Oratio funebris in Flacillam imperatricem

Gregory Bishop of Nyssa Funeral Oration for Placidia the Empress. The faithful and prudent steward (for I begin from the readings of the holy Gospel), whom the Lord set over this household to give the measure of grain at the proper time to those under his care, rightly in the time before this condemned the speechlessness of my discourse, rightly perceiving the magnitude of the calamity and honoring the mourning with silence, I know not how in the present assembly he again brings the discourse back to the church, himself annulling his own judgment against the discourse. And yet, while greatly admiring the teacher’s wisdom in many things, I admired him most of all in this, that he so well silenced the discourse in the calamity. For silence seems to me a fitting and appropriate remedy for those in mourning, cooking down the swelling of the soul through time and dejection by means of quiet. For if someone, while the passion still heats the soul, should stir up the discourse, the wound of grief will become harder to heal, as it is scratched by the memory of painful things as if by thorns. But if it is not too bold for me to add some correction of my own to the teacher’s action, perhaps it was well that silence prevailed over us until now, so that the discourse, not being dragged down into the passion, might not distress the hearing. For the time that has intervened is not yet so great as to have accustomed the mind to the evil.

The wound is still fresh in the soul (and perhaps the pain will always be new to life), our heart is still agitated, and like a sea stirred up by the gale of calamity, it is churned from its depths; our thoughts still swell, seething at the memory of our ills. Since the soul is unsteady in such a storm, how is it possible to bring forth the word straight, as if it were being wintered by the passion of grief like a squall? But since one must obey the one who commands, I do not know how I shall use the word; for I cannot hit upon the intention of the teacher. Or perhaps he wishes both to gratify the passion and, by the more emotional words, to stir up tears in the church? And if he intends this, in my judgment he does rightly; for we must, just as we eagerly pursue the enjoyment of goods, so also be properly disposed toward the painful things that befall us; for this is what Ecclesiastes advises: "There is a time to laugh," he says, "and a time to weep." For through these things we learn that one must dispose the soul in accordance with the subject: do things go smoothly? It is timely to rejoice; has cheerfulness turned to gloom? It is fitting to change cheerfulness into tears. For just as laughter becomes a sign of inner joy, so too the pain in the heart is interpreted by lamentations, and tears become like blood for the wounds of the soul. This is also what the Proverb of Solomon says: "When the heart rejoices, the face blooms; when the soul is in grief, it looks gloomy.

Therefore, it is entirely necessary for the discourse to share in the sorrow of the heart's disposition. And would that it were possible to find such words as the great Jeremiah once lamented over the calamity of the Israelites. For the present events are more worthy of those than anything ancient that is remembered among sorrowful things. The narratives of Job are grievous; but what need is there to set against so great an evil the easily numbered sufferings of one household? Even if you recount the great and more common evils—earthquakes, wars, floods, and chasms—these too are small if judged against the present circumstances. Why? Because the calamity of war does not seize the whole inhabited world at once, but one part of it is warred upon, while another enjoys peace. Again, a portion is either burned by a thunderbolt, or flooded by water, or swallowed by a chasm. But the present evil is a blow to the entire inhabited world all at once. There is not one nation or one city to lament, but perhaps it is fitting to utter the voice of Nebuchadnezzar, which he made to those under his power: "I speak to you, peoples, tribes, tongues." Or rather, allow me to add something to the Assyrian proclamation and to announce the calamity more loudly, and to say, as one might cry out on a stage: "O cities and peoples and nations and the whole earth and all of the sea that is navigable and inhabited, O all of our inhabited world that is governed by the scepter of the empire, O all people from everywhere, groan together at the common suffering, set up the harmony of lament together, bewail the common loss together." Or do you wish that, as best I can, I also relate the loss to you?

