ΕΠΙΣΤΟΛΗ Εʹ

ΕΠΙΣΤΟΛΗ Εʹ

So even after leaving the city, I still wasn't going to be free of the people who crush our spirits. For those who meet us along the road—some from the East, some from Armenia, and others from elsewhere in the world—shed floods of tears when they see us, add their wailing, and escort us the whole way with lamentation. I've said this so you'll know I have many who share our pain—and that, too, is no small consolation. For if the opposite is so heavy and unbearable that the prophet laments it, saying, "I waited for someone to share my grief, and there was none, and for comforters, and I found none,"¹ then it's obvious that this brings great consolation: having the whole world as partners in our distress. And if you're looking for still another consolation: we who have suffered so many and such great evils are living in health, in safety, and in deep quiet, counting up our varied and continual sufferings—the afflictions, the plots against us—and continually taking delight in the memory of them.² So reason with yourself about these things as well: scatter the cloud of despondency, and write to us continually about your health. Since even now, when my dearest lord Arabius has written to us, I was surprised that Your Honor didn't write—though my lady, his wife, is very dear to you.³ Also, keep in mind that everything in this life—both the pleasant and the painful—eventually passes away. Even if the gate is narrow and the road is difficult, it is still a road. I’ll remind you of a saying I’ve often discussed with you: "Even if the gate is wide and the road is spacious, that, too, is a road." So then, freed from the earth—or rather from the very bond of the flesh—rouse the wing of your philosophy, and don't let it be plunged and dragged down under the shadow and the smoke—for that is what human affairs are.⁴ But even if you see those who have done us so much wrong still holding their cities, enjoying honor and a bodyguard of attendants, say this word: "Wide is the gate and broad is the road that leads to destruction"—and for these very reasons weep for them all the more, and mourn. Anyone who commits evil here and, instead of paying a penalty, enjoys honor from others, will carry that honor away as the greatest fuel for their punishment.⁵ That is exactly why that rich man was so fiercely roasted—not only paying the penalty for the cruelty he showed toward Lazarus, but also for the prosperity he enjoyed without interruption in such cruelty, without becoming any better even by that.⁶ These things and things like them—for we have not stopped continually singing them over you—as you reason with yourself about them, my lady most dear to God, lay aside the heavy burden of despondency and make this plain to us, so that, as I have written before, when I learn that you are getting some further help toward consolation even from our letters, I may apply the remedy more constantly.⁷