Author: Mourad Takla

What does extensive experience, especially experience of good, do for people? It teaches kindness and makes them favorably disposed toward those who ask them for help. There is no better teacher of compassion than having previously received goodness oneself. This has happened to me among others. I have learned compassion through the things I have suffered. And do you see my greatness of soul when I myself need your gentleness in my own affairs? I intercede for others and do not fear that I might use up all your kindness on other people's concerns. I am writing in this way on behalf of the Presbyter Leontius—or, if I may describe him this way, the former Presbyter. If he has suffered enough for what he has done, let us stop there, so that excess does not become injustice. And if there is still some balance of punishment due, and the consequences of his crime have not yet equaled his offense, still remit it for our sake and God's, and for the sake of the sanctuary and the general assembly of the priests, among whom he was once counted, even though he has now shown himself unworthy of them, both by what he has done and by what he has suffered. If I can prevail with you, that will be best; but if not, I will bring to you a more powerful intercessor, she who is the partner of both your rule and your good reputation.

What does much experience, and experience of good do for men? It teaches kindness, and inclines them to those who entreat them. There is no such education in pity as the previous reception of goodness. This has happened to myself among others. I have learned compassion by the things which I have suffered. And do you see my greatness of soul when I myself need your gentleness in my own affairs? I intercede for others, and do not fear lest I should exhaust all your kindness on other men's concerns. I am writing thus on behalf of the Presbyter Leontius — or, if I may so describe him, the ex-Presbyter. If he has suffered sufficiently for what he has done, let us stop there, lest excess become injustice. And if there is still any balance of punishment due, and the consequences of his crime have not yet equalled his offense, yet remit it for our sake and God's, and that of the sanctuary, and the general assembly of the priests, among whom he was once numbered, even though he has now shown himself unworthy of them, both by what he has done and by what he has suffered. If I can prevail with you it will be best; but if not, I will bring to you a more powerful intercessor, her who is the partner both of your rule and of your good fame.

Though my desire to meet you is strong, and the need of those petitioning through me is great, my illness makes this impossible. Therefore I am bold enough to put my appeal in writing. Show respect for our gray hair, which you have already often honored through good actions. Show respect also for my illness, which my labors for God have partly caused—if I may boast a little. For this reason, spare the citizens who look to me because I speak to you with some freedom. And spare also the others who are under my care. Public affairs will suffer no harm through mercy, since you can accomplish more through fear than others can through punishment. May you, as your reward for this, find such a Judge as you show yourself to be toward those petitioning you and toward me, their intercessor.

Though my desire to meet you is warm, and the need of your petitioners is great, yet my illness is invincible. Therefore I am bold to commit my intercession to writing. Have respect to our gray hair, which you have already often reverenced by good actions. Have respect also to my infirmity, to which my labours for God have in part contributed, if I may swagger a little. For this cause spare the citizens who look to me because I use some freedom of speech with you. And spare also the others who are under my care. For public affairs will suffer no damage through mercy, since you can do more by fear than others by punishment. May you, as your reward for this, obtain such a Judge as you show yourself to your petitioners and to me their intercessor.

(The people of Nazianzus had somehow lost their civic rights, and Olympius had signed the order taking away the city's official status. This led to something like a revolt by some of the younger citizens, and Olympius decided to punish this by completely destroying the place. Gregory was once again prevented by illness from appearing in person before the governor, but he defended his native city (using its official Latin name of Diocæsarea) in the following letters so successfully that he persuaded Olympius to pardon the uprising.)

(The people of Nazianzus had in some way incurred the loss of civic rights; and the Order for the forfeiture of the title of City had been signed by Olympius. This led to something like a revolt on the part of a certain number of the younger citizens: and this Olympius determined to punish by the total destruction of the place. S. Gregory was again prevented by sickness from appearing in person before the Governor: but he pleaded the cause of his native city (using its official Latin name of Diocæsarea) in the following letters so successfully as to induce Olympius to pardon the outbreak.)

