which my fame is spread abroad, when you ought to leap and dance for joy and bind wreaths upon your brow, because I have been deemed worthy of so great an honour which far exceeds my merits? Is it the desolation of this place which grieves you? Yet what can be pleasanter than my sojourn here? I have quietness, and tranquillity, plenty of leisure and good bodily health. For although the town has neither market-place nor market that is nothing to me. For all things are poured abundantly upon me as out of a flowing spring. I find my lord the Bishop here and my lord Dioscorus are constantly employed in providing for my refreshment. And the good Patricius will tell you that as far as my sojourn here is concerned I pass my time cheerfully and gladly, surrounded by attention. But if you lament the events which occurred in Cæsarea, here again your conduct is unworthy of yourself. For there also bright garlands of victory were woven for me, inasmuch as all were proclaiming and publishing my praises, and expressing wonder and astonishment at the ill-treatment to which I had been subjected followed by expulsion. Meanwhile however do not let any one know these things, although they are the theme of much gossip. For my lord Pœanius has disclosed to me that the presbyters of Pharetrius himself have arrived on the spot, who declare that they were in communion with me and had no communication or intercourse or partnership with my adversaries. Therefore to avoid upsetting them do not let any one know these things. For certainly the things which befell me were very grievous: and if I had not suffered any other distress the events which happened there would have sufficed to procure innumerable rewards for me: so extreme was the danger which I encountered. Now I beseech you to keep these matters secret, and so I will give you a short account of them, not in order to grieve you but rather to make you glad. For herein consists the material of my gain, herein consists my wealth, herein the means of getting rid of my sins — that my journey is continually encompassed by trials of this kind, and that they are inflicted upon me by persons from whom they were quite unexpected. For when I was about to enter the region of Cappadocia, having escaped from that man of Galatia, who nearly threatened me with death, many persons met me on the way saying the lord Pharetrius is awaiting you, and going about in all directions for fear of missing the pleasure of meeting you, and making every possible endeavour to see you, and embrace you, and show you all manner of affectionate regard; and he has set the monasteries of men and women in motion for this purpose. Now when I heard these things I did not expect that any of them would really take place, but formed an impression in my own mind precisely the reverse: but of this I said nothing to any of those who brought me this message.

Now when I arrived late one evening at Caesarea, exhausted and worn out, suffering from a burning fever at its peak and feeling faint and miserable to the extreme, I came upon an inn located just at the edge of the city. I made every effort to find some doctors and reduce this fiery fever, for my tertian fever was now at its worst. On top of this there was the exhaustion from traveling, the hard work, the stress, the complete lack of servants, the difficulty getting food and supplies, the absence of a doctor, the weakening effects of hard labor, and the heat and lack of sleep. So I was nearly a dead man when I entered the city. Then the entire clergy came to visit me, along with the people, monks, nuns, and doctors, and I received great care as everyone provided me with every kind of service and help. Yet even with all this, weighed down by the drowsiness that comes from feverish heat, I was in an extremely distressed state. Eventually, little by little, the illness began to end and decrease. Pharetrius, however, was nowhere to be seen, but waited for me to leave—I don't know what he had in mind. When I saw that my illness had gotten slightly better, I began making plans for my journey so I could reach Cucusus and get a little rest after the disasters of the trip. While I was in this situation, it was suddenly announced that the Isaurians in countless numbers were raiding the region of Caesarea, had burned a large village, and were extremely hostile. The tribune, hearing this, took his soldiers and went out. For they were afraid the enemy might also attack the city, and everyone was terrified and in agonized alarm since their very homeland was in danger, so that even old men took up the defense of the walls. While things were in this state, suddenly toward dawn a mob of monks (for that's what I must call them, showing their madness by the word) rushed to the house where we were staying, threatening to set it on fire and treat us with extreme violence unless we left. Neither the fear of the Isaurians, nor my own illness which was afflicting me so badly, nor anything else made them more reasonable, but they pressed on, driven by such fierce rage that even the proconsular soldiers were terrified. For they kept threatening them with beatings and boasted that they had shamefully beaten many of the proconsular soldiers. The soldiers, hearing these things, took refuge with me and pleaded and begged me, saying even if we must fall into the hands of the Isaurians, deliver us from these wild beasts. When the governor heard this he hurried down to the house intending to help me. But the monks paid no attention to his appeals, and in fact he was powerless. Seeing the great difficulty the situation was in and not daring to advise me either to go out to certain death or on the other hand to stay inside because of these men's excessive fury, he sent word to Pharetrius begging him to allow a few days' delay because of my illness and the approaching danger. But even then nothing was accomplished, and the next day the monks arrived even fiercer than before, and none of the presbyters dared to stand by me and help me, but covered with shame and embarrassment (for they said these things were being done on Pharetrius's orders) they hid themselves and stayed hidden, not answering even when I called them. Why make a long story? Although such great terrors were threatening, and death was nearly certain, and the fever was overwhelming me (for I had not yet gotten relief from the problems it was causing), I threw myself into the litter at high noon and was carried out from there, with all the people shrieking and howling and calling down curses on the one who did these things, while everyone wailed and mourned. But when I got outside the city, some of the clergy also gradually came out and accompanied me, mourning as they went. And having heard some people say Where are you taking him away to obvious death? one of those who was deeply devoted to me said to me Leave, I beg you; fall into the hands of the Isaurians, as long as you get away from us. For wherever you may fall, you will fall into a safe place, if only you escape our hands. Having heard and seen these things, the good Seleucia, the generous wife of my lord Rufinus (she was a most attentive friend to me), urged and begged me to stay at her house in the suburbs which was about five miles from the city, and she sent some men to escort me, and so I left for there.

