CHRYSOSTOM ORDERED TO BE REMOVED TO CUCUSUS—PERILS ENCOUNTERED AT CÆSAREA—HARDSHIPS OF THE JOURNEY—REACHES CUCUSUS—LETTERS WRITTEN THERE TO OLYMPIAS AND OTHER FRIENDS. A.D. 404.

It now only remains to follow the illustrious exile along his painful journey to its melancholy or, if we regard him as the Christian martyr, its glorious termination.

He was removed, as has been already seen, from Constantinople on June 20, and conveyed, in the course of a few days, to NicÆa. Here he remained till July 4, and several of his letters to Olympias were written from this place. The soft yet fresh sea air revived his health, which had suffered from the feverish and harassing scenes that he had gone through at Constantinople, and from the journey begun in the very middle of the summer heat. Nothing could exceed the kindness of the soldiers under whose custody he travelled, who discharged towards him all the duties of servants as well as of guards.620 His ultimate destination was not known for some time by himself or his friends. Common report sent him to Scythia,621 but the intention of his enemies appears to have changed from time to time. Sebaste in Armenia had been first proposed, but finally Cucusus, a village in the Tauric range on the edge of Cilicia and the Lesser Armenia, was fixed upon. It was a remote and desolate spot, subject to frequent attacks from the marauding Isaurians; and at first Chrysostom earnestly entreated his friends in Constantinople to try and procure a more agreeable place of exile, a favour frequently granted to criminals. Olympias, Bishop Cyriacus, Briso the chamberlain, and a lady named Theodora, repeatedly interceded on his behalf; but their efforts were ineffectual.622 The Empress herself, it would appear, selected Cucusus, and was inexorable in her decision.623

From beginning to end of his exile Chrysostom’s mind was occupied with organising such work as yet remained possible to him. It has been seen with what zeal he had planted a missionary settlement in Phoenicia. This project continued to the close of his life to be an object of his most solicitous interest. On July 3, the eve of his departure from NicÆa, he addressed a letter to a priest named Constantius,624 apparently the superintendent of the missionary work in Phoenicia and the surrounding countries. He implores him to prosecute his labours for the extirpation of Paganism with zeal undiminished, and undismayed by the present afflicted state of the bishop and the see, to whom the mission owed its origin. “The pilot and the physician, far from relaxing their efforts when the ship and the patient are in peril, redouble their efforts to save them.” He begs Constantius to inform him year by year how many temples are destroyed, how many churches built, how many good Christians immigrate into Phoenicia. He had himself persuaded a recluse, whom he found at NicÆa, to go and place himself under the direction of Constantius in the missionary work. He had, he says, happily concluded, just about the time of his deposition, arrangements for the suppression of Marcionism, which was very prevalent at Salamis, in Cyprus. He begs Constantius to write to his friend Bishop Cyriacus, if still in Constantinople, and request him to carry these plans into effect. Finally, he implores the prayers of Constantius and all faithful people for the cessation of the present calamities of the Church, especially of the intolerable evils which had befallen it in Asia; alluding no doubt to the restoration of the simoniacal bishops.

On July 4 or 5 the exile started from NicÆa on his toilsome and perilous journey in the midsummer heat, across the scorching plains of Galatia and Cappadocia. He describes himself625 as an object of great compassion to travellers whom he met coming from Armenia and the East, who stopped to weep and wail over his distress. His route lay in a diagonal line across the centre of Asia Minor, ascending first of all near the stream of the river Sangarius, which in its upper course winds through vast plains of black bituminous soil, scantily cultivated, but supplying pasture to great herds of cattle. Chrysostom had always been an ascetic liver, but he had not a robust frame, and he had been accustomed to wholesome food and the frequent use of the bath. Continuous travelling by night as well as day, the scorching sun, hot dust, hard bread, brackish water, and deprivation of the bath, threw him into a fever; but either from fear of the Isaurians, or of Leontius, bishop of Ancyra, in Galatia, one of his most virulent enemies, the journey was pursued without intermission till he arrived, more dead than alive, at CÆsarea, in Cappadocia.

