(Basil the Great died on January 1, A.D. 379. Gregory of Nazianzus was prevented by very serious illness from attending his funeral, and therefore wrote as follows to Gregory of Nyssa.)
(Basil the Great died Jan. 1, a.d. 379. Gregory of Nazianzus was prevented by very serious illness from attending his funeral, and therefore wrote as follows to Gregory of Nyssa.)
This, then, was also something my sad life had to endure: hearing of Basil's death and the departure of that holy soul, which has left us to be with the Lord—something he had been preparing for his entire life. Among all the other losses I have suffered, this is the greatest: because of my physical illness, from which I am still suffering and in great danger, I cannot kiss that holy dust or be with you to share the consolations of true philosophy and to comfort our mutual friends. To see the Church's desolation, stripped of such a glory and robbed of such a crown, is something no one—at least no one with any feeling—can bear to look at or hear about. But I believe that although you have many friends and will receive many words of sympathy, you will not find comfort so much from anyone else as from yourself and your memory of him. For you two were a model to everyone of philosophy, a kind of spiritual standard, both of discipline in prosperity and of endurance in adversity. For philosophy handles prosperity with moderation and adversity with dignity. This is what I have to say to Your Excellency. But as for me who write this, what time or what words will comfort me, except your company and conversation, which our blessed one has left me in place of everything else? So that by seeing his character in you as in a bright and shining mirror, I may think that I still have him too.
This, then, was also reserved for my sad life, to hear of the death of Basil, and the departure of that holy soul, which has gone from us that it may be with the Lord, for which he had been preparing himself all his life. And among all the other losses I have had to endure this is the greatest, that by reason of the bodily sickness from which I am still suffering and in great danger, I cannot kiss that holy dust, or be with you to enjoy the consolations of a just philosophy, and to comfort our common friends. But to see the desolation of the Church, shorn of such a glory, and bereft of such a crown, is what no one, at least no one of any feeling, can bear to let his eyes look upon, or his ear hearken to. But you, I think, though you have many friends and will receive many words of condolence, yet will not derive comfort so much from any as from yourself and your memory of him; for you two were a pattern to all of philosophy, a kind of spiritual standard, both of discipline in prosperity, and of endurance in adversity; for philosophy bears prosperity with moderation and adversity with dignity. This is what I have to say to Your Excellency. But for myself who write so, what time or what words shall comfort me, except your company and conversation, which our blessed one has left me in place of all, that seeing his character in you as in a bright and shining mirror, I may think myself to possess him also!