Letter 4014: Gaius Tacitus — one of your own ancestors, a senator under the Ulpian emperors [i.

Sidonius ApollinarisPolemius|c. 467 AD|Sidonius Apollinaris
friendshipimperial politics

To Polemius.

Gaius Tacitus — one of your own ancestors, a senator under the Ulpian emperors [i.e., under Trajan, early 2nd century] — put these words in the mouth of a Germanic chieftain in his history: "Vespasian and I are old friends; and back when he was a private citizen, we called each other friends." You ask where I am going with this? Simply this: now that you hold public office, you should remember your private friendships. It is nearly two years since you became Praetorian Prefect of Gaul [the highest civil authority in the region], and we rejoice — not because of any new condescension on your part, but out of the same old affection we have always felt. If the state of Roman affairs permitted it, we would barely tolerate it unless every individual — not to mention every province — were enriched by your generosity.

And now, since propriety forbids me from asking what is beyond your power to give, tell me this: how can you be so generous in your deeds yet so stingy with your words? Compared to the eloquence of your family, you could outshine even the Cornelii as orators and the Ausonii as poets. If a sudden passion for public administration has swallowed up the philosopher in you — well, I too have held some name and distinction.

But perhaps you think my profession deserves contempt because, as a bishop, I voluntarily lay bare the festering wounds of sinful consciences before Christ, the physician of human lives. Know this: the rules at the tribunal of the world's Judge are not the same as at yours. In your court, a man who confesses his crimes is condemned; in ours, a man who confesses to God is absolved. So it makes no sense for your side to declare a defendant guilty when his case belongs to another court entirely.

You will not be able to put off my complaint any longer. Whether good fortune has made you forget or simply neglect old friendships, the sting is the same. So write to me — if you care about the future, write to a bishop; if you care about the present, write to a colleague. Cultivate in yourself the virtue — natural or acquired — of never discarding old friends just because new ones have come along. Otherwise you will seem to treat your friends the way people treat flowers: pleasant only while they are fresh. Farewell.

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

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