Letter 6: (Written about the same time, in a more serious vein.) What I wrote before about our stay in Pontus was in joke, not in earnest; what I write now is very much in earnest. O that one would place me as in the month of those former days, Job 29:2 in which I luxuriated with you in hard living; since voluntary pain is more valuable than involuntary d...
Gregory of Nazianzus→Basil of Caesarea|c. 364 AD|Gregory of Nazianzus|Human translated
humormonasticismproperty economicstravel mobility
Personal friendship
Gregory to Basil.
What I wrote before about our time in Pontus was in jest, not in earnest. What I write now is very much in earnest.
Who will give me back those former days (Job 29:2), in which I shared with you the riches of a hard life? For voluntary hardship is worth more than involuntary comfort. Who will give me back those psalm-singings and vigils, those journeys to God through prayer, that life so nearly immaterial and unbodied? Who will restore the intimacy and the one-souledness of the brothers whom you lifted up and made divine? The contest and encouragement toward virtue that we maintained through written rules and canons? The loving labor over the divine Scriptures, and the light we found in them by the guidance of the Holy Spirit?
Or -- if I may speak of lesser and lighter matters -- who will restore the daily routines, the gathering of wood and the cutting of stone? Who will give back the golden plane tree, more precious than the tree of Xerxes, under which sat not a king enfeebled by luxury but a monk worn out by the ascetic life? I planted it and Apollos -- I mean your honorable self -- watered it, but God gave the growth (1 Corinthians 3:6), that a memorial of my diligence might remain among you, as Aaron's rod that budded was kept in the Ark (Numbers 17:8, 10).
To long for all this is easy, but to attain it is not. Come to me, conspire with me in virtue, work with me, and help me by your prayers to preserve the profit we once gained together, so that I may not waste away little by little, like a shadow as the day draws to its close. I would rather breathe you than the air, and I only truly live when I am with you, either in your actual presence or through the image of you that I carry in your absence.
(Written about the same time, in a more serious vein.)
What I wrote before about our stay in Pontus was in joke, not in earnest; what I write now is very much in earnest. O that one would place me as in the month of those former days, Job 29:2 in which I luxuriated with you in hard living; since voluntary pain is more valuable than involuntary delight. O that one would give me back those psalmodies and vigils and those sojournings with God in prayer, and that immaterial, so to speak, and unbodied life. O for the intimacy and one-souledness of the brethren who were by you divinized and exalted: O for the contest and incitement of virtue which we secured by written Rules and Canons; O for the loving labour in the Divine Oracles, and the light we found in them by the guidance of the Holy Ghost. Or, if I may speak of lesser and slighter matters, O for the daily courses and experiences; O for the gatherings of wood, and the cutting of stone; O for the golden plane-tree, more precious than that of Xerxes, under which sat, not a King enfeebled by luxury, but a Monk worn out by hard life, which I planted and Apollos (I mean your honourable self) watered; 1 Corinthians 3:6 but God gave the increase to our honour, that a memorial might remain among you of my diligence, as in the Ark we read and believe, did Aaron's rod that budded. Numbers 17:8, 10 To long for all this is very easy, but it is not easy to attain it. But do you come to me, and conspire with me in virtue, and co-operate with me, and aid me by your prayers to keep the profit which we used to get together, that I may not perish little by little, like a shadow as the day draws to its close. I would rather breathe you than the air, and only live while I am with you, either actually in your presence, or virtually by your likeness in your absence.
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Gregory to Basil.
What I wrote before about our time in Pontus was in jest, not in earnest. What I write now is very much in earnest.
Who will give me back those former days (Job 29:2), in which I shared with you the riches of a hard life? For voluntary hardship is worth more than involuntary comfort. Who will give me back those psalm-singings and vigils, those journeys to God through prayer, that life so nearly immaterial and unbodied? Who will restore the intimacy and the one-souledness of the brothers whom you lifted up and made divine? The contest and encouragement toward virtue that we maintained through written rules and canons? The loving labor over the divine Scriptures, and the light we found in them by the guidance of the Holy Spirit?
Or -- if I may speak of lesser and lighter matters -- who will restore the daily routines, the gathering of wood and the cutting of stone? Who will give back the golden plane tree, more precious than the tree of Xerxes, under which sat not a king enfeebled by luxury but a monk worn out by the ascetic life? I planted it and Apollos -- I mean your honorable self -- watered it, but God gave the growth (1 Corinthians 3:6), that a memorial of my diligence might remain among you, as Aaron's rod that budded was kept in the Ark (Numbers 17:8, 10).
To long for all this is easy, but to attain it is not. Come to me, conspire with me in virtue, work with me, and help me by your prayers to preserve the profit we once gained together, so that I may not waste away little by little, like a shadow as the day draws to its close. I would rather breathe you than the air, and I only truly live when I am with you, either in your actual presence or through the image of you that I carry in your absence.
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