To Anatolius. (355)
I want my friends, whatever they say, to be seen as speaking the truth. And since I count you among the first of my friends, I work to keep you far from falsehood.
It was out of concern for this, my good man, that I kept silent all this time. For if I had written immediately, you would have been a liar; by not writing, you were cleared of the charge. So I honored you with my silence. Yet you complain as though wronged, when you should be praising me. You think I am speaking in riddles? Then listen plainly.
In that first letter of yours, you wounded us with no few jibes and, as a parting blow, declared with an oath that you would demolish us in writing. So I considered how to make that claim of yours appear correct and your victory look decisive. A clear victory is one where not even the loser has the impudence to deny his defeat — which is precisely what silence concedes: that one has nothing to write in reply.
So you have this crown as well, in addition to the one given you for justice. Our fine Anatolius has carried off two victories: one as the best of judges, the other as the mightiest of sophists — the first acclaimed by all, the second by me alone, which you yourself would say is no lesser distinction.
I think I can see you laughing, hear you shouting, and letting fly some of your usual remarks. For you could never take in such a passage without doing so.
But let the jest end here — though one must certainly play in a letter just as in person. Now I will give you the real reason I have been slow to write.
I knew you would want to hear something great about us, something befitting the city and befitting the hopes that moved me to come here. So as long as nothing of the sort had come about, I thought I should wait. But now there is something to report, so I write.
At first, we entered a city of men who did not believe they would survive. And lest you ask, "Why did you enter, then?" — it was not safe to turn back either. Then, after the source of fear departed and I had escaped the death you have heard about, I delivered many speeches over the summer, opened a school, and envy blew strong. Knowing that the only way to bury it was with more speeches, I neglected my body and bade farewell to its pleasures, and devoted myself to never letting up in my speaking.
To our best citizens, all this seemed not enough — though I supposed I was wearing them out, they appeared insatiable. As for the young men, some who had never before studied with a sophist, and others who left the teachers they had, placed themselves under my instruction — some from here, and not a few came from abroad.
But all this is not yet happiness while you are absent; with you present, these things would have been greater. Indeed, your mere presence would be better than all this professional success.
What consoled me was that you had been called to an office that is considered the pinnacle of offices [prefect of Rome], and we Syrians boast of providing the Romans with a man skilled at adorning the affairs of cities. As for the report that you are trying to avoid this post, I have heard it but refuse to believe it — not because I think you an office-seeker (for a man to whom office means poverty, how could he pursue governing?) — but they say Rome is divided and the populace is hostile to the senate, and that you fear this, calculating that whoever...
I want my friends, whatever they say, to be seen as speaking the truth. And since I count you among the first of my friends, I work to keep you far from falsehood.
It was out of concern for this, my good man, that I kept silent all this time. For if I had written immediately, you would have been a liar; by not writing, you were cleared of the charge. So I honored you with my silence. Yet you complain as though wronged, when you should be praising me. You think I am speaking in riddles? Then listen plainly.
In that first letter of yours, you wounded us with no few jibes and, as a parting blow, declared with an oath that you would demolish us in writing. So I considered how to make that claim of yours appear correct and your victory look decisive. A clear victory is one where not even the loser has the impudence to deny his defeat — which is precisely what silence concedes: that one has nothing to write in reply.
So you have this crown as well, in addition to the one given you for justice. Our fine Anatolius has carried off two victories: one as the best of judges, the other as the mightiest of sophists — the first acclaimed by all, the second by me alone, which you yourself would say is no lesser distinction.
I think I can see you laughing, hear you shouting, and letting fly some of your usual remarks. For you could never take in such a passage without doing so.
But let the jest end here — though one must certainly play in a letter just as in person. Now I will give you the real reason I have been slow to write.
I knew you would want to hear something great about us, something befitting the city and befitting the hopes that moved me to come here. So as long as nothing of the sort had come about, I thought I should wait. But now there is something to report, so I write.
At first, we entered a city of men who did not believe they would survive. And lest you ask, "Why did you enter, then?" — it was not safe to turn back either. Then, after the source of fear departed and I had escaped the death you have heard about, I delivered many speeches over the summer, opened a school, and envy blew strong. Knowing that the only way to bury it was with more speeches, I neglected my body and bade farewell to its pleasures, and devoted myself to never letting up in my speaking.
To our best citizens, all this seemed not enough — though I supposed I was wearing them out, they appeared insatiable. As for the young men, some who had never before studied with a sophist, and others who left the teachers they had, placed themselves under my instruction — some from here, and not a few came from abroad.
But all this is not yet happiness while you are absent; with you present, these things would have been greater. Indeed, your mere presence would be better than all this professional success.
What consoled me was that you had been called to an office that is considered the pinnacle of offices [prefect of Rome], and we Syrians boast of providing the Romans with a man skilled at adorning the affairs of cities. As for the report that you are trying to avoid this post, I have heard it but refuse to believe it — not because I think you an office-seeker (for a man to whom office means poverty, how could he pursue governing?) — but they say Rome is divided and the populace is hostile to the senate, and that you fear this, calculating that whoever...
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.