He has left us a detailed account of the perils which befell him here, and a melancholy picture indeed it is of the ferocity and cunning of which bishops and monks were capable under the influence of fanatical partisanship.626 Having escaped, he says, from the Galatian (probably meaning Leontius), he was met, as he approached CÆsarea, by several persons, who informed him that Pharetrius the bishop was eagerly expecting him, and preparing to welcome him with affectionate hospitality. He confesses that he himself mistrusted these specious offers, but he kept his suspicions to himself. On his arrival at CÆsarea, in a state of extreme exhaustion, Pharetrius did not appear, but he was enthusiastically received by the people as well as some monks and nuns. The extreme kindness and skill of physicians (one of whom declared his intention of accompanying him to the end of his journey), wholesome food, and the use of the bath, so much renovated his strength and diminished his fever, that he became anxious in a day or two to resume his journey. But just at this juncture the city was thrown into consternation by tidings that a large body of Isaurians was ravaging the neighbourhood, and had already burned a town with much slaughter. All the available troops in CÆsarea were marched out, and the whole male population, including old men, turned out to man the walls. During this time of suspense, the house in which Chrysostom lodged was besieged by a large body of monks, who with furious cries and gestures demanded his surrender. The prÆtorians who guarded him were terrified by the fierce behaviour of these fanatics, and declared that they would rather face the Isaurians than fall into the hands of these “wild beasts.” The governor of the city succeeded in protecting the person of Chrysostom, but not in quelling the fury of the monks, who renewed their assault still more hotly on the following day. The Bishop Pharetrius was very generally suspected to be the instigator of these attacks, and an appeal was made to him to interpose his authority, that the Archbishop might at least enjoy a few days’ repose, which the state of his health greatly needed. But the envy of Pharetrius was embittered by the popularity of Chrysostom, and the great kindness and compassion which his hardships had elicited from clergy and people. He refused to interfere; but Chrysostom’s friends took advantage of a brief lull in the hostile visits of the monks to convey him in a litter outside the town, amidst the lamentations of the attendant people, and imprecations on the author of the malevolent assaults. When he was once outside the town several of the clergy joined him, and besought him not to think of trusting himself to Pharetrius; it would be worse, they declared, than falling into the hands of the Isaurians: “only escape from our hands, and wherever you fall you will fall safely.”

At this crisis a lady named Seleucia, the wife of Rufinus, a man of rank and a friend of Chrysostom, entreated him to accept a lodging at her country house, about five miles out of the city. He accepted the offer; but, unknown to him, Pharetrius, whose rage was inflamed by the rescue of his prey, visited the house, and threatened to take vengeance on the mistress if her guest was not surrendered. This demand was refused, and the lady gave orders to her steward, in the event of any attack by monks, to collect all the labourers on the estate and repel the assault by force. But her courage at last gave way under the pressure of incessant menaces from Pharetrius, and it was resolved to remove the Archbishop, not less for his own safety than for that of the person whose roof had afforded him shelter. In the dead of night, when Chrysostom was sleeping, unconscious of impending danger, he was roused by a companion, the priest Evethius, who told him that he must instantly prepare for flight. It was midnight, and the sky murky and moonless; but they dared not light torches for fear of attracting the observation of their enemies. The road was rugged and rocky; the mule which carried the Archbishop’s litter fell, and he was thrown out. Evethius took him by the hand and led, or rather dragged, him along. In such a pitiable plight, faint with fatigue and fever-stricken, did the bishop of the second see in Christendom stumble and totter in the darkness along the Cappadocian mountain path. “Were not these calamities,” he writes to Olympias, “sufficient to blot out many sins, and suggest to me a hope of future glory?”

