Roman Letters: A Digital Corpus of Late Antique Correspondence

Vander Galien, Craig

doi:10.5281/zenodo.19142059

Letter 11: Chrysostom tells Olympias that intensified attacks prove her victory, compares her endurance to Job's, and urges her to encourage others.

consolationexilepersecutionspiritual lifewomen

First-time modern English rendering from the Greek text of Chrysostom's Letters to Olympias.

Your trials have been stretched out further. The wrestling grounds have been widened again, the courses of the race have been lengthened, and the anger of those plotting against you has risen into a hotter flame. But you should not be shaken or troubled. Precisely for these reasons you should rejoice, leap for joy, wear your crown, and dance. If you had not dealt the devil mortal blows in the earlier contests, the beast would not have grown so savage as to press still farther. His fiercer attacks, his shameless rush against you, and the more abundant poison he pours out are signs both of your courage and victory and of his great defeat. Look at blessed Job. When the devil had been defeated through the loss of Job's property and the death of his children, he showed by what followed that he had received deep wounds. He rushed to the worst evil, the siege of the body: the fountain of worms, the company of sores. I call them a company, a crown, and a swarm of prizes beyond counting. And he did not even stop there. Since no greater device remained to him, for that disease was the last boundary of calamity, he began using other weapons. He armed Job's wife, stirred up his friends, provoked his servants, made them like wild beasts, and through all of them kept reopening Job's wounds. This is what he is trying now too, and he never stops, but he does it against his own head. Because of these attacks, your affairs become more glorious, greater, and brighter every day. Your wealth is greater, your gain richer, your crowns follow one after another without interruption. The very things meant to terrify you add to your courage, and your enemies' plots become oil for your endurance. This is the nature of affliction: when people bear it gently and nobly, it makes them superior to fearful things and teaches them to despise the devil's arrows and human plots. Trees grown in the shade become soft and useless for bearing fruit, while trees exposed to rough weather, wind, and the heat of the sun become stronger, thick with leaves, and heavy with fruit. The same thing happens at sea. People who step onto a ship for the first time, even if they are brave, are unsettled by inexperience, confused, and seized by dizziness. But those who have crossed many seas, endured many storms, rocks, reefs, ledges, beasts, pirates, wreckers, and wave after wave of bad weather, sit on board more confidently than others walk on land. They do not stay hidden by the keel; they sit on the very sides of the ship and stand fearlessly on the prow and stern. People who once lay face down in trembling and fear now pull the ropes, raise the sails, take the oars, and move easily everywhere on the ship. So let nothing that happens to you disturb you. Our enemies have unwillingly brought us to this point: we can no longer be harmed by them. They have spent all their arrows, and what have they achieved except to be put to shame, laughed at, and shown everywhere to be enemies of the common good? These are the rewards of plotters. This is how their wars end. How great a thing virtue is, and contempt for present things. It gains through plots. It is crowned through those who attack it. It shines more brightly through those who do evil. Through those who try to drag it down, it makes the people who pursue it stronger, higher, unconquerable, and impossible to spend away. It needs no weapons, spears, walls, trenches, towers, money, or armies. It needs only a firm purpose and a soul that cannot be overturned, and with these it exposes every human plot. Therefore, my most God-beloved lady, keep singing these truths to yourself and to the women with you who are fighting this noble fight. Lift up everyone's spirits and hold your whole battle line together, so that the crown of virtue may become for you twofold, threefold, and many times multiplied: through what you suffer yourself, and through the sufferings into which you lead others, persuading them to bear everything gently, to look down on shadows, to despise the deception of dreams, to trample clay underfoot, to count smoke as nothing, not to imagine that spiders can trouble them, and to run past grass already withering. All these things are the emptiness of human prosperity, and they are worth even less than the images I have used. It is hard to find any comparison that fully captures how empty they are. Along with that nothingness, they bring no small harm to those who gape at them, not only in the age to come but also in this present life, even in the very days when people seem to be enjoying them. Just as virtue leaps up, flourishes, and appears brighter at the very moment it is attacked, so vice, even when it is served and flattered, shows its weakness, its ridiculousness, and its unspeakable comedy. Tell me, what was more pitiable than Cain, even when he seemed to overpower his brother, prevail, and satisfy his unjust and abominable anger? What was more unclean than the right hand that seemed to have conquered, the hand that struck the blow and committed the murder, or than the shameful tongue that stitched together the deceit and spread the nets? And why speak only of the limbs that carried out the murder? His whole body was punished, given over forever to groaning and trembling. What strange events. What a paradoxical victory. What an extraordinary trophy. The one who was struck down and lay dead was crowned and proclaimed victor. The one who had conquered and survived went away uncrowned and was punished for that very act, handed over to unbearable penalties and perpetual torment. The slain man, dead and voiceless, accused the living man who moved and spoke. Or rather, not even the dead man: the blood alone, separated from the body, was enough. So abundant is the power of the virtuous even after they have died, and so great is the misery of the wicked even while they live. But if such prizes are already present in the arena, think how great the rewards will be after the contests, at the time of repayment, when those good things beyond all description are given. Whatever pains men inflict imitate the smallness of those who inflict them. The gifts and rewards are given by God; therefore they are what one would expect from that inexpressible generosity. Rejoice, then, and be glad. Wear your crown. March in procession. Trample the enemies' stings more thoroughly than others trample mud. And keep sending me news about your health, so that I may draw much gladness from that too. You know it will be no small comfort to me, sitting here in the wilderness, when I can continually learn that you are well.

