Letter 73: 1. When I had read your letter I thanked God; first, that I been greeted by a man desirous of doing me honour, for truly I highly estimate any intercourse with persons of high merit; secondly, with pleasure at the thought of being remembered. For a letter is a sign of remembrance; and when I had received yours and learned its contents I was asto...

Basil of CaesareaCallisthenes|c. 361 AD|basil caesarea
slavery captivity
Slavery or captivity; Military conflict; Economic matters

To Callisthenes,

Thank you for your letter. I was grateful for two things: first, the chance to connect with someone I genuinely respect, and second, the simple fact that you thought of me. A letter is proof that someone remembers you, and yours treated me with the kind of honor a son shows a father — which moved me deeply.

Here's what impressed me most: you were furious, ready to punish the people who wronged you, and yet you set aside more than half that anger and gave me the authority to settle the matter. That restraint brought me real joy. All I can do in return is pray that good things come your way — that your friends take pride in you, your enemies fear you, and anyone who's wronged you realizes, when they see your character, that the fault was entirely theirs.

Now, about your plan to have the servants brought to the place where they caused trouble — I need to understand what you're after. If you're coming in person to deal out punishment, the slaves will be there. But if business keeps you away, who will receive them? Who will act in your place?

If you are set on going yourself, have them stop at Sasima [a small town in Cappadocia, in modern central Turkey]. Show them you have the power to punish — and then let them go free, as I urged in my last letter. You'll be doing me a favor, and God will repay the kindness.

I'm saying this not because I think this is how justice demands it end, but because I can see your anger is still fresh. When someone's eyes are inflamed, even the gentlest touch stings — and I worry my words might irritate rather than calm you.

What would truly bring you the most credit, and no small honor to me among my peers, is this: leave the punishment to me. I know you've sworn to hand them over for execution under civil law. But a rebuke under the Church's authority carries real weight too — and God's law is no less binding than the empire's. If they're punished here under our laws — the same laws in which your own hope of salvation rests — you'll be released from your oath, and they'll still receive a penalty that fits what they did.

I know this letter has gone on too long. I'm so eager to persuade you that I can't stop myself from pressing every argument I can think of, and I'm terrified that if I leave something unsaid, I'll fail to convince you.

So — true and honored son of the Church — prove the hopes I have in you. Live up to the reputation everyone gives you for mercy and gentleness. And please, send the soldier on his way without delay. He's become thoroughly tiresome and rude — clearly more concerned with not annoying you than with being on good terms with any of us here.

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

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