Author: Mourad Takla

You accuse me of laziness and idleness because I did not accept your Sasima, and because I have not stirred myself up like a bishop, and do not arm you against each other like a bone thrown among dogs. My greatest work has always been to remain free from such work. And to give you an idea of one of my good qualities, I value freedom from such affairs so highly that I think I could even serve as a model to everyone of this kind of greatness of soul, and if only everyone would imitate me the Churches would have no troubles, nor would the faith, which everyone uses as a weapon in his private disputes, be torn apart.

You accuse me of laziness and idleness, because I did not accept your Sasima, and because I have not bestirred myself like a Bishop, and do not arm you against each other like a bone thrown into the midst of dogs. My greatest business always is to keep free from business. And to give you an idea of one of my good points, so much do I value freedom from business, that I think I might even be a standard to all men of this kind of magnanimity, and if only all men would imitate me the Churches would have no troubles; nor would the faith, which every one uses as a weapon in his private quarrels, be pulled in pieces.

(Shortly after the events described above, Basil decided to strengthen his own position by creating a number of new bishoprics in the disputed province. He consecrated Gregory to one of these, Sasima, very much against Gregory's will. Gregory felt that he had been treated unfairly and did not attempt to hide his reluctance.)

(Shortly after the events described above, Basil determined to strengthen his own hands by creating a number of new Bishoprics in the disputed Province, to one of which, Sasima, he consecrated Gregory, very much against the will of the latter, who felt that he had been hardly used, and did not attempt to disguise his reluctance. See Gen. Prolegg. p. 195.)

Stop saying that I am uneducated, uncouth, and unfriendly, not even worthy to live, just because I have dared to be aware of how I have been treated. You yourself would admit that I have done nothing wrong in any other way, and my own conscience does not accuse me of being unkind to you in either great or small matters—and I hope it never will. I only know that I realized I had been deceived—too late, admittedly, but I did realize it—and I blame your throne for suddenly lifting you above yourself. I am tired of being blamed for your faults and having to make excuses for them to people who know both our former and our present relationship. Of everything I have to endure, this is the most ridiculous or most pitiable: that the same person should both suffer the wrong and bear the blame—and that is my present situation. Different people blame me for different things according to each person's preferences, disposition, or the extent of their ill will toward me. But the kindest ones reproach me with contempt and disdain, saying that you toss me aside after using me like the most worthless vessels, or like those wooden frames on which arches are built, which are taken down and discarded once the building is finished. Let them be and say what they please—no one will curb their freedom of speech. As for you, as my reward, pay off those blessed and empty hopes that you devised against the critics who accused you of insulting me under the pretense of honoring me, as if I were foolish and easily deceived by such treatment. Now I will plainly speak my mind, and you must not be angry with me. I will tell you exactly what I said at the moment of the injury—not in a fit of anger or so bewildered by what had happened that I lost my reason or didn't know what I was saying. I will not take up arms, nor will I learn military tactics, which I did not learn in former times when the occasion seemed more suitable, when everyone was arming themselves and in a frenzy (you know the weakness of the weak). Nor will I face the warlike Anthimus, even though he is an untimely warrior, since I am unarmed and unwarlike, and therefore more exposed to wounds. Fight him yourself if you wish (for necessity often makes warriors even of the weak), or find someone else to fight when he seizes your mules, guards the pass, and like Amalek of old, blocks the way against Israel. Give me peace above all things. Why should I fight over suckling pigs and chickens, which aren't even mine, as if they were souls and canons? Why should I deprive the Metropolis of the celebrated Sasima, or lay bare and reveal the secret of your intentions, when I should be helping to conceal it? Then be a man and be strong and draw all parties to your own conclusion, as rivers draw the winter torrents, without regard for friendship or intimacy in goodness, or for the reputation such a course will bring you. Devote yourself to the Spirit alone. I will gain only this from your friendship: that I will learn not to trust in friends or to value anything more than God.