11.t ΕΠΙΣΤΟΛΗ ΙΑʹ 11.1 Ἐπετάθη τὰ τῆς θλίψεως ὑμῖν καὶ πλατύτερα πάλιν ἐτέθη τὰ σκάμματα καὶ μακρότεροι τῶν δρόμων οἱ δίαυλοι καὶ πρὸς μείζονα φλόγα τῶν ἐπιβουλευόντων ὑμῖν αἴρεται ὁ θυμός. Ἀλλ' οὐ θορυβεῖσθαι οὐδὲ ταράττεσθαι, ἀλλὰ διὰ ταῦτα μὲν οὖν μάλιστα χαίρειν δεῖ καὶ σκιρτᾶν καὶ στεφανοῦσθαι καὶ χορεύειν. Εἰ γὰρ μὴ καιρίας ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἐδώκατε τῷ διαβόλῳ τὰς πληγάς, οὐκ ἂν οὕτως ἠγριώθη τὸ θηρίον ὡς καὶ περαιτέρω προελθεῖν. ∆εῖγμα τοίνυν καὶ τῆς ὑμετέρας ἀνδρείας καὶ νίκης καὶ τῆς ἥττης ἐκείνου τῆς πολλῆς, τὸ μειζόνως ἐφάλλεσθαι καὶ ἐπιπηδᾶν καὶ πλείονα ἐπιδείκνυσθαι τὴν ἀναισχυντίαν καὶ δαψιλέστερον ἐκχεῖν τὸν ἰόν. Ἐπεὶ καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ μακαρίου Ἰώβ, ἐπειδὴ ἐν τῇ τῶν χρημάτων ἀποβολῇ ἡττήθη καὶ τῇ τῶν παίδων ἀφαιρέσει, δεῖγμα καὶ τότε ἐκφέρων τοῦ χαλεπὰ τραύματα δέξασθαι, ἐπὶ τὸ κεφάλαιον ὥρμησε τῶν κακῶν, τὴν τῆς σαρκὸς πολιορκίαν, τὴν τῶν σκωλήκων πηγήν, τὸν τῶν τραυμάτων χορόν· χορὸν γὰρ αὐτὸν ἐγὼ καὶ στέφανον καλῶ καὶ μυρίων βραβείων ἐσμόν. Καὶ οὐδὲ ἐνταῦθα ἔστη· ἀλλ' ἐπειδὴ οὐδὲν ὑπελείπετο ἕτερον αὐτῷ μηχάνημα τοιοῦτον-ὡς γὰρ ἔσχατον ὅρον συμφορῶν, οὕτως τὴν νόσον ἐπήγαγεν ἐκείνην-, καὶ ἕτερα πάλιν ἐκίνει μηχανήματα, γυναῖκα ὁπλίζων, τοὺς φίλους παροξύνων, τοὺς οἰκέτας διεγείρων καὶ θηριώδεις ποιῶν καὶ διὰ πάντων τὰ τραύματα ἀναξαίνων. Ὃ δὴ καὶ νῦν ἐπιχειρῶν οὐ παύεται, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τῆς ἑαυτοῦ κεφαλῆς· ὡς τά γε ὑμέτερα ἐντεῦθεν λαμπρότερα καὶ μείζονα καὶ φαιδρότερα καθ' ἑκάστην γίνεται τὴν ἡμέραν, πλείων ὑμῖν ὁ πλοῦτος, δαψιλεστέρα ἡ ἐμπορία, ἐπάλληλοι καὶ συνεχεῖς οἱ στέφανοι, πολλὴ δι' αὐτῶν τῶν δεινῶν τῆς ἀνδρείας ὑμῖν ἡ προσθήκη, καὶ αἱ ἐπιβουλαὶ τῶν ἐχθρῶν ἄλειμμα γίνονται τῆς καρτερίας τῆς ὑμετέρας. Τοιαύτη γὰρ τῆς θλίψεως ἡ φύσις· τοὺς πρᾴως αὐτὴν καὶ γενναίως φέροντας ἀνωτέρους ποιεῖ τῶν δεινῶν, ὑψηλοτέρους τῶν τοῦ διαβόλου βελῶν παιδεύει καταφρονεῖν τῶν ἐπιβουλῶν. Ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ δένδρα τὰ μὲν σκιατροφούμενα μαλακώτερα γίνεται καὶ πρὸς καρπῶν γένεσιν ἀχρηστότερα, τὰ δὲ ἀέρων ἀνωμαλίᾳ ὁμιλοῦντα καὶ πνευμάτων δεχόμενα ἐμβολὰς καὶ θέρμην ἀκτῖνος, αὐτά τε ἰσχυρότερα καθίσταται καὶ τοῖς φύλλοις κομᾷ καὶ τῷ κάρπῳ βρίθεται, οὕτω καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης συμβαίνειν εἴωθεν· οἳ μὲν γὰρ πρῶτον ἐπιβάντες νηός, κἂν σφόδρα γενναῖοί τινες τυγχάνωσιν ὄντες, ὑπὸ τῆς ἀπειρίας ταράττονται, θορυβοῦνται, σκοτοδίνοις ἰλίγγοις κατέχονται· οἱ δὲ πολλὰ διαβάντες πελάγη καὶ πολλοὺς ὑπομείναντες χειμῶνας καὶ ὑφάλους καὶ σκοπέλους καὶ σπιλάδας καὶ θηρίων ἐφόδους καὶ πειρατῶν ἐπιβουλὰς καὶ καταποντιστῶν καὶ συνεχῶν ἀνασχόμενοι χειμώνων, τῶν ἐπὶ γῆς λοιπὸν βαδιζόντων θαρραλεώτεροι ἐπὶ τῆς νηὸς κάθηνται, οὐκ ἔνδον παρὰ τὴν τρόπιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτοῖς ἐνιζάνοντες τοῖς τοίχοις τῆς νηὸς καὶ ἐπὶ πρώρας καὶ ἐπὶ πρύμνης ἀδεῶς ἱστάμενοι· καὶ οἱ πρὸ τούτου ἐπ' ὄψιν μετὰ τρόμου καὶ φόβου κείμενοι, μετὰ τὴν πολλὴν τοῦ χειμῶνος πεῖραν καὶ σχοῖνον ἕλκουσι καὶ ἱστία ἀνάγουσι καὶ κωπῶν ἅπτονται καὶ πανταχοῦ τῆς νηὸς μετὰ εὐκολίας περιτρέχουσι. Μηδὲν τοίνυν ὑμᾶς θορυβείτω τῶν συμπιπτόντων. Εἰς τοῦτο γὰρ ἡμᾶς κατέστησαν οἱ ἐχθροὶ ἄκοντες εἰς τὸ μὴ δύνασθαι κακῶς παθεῖν πάντα μὲν αὐτῶν κενώσαντες τὰ βέλη, οὐδὲν δὲ πλέον ἐντεῦθεν ἀνύσαντες ἢ τὸ καταισχύνεσθαι καὶ γελᾶσθαι καὶ ὥσπερ κοινοὺς τῆς οἰκουμένης ἐχθρούς, οὕτω πανταχοῦ φαίνεσθαι. Ταῦτα τῶν ἐπιβούλων τὰ ἐπίχειρα, τοῦτο τῶν πολέμων τὸ τέλος. Βαβαί, πηλίκον ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρετὴ καὶ τῶν παρόντων ὑπεροψία πραγμάτων· δι' ἐπιβουλῶν κερδαίνει, διὰ τῶν ἐπιβουλευόντων στεφανοῦται, διὰ τῶν κακῶς ποιούντων διαλάμπει μειζόνως, διὰ τῶν ἐπισύρειν ἐπιχειρούντων ἰσχυροτέρους ποιεῖ τοὺς μετιόντας αὐτήν, ὑψηλοτέρους, ἀχειρώτους, ἀναλώτους, οὐχ ὅπλων, οὐ δοράτων δεομένους, οὐ τειχῶν, οὐ τάφρων, οὐ πύργων, οὐ χρημάτων, οὐ στρατοπέδων, ἀλλὰ γνώμης στερρᾶς μόνον καὶ ἀπεριτρέπτου ψυχῆς, καὶ πᾶσαν ἀνθρωπίνην ἐπιβουλὴν ἐλέγχει. 