Letter 122: 1. In the first place, I beseech you, my friends, and implore you, for Christ's sake, not to let my bodily absence grieve you. For I suppose you do not imagine that I could by any means be separated in spirit and in unfeigned love from you, although perchance it is even a greater grief to me than to you that my weakness unfits me for bearing all...

Augustine of HippoDarius|c. 406 AD|augustine hippo
diplomaticfriendshipgrief deathillnessproperty economics
Travel & mobility; Personal friendship; Death & mourning

Augustine to Darius, greetings.

I thank you for your letter, my excellent lord, and for the gift of your friendship. Coming from a man of your rank and responsibilities, it is a gift I do not take lightly.

You ask about the peace — the political peace — and whether I think it can hold. This is a question for a diplomat, not a bishop. But since you asked a bishop, you will get a bishop's answer.

The peace can hold if the people who made it want it to hold. Treaties are written on parchment, but they are kept in the hearts of those who signed them. If the hearts change, the parchment is worthless. And hearts change constantly — blown by ambition, by fear, by greed, by the whispers of advisors who see profit in conflict.

But here is what I believe: peace is always worth pursuing, even when it is fragile, even when it may not last. The Lord said, "Blessed are the peacemakers" [Matthew 5:9]. He did not say, "Blessed are the peacemakers whose peace lasts forever." He blessed the making, not the duration. Every day of peace is a day in which people are not dying, not weeping, not watching their children starve. Every day of peace is a gift — and gifts are received with gratitude, not with anxiety about when they will end.

Do your work, my lord. Make peace. Hold it as long as you can. And when it breaks — as all human things break — make it again.

Farewell.

Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.

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