To Anatolius. (357 or 358/59)
I read that long letter of yours aloud to my friends -- you commanded it, and one does not disobey such authority. The reading provoked as much laughter as you intended -- and you intended a great deal. When I stopped, one of the listeners asked me whether I was your friend or your enemy. When I said I was very fond of Anatolius the fair, "Well then," he said, "you are acting like an enemy by displaying this letter -- you should have destroyed it." And he gave the letter a name. Do you want to know what? I will not repeat what pained me even to hear.
Let us set that aside and examine the charges. If you turn out to be a slanderer, you must bear it, and I shall bear it if I am shown to be worthless.
You said that Spectatus, great in his deeds, was diminished by my words. Yet the man himself took pleasure in my praises. If he was right to do so, then your claim is false; if he knows nothing about rhetoric, go ahead and say so, and everything I do is worthless.
Consider how you contradict yourself: the man you accused of making great things small, you also said lifts humble subjects by the power of his words. I advise you to fight against the plans of the barbarians, not against yourself.
In being jealous of those I praise you do well -- desiring praise is no sign of a bad nature, for jealousy is often a great spur to virtue. But in faulting the fact that certain people have been honored in my speeches rather than making the praise public, you act deviously, not nobly.
You reproach me for praising many; I reproach you for blaming everyone. Both of us then lack discrimination, but mine at least has some humanity in it. Indeed, there is no one I have praised by attributing what does not exist -- like the fable that decked the jackdaw in borrowed feathers. Listen to the rule I follow in praise.
If someone is superior to money but inferior to pleasures, the first will earn him praise, the second will be passed over in silence. Even if I were praising a land, I would do the same. Suppose I had to praise Cythera -- an island off the Peloponnese. In composing the speech, I would describe how it is rich in pasture, abounding in wine, blessed with harbors, and crowned with forests, but I would not praise its wheat crop -- for I would be lying. Nor could anyone praising Attica say that either. Nothing prevents one from praising what can be praised.
I admire Achilles because he drove back the Trojans; I admire Palamedes for his wisdom. To fault either man because he did not possess both qualities is unjust.
Suppose I were composing a speech about you, and you had persuaded me to do so by asking. Do you think the praises could come from every direction? You perhaps think so, but the reality is otherwise. I would have spoken of your diligence, your sleeplessness, your toils, your just verdicts, your foresight, your righteous spirit, your sharpness, the power of your tongue, and much else -- but I would not have called you handsome or tall, for your body does not possess those qualities.
And touching on the matter of money, I would have said you are as far as possible from theft, but I would not have insisted that you have no reward for your virtue -- for you have the emperor's gifts, and the time of your governorship has turned your houses into cities, wronging no one but accepting much. You would have been a better man if you had taken nothing from anyone, since the glory that poverty brings is more brilliant than the pillars the emperor bestows.
Then too, that harsh and ungracious comment of yours, attacking Severus for seeking an official post when he ought to have been philosophizing. If he had taken up philosophy and then abandoned its outward form, playing the tradesman under the name of philosophy, he would rightly be hated. But if he considers philosophy greater than himself and simply seeks some refuge, where is the fault in not philosophizing? Or do you yourself do more wrong as a governor than as a philosopher?
Since you are relentless in mocking me for mentioning an honor to you, know that you have entirely missed the point. It was like this: my standing comes from my speeches, on account of which I have never considered myself inferior to any of you, whose brilliance is an oath on the lips of flatterers. As for my livelihood, the modest returns from rhetoric itself suffice for a man of modest needs.
What then was the point of what I wrote? Isocrates counsels testing one's friends before necessity arrives, so that if misfortune strikes there is no harm. He says one should pretend to be in need even when one is not.
Something like that was my own case: not being in need, I pretended I was. And so you did not give, and I laughed, and losing nothing I discovered your character.
Not that you are lazy in everything -- toward your family, if anyone, you are ready, and not one of your relatives is a private citizen. Yet while you honor virtue in other matters, and if someone without virtue holds office you shout louder than those being flayed, your family is so dear to you that every relative must hold office, without examination. This is your excuse for neglecting your friends. If anyone brings that charge, you set this against it instead of blame.
Do you think I too know how to shoot arrows, or am I only fit to be shot at? Indeed, if you have wounded me, you have been wounded in return. If your barbs were in jest, mine are not in earnest either.
It is only fair: if my letter pleased you, give thanks to the bearer; if it stung you, take your revenge on the bearer. For when I had resolved to keep quiet, Januarius compelled me by every possible means -- a man everywhere worthy of respect, who caused no grief to anyone in the city he did not know, who granted favors in which justice had its share, who guarded capably the post assigned to him, who assisted those in urgent need who deserved it, who spoke little but was formidable in action, who disdained the greater part of the profits that came his way, who was connected to greater men but content with his present station, who preserved fairness in a role that does not tolerate decency. I only fear you may blame the man for having served me in everything.
**To Anatolius** (357 or 358/59)
I read aloud to my friends that long letter of yours — for you commanded it, and there was no disobeying so great a power.