2. Now when I arrived late one evening at Cæsarea, in an exhausted and worn-out condition, being in the very height of a burning fever, faint and suffering to the last degree, I lighted upon an inn situated just at the outskirts of the city, and took great pains to find some physicians and allay this fiery fever; for it was now the height of my tertian malady. And in addition to this there was the fatigue of the journey, the toil, the strain, the total absence of attendants, the difficulty of getting supplies, the want of a physician, the wasting effects of toil, and heat and sleeplessness; thus I was well near a dead man when I entered the city. Then indeed I was visited by the whole body of the clergy, and the people, monks, nuns, physicians, and I had the benefit of great attention, as all paid me every kind of ministration and assistance. Yet even thus, being oppressed by the lethargy arising from the feverish heat I was in an extremely distressed condition. At length by degrees the malady was coming to an end and abating. Pharetrius however nowhere appeared; but waited for my departure, I know not with what purpose in view. When then I saw that my disorder had slightly abated I began to form plans for my journey so as to reach Cucusus, and enjoy a little repose after the calamities of the way. And while I was thus situated it was suddenly announced that the Isaurians in countless multitudes were overrunning the district of Cæsarea, and had burnt a large village, and were most violently disposed. The tribune, having heard this, took the soldiers which he had and went out. For they were afraid lest the enemy should make an assault also upon the city, and all were in terror, and in an agony of alarm the very soil of their country being in jeopardy, so that even the old men undertook the defense of the walls. While affairs were in this condition suddenly towards dawn a rabble of monks (for so I must call them, indicating their frenzy by the expression) rushed up to the house where we were, threatening to set fire to it, and to treat us with the utmost violence unless we turned out of it. And neither the fear of the Isaurians, nor my own infirmity which was so grievously afflicting me, nor anything else made them more reasonable, but they pressed on, animated by such fierce rage that even the proconsular soldiers were terrified. For they kept threatening them with blows and boasted that they had shamefully beaten many of the proconsular soldiers. The soldiers having heard these things, sought refuge with me, and entreated and beseeched me, saying even if we are to fall into the hands of the Isaurians deliver us from these wild beasts. When the governor heard this he hastened down to the house intending to succour me. But the monks would not pay any heed to his exhortations, and in fact he was powerless. Perceiving the great strait in which affairs were placed and not daring to advise me either to go out to certain death, or on the other hand to stay indoors, owing to the excessive fury of these men, he sent to Pharetrius beseeching him to grant a few days respite on account of my infirmity and the impending danger. But even then nothing was effected, and on the morrow the monks arrived even fiercer than before, and none of the presbyters dared to stand by me and help me, but covered with shame and blushes (for they said that these things were done by the instructions of Pharetrius) they concealed themselves and lay hid, not responding even when I called them. What need to make a long story? Although such great terrors were imminent, and death well near a certainty, and the fever was oppressing me (for I had not yet got relief from the troubles arising from that cause) I flung myself at high noon into the litter, and was carried out thence, all the people shrieking and howling, and imprecating curses on the perpetrator of these deeds, while every one wailed and lamented. But when I got outside the city, some of the clergy also gradually came out and escorted me, mourning as they went. And having heard some persons say Where are you leading him away to manifest death? one of those who was warmly attached to me said to me Depart I entreat you; fall into the hands of the Isaurians, provided you get clear away from us. For wherever you may fall, you will fall into a place of security, if only you escape our hands. Having heard and seen these things the good Seleucia, the generous wife of my lord Ruffinus (a most attentive friend she was to me), exhorted and entreated me to lodge at her suburban house which was about five miles from the city and she sent some men to escort me, and so I departed there.