Do leave off speaking of me as an ill- educated and uncouth and unfriendly man, not even worthy to live, because I have ventured to be conscious of the way in which I have been treated. You yourself would admit that I have not done wrong in any other respect, and my own conscience does not reproach me with having been unkind to you in either great or small matters; and I hope it never may. I only know that I saw that I had been deceived — too late indeed, but I saw it — and I throw the blame on your throne, as having on a sudden lifted you above yourself; and I am weary of being blamed for faults of yours, and of having to make excuses for them to people who know both our former and our present relations. For of all that I have to endure this is the most ridiculous or most pitiable thing, that the same person should have both to suffer the wrong and to bear the blame, and this is my present case. Different people blame me for different things according to the tastes of each, or each man's disposition, or the measure of their ill feeling on my account; but the kindest reproach me with contempt and disdain, and they throw me on one side after making use of me, like the most valueless vessels, or those frames upon which arches are built, which after the building is complete are taken down and cast aside. We will let them be and say what they please; no one shall curb their freedom of speech. And do you, as my reward, pay off those blessed and empty hopes, which you devised against the evil speakers, who accused you of insulting me on pretence of honouring me, as though I were lightminded and easily taken in by such treatment. Now I will plainly speak out the state of my mind, and you must not be angry with me. For I will tell you just what I said at the moment of the suffering, not in a fit of anger or so much in the sense of astonishment at what had happened as to lose my reason or not to know what I said. I will not take up arms, nor will I learn tactics which I did not learn in former times, when the occasion seemed more suitable, as every one was arming and in frenzy (you know the illness of the weak), nor will I face the martial Anthimus, though he be an untimely warrior, being myself unarmed and unwarlike, and thus the more exposed to wounds. Fight with him yourself if you wish (for necessity often makes warriors even of the weak), or look out for some one to fight when he seizes your mules, keeping guard over a defile, and like Amalek of old, barring the way against Israel. Give me before all things quiet. Why should I fight for sucking pigs and fowls, and those not my own, as though for souls and canons? Why should I deprive the Metropolis of the celebrated Sasima, or lay bare and unveil the secret of your mind, when I ought to join in concealing it? Do you then play the man and be strong and draw all parties to your own conclusion, as the rivers do the winter torrents, without regard for friendship or intimacy in good, or for the reputation which such a course will bring you. Give yourself up to the Spirit alone. I shall gain this only from your friendship, that I shall learn not to trust in friends, or to esteem anything more valuable than God.

(The division of the civil Province of Cappadocia into two Provinces in the year 372 led to ecclesiastical troubles. Anthimus, the Bishop of Tyana, which was the civil capital of the new division called Cappadocia Secunda, argued that the church divisions must necessarily follow the civil ones. As a result, he claimed that the purely civil action of the State had automatically elevated him to the position of Metropolitan of the new Province. This claim was supported by the Bishops of that region, who generally were not favorably disposed toward the great Archbishop. The next three letters are connected with this dispute.)

(The division of the civil Province of Cappadocia into two Provinces in the year 372 was followed by ecclesiastical troubles. Anthimus, the Bishop of Tyana, the civil metropolis of the new division of Cappadocia Secunda, maintained that the Ecclesiastical divisions must necessarily follow the civil, and by consequence claimed for himself that the purely civil action of the State had ipso facto elevated him to the dignity of Metropolitan of the new Province; and this pretension was supported by the Bishops of that district, who were as a rule not well disposed towards the great Archbishop. The next three letters are connected with this dispute.)

I hear that you are being troubled by this new development, and are being harassed by some clever and all-too-familiar meddling on the part of those in authority—and this is not surprising. I was already aware of their envy, and of the fact that many people around you are using you to advance their own interests and are fanning the flames of pettiness. I have no fear of seeing you react to your troubles in an unphilosophical way, or in any manner unworthy of yourself and me. On the contrary, I think that it is now above all that my Basil will be recognized, and that the philosophy you have been gathering throughout your life will show itself and will overcome the abuse like a great wave, and that you will remain steady while others are being shaken. If you think it is a good idea, I will come myself and perhaps will be able to give you some help with my advice (as if the sea needs water—what counsel!); but in any case I will benefit, and will learn philosophy by bearing my share of the abuse.

I hear that you are being troubled by this fresh innovation, and are being worried by some sophistical and not unusual officiousness on the part of those in power; and it is not to be wondered at. For I was not ignorant of their envy, or of the fact that many of those around you are making use of you to further their own interests, and are kindling the spark of meanness. I have no fear of seeing you unphilosophically affected by your troubles, or in any way unworthy of yourself and me. Nay, I think that it is now above all that my Basil will be known, and that the philosophy which all your life you have been collecting will show itself, and will overcome the abuse as with a high wave; and that you will remain unshaken while others are being troubled. If you think it well, I will come myself and perhaps shall be able to give you some assistance by my counsel (if the sea needs water, you do counsel!); but in any case I shall derive benefit, and shall learn philosophy by bearing my part of the abuse.

