Tag: Letters — Division II — Correspondence with St. Basil the Great

(Gregory was unable to keep the promise he made at the end of Letter 59 because his mother was seriously ill, so he writes to explain this and ask to be excused.)

(Gregory was not able, owing to the serious illness of his Mother, to carry out the promise at the end of Ep. LIX.; so he writes to explain and excuse himself.)

Carrying out your command depends partly on me, but partly—and I would say mainly—on your Reverence. My part is to have good will and eagerness, since I have never avoided meeting you but have always looked for opportunities, and right now I want to do so even more. Your Holiness's part is that my circumstances allow it. I am sitting with my lady Mother, who has been suffering from illness for a long time. If I could leave her out of danger, you can be sure I would not deprive myself of the pleasure of coming to you. So help me with your prayers for her recovery and for my journey to you.

The Carrying Out of your bidding depends partly on me; but partly, and I venture to think principally, on your Reverence. What depends on me is the good will and eagerness, for I never yet avoided meeting you, but have always sought opportunities, and at the present moment am even more desirous of doing so. What depends on your Holiness is that my affairs be set straight. For I am sitting by my lady Mother, who has for a long time been suffering from illness. And if I could leave her out of danger you might be well assured that I would not deprive myself of the pleasure of going to you. So give me the help of your prayers for her restoration to health, and for my journey to you.

(The reply to Basil's somewhat angry answer to the last.)

(The reply to Basil's somewhat angry answer to the last.)

A wiser person would have anticipated this situation, but I am very simple and foolish, so I did not fear it when I wrote to you. My letter upset you, but in my opinion neither rightly nor justly—it was completely unreasonable. And while you did not admit that you were hurt, you did not hide it either, or if you did, it was done with great skill, like wearing a mask, concealing your irritation under an appearance of respect. As for me, if I acted deceitfully or maliciously, I will be punished not so much by your irritation as by the truth itself. But if I acted simply and with my usual goodwill, I will blame my own sins rather than your disposition. But it would have been better to have corrected this matter rather than to be angry with those who give you advice. But you must attend to your own affairs, since you are quite capable of giving the same advice to others. You may consider me very ready, if God wills, both to come to you and to join you in the struggle and to contribute everything I can. For who would shrink back? Who would not rather take courage in speaking and contending for the truth under your leadership and by your side?

This was a case which any wiser man would have foreseen; but I who am very simple and foolish did not fear it in writing to you. My letter grieved you; but in my opinion neither rightly nor justly, but quite unreasonably. And while you did not acknowledge that you were hurt, neither did you conceal it, or if you did it was with great skill, as with a mask, hiding your vexation under an appearance of respect. But as to myself if I acted in this deceitfully or maliciously, I shall be punished not more by your vexation than by the truth itself; but if in simplicity and with my accustomed goodwill, I will lay the blame on my own sins rather than on your temper. But it would have been better to have set this matter straight, rather than to be angry with those who offer you counsel. But you must see to your own affairs, inasmuch as you are quite capable of giving the same advice to others. You may look upon me as very ready, if God will, both to come to you, and to join you in the conflict, and to contribute all that I can. For who would flinch, who would not rather take courage in speaking and contending for the truth under you and by your side?

(An attack had been made in Gregory's presence on Basil's orthodoxy concerning the Deity of God the Holy Spirit, and in this letter Gregory gives his friend an account of how he had defended him. Unfortunately, Basil was not pleased with the letter, taking it as intended to convey reproach under the appearance of friendly sympathy.)

(An attack had been made in Gregory's presence on the orthodoxy of Basil in respect of the Deity of God the Holy Ghost; and in this letter he gives his friend an account of the way in which he had defended him. Unfortunately Basil was not pleased with the letter, taking it as intended to convey reproach under the guise of friendly sympathy.)

From the beginning I have taken you, and I still take you, as my guide for life and my teacher of the faith, and for everything honorable that can be said. And if anyone else praises your good qualities, he is either completely with me or even behind me, so much am I surpassed by your piety, and so thoroughly am I yours. And this is no wonder, for the longer the friendship, the greater the experience, and where the experience is more abundant, the testimony is more complete. And if I gain any benefit in life, it is from your friendship and companionship. This is my attitude regarding these matters, and I hope it always will be. What I now write I write unwillingly, but still I write it. Do not be angry with me, or I shall be very angry myself, if you do not believe that I am both saying and writing it out of goodwill toward you.