Again an opportunity for kindness, and again I am bold enough to put my request about such an important matter into a letter. My illness makes me this bold, since it does not even allow me to go out, and it does not permit me to make a proper visit to you. What then is my appeal? Please receive it from me gently and kindly. The death of a single person, who exists today and tomorrow will not exist and will not return to us, is certainly a dreadful thing. But it is much more dreadful for a city to die, which kings founded, time built up, and a long series of years has preserved. I am speaking of Diocaesarea, once a city, no longer a city, unless you grant it mercy. Imagine that this place now falls at your feet through me: let it have a voice, let it be clothed in mourning and have its hair cut off as in a tragedy, and let it speak to you in words such as these:

Again an opportunity for kindness: and again I am bold enough to commit to a letter my entreaty about so important a matter. My illness makes me thus bold, for it does not even allow me to go out, and it does not permit me to make a fitting entrance to you. What then is my Embassy? Pray receive it from me gently and kindly. The death of a single man, who today is and tomorrow will not be and will not return to us is of course a dreadful thing. But it is much more dreadful for a City to die, which Kings founded, and time compacted, and a long series of years has preserved. I speak of Diocæsarea, once a City, a City no longer, unless you grant it mercy. Think that this place now falls at your feet by me: let it have a voice, and be clothed in mourning and cut off its hair as in a tragedy, and let it speak to you in such words as these:

Give me a hand when I'm lying in the dust. Help me in my weakness. Don't add the weight of your hand to what time has already done, and don't destroy what the Persians have left me. It's more honorable for you to build up cities than to tear down those that are suffering. Be my founder, either by adding to what I have or by keeping me as I am. Don't let it be that until your time in office I was a city, but after you I am one no longer. Don't give people in the future a reason to speak badly of you—that you received me counted among the cities but left me as an uninhabited place that was once a city, recognizable only by mountains, cliffs, and forests.

Give a hand to me that lie in the dust: help the strengthless: do not add the weight of your hand to time, nor destroy what the Persians have left me. It is more honourable to you to raise up cities than to destroy those that are distressed. Be my founder, either by adding to what I possess, or by preserving me as I am. Do not suffer that up to the time of your administration I should be a City, and after you should be so no longer: do not give occasion to after times to speak evil of you, that you received me numbered among cities, and left me an uninhabited spot, which was once a city, only recognizable by mountains and precipices and woods.

Let the City of my imagination speak and plead these things to your mercy. But please accept some advice from me as your friend: certainly punish those who have rebelled against the edict of your authority. On this matter I am not bold enough to say much, although this rash act was not, they say, planned by everyone, but was only the irrational anger of a few young men. But set aside the greater part of your anger and use broader reasoning. They were grieving for their mother's execution; they could not bear to be called citizens yet have no political rights; they went mad; they broke the law; they threw away their own safety; the unexpectedness of the disaster robbed them of reason. Is it really necessary that because of this the city should cease to be a city? Surely not. Most excellent one, do not write the order for this to happen. Instead, respect the petition of all citizens and statesmen and men of rank—for remember the disaster will affect everyone equally—even if the greatness of your authority keeps them silent, sighing as it were in secret. Respect also my gray hair, for it would be terrible for me to have had a great city and now have none at all, and for the temple we have built to God and our love for its decoration to become a dwelling for beasts after your administration. It is not a terrible thing if some statues were thrown down—though in itself it would be—but I would not have you think I am speaking of this when all my concern is for more important matters. What is dreadful is if an ancient city is to be destroyed along with them—a city that has splendidly endured, as I, who am honored by you and am supposed to have some influence, have lived to see. But this is enough on such a subject, for if I speak any longer I will not find anything stronger than your own reasoning, by which this nation is governed—and may more and greater nations be governed by it too, and with greater authority. However, Your Magnanimity must know this about those who have fallen before your feet: they are completely wretched and despairing, and they have not taken part in any disorder with those who have broken the law, as I am assured by many who were present at the time. Therefore consider what you think best, both for your own reputation in this world and your hopes in the next. We will endure whatever you decide—not without grief, certainly—but we will endure it, for what else can we do? If the worse decision prevails, we will be indignant and will shed a tear over our city that has ceased to exist.

