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 Phœnicia. 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 Phœnicia 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 Phœnicia. 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 himself[625] 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 days[629] 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 bishops[636] 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 Phœnicia.[641]
Much of his thought and correspondence was concerned in providing for
the welfare of the Church in Persia, Phœnicia, 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 Phœnicia,
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]