But not even there was this plot against me to come to an end. For as soon as Pharetrius knew what she had done, he published, as she said, many threats against her. But when she received me into her suburban villa I knew nothing of these things. When she came out to meet me she concealed these things from me, but disclosed them to her steward who was there, and ordered him to provide me with every possible means of rest. If any of the monks should make an assault, wishing to insult or harm me, he was to gather the laborers from her other farms and thus assemble a force against them. Moreover, she begged me to take refuge in her house, which had a fortress and was impregnable, so that I might escape the hands of the bishop and monks. This however I could not be persuaded to do, but remained in the villa, knowing nothing of the plans that were devised after these things. For even then they were not content to stop their fury against me, but Pharetrius harassed the lady, as she says, severely threatening her, pressuring and forcing her to expel me even from the suburbs. So at midnight, while I knew nothing of these things, the lady, being unable to endure his harassment, announced without my knowledge that the barbarians were at hand, for she was ashamed to mention the compulsion she had undergone. So in the middle of the night Evethius the presbyter came to me, and having woken me from sleep, exclaimed in a loud voice: Get up, I beg you, the barbarians are upon us, they are close at hand. Imagine my condition on hearing this! Then, when I said to him what must we do? We cannot take refuge in the city lest we suffer worse things than what the Isaurians are going to do to us. He compelled me to go out. It was midnight, a dark, murky night without a moon—a circumstance which filled up the measure of our confusion—we had no companion, no helper, for all had deserted us. Nevertheless, under the pressure of fear and in the expectation of immediate death, I got up, suffering as I was, having ordered torches to be lit. These however the presbyter ordered to be put out, for fear as he said lest the barbarians should be attracted by the light and attack us; so the torches were extinguished. Then the mule which carried my litter fell on its knees, the road being rough, steep, and stony, and I who was inside was thrown down and narrowly escaped destruction, after which I dismounted and was dragged along on foot, being held fast by Evethius the presbyter (for he also had gotten down from his mule), and so I plodded on, led, or rather hauled by the hand, for to walk was impossible through such difficult country and among steep mountains in the middle of the night. Imagine what my sufferings must have been, surrounded as I was by such calamities and oppressed by the fever, ignorant of the plans that had been made, but in terror of the barbarians and trembling with the expectation of falling into their hands. Do you not think that these sufferings alone, even if nothing else besides had befallen me, would be enough to blot out many of my sins and provide ample material for obtaining praise with God? Now the reason for all this, at least as I suppose, was that as soon as I arrived in Caesarea, those who were in official positions, the learned men who were ex-vicars and ex-governors, the ex-tribunes and indeed the whole people visited me every day, paid me great attention, and treated me as the apple of their eye. I suppose these things irritated Pharetrius and that the envy which drove me from Constantinople did not refrain from pursuing me even here. This at least is what I suppose, for I do not positively declare it but only suspect it to be the fact.

