(On the death of Emperor Constantius, the undisputed succession passed to his cousin Julian the Apostate, who immediately began to use all the power of the Empire to discourage Christianity—though not outright persecuting it—and to restore the supremacy of ancient Paganism. One of his first acts was to dismiss all the men who had held high positions under his predecessor. However, S. Cæsarius, Gregory's brother, was to be an exception. Julian, who had perhaps known and respected him at Athens, did everything he could to keep him at Court and to win his loyalty. This caused great anxiety to Gregory and other friends of Cæsarius, who foresaw that Julian would do his utmost to undermine the young man's faith, and could not be sure that he would have the courage to resist such attacks. In his distress Gregory wrote him the following letter. Shortly afterward the expected attempt was made. S. Cæsarius bravely stood his ground against the Emperor, and after declaring his firm determination to hold fast to his faith, resigned his position at Court and withdrew to Nazianzus.)
(On the death of the Emperor Constantius the undisputed succession devolved on his cousin Julian the Apostate, who at once began to employ all the power of the Empire to discourage, while not absolutely persecuting, Christianity, and to restore the supremacy of the ancient Paganism. One of his first acts was to dismiss all the men who had held high dignities under his predecessor. S. Cæsarius, Gregory's brother, was however to be excepted; Julian, who had perhaps known and esteemed him at Athens, did all that he could to keep him at Court, and to attach him to himself. This caused much anxiety to Gregory and other friends of Cæsarius, who foresaw that Julian would do his utmost to shake the young man's faith, and could not feel sure that he would have courage to resist such assaults. In his trouble Gregory wrote him the following letter. Shortly afterwards the expected attempt was made. S. Cæsarius bravely held his ground against the Emperor, and after declaring his unalterable determination to hold firm to his faith, resigned his office at Court and withdrew to Nazianzus.)
I've had enough reason to feel ashamed because of you; that I was grieved hardly needs to be said to the person who knows me best of all. But setting aside my own feelings and the distress (and let me add the fear) that the rumors about you caused me, I wish you could have heard, if it were possible, what others were saying—both relatives and outsiders who know us in any way (Christians, I mean, of course)—about you and me. And not just some of them, but every single one without exception; for people are always more ready to philosophize about strangers than about their own relatives. Speeches like the following have become a kind of standard exercise among them: Now a bishop's son enlists in the army; now he seeks worldly power and fame; now he is a slave to money, when the fire is being rekindled for everyone, and people are running the race for their lives; and he does not consider the one true glory and safety and wealth to be standing nobly against the times and placing himself as far as possible beyond every abomination and defilement. How then can the bishop urge others not to be swept along with the times or to become involved with idols? How can he rebuke those who do wrong in other ways, when his own household takes away his right to speak freely? We have to hear this every day, and even harsher things, with some speakers perhaps saying them out of friendship and others with hostile intent. How do you think we feel, and what state of mind are we in—we who profess to serve God and to consider the only good to be looking forward to the hopes of the future—when we hear such things? Our venerable father is very distressed by everything he hears, which even makes him disgusted with life. I console and comfort him as best I can by making myself responsible for your character and assuring him that you will not continue to grieve us this way. But if our dear mother were to hear about you (so far we've kept her in the dark by various means), I think she would be completely inconsolable, being, as a woman, of weak mind, and besides being unable, through her great piety, to control her feelings on such matters. If then you care at all for yourself and us, pursue some better and safer course. Our resources are certainly enough for an independent life, at least for a man of moderate desires who is not insatiable in his craving for more. Moreover, I don't see what occasion for your settling down we should wait for if we let this one pass. But if you cling to the same opinion and everything seems trivial to you compared to your own desires, I don't wish to say anything else that might upset you, but this I predict and declare: one of two things must happen—either you, remaining a genuine Christian, will be ranked among the lowest and will be in a position unworthy of yourself and your hopes, or in grasping at honors you will harm yourself in what matters more and will have a share in the smoke, if not actually in the fire.
I have had enough to blush for in you; that I was grieved, it is hardly necessary to say to him who of all men knows me best. But, not to speak of my own feelings, or of the distress with which the rumour about you filled me (and let me say also the fear), I should have liked you, had it been possible, to have heard what was said by others, both relations and outsiders, who are any way acquainted with us ( Christians I mean, of course,) about you and me; and not only some of them, but everyone in turn alike; for men are always more ready to philosophize about strangers than about their own relations. Such speeches as the following have become a sort of exercise among them: Now a Bishop's son takes service in the army; now he covets exterior power and fame; now he is a slave of money, when the fire is being rekindled for all, and men are running the race for life; and he does not deem the one only glory and safety and wealth to be to stand nobly against the times, and to place himself as far as possible out of reach of every abomination and defilement. How then can the Bishop exhort others not to be carried along with the times, or to be mixed up with idols? How can he rebuke those who do wrong in other ways, seeing his own home takes away his right to speak freely? We have every day to hear this, and even more severe things, some of the speakers perhaps saying them from a motive of friendship, and others with unfriendly feelings. How do you think we feel, and what is the state of mind with which we, men professing to serve God, and to deem the only good to be to look forward to the hopes of the future, hear such things as these? Our venerable Father is very much distressed by all that he hears, which even disgusts him with life. I console and comfort him as best I can, by making myself surety for your mind, and assuring him that you will not continue thus to grieve us. But if our dear Mother were to hear about you (so far we have kept her in the dark by various devices), I think she would be altogether inconsolable; being, as a woman, of a weak mind, and besides unable, through her great piety, to control her feelings on such matters. If then you care at all for yourself and us, try some better and safer course. Our means are certainly enough for an independent life, at least for a man of moderate desires, who is not insatiable in his lust for more. Moreover, I do not see what occasion for your settling down we are to wait for, if we let this one pass. But if you cling to the same opinion, and every thing seems to you of small account in comparison with your own desires, I do not wish to say anything else that may vex you, but this I foretell and protest, that one of two things must happen; either you, remaining a genuine Christian, will be ranked among the lowest, and will be in a position unworthy of yourself and your hopes; or in grasping at honours you will injure yourself in what is more important, and will have a share in the smoke, if not actually in the fire.