11.2 Ταῦτα οὖν, δέσποινά μου θεοφιλεστάτη, καὶ σαυτῇ καὶ ταῖς μετὰ σοῦ τὸν καλὸν τοῦτον ἀγῶνα ἀγωνιζομέναις ἐπᾴδουσα ἀνίστη τὰ φρονήματα πασῶν συγκροτοῦσά σου τὴν παράταξιν, ὥστε διπλοῦν καὶ τριπλοῦν καὶ πολλαπλασίονα γενέσθαι σοι τὸν στέφανον τῆς ἀρετῆς, δι' ὧν τε αὐτὴ πάσχεις, δι' ὧν τε ἑτέρας εἰς ταῦτα ἐνάγεις, καὶ πείθουσα πάντα πρᾴως φέρειν καὶ ὑπερορᾶν τῶν σκιῶν καὶ καταφρονεῖν τῆς τῶν ὀνειράτων ἀπάτης καὶ καταπατεῖν τὸν πηλὸν καὶ τοῦ καπνοῦ μηδένα ποιεῖσθαι λόγον καὶ τὰς ἀράχνας μὴ νομίζειν ὑμῖν διενοχλεῖν, καὶ παρατρέχειν τὸν σηπόμενον χόρτον. Ταῦτα γὰρ ἅπαντα τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης εὐημερίας ἡ ματαιότης καὶ τούτων δὲ εὐτελέστερα. Καὶ οὐκ ἄν τις ῥᾳδίως εἰκόνα εὕροι ἀκριβῶς αὐτῆς τὴν ματαιότητα παριστῶσαν. Μετὰ γὰρ τῆς οὐδενείας ταύτης οὐ μικρὰν φέρει καὶ βλάβην τοῖς πρὸς αὐτὴν κεχηνόσιν, οὐκ ἐν τῷ μέλλοντι μόνον αἰῶνι, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν τῷ παρόντι βίῳ καὶ κατὰ ταύτας τὰς ἡμέρας ἐν αἷς δοκοῦσιν αὐταῖς ἐντρυφᾶν. Καθάπερ γὰρ ἡ ἀρετή, καὶ κατ' αὐτὸν τὸν καιρὸν καθ' ὃν πολεμεῖται, σκιρτᾷ καὶ θάλλει καὶ φαιδροτέρα δείκνυται, οὕτω καὶ ἡ κακία, καὶ κατ' αὐτὸν τὸν καιρὸν καθ' ὃν θεραπεύεται καὶ κολακεύεται, δείκνυσιν αὐτῆς τὴν ἀσθένειαν καὶ τὸν πολὺν γέλωτα καὶ τὴν ἄφατον κωμῳδίαν. Τί γάρ, εἰπέ μοι, τοῦ Κάϊν ἐλεεινότερον γέγονε, καὶ κατ' αὐτὸν τὸν καιρὸν καθ' ὃν ἐδόκει κρατεῖν τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ καὶ περιγεγενῆσθαι καὶ τοῦ θυμοῦ καὶ τῆς ὀργῆς ἐμπεφορῆσθαι ἐκείνης τῆς ἀδίκου καὶ μυσαρᾶς; Τί δὲ τῆς δεξιᾶς ἐκείνης ἀκαθαρτότερον τῆς δοκούσης νενικηκέναι, τῆς δεξιᾶς ἣ τὴν πληγὴν ἐπήγαγεν καὶ τὸν φόνον εἰργάσατο, καὶ τῆς αἰσχίστης γλώσσης ἣ τὸν δόλον ἔρραψε καὶ τὰ δίκτυα ἥπλωσεν; Καὶ τί λέγω τὰ μέλη τὰ τὸν φόνον ἐργασάμενα; Καὶ γὰρ ὅλον τὸ σῶμα ἐκολάζετο, τῷ στεναγμῷ, τῷ τρόμῳ διηνεκῶς παραδοθέν. Ὢ καινῶν πραγμάτων· ὢ παραδόξου νίκης· ὢ ξένου τροπαίου. Ὁ μὲν σφαγεὶς καὶ νεκρὸς κείμενος ἐστεφανοῦτο καὶ ἀνεκηρύττετο· ὁ δὲ νικήσας καὶ περιγεγονὼς οὐ μόνον ἀστεφάνωτος ἀπῄει, ἀλλὰ δι' αὐτὸ μὲν οὖν τοῦτο ἐκολάζετο, καὶ ἀφορήτοις παρεδίδοτο τιμωρίαις καὶ διηνεκεῖ βασάνῳ· καὶ τοῦ κινουμένου καὶ ζῶντος καὶ φθεγγομένου ὁ πεπληγὼς καὶ τεθνεὼς καὶ ἄφωνος κατηγόρει· μᾶλλον δὲ οὐδὲ ὁ τεθνεώς, ἀλλὰ τὸ αἷμα ψιλὸν καὶ τοῦ σώματος χωρισθὲν ἤρκεσεν εἰς τοῦτο μόνον. Τοσαύτη τῶν ἐναρέτων ἡ περιουσία καὶ τελευτησάντων· τοσαύτη τῶν πονηρῶν ἡ ἀθλιότης καὶ ζώντων. Εἰ δὲ ἐν τοῖς σκάμμασι τοιαῦτα τὰ βραβεῖα, ἐννόησον μετὰ τοὺς ἀγῶνας ἡλίκαι αἱ ἀμοιβαί, ἐν τῷ καιρῷ τῆς ἀντιδόσεως, ἐν τῇ χορηγίᾳ τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐκείνων τῶν πάντα ὑπερβαινόν των λόγον. Τὰ μὲν γὰρ λυπηρά, οἷα ἂν ᾖ, παρὰ ἀνθρώπων ἐπάγεται καὶ μιμεῖται τῶν ἐπιφερόντων τὴν εὐτέλειαν· τὰ δὲ δῶρα καὶ αἱ ἀμοιβαὶ παρὰ τοῦ Θεοῦ δίδονται· διὸ καὶ τοιαῦτά ἐστιν οἷα εἰκὸς παρὰ τῆς ἀφάτου δωρεᾶς ἐκείνης διδόμενα. Χαῖρε τοίνυν καὶ εὐφραίνου, στεφανηφοροῦσα, πομπεύουσα, τὰ κέντρα τῶν ἐχθρῶν καταπατοῦσα μᾶλλον ἢ πηλὸν ἕτεροι. Καὶ δήλου συνεχῶς ἡμῖν τὰ περὶ τῆς ὑγιείας σου, ἵνα καὶ ἐντεῦθεν πολλὴν καρπωσώμεθα τὴν εὐφροσύνην. Οἶσθα γὰρ ὡς οὐ μικρὰ ἡμῖν ἔσται παραμυθία καὶ ἐν ἐρημίᾳ καθημένοις, ὅταν συνεχῶς μανθάνωμεν περὶ τῆς ῥώσεως τῆς σῆς.