This let the City of my imagination do and say to your mercy. But deign to receive an exhortation from me as your friend: certainly chastise those who have rebelled against the Edict of your authority. On this behalf I am not bold to say anything, although this piece of audacity was not, they say, of universal design, but was only the unreasoning anger of a few young men. But dismiss the greater part of your anger, and use a larger reasoning. They were grieved for their Mother's being put to death; they could not endure to be called citizens, and yet to be without political rights: they were mad: they committed an offense against the law: they threw away their own safety: the unexpectedness of the calamity deprived them of reason. Is it really necessary that for this the city should cease to be a city? Surely not. Most excellent, do not write the order for this to be done. Rather respect the supplication of all citizens and statesmen and men of rank — for remember the calamity will touch all alike — even if the greatness of your authority keeps them silent, sighing as it were in secret. Respect also my gray hair: for it would be dreadful to me, after having had a great city, now to have none at all, and that after your government the Temple which we have raised to God, and our love for its adornment, is to become a dwelling for beasts. It is not a terrible thing if some statues were thrown down — though in itself it would be so — but I would not have you think that I am speaking of this, when all my care is for more important things: but it is dreadful if an ancient city is to be destroyed with them — one which has splendidly endured, as I, who am honoured by you, and am supposed to have some influence, have lived to see. But this is enough upon such a subject, for I shall not, if I speak at greater length, find anything stronger than your own reasons, by which this nation is governed — and may more and greater ones be governed by them too, and that in greater commands. This however it was needful that Your Magnanimity should know about those who have fallen before your feet, that they are altogether wretched and despairing, and have not shared in any disorder with those who have broken the law, as I am certified by many who were then present. Therefore deliberate what you may think expedient, both for your own reputation in this world, and your hopes in the next. We will bear what you determine — not indeed without grief — but we will bear it: for what else can we do? If the worse determination prevail, we shall be indignant, and shall shed a tear over our City that has ceased to be.

Again I write when I ought to come, but I gain confidence to do so from you yourself, O judge of spiritual matters (to put first things first), and corrector of the commonwealth—and both by Divine Providence. You have also received as the reward of your piety that your affairs would prosper according to your will, and that you alone should find attainable what is out of reach for everyone else. For wisdom and courage conduct your government: the one discovering what needs to be done, and the other easily carrying out what has been discovered. And the greatest of all is the purity of your hands with which everything is directed. Where is your ill-gotten gold? There never was any. It was the first thing you condemned to exile as an invisible tyrant. Where is ill will? It is condemned. Where is favoritism? Here you do bend somewhat (for I will accuse you a little), but it is in imitating the Divine Mercy, which at the present time your soldier Aurelius entreats from you through me. I call him a foolish fugitive, because he has placed himself in our hands, and through ours in yours, sheltering himself under our gray hair and our priesthood (for which you have often professed your veneration) as if it were under some imperial image. See, this sacrificing and bloodless hand leads this man to you—a hand which has written often in your praise, and will I am sure write yet more, if God continues your term of government—yours, I mean, and that of your colleague Themis.

Again I write when I ought to come: but I gain confidence to do so from yourself, O Umpire of spiritual matters (to put the first thing first), and Corrector of the Commonweal — and both by Divine Providence: who have also received as the reward of your piety that your affairs would prosper to your mind, and that you alone should find attainable what to every one else is out of reach. For wisdom and courage conduct your government, the one discovering what is to be done, and the other easily carrying out what has been discovered. And the greatest of all is the purity of your hands with which all is directed. Where is your ill-gotten gold? There never was any; it was the first thing you condemned to exile as an invisible tyrant. Where is illwill? It is condemned. Where is favour? Here you do bend somewhat (for I will accuse you a little), but it is in imitating the Divine Mercy, which at the present time your soldier Aurelius entreats of you by me. I call him a foolish fugitive, because he has placed himself in our hands, and through ours in yours, sheltering himself under our gray hair and our Priesthood (for which you have often professed your veneration) as if it were under some Imperial Image. See, this sacrificing and unbloodstained hand leads this man to you; a hand which has written often in your praise, and will I am sure write yet more, if God continue your term of government — yours, I mean, and that of your colleague Themis.

