Letter 1: Much distressed as I was by the flouts of what is called fortune, who always seems to be hindering my meeting you, I was wonderfully cheered and comforted by your letter, for I had already been turning over in my mind whether what so many people say is really true, that there is a certain Necessity or Fate which rules all the events of our lives...

From: Basil of Caesarea, student in Athens To: Eustathius of Sebaste [ascetic monk and bishop; one of Basil's early spiritual mentors, later a theological opponent] Date: ~357 AD Context: Basil's earliest surviving letter — written before he became a bishop, expressing his obsessive desire to track down the wandering philosopher-monk Eustathius. I've been so frustrated by what people call "bad luck" — it always seems to block me from seeing you — that your letter was a genuine relief. I'd honestly started wondering whether what so many people say is true: that some Necessity or Fate governs everything in our lives, big and small, and we have no real control. Or at least that human life is just driven by random chance. You'll forgive me for thinking this way once you hear what I've been through. When I heard about your philosophical work, I lost all interest in the teachers at Athens and left the city. I sailed past Constantinople [then the chief city on the Hellespont strait] more unmoved than Odysseus passing the Sirens' songs. I admired Asia [the Roman province in western Turkey], but I rushed straight to its intellectual capital [likely Antioch or Caesarea]. When I arrived home and didn't find you — the very person I'd been so eager to meet — one unexpected obstacle after another began piling up. First I missed you because I fell sick. Then when you were heading East, I couldn't travel with you. After endless difficulty I made it to Syria, but the philosopher had already left for Egypt. So off I went to Egypt — a long, exhausting journey — and even there I missed you. My determination was so stubborn that I was ready to either set out for Persia and follow you to the farthest reaches of the barbarian world (you'd actually gone there — what a relentless obsession drove me!) or just give up and settle in Alexandria. I chose Alexandria. Honestly, I think that unless I'd followed you like a tame animal lured by a branch held just out of reach until I collapsed from exhaustion, you would have kept moving past Indian Nyssa [a legendary city founded by Dionysus in India] or some even more remote place, wandering on forever. What more can I say? Now here you are. You've written to me. And I'm taking it as a genuine sign of your goodwill. But I wish it hadn't taken this long. You must have known, even without writing, that I would have dropped everything and rushed to you. Write to me again soon, and tell me where you are and what you're doing — I'd love to hear it all.

ST. BASIL OF CAESAREA To Eustathius the Philosopher. Much distressed as I was by the flouts of what is called fortune, who always seems to be hindering my meeting you, I was wonderfully cheered and comforted by your letter, for I had already been turning over in my mind whether what so many people say is really true, that there is a certain Necessity or Fate which rules all the events of our lives both great and small, and that we human beings have control over nothing; or, that at all events, all human life is driven by a kind of luck. You will be very ready to forgive me for these reflections, when you learn by what causes I was led to make them. On hearing of your philosophy, I entertained a feeling of contempt for the teachers of Athens, and left it. The city on the Hellespont I passed by, more unmoved than any Ulysses, passing Sirens' songs. Asia I admired; but I hurried on to the capital of all that is best in it. When I arrived home, and did not find you — the prize which I had sought so eagerly — there began many and various unexpected hindrances. First I must miss you because I fell ill; then when you were setting out for the East I could not start with you; then, after endless trouble, I reached Syria, but I missed the philosopher, who had set out for Egypt. Then I must set out for Egypt, a long and weary way, and even there I did not gain my end. But so passionate was my longing that I must either set out for Persia, and proceed with you to the farthest lands of barbarism, (you had got there; what an obstinate devil possessed me!) or settle here at Alexandria. This last I did. I really think that unless, like some tame beast, I had followed a bough held out to me till I was quite worn out, you would have been driven on and on beyond Indian Nyssa, or any more remote region, and wandered about out there. Why say more? On returning home, I cannot meet you, hindered by lingering ailments. If these do not get better I shall not be able to meet you even in the winter. Is not all this, as you yourself say, due to Fate? Is not this Necessity? Does not my case nearly outdo poets' tales of Tantalus? But, as I said, I feel better after getting your letter, and am now no longer of the same mind. When God gives good things I think we must thank Him, and not be angry with Him while He is controlling their distribution. So if He grant me to join you, I shall think it best and most delightful; if He put me off, I will gently endure the loss. For He always rules our lives better than we could choose for ourselves. About this page Source. Translated by Blomfield Jackson. From Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 8. Edited by Philip Schaff and Henry Wace. (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1895.) Revised and edited for New Advent by Kevin Knight. <https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/3202001.htm>. Contact information. The editor of New Advent is Kevin Knight. My email address is feedback732 at newadvent.org. (To help fight spam, this address might change occasionally.) Regrettably, I can't reply to every letter, but I greatly appreciate your feedback — especially notifications about typographical errors and inappropriate ads.