From the first I have taken you, and I take you still, for my guide of life and my teacher of the faith, and for every thing honourable that can be said; and if any one else praises your merits, he is altogether with me, or even behind me, so far am I surpassed by your piety, and so thoroughly am I yours. And no wonder; for the longer the intimacy the greater the experience; and where the experience is more abundant the testimony is more perfect. And if I get any profit in life it is from your friendship and company. This is my disposition in regard to these matters, and I hope always will be. What I now write I write unwillingly, but still I write it. Do not be angry with me, or I shall be very angry myself, if you do not give me credit for both saying and writing it out of goodwill to you.

Many people have condemned us as not being firm in our faith—I mean those who think, and rightly so, that we completely agree with each other. Some openly charge us with heresy, others with cowardice. Those who believe our language is not sound accuse us of heresy, while those who criticize our caution accuse us of cowardice. I don't need to report what other people are saying; I will tell you what has happened recently.

Many people have condemned us as not firm in our faith; those, I mean, who think and think rightly that we thoroughly agree. Some openly charge us with heresy, others with cowardice; with heresy, those who believe that our language is not sound; with cowardice, they who blame our reserve. I need not report what other people say; I will tell you what has recently happened.

There was a gathering here where many of our prominent friends were present, and among them was a man who wore the name and clothing that indicate piety (that is, a monk). They had not yet begun to drink, but were talking about us, as often happens at such gatherings, and made us rather than anything else the topic of their conversation. They admired everything connected with you, and they brought me in as holding the same philosophy, and they spoke of our friendship, and of Athens, and of our agreement in views and feelings on all points. Our philosopher was annoyed by this. What is this, gentlemen? he said, with a very loud shout, what liars and flatterers you are. You may praise these men for other reasons if you like, and I will not contradict you, but I cannot grant you the most important point, their orthodoxy. Basil and Gregory are falsely praised—the former because his words are a betrayal of the faith, the latter because his tolerance aids the treason.

There was a party here at which a great many distinguished friends of ours were present, and among them was a man who wore the name and dress which betoken piety (i.e. a Monk). They had not yet begun to drink, but were talking about us, as often happens at such parties, and made us rather than anything else the subject of their conversation. They admired everything connected with you, and they brought me in as professing the same philosophy; and they spoke of our friendship, and of Athens, and of our conformity of views and feelings on all points. Our Philosopher was annoyed by this. What is this, gentlemen? he said, with a very mighty shout, what liars and flatterers you are. You may praise these men for other reasons if you like, and I will not contradict you; but I cannot concede to you the most important point, their orthodoxy. Basil and Gregory are falsely praised; the former, because his words are a betrayal of the faith, the latter, because his toleration aids the treason.

What is this, I said, you foolish man and new Dathan and Abiram in folly? Where do you come from to lay down the law for us? How do you set yourself up as a judge of such great matters? I have just come, he replied, from the festival of the Martyr Eupsychius (and so it really was), and there I heard the great Basil speak most beautifully and perfectly on the Godhead of the Father and the Son, as hardly anyone else could speak, but he glossed over the Spirit. And he added a kind of illustration about rivers, which pass by rocks and hollow out sand. As for you, my good sir, he said, looking at me, you now express yourself openly on the Godhead of the Spirit. He was referring to some remarks of mine in speaking of God at a well-attended Synod, where I had added concerning the Spirit that expression which has made a stir (how long shall we hide the candle under the bushel?). But the other man hints obscurely and, as it were, merely suggests the doctrine but does not openly speak out the truth, flooding people's ears with more policy than piety, and hiding his duplicity by the power of his eloquence.