Of the remainder of his journey to Cucusus we possess no detailed narrative. He only speaks in general terms of his sufferings for thirty days from fever, aggravated by the want of a bath, and by deficient accommodation of every kind in a journey made along a rough road, through a desolate mountainous country, liable to an attack at any moment from Isaurian bandits.627 Desolate though the region was, however, he speaks of monks and nuns occasionally meeting him in large numbers, and loudly bewailing his calamities, exclaiming that it “had been better the sun should have hidden his rays, than that the mouth of Chrysostom should have been closed.”628 About seventy days629 after his departure from Constantinople, that is, about the end of August or beginning of September, Cucusus was reached. After the fatigues and dangers of his journey, it was a haven of rest to the exhausted exile, though he describes it as in itself the most desolate place in the world; a mere village high up in the eastern range of Taurus, on the confines of Lesser Armenia, Cilicia, and Cappadocia.630 But it was protected from the Isaurians by a strong garrison, and it contained many warm-hearted friends of the Archbishop, who emulated one another in showing him attention. Several had sent invitations to him, before he left CÆsarea, to accept a lodging at their houses, but more especially one whom he calls “my Lord Diodorus,” who had known him in Constantinople. This generous personage not only placed his whole house at the disposal of Chrysostom, betaking himself to a country villa to make room for his guest, but furnished it with every possible defence against the cold of the approaching winter, in that altitude very severe. The Bishop of Cucusus not only received him with great civility, but was even desirous that his own throne should be occupied by the illustrious exile, that his flock might profit by the eloquence of the greatest teacher and preacher of the day; but Chrysostom thought it prudent to decline the honour.631

Many of his friends in Constantinople and other places, who owned property near Cucusus, directed their stewards to provide in various ways for the comfort of the exile, and some of his friends actually came to share his fortunes in person. The aged deaconess, Sabiniana, arrived from Constantinople with the fixed determination of accompanying him to his final place of exile, whatever that might be. Constantius, the presbyter of Antioch, whom the people had wished to make bishop, also took up his abode at Cucusus, as well to escape from the persecution of Porphyry as from his zealous attachment to Chrysostom.632 Thus the natural disadvantages of the place, the want of good physicians and of a plentiful market, the severity of the heat in summer and cold in winter, were largely compensated by the enjoyment of freedom, rest, and the kind attention of friends. He warns his supporters in Constantinople, who were endeavouring to procure a change of destination for him, to be careful that he was not removed to a place worse than Cucusus, where he possessed all substantial necessaries and comforts of life. If, however, they thought there was a chance of obtaining Cyzicus or Nicomedia, they were not to desist from their efforts; but he was convinced that another long and fatiguing journey to a spot as remote and desolate as Cucusus would kill him.633

The leisure of the exile was profitably employed in writing letters to every variety of friends—men of rank, ladies, deaconesses in Constantinople, bishops, clergy, missionary monks, and his kind acquaintances in CÆsarea, especially the physician Hymnetius, who had attended him there with affectionate care. As might be expected, none of his letters describe his condition so minutely or pour forth so unrestrainedly his fears and hopes, his causes of distress or joy, as those written to Olympias. The style in which she is usually addressed is at once respectful, affectionate, and paternal: “To my lady, the most reverend and religious deaconess Olympias, Bishop John sends you greeting in the Lord.” They are seventeen in number, written at different stages of his exile; nor is it possible to determine precisely the date of each. The first three seem to have been written from Cucusus, and are mainly devoted to the aim of consoling her under the present calamities of the Church; to dissipating, as he expresses it, that cloud of sorrow which surrounded her.634 “Come now, let me soften the wound of your sadness, and disperse the sad cogitations which compose this gloomy cloud of care. What is it which upsets your mind, and occasions your grief and despondency? Is it the fierce and lowering storm which has overtaken the Churches and enveloped all with the darkness of a moonless night, which is growing to a head every day, and has already wrought many lamentable shipwrecks? All this I know; it shall not be gainsaid: and, if you like, I can form an image of the things now being done so as to represent the tragedy more distinctly to thee. We behold a sea heaved up from its lowest depths, some sailors floating dead, others struggling in the waves, the planks of the vessel breaking up, the masts sprung, the canvas torn, the oars dashed out of the sailors’ hands, the pilots, seated on the deck, clasping their knees with their hands, and crying aloud at the hopelessness of their situation; neither sky nor sea clearly visible, but all one impenetrable gloom, and monsters of the deep attacking the shipwrecked crew on every side. But why attempt further to describe the indescribable? Yet, when I see all this, I do not despair, when I consider who is the Disposer of this whole universe—One who masters the storm, not by the contrivance of art, but can calm it by His nod alone. He does not always destroy what is terrible in its beginning, but waits till it has come to its consummation; and then, when most men are in despair, He works marvels and does things beyond all expectation, displaying a power which belongs to Him alone. Wherefore, faint not, for there is only one thing, Olympias, which is really terrible, there is only one real trial—and that is sin. All things else, whether they be insidious assaults of foes, or hatred, or calumny, or abuse, or confiscation of goods, or exile, or the sharpened sword, and war raging throughout the world, are but as a tale; they endure but for a season, they are perishable, and have their sphere in a mortal body, and do no injury to the vigilant soul.”... “Why, then, do you fear temporal things, which flow away like the stream of a river?”... “Let none of these things which happen vex you; cease to entreat the help of this person or that, but continually beseech Jesus Christ, whom you serve, merely to bow the head, and all these troubles will be dissolved; if not in an instant of time, that is because He is waiting till wickedness has grown to a height, and then he will suddenly change the storm into a calm....”