3. But not even there was this plot against me to come to an end. For as soon as Pharetrius knew what she had done, he published, as she said, many threats against her. But when she received me into her suburban villa I knew nothing of these things; for when she came out to meet me she concealed these things from me, but disclosed them to her steward who was there, and ordered him to afford me every possible means of repose, and if any of the monks should make an assault, wishing to insult or maltreat me, he was to collect the labourers from her other farms, and thus marshal a force against them. Moreover she besought me to take refuge in her house, which had a fortress and was impregnable, that I might escape the hands of the bishop and monks. This however I could not be induced to do, but remained in the villa, knowing nothing of the plans which were devised after these things. For even then they were not content to desist from their fury against me but Pharetrius beset the lady as she says, strictly threatening her, constraining and forcing her to expel me even from the suburbs, so that at midnight, I knowing nothing of these things, the lady being unable to endure his annoyance, announced, without my knowledge, that the barbarians were at hand, for she was ashamed to mention the compulsion which she had undergone. So in the middle of the night Evethius the presbyter came to me, and having roused me from sleep, exclaimed with a loud voice Get up, I pray you, the barbarians are upon us, they are close at hand. Imagine my condition on hearing this! Then, when I said to him what must we do? We cannot take refuge in the city lest we suffer worse things than what the Isaurians are going to do to us, he compelled me to go out. It was midnight, a dark, murky night without a moon — a circumstance which filled up the measure of our perplexity — we had no companion, no assistant, for all had deserted us. Nevertheless under the pressure of fear and in the expectation of immediate death, I got up, suffering as I was, having ordered torches to be lit. These however the presbyter ordered to be put out, for fear as he said lest the barbarians should be attracted by the light and attack us; so the torches were extinguished. Then the mule which carried my litter fell on its knees, the road being rugged, and steep and stony, and I who was inside was thrown down and narrowly escaped destruction, after which I dismounted, and was dragged along on foot, being held fast by Evethius the presbyter (for he also had alighted from his mule), and so I plodded on, led, or rather hauled by the hand, for to walk was impossible through such a difficult country, and among steep mountains in the middle of the night. Imagine what my sufferings must have been, encompassed as I was by such calamities, and oppressed by the fever, ignorant of the plans which had been made, but in terror of the barbarians and trembling. with the expectation of falling into their hands. Do you not think that these sufferings alone, even if nothing else besides had befallen me, would avail to blot out many of my sins, and afford ample material for obtaining praise with God? Now the reason of all this, at least as I suppose, was, that as soon as I arrived in Cæsarea, those who were in official positions, the learned men who were ex-vicars, and ex-governors, the ex-tribunes and indeed the whole people visited me every day, paid me great attention, and treated me as the apple of their eye; I suppose these things irritated Pharetrius and that the envy which drove me from Constantinople did not refrain from pursuing me even here. This at least is what I suppose, for I do not positively declare it but only suspect it to be the fact.

What can one say about the other events that happened along the way—the fears and the dangers? As I remember them day by day and constantly keep them in mind, I am filled with pleasure. I leap for joy like someone who has a great treasure stored up for him, for that is my situation and how I feel about them. Therefore I also beg you to rejoice at these things, to be glad and leap for joy, and to glorify God who has counted me worthy to suffer such things. And I ask you to keep these matters to yourself and not to reveal them to anyone, although for the most part the proconsular soldiers can fill the whole city with the story, since they themselves have undergone extreme danger.

And what is one to say about the other events which happened on the way, the fears and the perils? As I recall them day by day, and continually bear them in mind, I am elated with pleasure, I leap for joy as one who has a great treasure laid up in store for him; for such is my position and feeling about them. Wherefore also I beseech your Honour to rejoice at these things, to be glad, and leap for joy, and to glorify God who has counted me worthy to suffer such things. And I beseech you to keep these matters to yourself, and not to divulge them to any one, although for the most part the proconsular soldiers can fill all the city (with the story) as they themselves have undergone extreme danger.

Nevertheless, don't let anyone learn this from you, but instead silence those who talk about it. If you are worried that the effects of my mistreatment might linger, know for certain that I have completely freed myself from them, and that I am in better physical health than when I was living in Caesarea. And why do you fear the cold? A suitable house has been prepared for me, and my lord Dioscorus does and arranges everything to prevent me from feeling the slightest cold. And if I may judge from the beginning of my experience, the climate now seems to me eastern in character, no less than that of Antioch. The warmth is so great, the temperature so pleasant. But you have grieved me much by saying, "Perhaps you are annoyed with me for having neglected you," yet I sent a letter many days ago to your Honour begging you not to move me from this place. Now I realize that you need a strong defense and much hard work and effort to make a satisfactory apology for this statement. But perhaps you have made a partial apology by saying, "I am constantly thinking about how to increase my affliction." But I in turn consider it the greatest accusation that you should say I take pride in increasing my sorrow by dwelling on it, for when you ought to make every possible effort to dispel your affliction, you do the devil's will by increasing your despondency and sorrow. Are you not aware how great an evil despondency is?