The reading provoked as much laughter as you intended, and you intended a great deal. But when I finished, one of the listeners asked me whether I was your friend or your enemy. When I said that I was very fond of the excellent Anatolius, he replied: "Then you are doing the work of an enemy by displaying this letter — you should have destroyed it." And he proceeded to give the letter a name. Would you like to know what it was? No, I shall not repeat what pained me even to hear.
So let us set that aside and examine the charges. You must bear the consequences if you prove to be a slanderer, and I shall bear them if I am shown to be worthless.
You said that Spectatus, a man great in his deeds, had been made small by my words. Yet the man himself took pleasure in my praises. If he was in his right mind, then your claim is false; but if he knew nothing of literary matters, then go ahead — say that I am altogether worthless.
Consider, though, how you contradict yourself: the very man you accused me of diminishing through my words, you also said I elevate trivial things by the force of my rhetoric. I advise you to wage war on the counsels of the barbarians, not on yourself.
Now, if you are jealous of those whom I have honored, you do well — for the desire for praise is no sign of a bad nature, since rivalry is often a great spur to the practice of virtue. But when you fault me for honoring certain people with words, and instead of bringing your praise into the open you resort to indirection — that is a devious act, not a noble one.
You reproach me for praising many; I reproach you for finding fault with everyone. There is, then, a lack of discrimination in both of us, but mine at least carries a certain generosity of spirit. Or rather, there is no one I have praised by attributing to him qualities he does not possess — like the fable that decks the jackdaw in borrowed feathers. But hear the rule I follow in my praises.
If a man is superior to the temptation of money but a slave to pleasures, the former will earn my praise while the latter will be passed over in silence. Indeed, if I were praising a piece of land, I would do the same. Suppose I had to praise Cythera — Cythera being an island off the Peloponnese — in composing my speech I would describe how it is rich in pasture and wine, blessed with fine harbors, perhaps crowned with forests; but I would not praise its wheat production, for that would be a lie. Nor could anyone who eulogizes Attica make such a claim either. Yet nothing prevents one from praising what may justly be praised.
I admire Achilles because he routed the Trojans; I admire Palamedes for his wisdom. But the man who insists on faulting each because both qualities were not found in both is being unjust.
Come now — if I were composing a speech about you, and you had persuaded me to do so by your entreaties, do you think the praises would come to the subject from every direction? You perhaps think so, but the reality is otherwise. I would have spoken of your diligence, your sleepless labor, your toils, your sound judgment, your foresight for the future, your just spirit, your quickness, the power of your tongue, and much else besides. But handsome and tall I would not have called you — for your body does not possess these qualities.
And on the matter of money, I would have said that you stand very far from theft, but I would not have insisted that you take no reward for your service. For you possess the emperor's gifts, and the tenure of your office has made your houses into cities — wronging no one, yet receiving all the same. You would be a far better man if you took from no one at all, since the glory that poverty confers is more splendid than the pillars an emperor bestows.
And indeed, that attack of yours on Severus was harsh and far from gentle — denouncing him because he sought a government post when he ought to have been pursuing philosophy. For if he had laid claim to philosophy while betraying its outward form, and was a mere huckster under the name of philosophy, then he would rightly be hated. But if he considers philosophy too great for himself and merely seeks some refuge — where is his offense in not being a philosopher? Or do you yourself do more wrong by holding office than by not pursuing philosophy?
Since you press hard in mocking me for having mentioned an honorific title in writing to you, know that you have entirely missed the point. Here is how it was. For me, my literary work is distinction enough — on account of which I have never considered myself inferior to any of you, whose brilliance is an oath upon the lips of flatterers. As for my livelihood, the modest income from my teaching suffices for one whose needs are small.
What, then, was the meaning of what I wrote? Isocrates advises that one should test one's friends before necessity arrives, so that there is no loss in the event of misfortune, and he says one should pretend to be in need even when one is not.
Something of that sort was my own intention: I made my request without really wanting anything. And so you did not give, and I laughed — suffering no loss, I discovered your character.
Not that you are lazy in all things — far from it. Toward your family, if anyone is, you are generous, and not one of your kinsmen remains a private citizen. Yet with others you honor virtue, and if an unworthy man holds office, you cry out louder than men under the surgeon's knife. But your family is so dear to you that every relative must hold office and no scrutiny is to be applied. This is your excuse for neglecting your friends. And if anyone levels one charge against you, you set this other quality against the reproach.
Do you think that I too know how to shoot arrows, or am I fit only to be a target? Or rather — if you have wounded me, you have been wounded in return; and if your letter was written in jest, then neither is this one written in earnest.
It is only fair that if you were pleased by this letter, you should feel grateful to the man who brought it; and if you were stung, you should seek your redress from the bearer. For though I had resolved to keep my peace, Januarius compelled me by every possible entreaty — a man in all respects worthy of respect in this city, who has grieved no one he did not know, who has bestowed favors in which justice had its share, who guarded ably the post to which he was assigned, who aided those in urgent need who deserved it, who speaks little but acts decisively, who disdains the greater part of the profits that come his way, who is connected to men of higher station yet content with what he has, and who preserved his fairness in a role that does not easily tolerate decency. But I fear you will find fault with the man — simply because he has done me every service.
