Letter 16: Epistle 16. To Eusebius, Bishop of Cæsarea. Since I am addressing a man who does not love falsehood, and who is the keenest man I know at detecting it in another, however it may be twined in skilful and varied labyrinths; and, moreover, on my own part I will say it, though against the grain I do not like artifice, either, both from my natural co...
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Since I'm writing to a man who despises falsehood — and who is sharper than anyone I know at detecting it, no matter how cleverly disguised — and since, for my own part (I'll say it, though it goes against my nature), I don't care for artifice either, whether by temperament or by the formation God's word has given me — I'll write what's on my mind. I ask you to forgive my directness. If you don't, you wrong the truth itself by silencing me and forcing me to swallow the pain of my grief like some hidden, malignant illness.
I'm glad to have your respect — I'm only human, as someone once said — and I'm honored to be summoned to synods and spiritual councils. But I'm troubled by the slight that has been, and continues to be, inflicted on my most revered brother Basil by Your Reverence. I chose him as the companion of my life, my thought, and my highest aspirations. He remains that companion, and I have never had reason to regret my judgment.
I say this moderately, so as not to seem to be praising myself by admiring him.
But you — by honoring me while dishonoring him — are like a man who strokes someone's head with one hand and slaps his face with the other. Or like someone who tears up a house's foundations while painting the walls and decorating the exterior.
If you'll hear me — and I claim the right to be heard, because justice demands it — this is what you should do: show him the respect he deserves, and he will do the same for you. I will follow him as a shadow follows a body, being of little account myself and inclined toward peace.
I am not so petty as to pursue virtue in every other respect while ignoring the one thing that is the goal of all our teaching: love — especially when it involves a priest of such character.
Epistle 16. To Eusebius, Bishop of Cæsarea.
Since I am addressing a man who does not love falsehood, and who is the keenest man I know at detecting it in another, however it may be twined in skilful and varied labyrinths; and, moreover, on my own part I will say it, though against the grain I do not like artifice, either, both from my natural constitution, and because God's Word has formed me so. Therefore I write what presents itself to my mind; and I beg you to excuse my plain speaking, or you will wrong the truth by depriving me of my liberty, and forcing me to restrain within myself the pain of my grief, like some secret and malignant disease. I rejoice that I have your respect (for I am a man, as some one has said before), and that I am summoned to Synods and spiritual conferences. But I am troubled at the slight which has been inflicted on my most Reverend brother Basil, and is still inflicted on him by Your Reverence; for I chose him as the companion of my life and words and highest philosophy, and he is so still; and I never had reason to regret my judgment of him. It is more temperate to speak thus of him, that I may not seem to be praising myself in admiring him. You, however, I think, by honouring me and dishonouring him, seem to be acting like a man who should with one hand stroke a man's head, and with the other hand strike him on the face; or while tearing up the foundations of a house should paint the walls and decorate the exterior. If then you will listen to me, this is what you will do, and I claim to be listened to, for this is justice. If you will pay due attention to him, he will do the like by you. And I will follow him as a shadow does the body, being of little worth and inclined to peace. For I am not so mean as to be willing in other respects to philosophize, and to be of the better part, but to overlook a matter which is the end of all our teaching, namely love; especially in regard to a Priest, and one of so high a character, and one whom I know of all my acquaintances to be the best both in life and doctrine and conduct. For my pain shall not obscure the truth.
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Since I'm writing to a man who despises falsehood — and who is sharper than anyone I know at detecting it, no matter how cleverly disguised — and since, for my own part (I'll say it, though it goes against my nature), I don't care for artifice either, whether by temperament or by the formation God's word has given me — I'll write what's on my mind. I ask you to forgive my directness. If you don't, you wrong the truth itself by silencing me and forcing me to swallow the pain of my grief like some hidden, malignant illness.
I'm glad to have your respect — I'm only human, as someone once said — and I'm honored to be summoned to synods and spiritual councils. But I'm troubled by the slight that has been, and continues to be, inflicted on my most revered brother Basil by Your Reverence. I chose him as the companion of my life, my thought, and my highest aspirations. He remains that companion, and I have never had reason to regret my judgment.
I say this moderately, so as not to seem to be praising myself by admiring him.
But you — by honoring me while dishonoring him — are like a man who strokes someone's head with one hand and slaps his face with the other. Or like someone who tears up a house's foundations while painting the walls and decorating the exterior.
If you'll hear me — and I claim the right to be heard, because justice demands it — this is what you should do: show him the respect he deserves, and he will do the same for you. I will follow him as a shadow follows a body, being of little account myself and inclined toward peace.
I am not so petty as to pursue virtue in every other respect while ignoring the one thing that is the goal of all our teaching: love — especially when it involves a priest of such character.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.