What is this, said I, O vain man and new Dathan and Abiram in folly? Where do you come from to lay down the law for us? How do you set yourself up as a judge of such great matters? I have just come, he replied, from the festival of the Martyr Eupsychius, (and so it really was), and there I heard the great Basil speak most beautifully and perfectly upon the Godhead of the Father and the Son, as hardly anyone else could speak; but he slurred over the Spirit. And he added a sort of illustration from rivers, which pass by rocks and hollow out sand. As for you my good sir, he said, looking at me, you do now express yourself openly on the Godhead of the Spirit, and he referred to some remarks of mine in speaking of God at a largely attended Synod, as having added in respect of the Spirit that expression which has made a noise, (how long shall we hide the candle under the bushel?) but the other man hints obscurely, and as it were, merely suggests the doctrine, but does not openly speak out the truth; flooding people's ears with more policy than piety, and hiding his duplicity by the power of his eloquence.

I said it's because I live in obscurity in a corner, unknown to most people who don't know what I say—they hardly even know that I speak at all—so I can do theology without danger. But his word carries greater weight because he is better known, both personally and because of his Church. Everything he says is public, and the conflict around him is intense, since the heretics try to seize on every unguarded word from Basil's lips to get him expelled from the Church. He is almost the only remaining spark of truth and vital force, since everything else around has been destroyed, so that evil may take root in that city and spread from that Church as from a center to the whole world. Surely then it's better to use some restraint regarding the truth and to give way a little ourselves to circumstances, as if to a passing cloud, rather than risk the truth's destruction by proclaiming it too openly. No harm will come to us if we recognize the Spirit as God through other expressions that lead to this conclusion—for the truth consists not so much in words as in meaning—but very great harm would come to the Church if the truth were driven away in the person of one man. The people present wouldn't accept my economy as outdated and as mocking them. Instead they shouted me down, saying I was practicing it out of cowardice rather than for sound reasons. It would be much better, they said, to protect our own people with the truth than to weaken them with your so-called economy while failing to win over the others. It would take too long and perhaps be unnecessary to tell you all the details of what I said and what I heard, and how annoyed I was with my opponents—perhaps excessively and contrary to my usual temperament. But in the end, I sent them away in the same state. But you, O divine and sacred head, instruct me how far I should go in proclaiming the deity of the Spirit, what words I should use, and how much restraint to exercise, so that I may be equipped against opponents. For if I, who more than anyone else know both you and your views, and have often both given and received assurance on this point, still need to be taught the truth about this matter, I will be the most ignorant and miserable of all people.

It is, I said, because I (living as I do in a corner, and unknown to most men who do not know what I say, and hardly that I speak at all) can philosophize without danger; but his word is of greater weight, because he is better known, both on his own account and on that of his Church. And everything that he says is public, and the war around him is great, as the heretics try to snatch every naked word from Basil's lips, to get him expelled from the Church; because he is almost the only spark of truth left and the vital force, all else around having been destroyed; so that evil may be rooted in the city, and may spread over the whole world as from a centre in that Church. Surely then it is better to use some reserve in the truth, and ourselves to give way a little to circumstances as to a cloud, rather than by the openness of the proclamation to risk its destruction. For no harm will come to us if we recognize the Spirit as God from other phrases which lead to this conclusion (for the truth consists not so much in sound as in sense), but a very great injury would be done to the Church if the truth were driven away in the person of one man. The company present would not receive my economy, as out of date and mocking them; but they shouted me down as practising it rather from cowardice than for reason. It would be much better, they said, to protect our own people by the truth, than by your so-called Economy to weaken them while failing to win over the others. It would be a long business and perhaps unnecessary to tell you all the details of what I said, and of what I heard, and how vexed I was with the opponents, perhaps immoderately and contrary to my own usual temper. But, in fine, I sent them away in the same fashion. But do you O divine and sacred head, instruct me how far I ought to go in setting forth the Deity of the Spirit; and what words I ought to use, and how far to use reserve; that I may be furnished against opponents. For if I, who more than any one else know both you and your opinions, and have often both given and received assurance on this point, still need to be taught the truth of this matter, I shall be of all men the most ignorant and miserable.

(At the request of Anthimus, it appears that Saint Gregory wrote to Saint Basil a letter, which no longer survives, proposing a meeting between the competing Metropolitans. Basil took offense at this well-intentioned proposal and wrote a harsh letter to Saint Gregory, to which the following is the reply.)

