Letter 118: Jerome writes to Julian, a wealthy nobleman apparently of Dalmatia (§5), to console him for the loss of his wife and two daughters all of whom had recently died. He reminds Julian of the trials of Job and recommends him to imitate the patience of the patriarch. He also urges him to follow the example set by Pammachius and Paulinus, that is, to g...

JeromeJulian of Antioch|c. 409 AD|jerome
barbarian invasioneducation booksgrief deathimperial politicsmonasticismproperty economicsslavery captivitywomen
Barbarian peoples/invasions; Theological controversy; Persecution or exile

Jerome to Julian — greetings.

Ausonius, who is a son to me and a brother to you, swept through here at a gallop, barely pausing to say good morning before he was saddling the post-horse and strapping on his sword-belt and heading west. He refused to leave without taking something from me for you, however, so I had a secretary summoned and dictated at a speed that was frankly unkind to the man's wrist. What you have in your hands, then, is not a letter but a hasty note — no logical order, no rhetorical grace, no preparation. Bear with it.

You have suffered losses that no man should have to bear. I know that. Your wife is gone. Your daughters are gone. The house that was full is empty. Scripture says it plainly: "A story told at the wrong moment is like music at a funeral" (Sirach 22:6). So I will not perform for you, and I will not offer you the consolations of philosophy, which have never actually consoled anyone in acute grief, whatever the philosophers may claim.

What I will say is this. There is no one in Scripture who suffered more than Job. Job, who had everything — wealth, family, health, the respect of his neighbors — and lost it all in a single afternoon. And the whole point of the book, the whole reason it exists, is that Job's suffering was not a punishment, not a sign of divine abandonment, not a proof of hidden sin. It was a trial. And he endured it. Not without screaming; the book of Job is full of screaming. But he endured it.

You will endure yours.

There is another model I want to put before you — not for your grief, but for your future. Pammachius, who was a senator of Rome, lost his wife and gave his entire fortune to the poor within the year. Paulinus of Nola, consul's son and heir to one of the great estates of Gaul, abandoned everything and went to live on almost nothing, devoting the rest of his life to God and to caring for the poor. These are not stories of eccentric ascetics. They are stories of men who understood that when everything is stripped away, you find out what was actually yours to keep.

Consider, Julian, what you have left. Consider what you want to do with it. I do not say you must become a monk tomorrow. I say only: in the wreckage of what you have lost, there is a question being asked. It would be worth your while to hear it.

Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.

Related Letters