(This letter was written somewhat earlier in reference to the consent Gregory had been persuaded to give to remain for some additional time as administrator of the See of Nazianzus. It is certainly not addressed to Theodore of Tyana, and it is not known who this Theodore is.)

(This letter is written at a somewhat earlier date in reference to the consent he had been induced to give to remaining for some time longer as administrator of the See of Nazianzus. It is certainly not addressed to Theodore of Tyana, and it is not known who this Theodore is.)

He who raised David His servant from shepherd's work to the throne, and Your Reverence from the flock to the work of the shepherd—He who orders our affairs and those of all who hope in Him according to His own will—may He now put it into the mind of Your Reverence to know the dishonor I have suffered at the hands of my lords the bishops in the matter of their votes, in that they have agreed to the election but have excluded us. I will not lay the blame on Your Reverence, because you have only recently come to preside over our affairs and are, as is to be expected, for the most part unacquainted with our history. This is quite enough, for I have no mind to trouble you further, so that I may not seem burdensome at the very beginning of our friendship. But I will tell you what comes to my mind in taking counsel with God. I retired from the church at Nazianzus, not because I despised God or looked down on the smallness of the flock (God forbid that a philosophic soul should be so disposed), but first because I am not bound by any such appointment, and second because I am broken down by my ill health and do not think myself equal to such anxieties. And since you too have been hard on me in reproaching me for my resignation, and I myself could not endure the complaints against me, and since the times are hard, threatening us with an invasion of enemies to the injury of the commonwealth of the whole Church, I finally made up my mind to suffer a defeat that is painful to my body but perhaps not bad for my soul. I make over this miserable body to the Church for as long as it may be possible, thinking it better to suffer any distress to the flesh rather than to incur a spiritual injury myself or to inflict it upon others who have thought the worst of us, judging from their own experience. Knowing this, do pray for me and approve my resolution, and perhaps it is not out of place to say, mold yourself to piety.

He Who raised David His servant from the Shepherd's work to the Throne, and Your Reverence from the flock to the Work of the Shepherd: He that orders our affairs and those of all who hope in Him according to His own Will: may He now put it into the mind of Your Reverence to know the dishonour which I have suffered at the hands of my Lords the Bishops in the matter of their votes, in that they have agreed to the Election, but have excluded us. I will not lay the blame on Your Reverence, because you have but recently come to preside over our affairs, and are, as is to be expected, for the most part unacquainted with our history. This is quite enough: for I have no mind to trouble you further, that I may not seem burdensome at the very beginning of our friendship. But I will tell you what suggests itself to me in taking counsel with God. I retired from the Church at Nazianzus, not as either despising God, or looking down on the littleness of the flock (God forbid that a philosophic soul should be so disposed); but first because I am not bound by any such appointment: and secondly because I am broken down by my ill health, and do not think myself equal to such anxieties. And since you too have been heavy on me, in reproaching me with my resignation, and I myself could not endure the clamours against me, and since the times are hard, threatening us with an inroad of enemies to the injury of the commonwealth of the whole Church, I finally made up my mind to suffer a defeat which is painful to my body, but perhaps not bad for my soul. I make over this miserable body to the Church for as long as it may be possible, thinking it better to suffer any distress to the flesh rather than to incur a spiritual injury myself or to inflict it upon others, who have thought the worst of us, judging from their own experience. Knowing this, do pray for me, and approve my resolution: and perhaps it is not out of place to say, mould yourself to piety.

(Around the middle of A.D. 382, Theodosius, following the recommendation of Damasus, summoned a new synod of Eastern bishops to meet at Constantinople in an attempt to heal the schism that had been made worse by the election of Flavian at Antioch. As soon as Gregory heard that this synod had been called, he wrote to several of his influential friends at court, asking them to do everything they could to promote peace.)