◆

Your trials have been stretched out further. The wrestling grounds have been widened again, the courses of the race have been lengthened, and the anger of those plotting against you has risen into a hotter flame. But you should not be shaken or troubled. Precisely for these reasons you should rejoice, leap for joy, wear your crown, and dance. If you had not dealt the devil mortal blows in the earlier contests, the beast would not have grown so savage as to press still farther. His fiercer attacks, his shameless rush against you, and the more abundant poison he pours out are signs both of your courage and victory and of his great defeat.

Look at blessed Job. When the devil had been defeated through the loss of Job's property and the death of his children, he showed by what followed that he had received deep wounds. He rushed to the worst evil, the siege of the body: the fountain of worms, the company of sores. I call them a company, a crown, and a swarm of prizes beyond counting. And he did not even stop there. Since no greater device remained to him, for that disease was the last boundary of calamity, he began using other weapons. He armed Job's wife, stirred up his friends, provoked his servants, made them like wild beasts, and through all of them kept reopening Job's wounds.

This is what he is trying now too, and he never stops, but he does it against his own head. Because of these attacks, your affairs become more glorious, greater, and brighter every day. Your wealth is greater, your gain richer, your crowns follow one after another without interruption. The very things meant to terrify you add to your courage, and your enemies' plots become oil for your endurance.

This is the nature of affliction: when people bear it gently and nobly, it makes them superior to fearful things and teaches them to despise the devil's arrows and human plots. Trees grown in the shade become soft and useless for bearing fruit, while trees exposed to rough weather, wind, and the heat of the sun become stronger, thick with leaves, and heavy with fruit. The same thing happens at sea. People who step onto a ship for the first time, even if they are brave, are unsettled by inexperience, confused, and seized by dizziness. But those who have crossed many seas, endured many storms, rocks, reefs, ledges, beasts, pirates, wreckers, and wave after wave of bad weather, sit on board more confidently than others walk on land. They do not stay hidden by the keel; they sit on the very sides of the ship and stand fearlessly on the prow and stern. People who once lay face down in trembling and fear now pull the ropes, raise the sails, take the oars, and move easily everywhere on the ship.

So let nothing that happens to you disturb you. Our enemies have unwillingly brought us to this point: we can no longer be harmed by them. They have spent all their arrows, and what have they achieved except to be put to shame, laughed at, and shown everywhere to be enemies of the common good? These are the rewards of plotters. This is how their wars end.

How great a thing virtue is, and contempt for present things. It gains through plots. It is crowned through those who attack it. It shines more brightly through those who do evil. Through those who try to drag it down, it makes the people who pursue it stronger, higher, unconquerable, and impossible to spend away. It needs no weapons, spears, walls, trenches, towers, money, or armies. It needs only a firm purpose and a soul that cannot be overturned, and with these it exposes every human plot.

Therefore, my most God-beloved lady, keep singing these truths to yourself and to the women with you who are fighting this noble fight. Lift up everyone's spirits and hold your whole battle line together, so that the crown of virtue may become for you twofold, threefold, and many times multiplied: through what you suffer yourself, and through the sufferings into which you lead others, persuading them to bear everything gently, to look down on shadows, to despise the deception of dreams, to trample clay underfoot, to count smoke as nothing, not to imagine that spiders can trouble them, and to run past grass already withering.

All these things are the emptiness of human prosperity, and they are worth even less than the images I have used. It is hard to find any comparison that fully captures how empty they are. Along with that nothingness, they bring no small harm to those who gape at them, not only in the age to come but also in this present life, even in the very days when people seem to be enjoying them. Just as virtue leaps up, flourishes, and appears brighter at the very moment it is attacked, so vice, even when it is served and flattered, shows its weakness, its ridiculousness, and its unspeakable comedy.

Tell me, what was more pitiable than Cain, even when he seemed to overpower his brother, prevail, and satisfy his unjust and abominable anger? What was more unclean than the right hand that seemed to have conquered, the hand that struck the blow and committed the murder, or than the shameful tongue that stitched together the deceit and spread the nets? And why speak only of the limbs that carried out the murder? His whole body was punished, given over forever to groaning and trembling.

What strange events. What a paradoxical victory. What an extraordinary trophy. The one who was struck down and lay dead was crowned and proclaimed victor. The one who had conquered and survived went away uncrowned and was punished for that very act, handed over to unbearable penalties and perpetual torment. The slain man, dead and voiceless, accused the living man who moved and spoke. Or rather, not even the dead man: the blood alone, separated from the body, was enough.

So abundant is the power of the virtuous even after they have died, and so great is the misery of the wicked even while they live. But if such prizes are already present in the arena, think how great the rewards will be after the contests, at the time of repayment, when those good things beyond all description are given. Whatever pains men inflict imitate the smallness of those who inflict them. The gifts and rewards are given by God; therefore they are what one would expect from that inexpressible generosity.

Rejoice, then, and be glad. Wear your crown. March in procession. Trample the enemies' stings more thoroughly than others trample mud. And keep sending me news about your health, so that I may draw much gladness from that too. You know it will be no small comfort to me, sitting here in the wilderness, when I can continually learn that you are well.

AI-assisted translation - This translation was produced with AI assistance and has not been peer-reviewed. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek below for scholarly use.

