Letter 112: 1. Did but my health allow of my being able to undertake a journey without difficulty, and of putting up with the inclemency of the winter, I should, instead of writing, have travelled to your excellency in person, and this for two reasons. First to pay my old debt, for I know that I promised to come to Sebastia and to have the pleasure of seein...
Basil of Caesarea→Andronicus, a general|c. 363 AD|basil caesarea
Travel & mobility; Economic matters; Death & mourning
I wish I could have come to see you in person instead of writing this letter. My health won't allow winter travel, and I have two reasons for wanting to make the trip. First, I owe you a visit — I promised to come to Sebastia [a city in the Armenian highlands, modern Sivas in Turkey] and meet with you. I did come, but arrived just after you'd left. Second, I'd rather make this request face to face. A letter can't do what a conversation can: explain circumstances, make a case, ask for mercy. But since I'm writing to *you*, I trust that's enough. You'll fill in whatever my words leave out.
You can tell I'm nervous about this, because I keep circling the point instead of getting to it. So here it is.
Domitianus is an old friend — close to me and to my family, like a brother. I'll be honest: when I first heard why he was in trouble, I said he got what he deserved. I believe people should face consequences for their actions, whether the offense is small or large. But now I've watched him living in fear and disgrace, with his entire future hanging on your decision, and I think he's suffered enough.
I'm asking you to be generous. Having your enemies at your mercy — that's the mark of a powerful man. But showing kindness to someone who's already fallen? That's the mark of a truly great one. You have the chance to demonstrate both qualities in the same case: you've already shown your strength by punishing him. Now show your greatness by sparing him. Let the fear he's already living with — knowing what he deserves — be punishment enough.
Think of it this way: throughout history, many powerful people have had their enemies in their power. We've forgotten most of them. The ones we remember are those who chose mercy. Croesus [king of Lydia, legendary for his wealth] set aside his rage against the man who killed his son when that man surrendered himself for punishment. Cyrus the Great [founder of the Persian Empire] treated that same Croesus with friendship after defeating him. We will count you among men like these and celebrate your name — if you'll let us.
One more argument. We don't punish people for the past — nothing can undo what's already happened. We punish either to reform the person or to serve as a warning to others. Both purposes have already been served here. Domitianus will remember this for the rest of his life. And everyone else, seeing his example, is already terrified. Any further punishment at this point would only look like personal anger — and I know that's not who you are.
ST. BASIL OF CAESAREA
To Andronicus, a general.
1. Did but my health allow of my being able to undertake a journey without difficulty, and of putting up with the inclemency of the winter, I should, instead of writing, have travelled to your excellency in person, and this for two reasons. First to pay my old debt, for I know that I promised to come to Sebastia and to have the pleasure of seeing your excellency; I did indeed come, but I failed to meet you because I arrived a little later than your lordship; secondly, to be my own ambassador, because I have hitherto shrunk from sending, from the idea that I am too insignificant to win such a boon, and at the same time reckoning that no one by merely writing would be so likely to persuade any one of public or private rank, in behalf of any one, as by a personal interview, in which one might clear up some points in the charges, as to others make entreaty, and for others implore pardon; none of which ends can be easily achieved by a letter. Now against all this I can only set one thing, your most excellent self; and because it will suffice to tell you my mind in the matter, and all that is wanting you will add of yourself, I have ventured to write as I do.
2. But you see how from my hesitation, and because I put off explaining the reasons of my pleading, I write in roundabout phrase. This man Domitianus has been an intimate friend of my own and of my parents from the beginning, and is like a brother to me. Why should I not speak the truth? When I learned the reasons for his being in his present troubles, I said that he had only got what he deserved. For I hoped that no one who has ever committed any offense be it small or great, will escape punishment. But when I saw him living a life of insecurity and disgrace, and felt that his only hope depends on your decision, I thought that he had been punished enough; and so I implore you to be magnanimous and humane in the view you take of his case. To have one's opponents under one's power is right and proper for a man of spirit and authority; but to be kind and gentle to the fallen is the mark of the man supereminent in greatness of soul, and in inclemency. So, if you will, it is in your power to exhibit your magnanimity in the case of the same man, both in punishing him and in saving him. Let the fear Domitian has of what he suspects, and of what he knows he deserves to suffer, be the extent of his chastisement. I entreat you to add nothing to his punishment, for consider this: many in former times, of whom no record has reached us, have had those who wronged them in their power. But those who surpassed their fellows in philosophy did not persist in their wrath, and of these the memory has been handed down, immortal through all time. Let this glory be added to what history will say of you. Grant to us, who desire to celebrate your praises, to be able to go beyond the instances of kindnesses sung of in days of old. In this manner Crœsus, it is said, ceased from his wrath against the slayer of his son, when he gave himself up for punishment, and the great Cyrus was friendly to this very Crœsus after his victory. We shall number you with these and shall proclaim this your glory, with all our power, unless we be counted too poor heralds of so great a man.
