Theodoret of Cyrrhus→Silvanus Primate|c. 440 AD|theodoret cyrrhus
grief deathillnessslavery captivitywomen
To Silvanus the Primate.
I know that my words of consolation come somewhat late. But my delay has not been without reason. I judged it better to let the first force of your grief run its course before offering any remedy. The best physicians never apply their medicines while a fever is at its height — they wait for the right moment to deploy the resources of their skill. And so I have let these days pass, weighing how sharp your anguish must be. If I myself was so shaken and filled with grief by the news, what must the suffering of a husband and life's companion have been — a man made, as Scripture says, one flesh with his wife, now torn from a union cemented by both years and love?
Such pain is entirely natural. But let reason offer consolation: let it remind you that human beings are fragile, that sorrow is universal, that the hope of resurrection is real, and that the one who orders our lives does so with wisdom. We must accept the decrees of immeasurable wisdom and acknowledge them to be good for us. Those who reflect with this kind of piety will receive the rewards of piety: they will be freed from immoderate lamentation and will pass the rest of their lives in peace. Those who allow sorrow to master them, on the other hand, gain nothing from their weeping — they live exhausted lives and grieve the one who watches over us all.
Receive, then, my most honored friend, a fatherly admonition: "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. He has done whatever has pleased him. Blessed be the name of the Lord."
Letter 15
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To Silvanus the Primate.
I know that in my words of consolation I am somewhat late, but it is not without reason that I have delayed to send them, for I have thought it worth while to let the violence of your grief take its course. The cleverest physicians will never apply their remedies when a fever is at its height, but wait for a favourable opportunity for using the appliances of their skill. So after reckoning how sharp your anguish must be, I have let these few days go by, for if I myself was so distressed and filled with such sorrow by the news, what must not have been the sufferings of a husband and yoke-fellow, made, as the Scripture says, one flesh, at the violent sundering of the union cemented both by time and love? Such pangs are only natural; but let reason devise consolation by reminding you that humanity is frail and sorrow universal, and also of the hope of the resurrection and the will of Him who orders our lives wisely. We must needs accept the decrees of inestimable wisdom, and own them to be for our good; for they who reflect thus piously shall reap piety's rewards, and so delivered from immoderate lamentations shall pass their lives in peace. On the other hand they whom sorrow makes its slaves will gain nothing by their wailing, but will at once live weary lives and grieve the Guardian of us all. Receive then, my most honoured friend, a fatherly exhortation The Lord gave and the Lord has taken away. He has done whatsoever pleased Him. Blessed be the name of the Lord.
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To Silvanus the Primate.
I know that my words of consolation come somewhat late. But my delay has not been without reason. I judged it better to let the first force of your grief run its course before offering any remedy. The best physicians never apply their medicines while a fever is at its height — they wait for the right moment to deploy the resources of their skill. And so I have let these days pass, weighing how sharp your anguish must be. If I myself was so shaken and filled with grief by the news, what must the suffering of a husband and life's companion have been — a man made, as Scripture says, one flesh with his wife, now torn from a union cemented by both years and love?
Such pain is entirely natural. But let reason offer consolation: let it remind you that human beings are fragile, that sorrow is universal, that the hope of resurrection is real, and that the one who orders our lives does so with wisdom. We must accept the decrees of immeasurable wisdom and acknowledge them to be good for us. Those who reflect with this kind of piety will receive the rewards of piety: they will be freed from immoderate lamentation and will pass the rest of their lives in peace. Those who allow sorrow to master them, on the other hand, gain nothing from their weeping — they live exhausted lives and grieve the one who watches over us all.
Receive, then, my most honored friend, a fatherly admonition: "The Lord gave, and the Lord has taken away. He has done whatever has pleased him. Blessed be the name of the Lord."
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.