He enters into an eloquent review of the sufferings and persecution to which our blessed Lord was subjected from His birth to His death, in order to prove that apparent failure is a fallacious test of the truth and real value of man’s character and work.

“Why are you troubled because one man has been expelled and another introduced into his place? Christ was crucified, and the life of Barabbas, the robber, was asked. How many must have been shocked and repelled by this ignominious termination to a life of miracles! But in every stage of His life there was much to surprise and offend and try the faith. His birth was the cause of death to many innocent children in Bethlehem; poverty, danger, exile, marked His infancy. He was misunderstood and suspected throughout His ministry. ‘Thou art a Samaritan, and hast a devil;’ ‘He deceiveth the people;’ ‘He casteth out devils through the chief of the devils;’ ‘He was a gluttonous man and winebibber, a friend of publicans and sinners.’ His discernment of purity and goodness was questioned, because He permitted the sinful woman to approach Him; ‘neither did His brethren believe on Him.’ You speak of many having been frightened out of the straight path by the present calamities. How many of Christ’s disciples stumbled at the time of His crucifixion! One betrayed Him, another denied Him, the others fled, and He was led to trial bound and alone. How many, think you, were offended when they beheld Him, who a little while ago was raising the dead, cleansing the lepers, expelling devils, multiplying loaves, now bound, forlorn, surrounded by coarse soldiers, followed by a crowd of tumultuous priests? How many when He was being scourged, and they saw Him torn by the lash, and standing with bleeding body before the governor’s tribunal? How many, again, when He was mocked, now with a crown of thorns, now with a purple robe, now with a reed in His hand? How many when He was smitten on the cheek, and they cried, ‘Prophesy, who is he that smote Thee?’ and dragged Him hither and thither, consuming a whole day in jesting and revilement in the midst of the throng of Jewish spectators? How many when He was led to the cross with the marks of the scourge upon His back? How many when the soldiers divided His raiment among themselves? How many when fastened to the cross and crucified?” And, after our Lord’s Ascension, what had been the lot of the early Church? Calamity, persecution, discomfiture, weakness, the offence of many and the defection of many. Yet the truth of Jesus Christ’s Gospel had not been obscured; it had shone more and more brightly: God had wrought out the triumph of His Church.

The above is a much-condensed rendering of passages which can hardly be too much admired for the spirit as well as style in which they are written. The union of a Christian philosophy and a Christian faith, a philosophy which traces a principle in God’s modes of operation, and a faith which contentedly accepts whatever happens, in the firm belief that, be it pleasant or painful, it is part of some purpose of God; a philosophy which traces in every suffering of Christ’s servants for the cause of truth a reflection of the Master’s sufferings, and a faith which enables the sufferer not only to be cheerful himself, but to cheer others, form, indeed, a noble object of contemplation. In a letter written to Olympias, just after his hardships and perils at CÆsarea, he begs her to rejoice, as he declares he can himself rejoice, in suffering as a pledge of future glory. He never had desisted, and never would desist, from declaring that the only real calamity to a man’s self was sin; all other evils were as dust and smoke. Spoliation of goods was freedom; banishment was but a change of abode; death was but the discharge of nature’s debt, which all must eventually pay. So much has been at all times, and is still, uttered by Christian writers and preachers about patience and joy in affliction, that we may be disposed to pass over language of this kind sometimes as a hackneyed commonplace; but it must be remembered that, in Chrysostom’s case, the speaker was an actual sufferer. His words were not the sentimental utterances of a rhetorical preacher addressing an admiring audience, but convictions deliberately expressed by a persecuted sufferer, who was really living by the principles which he was accustomed to preach.