4. Nevertheless do not let any one know this from your prudence, but rather put down those who talk about it. But if you are distressed lest the consequences of my ill-treatment should remain, know for certain that I have shaken myself entirely free from them, and that I am in better bodily health than when I was sojourning in Cæsarea. And why do you dread the cold? For a suitable dwelling has been prepared for me, and my lord Dioscorus does and arranges everything so as to prevent my having the least sensation of cold. And if I may form a conjecture from the outset of my experience, the climate now seems to me oriental in character, no less than that of Antioch. So great is the warmth, so pleasant is the temperature. But you have grieved me much by saying, perhaps you are annoyed with me as having neglected you, yet I dispatched a letter many days ago to your honour begging you not to move me from this place. Now I have had occasion to consider that you need a strong defense and much toil and labour to be able to make a satisfactory apology for this expression. But perhaps you have made a partial apology, by saying I am generally occupied in thinking how to increase my affliction. But I in my turn reckon it as the greatest accusation that you should say I take a pride in increasing my sorrow by thinking over it: for when you ought to make every possible effort to dispel your affliction you do the devil's will, by increasing your despondency and sorrow. Are you not aware how great an evil despondency is?

Regarding the Isaurians, stop worrying about them from now on. They have returned to their own country, and the governor has done everything necessary in this regard. I am much safer here than I was in Caesarea. From now on, I have no one to fear as much as the bishops, with a few exceptions. So don't be afraid about the Isaurians—they have withdrawn, and once winter arrives they will be confined to their own homes, though they may possibly come out again after Whitsuntide. And what do you mean by saying you haven't received letters from me? I have already sent you three long letters: one with the proconsular soldiers, one with Antonius, and the third with my servant Anatolius. Two of them were a healing medicine capable of reviving anyone who was despairing or stumbling, and leading them into a healthy state of peace. When you receive these letters, read through them constantly and carefully, and you will recognize their power and experience their healing effect and benefit, and you will tell me that you have gained much from them. I also have a third letter ready, similar to these, which I don't want to send right now because I was extremely upset when you said I pile up sorrowful thoughts and even invent things that don't exist—a statement unworthy of you that makes me ashamed. But read those letters I have sent, and you will no longer say such things, even if you are completely determined to be depressed. I, at least, have not stopped and will not stop saying that sin is the only thing that is truly distressing, and that all other things are just dust and smoke. For what is really painful about living in a prison and wearing a chain? Or about being mistreated when it brings so much gain? Or why should exile be painful, or the confiscation of property? These are just words, empty of any real terror—words devoid of sorrow. If you speak of death, you are only mentioning what is the debt of nature, something that must be experienced in any case even if no one hastens it. And if you speak of exile, you mention only a change of country and the sight of many cities. Or if you speak of confiscation of goods, you mention only freedom and release from worry.

As to the Isaurians, dismiss your fears in future concerning them: for they have returned into their own country: and the governor has done everything necessary in this respect; and I am in far greater security here than when I was in Cæsarea. For in future I have no one to fear so much as the bishops, with a few exceptions. On account of the Isaurians then fear nothing: for they have retreated, and when winter has set in they are confined to their own homes, although they may possibly come out after Whitsuntide. And what do you mean by saying that you have not the benefit of letters from me? I have already sent you three long letters, one by the proconsular soldiers, one by Antonius, and the third by Anatolius my servant; two of them were a salutary medicine capable of reviving any one who was desponding or stumbling, and conducting him into a healthy state of serenity. When you have received these letters then go over them constantly and thoroughly, and you will perceive their force and enjoy experience of their healing power, and benefit, and will inform me that you have derived much advantage therefrom. I have also a third letter ready, similar to these, which I do not choose to send at the present time having been exceedingly vexed at your saying I accumulate sorrowful thoughts, even inventing things which do not exist, an utterance unworthy of yourself, which makes me hide my head for shame. But read those letters which I have sent, and you will no longer say these things, even if you are infinitely bent on being despondent. I at least have not ceased, and will not cease saying that sin is the only thing which is really distressing; and that all other things are but dust and smoke. For what is there grievous in inhabiting a prison and wearing a chain? Or in being ill-treated when it is the occasion of so much gain? Or why should exile be grievous or confiscation of goods? These are mere words, destitute of any terrible reality, words void of sorrow. For if you speak of death you only mention that which is the debt of nature: a thing which must in any case be undergone even if no one hastens it: and if you speak of exile you mention that which only involves a change of country and the sight of many cities: or if you speak of confiscation of goods you mention what is only freedom and emancipation from care.

