The Virtues of Theodosius the Younger

For my part, I am not eager to be noticed by the emperor, nor do I wish to show off my powers as a speaker. Even so, I have felt it my duty to record plainly the remarkable virtues with which the emperor is gifted. For I am convinced that to keep silent about them, excellent as they are, would be an injustice to those who come after us. In the first place, then, this prince, though born and raised to rule, was neither dulled nor made soft by the circumstances of his birth and upbringing. He showed such good sense that those who talked with him thought he had gained wisdom from experience. Such was his endurance of hardship that he would bravely bear both heat and cold. He fasted very often, especially on Wednesdays and Fridays, and he did this out of an earnest desire to keep exactly all the prescribed forms of the Christian religion. He made his palace little different from a monastery. Together with his sisters he rose early in the morning and sang hymns in praise of God, in alternating parts. Through this training he learned the holy Scriptures by heart, and he would often discuss passages of Scripture with the bishops as though he had been an ordained priest of long standing. He was a more tireless collector of the sacred books, and of the commentaries written on them, than even Ptolemy Philadelphus had been in his day. [a]

In mercy and humanity he far surpassed everyone else. The emperor Julian, although he claimed to be a philosopher, could not control his rage against the people of Antioch who mocked him, and he had Theodore put to the most agonizing tortures. Theodosius, on the contrary, said farewell to Aristotle’s syllogisms and practiced philosophy in his deeds, by mastering anger, grief, and pleasure. He has never taken revenge on anyone who has wronged him, and no one has ever even seen him irritated. Once some of his closest friends asked him why he never put offenders to death. His answer was: “I wish it were even possible to bring back to life those who have died.” To another who asked him the same thing he replied: “It is neither a great nor a difficult thing for a mortal to be put to death. But it is God alone who can raise up again, by repentance, a person who has once died.” So habitually did he practice mercy that if anyone was found guilty and sentenced to death, and was being led to the place of execution, he was never allowed to reach the city gates before a pardon was issued ordering his immediate return.

Once, when he had put on a wild-beast hunt in the amphitheater at Constantinople, the people shouted: “Let one of the boldest beast fighters take on the enraged animal!” But he said to them: “Do you not know that we are accustomed to watch these shows with humane feelings?” By these words he taught the people to be content in future with shows of a less cruel kind.

His devotion was such that he held in reverence all who were consecrated to the service of God, and he honored in a special way those whom he found to be outstanding for the holiness of their lives. It is said that when the bishop of Chebron died at Constantinople, the emperor asked to have his cassock of hair sackcloth. Although it was extremely filthy, he wore it as a cloak, hoping that in this way he would come to share in some measure in the holiness of the dead man. One year, when the weather had been very stormy, the eagerness of the people obliged him to put on the usual games in the Hippodrome. When the stands were full of spectators, the storm grew more violent and there was a heavy fall of snow. Then the emperor made it very plain how his heart stood toward God. He had the herald proclaim to the people: “It is far better and more fitting to stop the show and join in common prayer to God, so that we may be kept unharmed from the coming storm.” The herald had scarcely delivered his message when all the people, with the greatest joy, began with one accord to pray and to sing praises to God, so that the whole city became one vast congregation. The emperor himself, in his robes of state, went into the middle of the crowd and began the hymns. Nor was he disappointed in his hope, for the sky began to return to its usual calm, and God’s kindness gave everyone an abundant harvest instead of the shortage of grain they had expected.

Whenever war broke out, he turned to God as David did, knowing that God is the judge of battles, and by prayer he brought them to a successful end. At this point, therefore, I will tell how, a little after the war against the Persians, he overcame the usurper John by putting his trust in God. This was after Honorius had died on the fifteenth of August, in the consulship of Asclepiodotus and Marian. I think what happened then is worth recording, because something befell the emperor’s generals who were sent against the usurper much like what took place when the Israelites crossed the Red Sea under the leadership of Moses. I will tell these things very briefly, however, and leave to others the many details, which would need a treatise of their own.