Latin / Greek Original

11.t ΕΠΙΣΤΟΛΗ ΙΑʹ 11.1 Ἐπετάθη τὰ τῆς θλίψεως ὑμῖν καὶ πλατύτερα πάλιν ἐτέθη τὰ σκάμματα καὶ μακρότεροι τῶν δρόμων οἱ δίαυλοι καὶ πρὸς μείζονα φλόγα τῶν ἐπιβουλευόντων ὑμῖν αἴρεται ὁ θυμός. Ἀλλ' οὐ θορυβεῖσθαι οὐδὲ ταράττεσθαι, ἀλλὰ διὰ ταῦτα μὲν οὖν μάλιστα χαίρειν δεῖ καὶ σκιρτᾶν καὶ στεφανοῦσθαι καὶ χορεύειν. Εἰ γὰρ μὴ καιρίας ἐν τοῖς ἔμπροσθεν ἐδώκατε τῷ διαβόλῳ τὰς πληγάς, οὐκ ἂν οὕτως ἠγριώθη τὸ θηρίον ὡς καὶ περαιτέρω προελθεῖν. ∆εῖγμα τοίνυν καὶ τῆς ὑμετέρας ἀνδρείας καὶ νίκης καὶ τῆς ἥττης ἐκείνου τῆς πολλῆς, τὸ μειζόνως ἐφάλλεσθαι καὶ ἐπιπηδᾶν καὶ πλείονα ἐπιδείκνυσθαι τὴν ἀναισχυντίαν καὶ δαψιλέστερον ἐκχεῖν τὸν ἰόν. Ἐπεὶ καὶ ἐπὶ τοῦ μακαρίου Ἰώβ, ἐπειδὴ ἐν τῇ τῶν χρημάτων ἀποβολῇ ἡττήθη καὶ τῇ τῶν παίδων ἀφαιρέσει, δεῖγμα καὶ τότε ἐκφέρων τοῦ χαλεπὰ τραύματα δέξασθαι, ἐπὶ τὸ κεφάλαιον ὥρμησε τῶν κακῶν, τὴν τῆς σαρκὸς πολιορκίαν, τὴν τῶν σκωλήκων πηγήν, τὸν τῶν τραυμάτων χορόν· χορὸν γὰρ αὐτὸν ἐγὼ καὶ στέφανον καλῶ καὶ μυρίων βραβείων ἐσμόν. Καὶ οὐδὲ ἐνταῦθα ἔστη· ἀλλ' ἐπειδὴ οὐδὲν ὑπελείπετο ἕτερον αὐτῷ μηχάνημα τοιοῦτον-ὡς γὰρ ἔσχατον ὅρον συμφορῶν, οὕτως τὴν νόσον ἐπήγαγεν ἐκείνην-, καὶ ἕτερα πάλιν ἐκίνει μηχανήματα, γυναῖκα ὁπλίζων, τοὺς φίλους παροξύνων, τοὺς οἰκέτας διεγείρων καὶ θηριώδεις ποιῶν καὶ διὰ πάντων τὰ τραύματα ἀναξαίνων. Ὃ δὴ καὶ νῦν ἐπιχειρῶν οὐ παύεται, ἀλλὰ κατὰ τῆς ἑαυτοῦ κεφαλῆς· ὡς τά γε ὑμέτερα ἐντεῦθεν λαμπρότερα καὶ μείζονα καὶ φαιδρότερα καθ' ἑκάστην γίνεται τὴν ἡμέραν, πλείων ὑμῖν ὁ πλοῦτος, δαψιλεστέρα ἡ ἐμπορία, ἐπάλληλοι καὶ συνεχεῖς οἱ στέφανοι, πολλὴ δι' αὐτῶν τῶν δεινῶν τῆς ἀνδρείας ὑμῖν ἡ προσθήκη, καὶ αἱ ἐπιβουλαὶ τῶν ἐχθρῶν ἄλειμμα γίνονται τῆς καρτερίας τῆς ὑμετέρας. Τοιαύτη γὰρ τῆς θλίψεως ἡ φύσις· τοὺς πρᾴως αὐτὴν καὶ γενναίως φέροντας ἀνωτέρους ποιεῖ τῶν δεινῶν, ὑψηλοτέρους τῶν τοῦ διαβόλου βελῶν παιδεύει καταφρονεῖν τῶν ἐπιβουλῶν. Ἐπεὶ καὶ τὰ δένδρα τὰ μὲν σκιατροφούμενα μαλακώτερα γίνεται καὶ πρὸς καρπῶν γένεσιν ἀχρηστότερα, τὰ δὲ ἀέρων ἀνωμαλίᾳ ὁμιλοῦντα καὶ πνευμάτων δεχόμενα ἐμβολὰς καὶ θέρμην ἀκτῖνος, αὐτά τε ἰσχυρότερα καθίσταται καὶ τοῖς φύλλοις κομᾷ καὶ τῷ κάρπῳ βρίθεται, οὕτω καὶ ἐπὶ τῆς θαλάσσης συμβαίνειν εἴωθεν· οἳ μὲν γὰρ πρῶτον ἐπιβάντες νηός, κἂν σφόδρα γενναῖοί τινες τυγχάνωσιν ὄντες, ὑπὸ τῆς ἀπειρίας