(About the middle of a.d. 382 Theodosius, on the recommendation of S. Damasus, summoned a new Synod of Eastern Bishops to meet at Constantinople, to try and heal the schism which had been embittered by the election of Flavian at Antioch. As soon as Gregory heard of the convocation of this Synod he wrote to several of his influential friends at Court, to beg them to do their utmost for the promotion of peace.)

I am spending my time in quiet reflection. That is the harm my enemies have done me, and I would be glad if they would do more of the same, so I might regard them even more as benefactors. For it often happens that those who are wronged receive a benefit, while those we would treat well suffer harm. That is how things stand with me. But if I cannot make everyone believe this, I am very eager that at least you—to whom above all others I most willingly give an account of my affairs—should know it, or rather I am certain that you do know it and can persuade those who do not. However, I beg you to make every effort, now at least if you have not done so before, to bring together into one voice and one mind the factions of the world that are so unhappily divided, especially if you perceive, as I have observed, that they are divided not on account of the Faith but by petty private interests. To succeed in doing this would earn you a reward, and my retirement would have less to grieve over if I could see that I did not pursue it for no purpose, but was like Jonah, willingly casting myself into the sea so the storm might cease and the sailors be saved. If, however, they are still as storm-tossed as ever, I at least have done what I could.

I am philosophizing at leisure. That is the injury my enemies have done me, and I should be glad if they would do more of the same sort, that I might look upon them still more as benefactors. For it often happens that those who are wronged get a benefit, while they, whom we would treat well, suffer injury. That is the state of my affairs. But if I cannot make every one believe this, I am very anxious, that at all events you, for them all, to whom I most willingly give an account of my affairs, should know, or rather I feel certain that you do know it, and can persuade those who do not. You, however, I beg to give all diligence, now at any rate, if you have not done so before, to bring together to one voice and mind the sections of the world that are so unhappily divided; and above all if you should perceive, as I have observed, that they are divided not on account of the Faith, but by petty private interests. To succeed in doing this would earn you a reward; and my retirement would have less to grieve over if I could see that I did not grasp at it to no purpose, but was like a Jonas, willingly casting myself into the sea, that the storm might cease and the sailors be saved. If, however, they are still as storm-tost as ever, I at all events have done what I could.

(In 382 Gregory was summoned to a Synod at Constantinople. He wrote to Procopius, the Prefectus Urbi, and declined to go because of his strong dislike of Episcopal Synods, from which he said he had never seen any good come. However, he seems to have received a more urgent summons through Icarius and Olympius. His reply to Icarius has been lost; his reply to Olympius is as follows.)

(In 382 Gregory was summoned to a Synod at Constantinople; he wrote to Procopius, the Prefectus Urbi, and declined to go, on the ground of his great dislike to Episcopal Synods, from which, he said, he had never known any good to result. However he seems to have received a more urgent summons through Icarius and Olympius. His reply to Icarius has been lost; that to Olympius is as follows.)

What troubles me more than my illness is that no one believes I am actually sick. Yet I am being ordered to make such a long journey and forced back into the middle of troubles that I was glad to escape. I almost thought I should be thankful to my bodily suffering for this. For peace and freedom from public affairs is more valuable than the splendor of a busy life. I wrote this yesterday to the Most Illustrious Icarius, from whom I received the same summons. Now I ask your Magnanimity also to write this on my behalf, since you are a very trustworthy witness of my poor health. Another proof that I am unable to travel is the loss I have now suffered in not even being able to come and enjoy your company—you who are such a kind Governor and so admirable in virtue that even the beginnings of your term of office are more honorable than the good reputation others can achieve by the end of theirs.

It is more serious to me than my illness, that no one will believe that I am ill, but that so long a journey is enjoined upon me, and I am pushed into the midst of troubles from which I rejoiced to have withdrawn, and almost thought that I ought to be grateful for this to my bodily affliction. For quiet and freedom from affairs is more precious than the splendour of a busy life. I wrote this yesterday to the Most Illustrious Icarius, from whom I received the same summons: and I now beg your Magnanimity also to write this for me, for you are a very trustworthy witness of my ill health. Another proof of my inability is the loss which I have now suffered in having been unable even to come and enjoy your society, who are so kind a Governor, and so admirable for virtue that even the preludes of your term of office are more honourable than the good fame which others can earn by the end of theirs.