(The new Archbishop apparently was not satisfied with the reasons Gregory gave in his previous letter, so Gregory is writing to him again.)

(The new Archbishop seems not to have been satisfied with the reasons given in Gregory's last letter; so the latter writes again.)

How could any of your concerns be insignificant to me, dear and sacred friend?

How can any affairs of yours be mere grape-gleanings to me, O dear and sacred friend?

What a word has slipped past the fence of your teeth, or how could you dare to say such a thing, if I too may be somewhat daring? How could your mind conceive it, or your ink write it, or your paper receive it, O you of lectures and Athens and virtues and literary labors! You almost make me write a tragedy by what you have written. Do you not know me or yourself, you eye of the world, and great voice and trumpet and palace of learning? Your affairs trifles to Gregory? What then on earth could anyone admire, if Gregory does not admire you? There is one spring among the seasons, one sun among the stars, and one heaven that embraces all things; and so your voice is unique among all things, if I am capable of judging such things, and not deceived by my affection—and this I do not think to be the case. But if it is because I do not value you according to your worth that you blame me, you must also blame all mankind; for no one else has or will sufficiently admire you, unless it be yourself, and your own eloquence, at least if it were possible to praise oneself, and if such were the custom of our speech. But if you are accusing me of despising you, why not rather accuse me of being mad? Or are you annoyed because I am acting like a philosopher? Give me permission to say that this and this alone is higher than even your conversation.

What a word has escaped the fence of your teeth, or how could you dare to say such a thing, if I too may be somewhat daring? How could your mind set it going, or your ink write it, or your paper receive it, O lectures and Athens and virtues and literary labours! You almost make me write a tragedy by what you have written. Do you not know me or yourself, you eye of the world, and great voice and trumpet and palace of learning? Your affairs trifles to Gregory? What then on earth could any one admire, if Gregory admire not you? There is one spring among the seasons, one sun among the stars, and one heaven that embraces all things; and so your voice is unique among all things, if I am capable of judging such things, and not deceived by my affection — and this I do not think to be the case. But if it is because I do not value you according to your worth that you blame me, you must also blame all mankind; for no one else has or will sufficiently admire you, unless it be yourself, and your own eloquence, at least if it were possible to praise oneself, and if such were the custom of our speech. But if you are accusing me of despising you, why not rather of being mad? Or are you vexed because I am acting like a philosopher? Give me leave to say that this and this alone is higher than even your conversation.

(After the Consecration, everyone thought that Gregory would immediately join his friend, and Basil himself greatly wished for his help. But Gregory thought it better to hold back his desire to see his friend until jealousies had time to calm down. So he wrote the following letter to explain the reasons for his staying away at this time.)

(After the Consecration every one thought that Gregory would at once join his friend; and Basil himself much wished for his assistance. But Gregory thought it better to restrain his desire to see his friend until jealousies had time to calm down. So he wrote the following letter to explain the reasons for his staying away at this juncture.)

When I learned that you had been placed on that high throne, and that the Spirit had prevailed to set the lamp upon the lampstand—a lamp that was already shining with no dim light—I was glad, I confess. Why should I not be, when I saw that the commonwealth of the Church was in a sorry state and needed such a guiding hand? Yet I did not run to you immediately, nor will I run to you, not even if you yourself ask me. First, so that I may be careful of your dignity, and so that you may not seem to be gathering partisans under the influence of bad judgment and anger, as your critics would say; and second, so that I may make for myself a reputation for stability and rise above ill will. When will you come, then, you may ask, and how long will you delay? As long as God directs me, and until the shadow of the present hostility and slander has passed away. For the lepers, I know well, will not hold out very long to keep our David out of Jerusalem.

When I learned that you had been placed on the lofty throne, and that the Spirit had prevailed to publish the candle upon the candlestick, which even before shone with no dim light, I was glad, I confess. Why should I not be, seeing as I did that the commonwealth of the Church was in sorry plight, and needed such a guiding hand? Yet I did not run to you off hand, nor shall I run to you, not even if you ask me yourself. First, in order that I may be careful of your dignity, and that you may not seem to be collecting partisans under the influence of bad taste and hot temper, as your calumniators would say; and secondly that I may make for myself a reputation for stability, and above illwill. When then will you come, perhaps you will ask, and how long will you put it off? As long as God shall bid me, and until the shadow of the present enmity and slander shall have passed away. For the lepers, I well know, will not hold out very long to keep our David out of Jerusalem.