(At the request of Anthimus it would appear that S. Gregory wrote to S. Basil a letter, not now extant, proposing a conference between the rival Metropolitans. Basil took umbrage at the well-meant proposal, and wrote a stiff letter to S. Gregory, to which the following is the reply.)

How fiery and colt-like you are in your letters! I'm not surprised that now you have just become the property of glory, you want to show me what you find glory to be, so that you may make yourself more impressive, like those painters who depict the seasons. But to explain the whole matter about the bishops and the letter that annoyed you—what my starting point was, how far I went, and where I stopped—seems to me too lengthy for a letter and more suited to a historical account than an apology. To explain it briefly: the most noble Anthimus came to us with certain bishops, either to visit my father (this at least was the excuse) or to do what he actually did. He tested me in many ways and on many subjects: dioceses, the marshes of Sasima, my ordination—flattering, questioning, threatening, pleading, blaming, praising, drawing circles around himself, as though I ought only to look at him and his new Metropolis as being the greater. I said, "Why do you draw your line to include our city, for we too consider our church to be truly a Mother of Churches, and that from ancient times?" In the end he left without getting what he wanted, quite out of breath, and accusing me of Basilism, as if it were a kind of Philipism. Do you think I wronged you in this? Now look at the letter from me, who you say insulted you. They prepared a synodal summons for me, and when I refused it and said the thing was an insult, they then asked as an alternative that through me you should be invited to discuss these matters. I agreed to this in order to prevent their first plan from being carried out, placing the whole matter in your hands—whether you choose to call them together, and where and when. And if I have not injured you in this, tell me where there is room for injury. If you need to learn this from me, I will read you the letter that Anthimus sent me after invading the marshes, despite my prohibitions and threats, insulting and reviling me, and as it were singing a song of triumph over my defeat. What reason is there that I should offend him for your sake and at the same time displease you, as though I were currying favor with him? You should have learned this first, my dear friend, and even if it had been so, you should not have insulted me—if only because I am a priest. But if you are very much inclined to showiness and quarrelsomeness, and speak as my superior—as the Metropolitan to an insignificant suffragan, or even as to a bishop without a see—I too have a little pride to set against yours. That is very easy for anybody and is perhaps the most appropriate course.

How hotly and like a colt you skip in your letters. Nor do I wonder that when you have just become the property of glory you should wish to show me what you find glory to be, so that you may make yourself more majestic, like those painters who picture the seasons. But, to explain the whole matter about the Bishops, and the letter by which you were annoyed; what was my starting point, and how far I went, and where I stopped, appears to me to be too long a matter for a letter, and to be a subject not so much for an apology as for a history. To explain it to you concisely:– the most noble Anthimus came to us with certain Bishops, whether to visit my Father (this at least was the pretext), or to act as he did act. He sounded me in many ways and on many subjects; dioceses, the marshes of Sasima, my ordination,…flattering, questioning, threatening, pleading, blaming, praising, drawing circles round himself, as though I ought only to look at him and his new Metropolis, as being the greater. Why, I said, do you draw your line to include our city, for we too deem our Church to be really a Mother of Churches, and that too from ancient times? In the end he went away without having gained his object, much out of breath, and reproaching me with Basilism, as if it were a kind of Philipism. Do you think I did you wrong in this? And now look at the letter from me, who, you say, insulted you. They fashioned a Synodal summons to me; and when I declined it and said that the thing was an insult, they then asked as an alternative that through me you should be invited to deliberate upon these matters. This I promised, in order to prevent their first plan being carried out; placing the whole matter in your hands, if you choose to call them together, and where and when. And if I have not injured you in this, tell me where there is room for injury. If you have to learn this from me, I will read you the letter which Anthimus sent me, after invading the marshes, notwithstanding my prohibitions and threats, insulting and reviling me, and as it were singing a song of triumph over my defeat. And what reason is there that I should offend him for your sake and at the same time displease you, as though I were currying favour with him? You ought to have learned this first, my dear friend; and even if it had been so, you should not have insulted me — if only because I am a Priest. But if you are very much disposed to ostentation and quarrelsomeness, and speak as my Superior — as the Metropolitan to an insignificant Suffragan, or even as to a Bishop without a See — I too have a little pride to set against yours. That is very easy to anybody, and is perhaps the most suitable course.

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.