3. Yet another plea that I ought to urge is this, that we do not chastise transgressors for what is past and gone, (for what means can be devised for undoing the past?) but either that they may be reformed for the future, or may be an example of good behaviour to others. Now, no one could say that either of these points is lacking in the present case; for Domitian will remember what has happened till the day of his death; and I think that all the rest, with his example before them, are dead with alarm. Under these circumstances any addition which we make to his punishment will only look like a satisfaction of our own anger. This I should say is far from being true in your case. I could not indeed be induced to speak of such a thing did I not see that a greater blessing comes to him that gives, than to him that receives. Nor will your magnanimity be known only to a few. All Cappadocia is looking to see what is to be done, and I pray that they may be able to number this among the rest of your good deeds. I shrink from concluding my letter for fear any omission may be to my hurt. But one thing I will add. Domitian has letters from many, who plead for him, but he thinks mine the most important of all, because he has learned, from whom I know not, that I have influence with your excellency. Do not let the hopes he has placed in me be blasted; do not let me lose my credit among my people here; be entreated, illustrious sir, and grant my boon. You have viewed human life as clearly as ever philosopher viewed it, and you know how goodly is the treasure laid up for all those who give their help to the needy.
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Source. Translated by Blomfield Jackson. From Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, Vol. 8. Edited by Philip Schaff and Henry Wace. (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1895.) Revised and edited for New Advent by Kevin Knight. <https://www.newadvent.org/fathers/3202112.htm>.
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I wish I could have come to see you in person instead of writing this letter. My health won't allow winter travel, and I have two reasons for wanting to make the trip. First, I owe you a visit — I promised to come to Sebastia [a city in the Armenian highlands, modern Sivas in Turkey] and meet with you. I did come, but arrived just after you'd left. Second, I'd rather make this request face to face. A letter can't do what a conversation can: explain circumstances, make a case, ask for mercy. But since I'm writing to *you*, I trust that's enough. You'll fill in whatever my words leave out.
You can tell I'm nervous about this, because I keep circling the point instead of getting to it. So here it is.
Domitianus is an old friend — close to me and to my family, like a brother. I'll be honest: when I first heard why he was in trouble, I said he got what he deserved. I believe people should face consequences for their actions, whether the offense is small or large. But now I've watched him living in fear and disgrace, with his entire future hanging on your decision, and I think he's suffered enough.
I'm asking you to be generous. Having your enemies at your mercy — that's the mark of a powerful man. But showing kindness to someone who's already fallen? That's the mark of a truly great one. You have the chance to demonstrate both qualities in the same case: you've already shown your strength by punishing him. Now show your greatness by sparing him. Let the fear he's already living with — knowing what he deserves — be punishment enough.
Think of it this way: throughout history, many powerful people have had their enemies in their power. We've forgotten most of them. The ones we remember are those who chose mercy. Croesus [king of Lydia, legendary for his wealth] set aside his rage against the man who killed his son when that man surrendered himself for punishment. Cyrus the Great [founder of the Persian Empire] treated that same Croesus with friendship after defeating him. We will count you among men like these and celebrate your name — if you'll let us.
One more argument. We don't punish people for the past — nothing can undo what's already happened. We punish either to reform the person or to serve as a warning to others. Both purposes have already been served here. Domitianus will remember this for the rest of his life. And everyone else, seeing his example, is already terrified. Any further punishment at this point would only look like personal anger — and I know that's not who you are.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.