ταράττονται, θορυβοῦνται, σκοτοδίνοις ἰλίγγοις κατέχονται· οἱ δὲ πολλὰ διαβάντες πελάγη καὶ πολλοὺς ὑπομείναντες χειμῶνας καὶ ὑφάλους καὶ σκοπέλους καὶ σπιλάδας καὶ θηρίων ἐφόδους καὶ πειρατῶν ἐπιβουλὰς καὶ καταποντιστῶν καὶ συνεχῶν ἀνασχόμενοι χειμώνων, τῶν ἐπὶ γῆς λοιπὸν βαδιζόντων θαρραλεώτεροι ἐπὶ τῆς νηὸς κάθηνται, οὐκ ἔνδον παρὰ τὴν τρόπιν, ἀλλὰ καὶ αὐτοῖς ἐνιζάνοντες τοῖς τοίχοις τῆς νηὸς καὶ ἐπὶ πρώρας καὶ ἐπὶ πρύμνης ἀδεῶς ἱστάμενοι· καὶ οἱ πρὸ τούτου ἐπ' ὄψιν μετὰ τρόμου καὶ φόβου κείμενοι, μετὰ τὴν πολλὴν τοῦ χειμῶνος πεῖραν καὶ σχοῖνον ἕλκουσι καὶ ἱστία ἀνάγουσι καὶ κωπῶν ἅπτονται καὶ πανταχοῦ τῆς νηὸς μετὰ εὐκολίας περιτρέχουσι. Μηδὲν τοίνυν ὑμᾶς θορυβείτω τῶν συμπιπτόντων. Εἰς τοῦτο γὰρ ἡμᾶς κατέστησαν οἱ ἐχθροὶ ἄκοντες εἰς τὸ μὴ δύνασθαι κακῶς παθεῖν πάντα μὲν αὐτῶν κενώσαντες τὰ βέλη, οὐδὲν δὲ πλέον ἐντεῦθεν ἀνύσαντες ἢ τὸ καταισχύνεσθαι καὶ γελᾶσθαι καὶ ὥσπερ κοινοὺς τῆς οἰκουμένης ἐχθρούς, οὕτω πανταχοῦ φαίνεσθαι. Ταῦτα τῶν ἐπιβούλων τὰ ἐπίχειρα, τοῦτο τῶν πολέμων τὸ τέλος. Βαβαί, πηλίκον ἐστὶν ἡ ἀρετὴ καὶ τῶν παρόντων ὑπεροψία πραγμάτων· δι' ἐπιβουλῶν κερδαίνει, διὰ τῶν ἐπιβουλευόντων στεφανοῦται, διὰ τῶν κακῶς ποιούντων διαλάμπει μειζόνως, διὰ τῶν ἐπισύρειν ἐπιχειρούντων ἰσχυροτέρους ποιεῖ τοὺς μετιόντας αὐτήν, ὑψηλοτέρους, ἀχειρώτους, ἀναλώτους, οὐχ ὅπλων, οὐ δοράτων δεομένους, οὐ τειχῶν, οὐ τάφρων, οὐ πύργων, οὐ χρημάτων, οὐ στρατοπέδων, ἀλλὰ γνώμης στερρᾶς μόνον καὶ ἀπεριτρέπτου ψυχῆς, καὶ πᾶσαν ἀνθρωπίνην ἐπιβουλὴν ἐλέγχει. 11.2 Ταῦτα οὖν, δέσποινά μου θεοφιλεστάτη, καὶ σαυτῇ καὶ ταῖς μετὰ σοῦ τὸν καλὸν τοῦτον ἀγῶνα ἀγωνιζομέναις ἐπᾴδουσα ἀνίστη τὰ φρονήματα πασῶν συγκροτοῦσά σου τὴν παράταξιν, ὥστε διπλοῦν καὶ τριπλοῦν καὶ πολλαπλασίονα γενέσθαι σοι τὸν στέφανον τῆς ἀρετῆς, δι' ὧν τε αὐτὴ πάσχεις, δι' ὧν τε ἑτέρας εἰς ταῦτα ἐνάγεις, καὶ πείθουσα πάντα πρᾴως φέρειν καὶ ὑπερορᾶν τῶν σκιῶν καὶ καταφρονεῖν τῆς τῶν ὀνειράτων ἀπάτης καὶ καταπατεῖν τὸν πηλὸν καὶ τοῦ καπνοῦ μηδένα ποιεῖσθαι λόγον καὶ τὰς ἀράχνας μὴ νομίζειν ὑμῖν διενοχλεῖν, καὶ παρατρέχειν τὸν σηπόμενον χόρτον. Ταῦτα γὰρ ἅπαντα τῆς ἀνθρωπίνης εὐημερίας ἡ ματαιότης καὶ τούτων δὲ εὐτελέστερα. Καὶ οὐκ ἄν τις ῥᾳδίως εἰκόνα εὕροι ἀκριβῶς αὐτῆς τὴν ματαιότητα παριστῶσαν. Μετὰ γὰρ τῆς οὐδενείας ταύτης οὐ μικρὰν