Human nature in our generation, having exceeded its own limits and overcome its customary measures, brought forth—or rather, the Lord of nature brought forth—a human soul in a female body surpassing nearly all previous examples of virtue, in which every virtue of body and every virtue of soul, running together, displayed an incredible marvel to human life: how many goods one soul contained within one body. And so that the good fortune of the generation might be most evident to all, she is raised to the high throne of royalty, so that, like the sun from a high station, she might illuminate the whole world with the rays of her virtues. And having been joined in partnership of life and rule to the one set over the whole world by divine decree, she made the subject people blessed through herself, truly becoming, as Scripture says, a helper to him for every good. If there was an occasion for philanthropy, she either joined him in this good or even preceded him; the balance was equal on both sides with the inclination toward philanthropy. The earlier deeds, surpassing number, and the proclamations of the present time, which we have now heard from the herald of truth, bear witness to this account. If you seek piety, the course toward piety was common to both; if forethought, if justice, if any other of the things zealously pursued for the better, all was in rivalry, each striving to outdo the other in good works, and there was no one defeated. There was an equal grace between them toward each other.

She had virtue as her prize, the one set over the inhabited world, while he considered the dominion of land and sea as nothing in comparison with his good fortune in her. They gave each other equal joys, seeing one another and being seen by one another: he, being what he is (for what beauty could one show beyond what is apparent? And would that what is seen might endure even into the life of their offspring), but as for her, what she was like, it is impossible to indicate in words; for no exact likeness of her has been preserved by art, but even if something has been made in paintings or in sculptures, all fall short of the truth. Such are the narratives, and up to this point. But what follows is this: I am again compelled to cry out, and forgive me for crying out beyond measure at the calamity. O Thrace, the name to be shunned, O unfortunate nation known by misfortunes, O land first ravaged by hostile fire in barbarian invasions, and now receiving within itself the chief of the common disaster. From there the good is snatched away, there envy reveled against the empire, there occurred the shipwreck of the inhabited world, there, as if dashed against a promontory in a storm, we sank into the depth of grief. O that evil journey, which did not bring back the return, O bitter waters, whose springs she longed for, as she ought not to have, O place where the calamity happened, named after the calamity as Skotoumenê (for I hear that in their ancestral tongue it is called Skotoumenê).

...the place is named after her.) There the lamp was darkened, there the light was extinguished, there the rays of the virtues were dimmed. The ornament of the empire is gone, the helm of justice, the image of philanthropy—or rather, the archetype itself. The model of conjugal love has been taken away, the pure offering of chastity, the accessible dignity, the unassailable gentleness, the lofty humility, the outspoken modesty, the harmonious blend of all goods. Gone is the zeal of faith, the pillar of the church, the adornment of the altars, the wealth of the poor, the bountiful right hand, the common harbor of the oppressed. Let virginity mourn, let widowhood lament, let orphanhood weep; let them know what they had when they no longer have it. But why should I divide the lament by parts and classes? Let the whole generation groan, sending up a deep sigh from the midst of the heart. Let the priesthood itself join in mourning the common ornament of which envy has robbed us. Is it too bold to speak the words of the prophet? Why, O God, have you cast us off utterly, and has your anger been kindled against the sheep of your pasture? For what sins are we paying the penalty? For what are we being scourged with successive calamities? Or perhaps, because of the proliferation of the impiety of the various heresies, this verdict has prevailed against us? For you see with what evils we have been beset in a short time. Not yet having breathed again after the previous blow, not yet having wiped the tears from our eyes, we have again fallen into such a calamity.

Then we lamented the newly-bloomed flower; now we lament the very shoot from which the flower blossomed. Then we lamented the hoped-for season; now the season that had reached its prime. Then we lamented the anticipated good; now the good that had been experienced. Will you forgive me, brothers, if I should rave a little because of my emotion? Perhaps, as the apostle says, even creation itself groaned together with our misfortune. I will remind you of what happened, and I think most of you will agree with what I say: when the empress, covered in gold and purple, was conveyed into the city—a bier was what conveyed her—and every rank and every age, pouring out of the city, crowded every open space with the multitude, all on foot, with those of higher rank escorting the procession of grief (you surely remember how the sun concealed its rays with clouds, as if it did not wish to see the empress entering the city in such a guise with pure light, not on some chariot or gold-bound carriage, exulting in her bodyguards according to imperial splendor, but hidden in a coffin, her form concealed by that grim covering, a terrible and pitiable sight, a source of tears for those who encountered her, whom the entire assembled populace, both foreign and native, received not with acclamations but with lamentations as she entered), then even the air grew gloomy in mourning, wrapping itself in darkness like a mourning garment, and the clouds, as far as they could, wept, sending down soft droplets instead of tears for the sorrow. Or is all this truly nonsense and not worth mentioning?