(While Gregory was at Xantharis, an opportunity came up for him to see Olympius, but a relapse of his illness kept him from taking advantage of it. He writes to express his regret, and he also takes the opportunity to ask that Nicobulus be exempted from responsibility for the Imperial Posts.)

(While Gregory was at Xantharis an opportunity presented itself for seeing Olympius, but a return of illness prevented him from taking advantage of it. He writes to express his regret, and takes the opportunity also to request that Nicobulus may be exempted from the charge of the Imperial Posts.)

I was happy only in a dream. I had been brought as far as the Monastery to get some relief from the bath, and I was hoping to meet you. This good fortune was almost within my grasp, and I had stayed a few days waiting for it, but suddenly I was carried away by my illness, which was already painful in some ways and threatening in others. If one must find some explanation for this misfortune, I suffered in the same way that polypods do—when they are torn by force from the rocks, they risk losing the suckers by which they attach themselves to the rocks, or they carry off some piece of the rock itself. My situation is something like this. What I would have asked Your Excellency for if I had seen you, I now venture to ask even though I am absent. I found my son Nicobulus very troubled by the responsibility for the Post and by the demanding attention required by the Monastery. He is not a strong man, and he has a great dislike of solitude. Use him for anything else you wish, for he is eager to serve your authority in all things. But if possible, free him from this duty—if for no other reason, then at least to honor him as my host. Since I have asked many favors from you for many people and have received them, I need your kindness for myself as well.

I was happy in a dream. For having been brought as far as the Monastery to obtain some comfort from the bath, and then hoping to meet you, and having this good fortune almost in my hands, and having delayed a few days, I was suddenly carried away by my illness, which was already painful in some respects and threatening in others. And, if one must find some conjecture to account for the misfortune, I suffered in the same way as the polypods do, which if torn by force from the rocks risk the loss of the suckers by which they attach themselves to the rocks, or carry off some portion of the latter. Something of this kind is my case. And what I should have asked Your Excellency for had I seen you, I now venture to ask for though I am absent. I found my son Nicobulus much worried by the care of the Post, and by close attention to the Monastery. He is not a strong man, and has great distaste for solitude. Make use of him for anything else you please, for he is eager to serve your authority in all things; but if it be possible set him free from this charge, if for no other reason, at any rate to do him honour as my Hospitaller. Since I have asked many favours from you for many people, and have obtained them, I need also your kindness for myself.

(A little later on, when the weather was more settled, Gregory accepts the invitation and proposes to come at once, but declines to attend the Provincial Synod.)

(A little later on, when the weather was more settled, Gregory accepts the invitation and proposes to come at once, but declines to attend the Provincial Synod.)

You're calling me? I'm hurrying to come, but for a private visit. I greet synods and conventions from a distance, since I've learned from experience that most of them (to put it mildly) are rather troublesome affairs. So what's left? Support my rightful wishes with your prayers, so I may obtain what I'm eager for.

You call me? And I hasten, and that for a private visit. Synods and Conventions I salute from afar, since I have experienced that most of them (to speak moderately) are but sorry affairs. What then remains? Help with your prayers my just desires that I may obtain that for which I am anxious.

(To excuse himself for postponing his acceptance of an invitation.)

(To excuse himself for postponing his acceptance of an invitation.)

I respect you deeply, and I enjoy being with you. However, I had otherwise decided to stay at home and devote myself to quiet contemplation, for I found this to be the most beneficial course for myself. And since the winds are still quite strong, and my illness has not yet left me, I ask you to be patient with me for a little while, and to join me in praying for my health. As soon as the right time comes, I will respond to your requests.

I reverence your presence, and I delight in your company; although otherwise I counselled myself to remain at home and philosophize in quiet, for I found this of all courses the most profitable for myself. And since the winds are still somewhat rough, and my infirmity has not yet left me, I beg you to bear with me patiently for a little while, and to join me in my prayers for health; and as soon as the fit season comes I will attend upon your requests.