(There still seemed a likelihood that scheming and partisan feelings would win out, so the two Gregories decided to seek the help of Eusebius of Samosata, even though he was not from their Province. He had been a prominent defender of orthodoxy against the Arian Emperor Valens, and the Gregories hoped his presence at the Synod would be very beneficial. He answered their request and undertook the three hundred miles of very difficult travel to lend his support to the cause they cared deeply about. However, he recognized that it was necessary for the elderly Bishop of Nazianzus, despite his advanced age and poor health, to make the effort, and he convinced him to go. The outcome was everything they could have hoped for, as Basil was elected by a unanimous vote. The letter that Gregory wrote in his own name to thank him can be found later on.)

(There still seemed a probability that intrigues and party spirit would carry the day, and so the two Gregories determined to call in the aid of Eusebius of Samosata, though he did not belong to the Province. He had been a conspicuous champion of orthodoxy against the Arian Emperor Valens, and the Gregories hoped much from his presence at the Synod. He responded to their appeal, and undertook the three hundred miles of very difficult travelling to throw in his influence with the cause which they had at heart. He saw, however, that it was necessary that the aged Bishop of Nazianzus, notwithstanding his years and infirmities, should make the effort, and he persuaded him to go. The result was all that could be desired; for Basil was elected by a unanimous vote. The letter, which S. Gregory wrote in his own name to thank him, will be found later on.)

I wish I had the wings of a dove, or that my old age could be made young again, so that I could come to you in your love and satisfy my longing to see you, to tell you about my soul's troubles, and to find some comfort from you for my suffering. Ever since the blessed Bishop Eusebius died, I have been quite afraid that those who previously set traps for our capital city and wanted to fill it with heretical weeds might now seize this opportunity and uproot through their evil teaching the godliness that has been planted with so much effort in people's hearts, and tear apart its unity as they have done in many churches. As soon as I received letters from the clergy asking me not to forget them in their current situation, I looked around and remembered your love, your true faith, and the zeal you always have for God's churches. So I sent my beloved Eustathius, my deacon and assistant, to inform you and to beg you—in addition to all your labors for the churches—to meet with me. I ask you both to refresh my old age by coming and to establish godliness, which is so well known, in the orthodox church by giving her, together with us (if we may be considered worthy to share with you in this good work), a shepherd according to the Lord's will who will be able to rule his people. We have a man in mind, and you know him. If we are allowed to secure him, I know we will gain great confidence before God and will provide a very great benefit to the people who have called on us for help. I beg you again and again to put aside all delay and come to us before the bad winter weather sets in.

O that I had the wings of a dove, or that my old age could be renewed, that I might be able to go to your charity, and to satisfy the longings that I have to see you, and to tell you the troubles of my soul, and in you to find some comfort for my afflictions. For since the death of the blessed Bishop Eusebius I am not a little afraid lest they who on a former occasion set traps for our Metropolis, and wanted to fill it with heretical tares, should now seize the opportunity, and uproot by their evil teaching the piety which has with so much labour been sown in the hearts of men, and should tear asunder its unity, as they have done in many Churches. As soon as I received letters from the Clergy asking me not to forget them in their present circumstances, I looked round about me, and remembered your love and your right faith and the zeal with which you are ever possessed for the Churches of God; and therefore I sent my beloved Eustathius, my Deacon and helper, to warn your Reverence, and to entreat you, in addition to all your toils for the Churches, to meet me, and both to refresh my old age by your coming, and to establish in the Orthodox Church that piety which is so famous, by giving her with us (if we may be deemed worthy to have a share with you in the good work) a Shepherd according to the will of the Lord, who shall be able to rule His people. For we have a man before our eyes, and you are not unacquainted with him; and if we are permitted to obtain him I know that we shall acquire great boldness towards God, and shall confer a very great benefit upon the people who have called upon our aid. I beg you again and again to put away all delay, and to come to us before the bad weather of the winter sets in.

(The bishops of the province had informed the elder Gregory about their synod, but they did not mention when it would take place, what its purpose was, or invite him to participate—probably because they knew he would strongly support Basil's election, which they opposed. Saint Gregory therefore wrote the following letter in his father's name.)