Do not stop paying attention to Bishop Maruthas, as far as it concerns you, so as to lift him up out of the pit. For I have special need of him because of the affairs in Persia. Find out from him, if you can, what has been accomplished there through his efforts, and why he has come home, and let me know whether you have delivered the two letters I sent to him. If he is willing to write to me, I will write back to him. But if he is not willing, let him at least tell you whether anything more has taken place there, and whether he is likely to accomplish anything by going there again. This is why I was eager to have a meeting with him. Nevertheless, let everything that depends on you be done, and take care to fulfill your own part, even if everyone else is rushing headlong to ruin. For this is how your reward will be perfected. By all means, therefore, make friends with him as much as possible. I beg you not to neglect what I am about to say, but to pay careful attention to it. The Marsian and Gothic monks where Bishop Serapion has constantly been hiding have informed me that Moduarius the deacon has come bringing word that Unilas, that excellent bishop whom I recently ordained and sent into Gothia, has died after achieving many great exploits. The deacon brought a letter from the king of the Goths requesting that a bishop be sent to them. Since I see no other way of dealing with the threatened catastrophe except delay and postponement (as it is impossible for them to sail into the Bosporus or into those parts at the present time), take measures to put them off for a time because of the winter season. Do not by any means neglect this, for it is a matter of the greatest importance. For there are two things that would especially distress me if they were to happen, which God forbid: one is that a bishop should be appointed by these men who have done such great wickedness and who have no right to appoint, and the other is that anyone should be appointed without proper consideration. For you know yourself that they are not eager to create some worthy man bishop, and if this should happen, which heaven forbid, you know what will follow. Use all diligence therefore to prevent either of these things from happening. But if it were possible for Moduarius to quietly and secretly hurry out to me, it would be of the greatest advantage. But if this is not possible, let what is practicable under the circumstances be done. For what takes place in the case of money, and actually occurred in the case of the widow in the gospel, also holds true in the case of practical affairs. For just as that poor woman, when she had cast two mites into the treasury, surpassed all those who had cast in more because she used up her whole substance, so too those who devote themselves to the work at hand with all their might complete it fully, as far as they are concerned, even if nothing results from it, and they have their reward perfected.

5. Do not cease to pay attention to Maruthas the Bishop, as far as it concerns you, so as to lift him up out of the pit. For I have special need of him on account of the affairs in Persia. And ascertain from him, if you can, what has been accomplished there through his agency, and for what purpose he has come home, and let me know whether you have delivered the two epistles which I sent to him: and if he is willing to write to me, I will write again to him: but if he should not be willing let him at least signify to your prudence whether anything more has taken place there, and whether he is likely to accomplish anything by going there again. For on this account I was anxious to have an interview with him. Nevertheless let all things which depend on you be done, and take care to fulfill your own part, even if all men are rushing headlong to ruin. For your reward will thus be perfected. By all means therefore make friends with him as far as it is possible. I beseech you not to neglect what I am about to say, but to pay diligent heed to it. The Marsian and Gothic monks where the Bishop Serapion has constantly been concealed have informed me that Moduarius the deacon has come bringing word that Unilas, that excellent bishop whom I lately ordained and sent into Gothia, has been laid to rest, after achieving many great exploits: and the deacon was the bearer of a letter from the king of the Goths begging that a bishop might be sent to them. Since then I see no other means of meeting the threatened catastrophe with a view to its correction save delay and postponement (as it is impossible for them to sail into the Bosporus or into those parts at the present time), take measures to put them off for a time on account of the winter season: and do not by any means neglect this: for it is a matter of the greatest importance. For there are two things which would specially distress me if they were to happen, which God forbid: one is that a bishop should be appointed by these men who have wrought such great wickedness, and who have no right to appoint, and the other is that any one should be made without consideration. For you know yourself that they are not anxious to create some worthy man bishop, and if this should take place, which heaven forbid, you are aware what will follow. Use all diligence therefore to prevent either of these things happening: but if it were possible for Moduarius quietly and secretly to hasten out to me it would be of the greatest advantage. But if this is not possible let what is practicable under the circumstances be done. For that which takes place in the case of money, and actually occurred in the case of the widow in the gospel, also holds good in the case of practical affairs. For as that poor woman when she had cast two mites into the treasury surpassed all those who had cast in more, because she used up her whole substance: even so they who devote themselves to the work in hand with all their might discharge it completely, so far as they are concerned, even if nothing results from it, and they have their reward perfected.

