To Anatolius.
That was unmistakably your letter. Even if the sender's name had not been written on it, I would have identified the author from the contents. You are insolent, and the letter was full of it -- which is why I am amazed that not even the crush of business has made you abandon your usual habits.
But you have written nothing honest, and I will prove it. First, you said you did not write to me alone among all your correspondents because, being angry, I would attack you with words. But that was not an inevitable response from someone who had not received a letter. It was perfectly reasonable -- and not at all unlikely -- that a person stung by being overlooked would simply fall silent. Do not focus on the fact that I did write, bearing the slight calmly; consider that the slighted person had cause for pain, and from pain, silence would not unreasonably follow.
On this point, then, you have been refuted, and quite brilliantly. By calling me a flatterer, you reveal yourself as a lover of flatterers. For if flattery is a vice, and this vice is in me, and you prefer me above most people, then you admit to being in love with someone wicked. And if it is true that a man is wicked who enjoys praise he does not deserve, then our august prefect stands revealed as wicked.
I am astonished: you, in order to win your office, did not stoop to flattery, yet I -- who need neither to hold office nor to grow rich through your favor -- supposedly disgraced myself? I chose poverty precisely to avoid becoming a flatterer. A man who knew how to flatter could have amassed great wealth. As it is, I am as far from riches as I am from flattery, and I do not resent being poor -- I take pride in not being a slave.
So I claim to flee the thing I actually do flee in practice. I am not a flatterer, and I resent being called one -- which is exactly what Lasthenes said [a reference to a man falsely accused]. You, on the other hand, desire praise -- and rightly so, since it is a powerful incentive for pursuing virtue. But by pretending to despise it, you are being dishonest.
Nor is it right to try to deceive someone you cannot fool. If I do not know the Phaedrus [Plato's dialogue, which discusses rhetoric and truth], then I do not know my own mother. Then you urge me to stop praising and start criticizing.
If you are trying to persuade me to criticize someone who has done nothing wrong, you are asking for slander. If the person really has done wrong, persuade yourself to stop doing wrong rather than asking me to lodge complaints. It is far better to be free of suspicion than to go around looking for someone to prosecute the case while under suspicion yourself.
Some people do accuse you, making a tragedy out of the sale of the Phoenician [some questionable deal] and the litigants who have fled because of your mistreatment. But I show that they are saying nothing -- though if you do not stop doing such things, I will become your accuser myself.
That was unmistakably your letter. Even if the sender's name had not been written on it, I would have identified the author from the contents. You are insolent, and the letter was full of it -- which is why I am amazed that not even the crush of business has made you abandon your usual habits.
But you have written nothing honest, and I will prove it. First, you said you did not write to me alone among all your correspondents because, being angry, I would attack you with words. But that was not an inevitable response from someone who had not received a letter. It was perfectly reasonable -- and not at all unlikely -- that a person stung by being overlooked would simply fall silent. Do not focus on the fact that I did write, bearing the slight calmly; consider that the slighted person had cause for pain, and from pain, silence would not unreasonably follow.
On this point, then, you have been refuted, and quite brilliantly. By calling me a flatterer, you reveal yourself as a lover of flatterers. For if flattery is a vice, and this vice is in me, and you prefer me above most people, then you admit to being in love with someone wicked. And if it is true that a man is wicked who enjoys praise he does not deserve, then our august prefect stands revealed as wicked.
I am astonished: you, in order to win your office, did not stoop to flattery, yet I -- who need neither to hold office nor to grow rich through your favor -- supposedly disgraced myself? I chose poverty precisely to avoid becoming a flatterer. A man who knew how to flatter could have amassed great wealth. As it is, I am as far from riches as I am from flattery, and I do not resent being poor -- I take pride in not being a slave.
So I claim to flee the thing I actually do flee in practice. I am not a flatterer, and I resent being called one -- which is exactly what Lasthenes said [a reference to a man falsely accused]. You, on the other hand, desire praise -- and rightly so, since it is a powerful incentive for pursuing virtue. But by pretending to despise it, you are being dishonest.
Nor is it right to try to deceive someone you cannot fool. If I do not know the Phaedrus [Plato's dialogue, which discusses rhetoric and truth], then I do not know my own mother. Then you urge me to stop praising and start criticizing.
If you are trying to persuade me to criticize someone who has done nothing wrong, you are asking for slander. If the person really has done wrong, persuade yourself to stop doing wrong rather than asking me to lodge complaints. It is far better to be free of suspicion than to go around looking for someone to prosecute the case while under suspicion yourself.
Some people do accuse you, making a tragedy out of the sale of the Phoenician [some questionable deal] and the litigants who have fled because of your mistreatment. But I show that they are saying nothing -- though if you do not stop doing such things, I will become your accuser myself.
Modern English rendering for readability. See the 19th-century translation or original Latin/Greek for scholarly use.