(The comprovincial Bishops had notified the elder Gregory of their Synod, but without mentioning its date or purpose or inviting him to take part in it — probably because they knew how strongly he would support the election of Basil, to which they were unfavourable. S. Gregory therefore wrote the following letter in his father's name.)

How sweet and kind you are, and how full of love. You have invited me to the Metropolis because, I imagine, you are going to make some decision about a Bishop. I have learned this much from you, though you have not told me either that I am to be present, or why, or when. You have merely announced to me suddenly that you were setting out, as if you were determined not to respect me and did not want me to share in your deliberations. Instead, you are putting an obstacle in the way of my coming so that you will not meet me even against my will. This is how you act, and I will endure the insult. But I will set before you my view and how I feel. Various people will put forward various candidates, each according to his own preferences and interests, as usually happens at such times. But I cannot prefer anyone—for my conscience would not allow it—to my dear son and fellow priest Basil. For whom among all my acquaintances do I find more approved in his life, or more powerful in his word, or more completely furnished with the beauty of virtue? But if you raise his weak health as an objection against him, I reply that we are choosing not an athlete but a teacher. And at the same time, the power of Him who strengthens and supports the weak, if such they are, is demonstrated in this case. If you accept this vote, I will come and take part, either in spirit or in body. But if you are marching toward a predetermined outcome and faction is going to overrule justice, I shall be glad to have been overlooked. The work must be yours, but pray for me.

How sweet and kind you are, and how full of love. You have invited me to the Metropolis, because, as I imagine, you are going to take some counsel about a Bishop. So much I learn from you, though you have not told me either that I am to be present, or why, or when, but have merely announced to me suddenly that you were setting out, as though resolved not to respect me, and as not desirous that I should share your counsels, but rather putting a hindrance in the way of my coming, that you may not meet me even against my will. This is your way of action, and I will put up with the insult, but I will set before you my view and how I feel. Various people will put forward various candidates, each according to his own inclinations and interests, as is usually the case at such times. But I cannot prefer anyone, for my conscience would not allow it, to my dear son and fellow priest Basil. For whom of all my acquaintance do I find more approved in his life, or more powerful in his word, or more furnished altogether with the beauty of virtue? But if you allege weak health against him, I reply that we are choosing not an athlete but a teacher. And at the same time is seen in this case the power of Him that strengthens and supports the weak, if such they be. If you accept this vote I will come and take part, either in spirit or in body. But if you are marching to a foregone conclusion, and faction is to overrule justice, I shall rejoice to have been overlooked. The work must be yours; but pray for me.

I am a little shepherd who leads a tiny flock, and I am among the least of the servants of the Spirit. But grace is not limited or restricted by location. Therefore, let freedom of speech be given even to someone small—especially when the subject is so important and concerns everyone—even to discuss matters with elderly men who may speak with greater wisdom than most people. You are discussing no ordinary or minor matter, but one by which the common good will necessarily be helped or harmed depending on the decision you reach. For our subject is the Church, for which Christ died, and the leader who is to present it and guide it to God. For the light of the body is the eye, as we have heard—not only the physical eye that sees and is seen, but also the one that observes and is observed spiritually. But the light of the Church is the Bishop, as is clear to you even without my writing it. So just as the straight or crooked movement of the body depends on whether the eye is clear or dim, the Church must necessarily share in the danger or safety that results from the conduct of its leader. You must therefore consider the whole Church as the Body of Christ, but especially your own church, which was from the beginning and is now the mother of nearly all the churches. The entire Christian world looks to it, like a circle drawn around a center, not only because of its orthodoxy proclaimed long ago to everyone, but also because of the grace of unity so clearly given to it by God. You have also called us to your discussion of this matter, and you are acting rightly and according to church law. But we are burdened by age and illness, and if by the strength given us by the Holy Spirit we could be present (nothing is impossible for those who believe), this would be best for the common good and most pleasing to us, so that we might contribute something to you and ourselves receive part of the blessing. But if I am prevented from coming by weakness, I will at least give whatever can be given by someone who is absent.