I read that long letter of yours aloud to my friends -- you commanded it, and one does not disobey such authority. The reading provoked as much laughter as you intended -- and you intended a great deal. When I stopped, one of the listeners asked me whether I was your friend or your enemy. When I said I was very fond of Anatolius the fair, "Well then," he said, "you are acting like an enemy by displaying this letter -- you should have destroyed it." And he gave the letter a name. Do you want to know what? I will not repeat what pained me even to hear.
Let us set that aside and examine the charges. If you turn out to be a slanderer, you must bear it, and I shall bear it if I am shown to be worthless.
You said that Spectatus, great in his deeds, was diminished by my words. Yet the man himself took pleasure in my praises. If he was right to do so, then your claim is false; if he knows nothing about rhetoric, go ahead and say so, and everything I do is worthless.
Consider how you contradict yourself: the man you accused of making great things small, you also said lifts humble subjects by the power of his words. I advise you to fight against the plans of the barbarians, not against yourself.
In being jealous of those I praise you do well -- desiring praise is no sign of a bad nature, for jealousy is often a great spur to virtue. But in faulting the fact that certain people have been honored in my speeches rather than making the praise public, you act deviously, not nobly.
You reproach me for praising many; I reproach you for blaming everyone. Both of us then lack discrimination, but mine at least has some humanity in it. Indeed, there is no one I have praised by attributing what does not exist -- like the fable that decked the jackdaw in borrowed feathers. Listen to the rule I follow in praise.
If someone is superior to money but inferior to pleasures, the first will earn him praise, the second will be passed over in silence. Even if I were praising a land, I would do the same. Suppose I had to praise Cythera -- an island off the Peloponnese. In composing the speech, I would describe how it is rich in pasture, abounding in wine, blessed with harbors, and crowned with forests, but I would not praise its wheat crop -- for I would be lying. Nor could anyone praising Attica say that either. Nothing prevents one from praising what can be praised.
I admire Achilles because he drove back the Trojans; I admire Palamedes for his wisdom. To fault either man because he did not possess both qualities is unjust.
Suppose I were composing a speech about you, and you had persuaded me to do so by asking. Do you think the praises could come from every direction? You perhaps think so, but the reality is otherwise. I would have spoken of your diligence, your sleeplessness, your toils, your just verdicts, your foresight, your righteous spirit, your sharpness, the power of your tongue, and much else -- but I would not have called you handsome or tall, for your body does not possess those qualities.
And touching on the matter of money, I would have said you are as far as possible from theft, but I would not have insisted that you have no reward for your virtue -- for you have the emperor's gifts, and the time of your governorship has turned your houses into cities, wronging no one but accepting much. You would have been a better man if you had taken nothing from anyone, since the glory that poverty brings is more brilliant than the pillars the emperor bestows.
Then too, that harsh and ungracious comment of yours, attacking Severus for seeking an official post when he ought to have been philosophizing. If he had taken up philosophy and then abandoned its outward form, playing the tradesman under the name of philosophy, he would rightly be hated. But if he considers philosophy greater than himself and simply seeks some refuge, where is the fault in not philosophizing? Or do you yourself do more wrong as a governor than as a philosopher?
Since you are relentless in mocking me for mentioning an honor to you, know that you have entirely missed the point. It was like this: my standing comes from my speeches, on account of which I have never considered myself inferior to any of you, whose brilliance is an oath on the lips of flatterers. As for my livelihood, the modest returns from rhetoric itself suffice for a man of modest needs.
What then was the point of what I wrote? Isocrates counsels testing one's friends before necessity arrives, so that if misfortune strikes there is no harm. He says one should pretend to be in need even when one is not.
Something like that was my own case: not being in need, I pretended I was. And so you did not give, and I laughed, and losing nothing I discovered your character.
Not that you are lazy in everything -- toward your family, if anyone, you are ready, and not one of your relatives is a private citizen. Yet while you honor virtue in other matters, and if someone without virtue holds office you shout louder than those being flayed, your family is so dear to you that every relative must hold office, without examination. This is your excuse for neglecting your friends. If anyone brings that charge, you set this against it instead of blame.
Do you think I too know how to shoot arrows, or am I only fit to be shot at? Indeed, if you have wounded me, you have been wounded in return. If your barbs were in jest, mine are not in earnest either.
It is only fair: if my letter pleased you, give thanks to the bearer; if it stung you, take your revenge on the bearer. For when I had resolved to keep quiet, Januarius compelled me by every possible means -- a man everywhere worthy of respect, who caused no grief to anyone in the city he did not know, who granted favors in which justice had its share, who guarded capably the post assigned to him, who assisted those in urgent need who deserved it, who spoke little but was formidable in action, who disdained the greater part of the profits that came his way, who was connected to greater men but content with his present station, who preserved fairness in a role that does not tolerate decency. I only fear you may blame the man for having served me in everything.
AI-assisted translation — This translation was produced with AI assistance and has not been peer-reviewed. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek below for scholarly use.