The rapturous and lavish praise which in some of his letters he bestows upon the virtues of Olympias would by a lady of piety in modern times be distrusted as flattery, and distasteful as a dangerous encouragement to self-righteousness and conceit; but the language of ornate compliment, which would be offensive to Western taste, seems natural to Orientals: and it may therefore be supposed that its effect in elating the mind of the recipient is faint in proportion. Chrysostom begins his second letter by recommending Olympias to divert her mind from those calamities and sins, for which she was no way responsible, by directing it to the final judgment. The awe with which she must contemplate that scene, in which she, together with all others, is individually concerned and interested, will expel the useless grief which mourns over iniquity wrought by others. But he breaks off suddenly from such a line of argument, as inapplicable to the case of so angelic a being as Olympias. “To me, indeed, and those who, like me, have been plunged beneath a sea of sins, such discourse is necessary, for it excites and alarms; but you, who abound in goodness, and who have already touched the very vault of Heaven, cannot even be pricked by such language; wherefore, in addressing you, I will chant another strain and strike another string.” He does indeed; he invites her to count over her own perfections, and to dwell with complacent satisfaction on the heavenly rewards which are surely in store for her.... “It would fill a volume to relate the history of her patience, tried in such a variety of ways from her youth. She had laid such vigorous siege to her body, though naturally delicate and nurtured in the lap of luxury, that it might truly be called dead; and these austerities had raised for her such a swarm of maladies as defied the skill of physicians, and involved her in continual suffering. To speak, indeed, of patience and self-control, in reference to her fasts and vigils, would be inaccurate, because those expressions implied a conquest over oppugnant passions. But she had no desires to conquer: they were not merely subdued but extinguished. It was as easy and natural to her to fast as it was to others to eat, as natural to her to pass the night in vigil as to others to sleep.” With an admiring comment on her squalid and neglected attire he closes this singular enumeration of her perfections, lest, as he expresses it, he should lose himself in an illimitable sea if he attempted to wade further; his object being, not to make an exhaustive catalogue of her virtues, but only such as might be sufficient to lift her out of her present state of depression.

It is worth making such extracts as these, because they enable us to see how widely remote Chrysostom was from the mind and taste of our own times in some points, although in others he seems so nearly congenial. There is another vein of thought in this letter which is still more alien. “If,” he says, “in addition to the rewards of her chastity, her fasts, her vigils, her prayers, her boundless hospitality, she wishes to enjoy the sight of her adversaries, those iniquitous and blood-stained men undergoing punishment for their crimes, that pleasure also shall be hers. Lazarus saw Dives tormented in flames. This you will experience. For if he, who neglected but one man, suffered such punishment, if it was expedient for the man who should offend one little one to be hanged or cast into the sea, what penalty will be exacted of men who have offended so large a part of the world, upset so many churches, and surpassed the ferocity of barbarians and robbers? You will see them fast bound, tormented in flames, gnashing their teeth, overwhelmed with useless sorrow and vain remorse; and they, in their turn, will behold you wearing a crown in the blessed mansions, exulting with angels, reigning with Christ; and they will cry aloud and groan, repenting of the contumely which they fastened upon thee, supplicating, but in vain, thy pity and compassion.”635

To our ears of course such language is extraordinarily shocking; but it is valuable as a warning, in estimating the character of Chrysostom, not to judge him or any individual by words or deeds, which are not so much the offspring of the man as of the age and circumstances in which he lived. Chrysostom had exercised as well as taught meekness, forbearance, and charity towards all men, enemies as well as friends; but he lived when the minds of Christians had for generations been inured to scenes of persecution, and to such a rigorous system and barbarous execution of criminal law as are hardly conceivable by us. Fierce opposition of party against party, violence and bloodshed put down, if at all, by the stern hand of force, hardened public feeling, and the individual, however amiable and gentle by nature, inevitably becomes infected by the prevailing mode of thought; he must look at things and judge of things more or less from the same point of view as the generality of men amongst whom he lives. What would seem revoltingly cruel to a humane man now, appeared to a man who lived some hundreds of years ago, though perhaps equally humane by nature, and in private life amiable, a merely natural and just retribution.