I am a little shepherd, and preside over a tiny flock, and I am among the least of the servants of the Spirit. But Grace is not narrow, or circumscribed by place. Wherefore let freedom of speech be given even to the small — especially when the subject matter is of such great importance, and one in which all are interested — even to deliberate with men of hoary hairs, who speak with perhaps greater wisdom than the ordinary run of men. You are deliberating on no ordinary or unimportant matter, but on one by which the common interest must necessarily be promoted or injured according to the decision at which you arrive. For our subject matter is the Church, for which Christ died, and the guide who is to present it and lead it to God. For the light of the body is the eye, Matthew 6:22 as we have heard; not only the bodily eye which sees and is seen, but that which contemplates and is contemplated spiritually. But the light of the Church is the Bishop, as is evident to you even without our writing it. As then the straightness or crookedness of the course of the body depends upon the clearness or dulness of the eye, so must the Church necessarily share the peril or safety incurred by the conduct of its Chief. You must then take thought for the whole Church as the Body of Christ, but more especially for your own, which was from the beginning and is now the Mother of almost all the Churches, to which all the Commonwealth looks, like a circle described round a centre, not only because of its orthodoxy proclaimed of old to all, but also because of the grace of unanimity so evidently bestowed upon it by God. You then have summoned us also to your discussion of this matter, and so are acting rightly and canonically. But we are oppressed by age and infirmity, and if we by the strength given us by the Holy Ghost could be present (nothing is incredible to them that believe), this would be best for the common welfare and most pleasant to ourselves, that we might confer something on you, and ourselves have a part of the blessing; but if I should be kept away through weakness, I will give at any rate whatever can be given by one who is absent.

I believe there are others among you worthy of this leadership position, both because your city is so large and because it has been governed in the past so well and by such outstanding men. But there is one man among you whom I cannot rank below anyone else: our son beloved by God, Basil the Priest (I say this with God as my witness). He is a man of pure life and teaching, and he alone, or nearly alone, is qualified in both respects to stand against the challenges of our present age and the excessive wordiness of the heretics. I am writing this to members of the priestly and monastic orders, and also to the civic leaders and councillors, and to all the people. If you approve of this and my choice prevails—being so just and right, and given with God's help—I am and will be with you in spirit. In fact, I have already committed myself to this work and am confident in the Spirit. But if you disagree with me and decide on someone else, and if this matter is to be settled through political factions and family connections, and if mob rule is once again going to corrupt the honesty of your decision, then do what you want—I will stay home.

I believe that there are others among you worthy of the Primacy, both because of the greatness of your city, and because it has been governed in times past so excellently and by such great men; but there is one man among you to whom I cannot prefer any, our son well beloved of God, Basil the Priest (I speak before God as my witness); a man of pure life and word, and alone, or almost alone, of all qualified in both respects to stand against the present times, and the prevailing wordiness of the heretics. I write this to men of the priestly and monastic Orders, and also to the dignitaries and councillors, and to the whole people. If you should approve it, and my vote should prevail, being so just and right, and given with God's aid, I am and will be with you in spirit; or rather I have already set my hand to the work and am bold in the Spirit. But if you should not agree with me, but determine something else, and if the matter is to be settled by cliques and relationships, and if the hand of the mob is again to disturb the sincerity of your vote, do what pleases you — I shall stay at home.

(Around the middle of the year 370, after the death of Eusebius, Basil appears to have wanted his friend Gregory to succeed to the vacant position of Metropolitan. He wrote to Gregory without mentioning the Archbishop's death, asking him to come to Caesarea and claiming he was dangerously ill. Gregory, deeply upset by this news, immediately set out. However, he had not gone far when he learned that Basil was in his usual health and that the bishops of the province were gathering at Caesarea to elect a Metropolitan. He immediately understood the deception. Believing that Basil had wanted him present at the Metropolis so that his influence would help secure Basil's own election, he wrote him the following angry letter. Despite this, both Gregory and his father believed that no one was better suited to fill the vacant position. Therefore, Gregory wrote three letters in his father's name, which we have placed next. These were addressed to the people of Caesarea, to the bishops attending the Synod, and to Eusebius, Bishop of Samosata, respectively.)

(About the middle of the year 370. On the death of Eusebius Basil seems to have formed a desire that his friend Gregory should succeed to the vacant Metropolitanate; and so he wrote to him, without mentioning the death of the Archbishop, to come to him at Cæsarea, representing himself as dangerously ill. Gregory, deeply grieved at the news, set off at once, but had not proceeded far on his way when he learned that Basil was in his usual health, and that the Bishops of the Province were assembling at Cæsarea for the Election of a Metropolitan. He saw through the artifice at once; and thinking that Basil had wished to secure his presence at the Metropolis in order that his influence might bring about his own (Basil's) Election, he wrote him the following indignant letter. Nevertheless both he and his father felt that no one was so well fitted to succeed to the vacant throne; and so Gregory wrote in his father's name the three letters which we have placed next, addressed respectively to the people of Cæsarea, to the Bishops attending the Synod, and to Eusebius Bishop of Samosata.)