If indeed something happened in creation such as to mark the calamity, it did not happen from creation at all, but from the master of creation, honoring the death of the holy woman through what he did. For, it says, "Precious in the sight of the Lord is the death of his holy ones." And I myself then saw another spectacle more extraordinary than those mentioned: I saw a double rain, one from the air and the other from tears, flowing down to the earth, and the rain from the eyes was not less than that from the clouds; for among so many thousands of those present, there was no eye that did not wet the earth with drops of tears. But perhaps we have not rightly divined the teacher's intention, dwelling more than necessary on the gloomy things. For perhaps he wishes to heal rather than to pain the hearing, but we have now done the opposite, as if a physician, taking a wounded man, not only neglected the treatment, but also aggravated the sufferer with some corrosive drugs. Therefore, we must pour the oily word over the swollen wound; for even the gospel healing knows how to mix oil with the astringency of wine. Let us then incline toward you, taking from Scripture the flask of oil, as far as possible, recanting the gloom of what has been said into consolation. But let no one disbelieve what is said, even if it is paradoxical: the good we seek exists, brothers, it exists and has not perished. Rather, I have spoken too modestly of the truth; for not only does the good exist, but it is in a higher place than before. Do you seek the empress? She has her abode in the royal palaces. But do you desire to know this with your eye?

It is not permitted for you to gaze curiously upon the empress; the guard of her bodyguards around her is fearsome—I do not mean those bodyguards whose weapon is iron, but those armed with the fiery sword, whose form the sight of men does not receive. Her dwelling is in the secret places of the kingdom. You will see her then, when you also emerge from the body, for it is not possible otherwise to enter within the innermost sanctuary of the kingdom without rending the veil of the flesh. Or do you think it better to partake of life through the flesh? Then let the divine apostle, who partook of the unspeakable mysteries of paradise, instruct you. What does he say about this life here, perhaps speaking from the common experience of men? "Wretched man that I am, who will deliver me from this body of death?" Why does he say this? Because, he says, to be released and to be with Christ is far better. And what of the great David, who exulted in such great power, who had everything for pleasure and enjoyment according to his authority? Is he not distressed by life? Does he not call this life here a prison? Does he not cry out to the Lord, "Bring my soul out of prison"? Does he not complain about the prolongation of life, saying, "Alas, that my sojourn has been prolonged"? Or did the saints not know how to distinguish the good from the worse, and therefore consider the departure of the soul from the body more honorable? But you—tell me, what good do you see in life? Consider in what things life is observed. I do not say to you the voice of the prophet, that "All flesh is grass," for that one rather exalts the wretchedness of our nature by the example; for perhaps it would be better to be grass than what it is. Why?

That the grass has by nature no unpleasantness, but our flesh is a workshop of odor, rendering useless everything taken into it for corruption. And what punishment is more irksome than to be subject the whole time to the service of the belly? For see this perpetual tax-collector—I mean the belly—how great a necessity of begging it imposes daily; and even if we ever pay in advance more than the prescribed amount, we have discharged nothing of the subsequent debt. Do we not, like the animals toiling in the mill, with veiled eyes go around the mill of life, always revolving through the same things and returning to the same? Shall I tell you this circular cycle? Appetite, satiety, sleep, waking, evacuation, repletion: always from those come these, and from these those, and again these, and we never cease going around in a circle until we get out of the mill. Well does Solomon call this life a perforated jar and a foreign house. For truly it is a foreign house and not our own, because it is not in our power either to be in it when we wish or for as long as we desire; but we are brought in without knowing how, and we are evicted when we do not know. And you will understand the riddle of the jar if you look at the insatiability of desires. Do you see how people pour into themselves honors, powers, glories, and all such things? But what is poured in flows out and does not remain with the possessor; for the zeal for glory and power and honor is always