The letters of Chrysostom to those bishops636 who remained loyal to his cause are full of asseverations that his affection for them cannot be diminished by separation or distance. He exhorts them to continue their labours with unabated zeal, and carefully to abstain from all communion with the adverse party. Small though their numbers were, yet their fortitude under persecution would so much encourage others that their conduct might be the salvation of the Church. Several of his letters to laymen in Constantinople are models of wise Christian counsel. He is never less than the pastor, while he is always the friend. He writes to one Gemellus,637 on his promotion to some high magisterial office, that, “while others congratulated him merely on his new honours, he would rather dwell with thankfulness on the abundant opportunities Gemellus would now possess of exercising wisdom and gentleness on a large scale. He doubted not Gemellus would prove to those who were attached to the vain glories of this earth, that the true dignity of the magistrate consisted not in the robe or the girdle of office, or in the voice of the herald, but in reforming what was evil, and repairing what was falling to pieces, in punishing injustice, and preventing the right from being oppressed by might. He knew the boldness of Gemellus, his freedom of speech, his magnanimity, his contempt for the things of this world, his mildness, his benevolence; and he was persuaded that he would be as a haven to the shipwrecked, as a staff to the fallen, a tower of defence to those who were oppressed by tyranny.” Gemellus appears to have been on the point of receiving baptism, and perhaps on that account to have been exposed to a rather trying degree of persecution. Chrysostom begs him not to delay baptism in the hope of receiving it from his hands, because the grace of the sacrament would be equally effectual by whatever hands administered, and his own joy would be none the less.638

So again, in his letter to Anthemius, who had recently been made prefect and consul:—“Nothing has been really added to you; it is not the prefect or the consul whom I love, but my most dear and gentle Lord Anthemius, full of philosophy and understanding. I do not felicitate thee because thou hast climbed to this throne, but because thou hast gained a grander sphere wherein to exercise thy benevolence and wisdom.”639

He was less distant from Antioch than Constantinople, and was cheered by visits from not a few of his old friends in his native city, and maintained a correspondence by letter with many more; but intercourse of either kind was much impeded by the dangers and difficulties of the roads, and at times by the severity of the climate.640 The illegal seizure of the see of Antioch by Porphyry, and the harsh treatment to which the orthodox were subjected under his administration, caused them to turn to Chrysostom, not only with sympathy as a fellow-sufferer, but also for guidance, comfort, and some kind of episcopal superintendence. Their presents to him were so numerous that he felt compelled sometimes to decline them, or to request permission that they might be transferred to the aid of the missionary work in Phoenicia.641

Much of his thought and correspondence was concerned in providing for the welfare of the Church in Persia, Phoenicia, and among the Goths. In his fourteenth letter to Olympias he begs her to use her best endeavours to detach Maruthas, bishop of Martyropolis in Persia, from the influence of the hostile party; “to lift him out of the slough” is his expression, for he greatly needed his assistance on account of affairs in Persia; and he was very anxious to know what Maruthas had accomplished there, and whether he had received two letters recently sent by himself. From this it would seem as if Maruthas, who had been present at the Synod of the Oak (when he caused the fatal injury to the foot of Cyrinus), had returned to Persia and again visited Constantinople, and that Chrysostom had hopes of working in connexion with him for the good of the Church in Persia.642 In the same epistle he expresses his sorrow at having heard, through some Gothic monks with whom Serapion had sought shelter, that the Gothic bishop Unilas, whom he had recently consecrated, was dead, after a short but active career, and that the Gothic king had written to request that a new bishop should be sent out. Chrysostom was fearful lest Atticus and his party should appoint one; and he urges that everything should be done to delay the appointment if possible till winter came, when the season would prevent any one being sent till the following spring. Meanwhile, Moduarius, the deacon who had brought the letter from the Gothic prince, was to repair secretly and quietly to Cucusus, and there confer with Chrysostom on this important matter, to avert if possible the appointment of an improper person to so difficult a charge.