Do not be surprised if I say something strange that no one has said before. I think you have the reputation of being a steady, safe, and strong-minded man, but also of being more simple than safe in much that you plan and do. For whoever is free from evil is also proportionally slow to suspect evil, as is shown by what has just happened. You have summoned me to the Metropolis at the very moment when a council has been called for the election of a bishop, and your excuse is very seemly and plausible. You pretend to be very ill, indeed at your last breath, and to long to see me and bid me a last farewell—I do not know for what purpose, or even what my presence can accomplish in the matter. I started out in great grief at what had happened, for what could be of higher value to me than your life, or more distressing than your departure? I shed a fountain of tears, and I wailed aloud, and I felt myself now for the first time unphilosophically disposed. What did I leave undone of all that befits a funeral? But as soon as I discovered that the bishops were assembling at the city, I immediately stopped in my course. I wondered first that you had not perceived what was proper, or guarded against people's tongues, which are so given to slandering the guileless. Secondly, I wondered that you did not think the same course fitting for me as for yourself, though our life and our rule and everything is common to us both, who have been so closely associated by God from the first. Thirdly—for I must say this also—I wondered whether you remembered that such nominations are worthy of the more religious, not of the more powerful, nor of those most in favor with the multitude. For these reasons then I backed away and held back. Now, if you think as I do, come to this determination: to avoid these public turmoils and evil suspicions. I shall see your Reverence when the matters are settled and time allows, and I shall have more and graver reproaches to address to you.

Do not be surprized if I say something strange, which has not been said before by anyone. I think you have the reputation of being a steady safe and strong-minded man, but also of being more simple than safe in much that you plan and do. For that which is free from evil is also in proportion slow to suspect evil, as is shown by what has just occurred. You have summoned me to the Metropolis at the moment when a council has been called for the election of a Bishop, and your pretext is very seemly and plausible. You pretend to be very ill, indeed at your last breath, and to long to see me and to bid me a last farewell; I do not know with what object, even what my presence can effect in the matter. I started in great grief at what had happened; for what could be of higher value to me than your life, or more distressing than your departure? And I shed a fountain of tears; and I wailed aloud; and I felt myself now for the first time unphilosophically disposed. What did I leave unperformed of all that befits a funeral? But as soon as I found that the Bishops were assembling at the City, at once I stopped short in my course; and I wondered first that you had not perceived what was proper, or guarded against people's tongues, which are so given to slander the guileless; and secondly that you did not think the same course to be fitting for me as for yourself, though our life and our rule and everything is common to us both, who have been so closely associated by God from the first. Thirdly, for I must say this also, I wondered whether you remembered that such nominations are worthy of the more religious, not of the more powerful, nor of those most in favour with the multitude. For these reasons then I backed water, and held back. Now, if you think as I do, come to this determination, to avoid these public turmoils and evil suspicions. I shall see your Reverence when the matters are settled and time allows, and I shall have more and graver reproaches to address to you.

I was never unfavorably inclined toward your Reverence; do not consider me guilty. But after allowing myself a little freedom and boldness, just to relieve and heal my distress, I immediately yielded and submitted, and willingly placed myself under the Canon. What else could I have done, knowing both you and the Law of the Spirit? But even if I had been extremely petty and ignoble in my feelings, the present circumstances would not permit such attitudes, nor would the wild beasts that are attacking the Church, nor your own courage and strength, which fights so purely and genuinely for the Church. I will come then, if you wish, and join you in prayers and in struggle, and will serve you, and like encouraging boys I will inspire the noble athlete through my exhortations.

I was never meanly disposed towards your Reverence; do not find me guilty. But after allowing myself a little liberty and boldness, just to relieve and heal my grief, I at once bowed and submitted, and willingly subjected myself to the Canon. What else could I have done, knowing both you and the Law of the Spirit? But if I had been ever so mean and ignoble in my sentiments, yet the present time would not allow such feelings, nor the wild beasts which are rushing on the Church, nor your own courage and manliness, so purely and genuinely fighting for the Church. I will come then, if you wish it, and take part with you in prayers and in conflict, and will serve you, and like cheering boys will stir up the noble athlete by my exhortations.