φέρει καὶ βλάβην τοῖς πρὸς αὐτὴν κεχηνόσιν, οὐκ ἐν τῷ μέλλοντι μόνον αἰῶνι, ἀλλὰ καὶ ἐν τῷ παρόντι βίῳ καὶ κατὰ ταύτας τὰς ἡμέρας ἐν αἷς δοκοῦσιν αὐταῖς ἐντρυφᾶν. Καθάπερ γὰρ ἡ ἀρετή, καὶ κατ' αὐτὸν τὸν καιρὸν καθ' ὃν πολεμεῖται, σκιρτᾷ καὶ θάλλει καὶ φαιδροτέρα δείκνυται, οὕτω καὶ ἡ κακία, καὶ κατ' αὐτὸν τὸν καιρὸν καθ' ὃν θεραπεύεται καὶ κολακεύεται, δείκνυσιν αὐτῆς τὴν ἀσθένειαν καὶ τὸν πολὺν γέλωτα καὶ τὴν ἄφατον κωμῳδίαν. Τί γάρ, εἰπέ μοι, τοῦ Κάϊν ἐλεεινότερον γέγονε, καὶ κατ' αὐτὸν τὸν καιρὸν καθ' ὃν ἐδόκει κρατεῖν τοῦ ἀδελφοῦ καὶ περιγεγενῆσθαι καὶ τοῦ θυμοῦ καὶ τῆς ὀργῆς ἐμπεφορῆσθαι ἐκείνης τῆς ἀδίκου καὶ μυσαρᾶς; Τί δὲ τῆς δεξιᾶς ἐκείνης ἀκαθαρτότερον τῆς δοκούσης νενικηκέναι, τῆς δεξιᾶς ἣ τὴν πληγὴν ἐπήγαγεν καὶ τὸν φόνον εἰργάσατο, καὶ τῆς αἰσχίστης γλώσσης ἣ τὸν δόλον ἔρραψε καὶ τὰ δίκτυα ἥπλωσεν; Καὶ τί λέγω τὰ μέλη τὰ τὸν φόνον ἐργασάμενα; Καὶ γὰρ ὅλον τὸ σῶμα ἐκολάζετο, τῷ στεναγμῷ, τῷ τρόμῳ διηνεκῶς παραδοθέν. Ὢ καινῶν πραγμάτων· ὢ παραδόξου νίκης· ὢ ξένου τροπαίου. Ὁ μὲν σφαγεὶς καὶ νεκρὸς κείμενος ἐστεφανοῦτο καὶ ἀνεκηρύττετο· ὁ δὲ νικήσας καὶ περιγεγονὼς οὐ μόνον ἀστεφάνωτος ἀπῄει, ἀλλὰ δι' αὐτὸ μὲν οὖν τοῦτο ἐκολάζετο, καὶ ἀφορήτοις παρεδίδοτο τιμωρίαις καὶ διηνεκεῖ βασάνῳ· καὶ τοῦ κινουμένου καὶ ζῶντος καὶ φθεγγομένου ὁ πεπληγὼς καὶ τεθνεὼς καὶ ἄφωνος κατηγόρει· μᾶλλον δὲ οὐδὲ ὁ τεθνεώς, ἀλλὰ τὸ αἷμα ψιλὸν καὶ τοῦ σώματος χωρισθὲν ἤρκεσεν εἰς τοῦτο μόνον. Τοσαύτη τῶν ἐναρέτων ἡ περιουσία καὶ τελευτησάντων· τοσαύτη τῶν πονηρῶν ἡ ἀθλιότης καὶ ζώντων. Εἰ δὲ ἐν τοῖς σκάμμασι τοιαῦτα τὰ βραβεῖα, ἐννόησον μετὰ τοὺς ἀγῶνας ἡλίκαι αἱ ἀμοιβαί, ἐν τῷ καιρῷ τῆς ἀντιδόσεως, ἐν τῇ χορηγίᾳ τῶν ἀγαθῶν ἐκείνων τῶν πάντα ὑπερβαινόν των λόγον. Τὰ μὲν γὰρ λυπηρά, οἷα ἂν ᾖ, παρὰ ἀνθρώπων ἐπάγεται καὶ μιμεῖται τῶν ἐπιφερόντων τὴν εὐτέλειαν· τὰ δὲ δῶρα καὶ αἱ ἀμοιβαὶ παρὰ τοῦ Θεοῦ δίδονται· διὸ καὶ τοιαῦτά ἐστιν οἷα εἰκὸς παρὰ τῆς ἀφάτου δωρεᾶς ἐκείνης διδόμενα. Χαῖρε τοίνυν καὶ εὐφραίνου, στεφανηφοροῦσα, πομπεύουσα, τὰ κέντρα τῶν ἐχθρῶν καταπατοῦσα μᾶλλον ἢ πηλὸν ἕτεροι. Καὶ δήλου συνεχῶς ἡμῖν τὰ περὶ τῆς ὑγιείας σου, ἵνα καὶ ἐντεῦθεν πολλὴν καρπωσώμεθα τὴν εὐφροσύνην. Οἶσθα γὰρ ὡς οὐ μικρὰ ἡμῖν ἔσται παραμυθία καὶ ἐν ἐρημίᾳ καθημένοις, ὅταν συνεχῶς μανθάνωμεν περὶ τῆς ῥώσεως τῆς σῆς.