But of course the exile’s interest was pre-eminently centred on that city of which he could not but consider himself still the chief pastor, although deprived of his external authority over it. Banishment, imprisonment, and intimidation had thinned the ranks of the orthodox; and among the remaining pastors there were some whose neglect of duty, the result of indolence or faint-heartedness, called forth severe rebukes from their former chief. “He had heard with concern, and was vexed that the information had not come direct from the clergy themselves, that a priest, Salustius, had preached only five times between the end of June and October, and that he and Theophilus, another priest, rarely attended Divine service at all.”643 To Theophilus he writes a letter of mingled sorrow and reproof, expressing a hope that the report may be incorrect, and begging him to refute it, or to amend his conduct. He reminds him of the dreadful punishment which was inflicted on the servant who buried the talent which he ought to have used, and of the fearful responsibility of neglecting that most beautiful flock, which, by the grace of God, was being strengthened in goodness, though now agitated by so terrible a tempest.644 Several of his clergy and friends are upbraided with more or less of affectionate expostulation for slackness in writing to him; others are praised for their unshakable fortitude, patience, and zeal under affliction. He had learned with much concern from Domitianus, to whom the care of the widows and virgins of the Church was confided, that they were reduced to extreme indigence, and he entreats his friend Valentinus to sustain his well-known character for benevolence by relieving their necessities.645

Peanius, a man of rank and position in Constantinople, is thanked and praised for the unremitting zeal, yet tempered with moderation, with which he had resisted the usurping party, had stood inflexible in loyalty when others had fled, and had exerted himself for the welfare of the Church, not only in Constantinople, but also in Phoenicia, Palestine, and Cilicia. Chrysostom observes in the same letter that the members of the Church in those regions had, with very few exceptions, refused to recognise Arsacius.646

Those clergy and other persons who had been imprisoned on the charge of incendiarism were released in the beginning of September;647 and Chrysostom, having heard of their liberation, was eagerly expecting a visit from them when he wrote (about the end of October probably) to Elpidius, bishop of Laodicea,648 in Syria, a prelate venerable in years and eminent in piety, who had as a priest accompanied Meletius to the Council of Constantinople in A.D. 381, and was his counterpart in the moderation and gentleness of his disposition. Chrysostom wrote to thank him for his zeal in endeavouring to retain the bishops, not only in his own region, but in all parts of the world, in loyal fidelity to the exiled Patriarch. Elpidius proved the sincerity of his own attachment to his friend by suffering deposition from his see, and imprisonment for three years in his own house. Alexander, the successor of the usurper Porphyry in the see of Antioch, restored Elpidius to his see about A.D. 414—a recognition of his merits which received the high approbation of Pope Innocent.649

Thus by letters did the exile maintain his influence over all varieties of people in distant and opposite quarters of the Empire. Exhortation and reproof, consolation and encouragement, or the mere expression of affectionate goodwill, are the main chords struck, as circumstances require. But there is one tone which pervades all alike—the unshakable Christian faith of the writer. His deep belief that all suffering was sent for a remedial chastening purpose, and that, if resignedly borne, it enhanced the glory of the reward reserved for those who should suffer for righteousness’ sake; that sin is the only real evil, that expatriation and persecution, and even death, since they touch only the external and temporal, are to be regarded as mere shadows, cobwebs, and dreams; that distance and material obstacles cannot impede the wings of affection and prayer, and that the cause of right and truth, although long depressed, will eventually triumph—these are convictions firmly rooted, which he never tires of repeating, and on the strength of which he lived cheerful and contented.

The wide range of his influence, and the nobility of his Christian resignation and fortitude, maintained during his exile, have elicited the admiration of a historian not lavish of his compliments to Christian saints. “Every tongue,” says Gibbon, “repeated the praises of his genius and virtue; and the respectful attention of the Christian world was fixed on a desert spot among the mountains of Taurus.”650