I am very grateful to Bishop Hilarius, because he wrote to me asking permission to leave for his own country, to arrange matters there, and then to return. Since his presence is very valuable (for he is a devout, inflexible, and zealous man), I have encouraged him to go and to come back quickly. Make sure, then, that the letter is delivered to him promptly and safely, and not set aside, because he earnestly and eagerly requested letters from me, and his presence is a great benefit. So by all means take care of the letters. And if Helladius the presbyter is not available, see that they are delivered to my friends by the hand of some sensible man who has good judgment.

I am very grateful to Hilarius the bishop: for he wrote to me asking to be allowed to depart to his own country, and to set things in order there, and then to come back again. As his presence therefore is of great service (for he is a devout, inflexible, and zealous man) I have urged him to depart and to return speedily. Take care then that the letter is quickly and safely delivered to him and not cast on one side: for he eagerly and earnestly begged for letters from me, and his presence is a great benefit. By all means therefore have a care of the letters; and if Helladius the presbyter be not on the spot see that they are delivered to my friends by the hands of some discreet man who has a head on his shoulders.

Nothing strange or unnatural has happened to your Piety, but only what is quite natural and reasonable: that through a constant succession of trials the sinews of your soul should become more strengthened, your zeal and energy for the struggle increased, and you should gain much joy from this. For this is the nature of affliction—when it takes hold of a brave and noble soul, this is what it normally produces. And just as fire, when applied to a piece of gold, makes it better proven, so also affliction, when it comes to golden characters, makes them purer and more proven. This is why Paul also said affliction works patience, and patience probation. For these reasons I too rejoice and leap for joy, and draw the greatest consolation in my solitude from considering your fortitude. Because of this, even though countless wolves surround you and many crowds of evildoers press in, I fear nothing. I pray both that present temptations may be suppressed and that others may not occur, thus fulfilling the Lord's command who tells us to pray that we may not enter into temptation. But if it should be permitted to happen again, I have good confidence concerning your golden soul, which gains from this the greatest riches for itself. For how will those who dare everything to their own destruction be able to terrify you? Will it be by loss of goods? But I know well that you count these as dust and cheaper than dirt. Or will it be by expulsion from country and home? But you know how to live in great and crowded cities as if they were uninhabited, spending all your time in quietness and rest, and trampling worldly ambitions under foot. Or do they threaten death? This also you have constantly practiced in advance, and if they should drag you to slaughter, they will be dragging a body that is already dead. What need is there to say more? No one will be able to do anything of this kind to you without finding that you have already abundantly made yourself undergo it. For by always walking the narrow and strait path, you have trained yourself in all these things. Therefore, having practiced this most beautiful art during your training, you now shine forth all the more gloriously in the contest itself, not only being in no way disturbed by what is happening, but rather uplifted, leaping and dancing for joy. For the contests you anticipated in your training you now undertake with great ease, even though in a woman's body, feebler than a cobweb, trampling under foot with mocking scorn the fury of strong men gnashing their teeth at you, being ready to suffer even worse things than they prepare for you. Happy and three times happy are you because of the crowns of victory to be won, but even more because of the contest itself. For such is the nature of these struggles: even before the prizes are given, even in the midst of strife, they have their recompense and reward—the pleasure you are now enjoying, the cheerfulness, the courage, the endurance, the patience, the strength that is proof against capture and conquest and rises superior to all things, the perfect training that makes you insensible to any terror from anyone, the power of standing on a rock in the midst of mighty waves of tribulation and sailing calmly with a favorable breeze when the sea is raging around you. These are the prizes of affliction even in this world before the kingdom of heaven is won. For I know very well that even at this present time, being lifted up with joy, you do not consider yourself clothed with a body, but if an opportunity should call you to do so, you would strip it off more readily than others do the clothing they wear. Rejoice therefore and be glad both for yourself and for those who have died a blessed death, not in a bed or in a house, but in prison, chains, and torment, and bewail only those who do these things, and grieve for them. But since you also wish to be informed about my bodily health, let me tell you that I have been relieved for now from the illness that was lately weighing me down and am now in a more comfortable condition. The only fear is that winter, on its return, might again wreak havoc on my feeble digestion, and as far as the Isaurians are concerned we now enjoy great security.

