Letter 59

59. To his uncle Gregory.

I have kept silent. But shall I keep silent forever, and endure any longer to ratify against myself the most grievous loss of silence — neither writing myself nor hearing one address me? For I, who have persevered until now in this gloomy resolve, think it fitting that I too should say the words of the prophet: "I endured like a woman in travail" — ever longing either for a meeting or for words, and ever failing of it through my own sins. For indeed I can conceive of no other cause for what is happening, except this conviction: that I am paying the penalty for old sins, in this separation from your charity — if indeed it is right to use the word "separation" of you, even toward any chance acquaintance, much less toward us, to whom from the beginning you have stood in a father's place.

But my sin now, like some deep cloud overshadowing me, has brought on forgetfulness of all those things. For whenever I look — beyond the fact that what is happening brings me grief — and see nothing else achieved by it, how should I not reasonably attribute the present to my own faults? But whether sins are the cause of what has befallen, let this be the end of my hardships; or whether something was being arranged by Providence, then surely the purpose has been fully accomplished. For the time of the loss has been no small one. Therefore, no longer able to bear it, I have been the first to break silence, exhorting you to remember both us and yourself — you who, beyond what was likely from kinship, showed care for us throughout your whole life — and to love the city now for our sake, and not to estrange yourself from the city on our account.

If, then, there is any consolation in Christ, any fellowship of the Spirit, any tender mercies and compassions, fulfil our prayer: here put a stop to what is gloomy, give some beginning of brighter things for the time to come, yourself leading the others toward what is best, and not following another into what ought not to be. For no bodily feature was ever thought so much a man's own as the peaceful and gentle quality of your soul. It would befit such a man to draw the others toward himself, and to make all who come near you, as if filled with the fragrance of some sweet ointment, partake of the kindness of your character. For even if there is something resisting now, yet a little later it too will recognize the good of peace. But as long as slanders find room by reason of the separation, the suspicions must ever grow worse. Now it is not fitting even for those others to neglect us, but most of all for your honour. For if we are doing any wrong, we shall become better by being admonished — and this is impossible without a meeting; but if we are doing no wrong, for what cause are we hated? These, then, are the arguments I put forward in my own defence.

But what the Churches might say on their own behalf — reaping no good from our separation — it is better to pass over in silence. For I have used these words not in order to give pain, but in order to put a stop to what is painful. Nothing whatever has escaped your understanding; rather you yourself would discover by your mind, and tell others, things much greater and more perfect than we conceive — you who even before us saw the injuries of the Churches, and are grieved more than we, having been taught long ago by the Lord to despise none of the least. But now the injury is not confined to one or two, but whole cities and peoples share in our misfortunes. And what need is there even to speak of the report that there will be about us beyond our borders, what kind it will be? It would befit your magnanimity, then, to leave contentiousness to others — or rather to root it even out of their souls, if that be possible — and yourself to conquer what is painful by patience. For to retaliate belongs to anyone who is angry, but to be higher than anger itself, this belongs to you alone, and to anyone whose virtue is near yours. But this I will not say: that he who is harsh with us lets loose his anger upon those who have done no wrong.

Whether, then, by your presence, or by letter, or by a summons to yourself, or in whatever way you please, comfort our soul. For it is our prayer that your godliness should appear in the Church, and that you should heal both us together and the people, by your very sight and by the words of your grace. If, then, this be possible, it is best of all; but if something else should seem good, that too we will accept. Only be entreated to make known to us firmly what commends itself to your wisdom.