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 CaesareaAndronicus, a general|c. 363 AD|basil caesarea
diplomaticeducation booksillnessimperial politicsproperty economicstravel mobility
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.

Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.

Related Letters