Nothing strange or unnatural has befallen your Piety, but only what is quite natural and consonant to reason, that by a constant succession of trials the sinews of your soul should become more braced, and your zeal and energy for the struggle increased, and that you should therefrom derive much joy. For such is the nature of affliction — when it lays hold of a brave and noble soul, this is what it is wont to effect. And as the fire makes the piece of gold, when it is applied to it, of better proof: so also affliction when it visits golden characters renders them purer and more proven. Wherefore also Paul said affliction works patience, and patience probation. Romans 5:3-4 For these reasons I also rejoice and leap for joy, and derive the greatest consolation of this my solitude from a consideration of your fortitude. On this account, even though innumerable wolves encompass you, and many crowds of wicked doers, I fear nothing; but I pray both that existing temptations may be suppressed, and that others may not occur, thus fulfilling the Lord's precept who bids us pray that we may not enter into temptation; but if it should be permitted to happen again I have good confidence concerning your golden soul, which acquires therefrom the greatest riches for itself. For by what means will they be able to terrify you, who dare everything to their own destruction? Will it be by loss of goods? But I know well that these are counted by you as dust and cheaper than dirt. Or shall it be by expulsion from country and home. But you know how to dwell in great and populous cities as if they were uninhabited, spending the whole of your time in quietness and rest, and treading worldly ambitions under foot. Or do they threaten death? This also you have constantly practiced by anticipation, and if they should drag you to slaughter, they will be dragging a body which is already dead. What need to speak more at length? No one will be able to do anything to you of this kind which he will not find you have already abundantly made yourself undergo. For by always walking in the narrow and strait path, you have trained yourself in all these things. Wherefore having practised this most beautiful art in the course of your training, you now shine forth the more gloriously in the contest itself, not only being in no wise disturbed by the things which are happening, but rather elated, and leaping and dancing for joy. For the contests which you have anticipated in your training you now undertake with much ease, although it be in a woman's body, feebler than a cobweb, treading under foot with derisive scorn the fury of lusty men gnashing their teeth upon you; being ready to suffer even worse things than they prepare for you. Happy and thrice happy are you by reason of the crowns of victory to be won, but even more by reason of the contest itself. For such is the nature of these struggles, even before the prizes are given even in the midst of strife they have their recompense and reward — the pleasure which you are now enjoying, the cheerfulness, the courage, the endurance, the patience, the power which is proof against capture and conquest and rises superior to all things; the perfect training which renders you insensible to any terror at the hands of any one, the power of standing on a rock in the midst of mighty billows of tribulation, and sailing in a calm with a favourable breeze when the sea is raging around you. These are the prizes of affliction even in this world before the kingdom of heaven is won. For I know very well that, even at this present time, being elated with joy, thou dost not consider yourself clothed with a body, but if an opportunity should summon you to do it, you would divest yourself of it more readily than others do of the raiment which they wear. Rejoice therefore and be glad both for yourself, and for those who have died a blessed death, not in a bed, nor in a house, but in prison, and chains, and torment; and bewail those only who do these things, and grieve for them. But since you also wish to be informed concerning my bodily health, let me tell you that I have been relieved for the present from the infirmity which was lately oppressing me, and am now in a more comfortable condition: the only fear is lest the winter on its return should again make havoc of my feeble digestion; and as far as the Isaurians are concerned we now enjoy great security.