is activated, but the jar of desire remains unfilled. And what of avarice? Is it not truly a perforated jar, flowing out from its entire base, which, even if you pour the whole sea into it, has no nature to be filled? What then is painful if the blessed one has been separated from the evils of life and, like some rheum, having cast off the filth of the body, departs with a pure soul to the immaculate life, in which deceit does not dwell, slander is not believed, flattery has no place, falsehood is not mingled, and pleasure and grief and fear and boldness and poverty and wealth and slavery and lordship and every such unevenness of life are banished as far as possible from that life? From there, as the prophet says, pain and grief and groaning have fled. And instead of these, what? Dispassion, blessedness, alienation from every evil, communion with angels, contemplation of the invisible, participation in God, joy without end. Is it then fitting to grieve for the empress, having learned what she exchanged for what? She left an earthly kingdom, but she attained the heavenly one; she laid aside the crown of stones, but she put on the crown of glory; she stripped off the purple robe, but she put on Christ. This is truly the royal and precious garment. The purple here, I hear, is dyed with the blood of some sea shellfish, but the purple above is made to shine by the blood of Christ. Do you see how great the difference in the garment is? Do you wish to be convinced that she is among those? Read the Gospel: "Come, the blessed ones of my father" (the judge says this to those on the right), "inherit the kingdom prepared for you.

prepared by whom? By yourselves, he says, through your works. How? I was hungry, I was thirsty, I was a stranger, naked, weak, in prison. To the extent that you did for one of these least ones, you did for me. If, then, zeal concerning these things becomes a means to the kingdom, count, if it is possible to number them, how many were covered by the garments provided by her, how many were fed by that great right hand, how many of the imprisoned were deemed worthy not only of a visit but of complete release. And if visiting the prisoner procures the kingdom, then freeing from punishment is clearly worthy of greater honor, if indeed anything is higher than the kingdom. But her praise does not stop at these things. For she surpasses even the commands of righteousness. How many, through her, came to know the grace of resurrection on their own account, who, having died by the laws and received the sentence of death, were recalled to life again through her? The testimony is in the eyes of those who have spoken. You saw a youth despairing of salvation at the altar, you saw a woman lamenting the condemnation of her brother, you heard the one proclaiming good things to the church, how the gloomy sentence of death was dissolved into life by the memory of the empress. Are these things alone? And where shall we place the humility which scripture considers more honorable than every achievement of virtue?

She, who drove the chariot alongside the great emperor, with all that vast dominion bowing before her, so many nations subject to her, both land and sea offering gifts from their own resources, did not give passage to pride against herself, always looking to herself, not to what was outside herself. For this reason she becomes an heir of blessedness, having purchased true height through temporary humility. Shall I also mention a proof of her love for her husband? When the bodily union was necessarily dissolved, the precious goods belonging to them had to come to division. How then did she make the distribution? There being three children (for these were the chief of the goods), she left the males to the father, so that they might be supports of the empire, but she made only the daughter her own portion. Do you see how gracious and affectionate she was, yielding the greater share to her husband in the precious things? But what must especially be said by us, I will add this and bring the speech to an end. The hatred of idols is common to all who partake of the faith, but it was her special quality to abominate the Arian disbelief equally with idolatry. For she thought that those who consider the divine to be in creation were no less impious than those who make idols of matter, judging this rightly and piously; for he who worships the creation, even if he does this in the name of Christ, is an idolater, placing the name of Christ on the idol. For this reason, having learned that God is not recent, she worshipped one divinity, that which is glorified in Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

She grew up in this faith, flourished in this faith, and entrusted her spirit to this faith; by this faith she was brought to the bosom of Abraham, the father of faith, beside the spring of paradise (whose drop does not reach the unbelievers), under the shade of the tree of life planted by the outflows of the waters—of which may we also be deemed worthy in Christ Jesus our Lord, to whom is glory for ever and ever. Amen.