Text source →View original manuscript →

Revision history

2026-05-27v2.2.34-import
Initial corpus import from modern chrysostom olympias 11 12 v1.
Fields: letter text, metadata, source links. Source: https://catholiclibrary.org/library/view?docId=Fathers-Synchronized-OR%2FJohn_Chrysostom__Epistulae_ad_Olympiadem.gr.html

Do not be anxious on my behalf, nor rack yourself with solicitude, on account of the severity of the winter, and the...

John Chrysostom→Olympias the Deaconessc. 405 AD · chrysostom #15

Chrysostom tells Olympias that a life of virtue necessarily brings conflict, reports his own illness and shortages, and asks her not to send anyone through dangerous roads solely for him.

John Chrysostom→Olympias the Deaconessc. 405 AD · chrysostom #14

Chrysostom urges Olympias to stop measuring her troubles only by their pain and to see them as brief trials that produce lasting reward.

John Chrysostom→Olympias the Deaconessc. 405 AD · chrysostom #16

Chrysostom praises Olympias's endurance under repeated trials, compares affliction to fire refining gold, and sends news that his health has improved for now.

John Chrysostom→Olympias the Deaconessc. 405 AD · chrysostom #12

Chrysostom writes after a severe winter illness, rejoices in Olympias's recovery and courage, and praises her as a steadying force for the city.

Revision history

Related Letters