Letters

^12. But to pass by this limitless field of discussion and to show you, most Christian of nobles, and most noble of Christians, what is the kind of falsification which is censured in my translation, I will set before you the opening words of the letter in the Greek original and as rendered by me, that from one count in the indictment you may form an opinion of all. The letter begins ῎ Εδει ἡμᾶς, ἀγάπητε, μή τῇ οἰ& 208·σει τῶν κλήρων φέρεσθαι which I remember to have rendered as follows: “Dearly beloved, we ought not to misuse our position as ministers to gratify our pride.” See there, they cry, what a number of falsehoods in a single line! In the first place ἀ γαπητός means 'loved,' not 'dearly beloved.' Then οἴησις means 'estimate,' not 'pride,' for this and not οἰδημα is the word used. Οιδῆμα signifies 'a swelling' but οἰ& 208·σις means 'judgment.' All the rest, say they: “not to misuse our position to gratify our pride” is your own. What is this you are saying, O pillar of learning and latter day Aristarchus, who are so ready to pass judgment upon all writers? It is all for nothing then that I have studied so long; that, as Juvenal says, “I have so often withdrawn my hand from the ferule.” The moment I leave the harbour I run aground. Well, to err is human and to confess one's error wise. Do you therefore, who are so ready to criticise and to instruct me, set me right and give me a word for word rendering of the passage. You tell me I should have said: “Beloved, we ought not to be carried away by the estimation of the clergy.” Here, indeed we have eloquence worthy of Plautus, here we have Attic grace, the true style of the Muses. The common proverb is true of me: “He who trains an ox for athletics loses both oil and money.” Still he is not to blame who merely puts on the mask and plays the tragedy for another: his teachers are the real culprits; since they for a great price have taught him— to know nothing. I do not think the worse of any Christian because he lacks skill to express himself; and I heartily wish that we could all say with Socrates “I know that I know nothing;” and carry out the precept of another wise man, “Know yourself.” I have always held in esteem a holy simplicity but not a wordy rudeness. He who declares that he imitates the style of apostles should first imitate the virtue of their lives; the great holiness of which made up for much plainness of speech. They confuted the syllogisms of Aristotle and the perverse ingenuities of Chrysippus by raising the dead. Still it would be absurd for one of us— living as we do amid the riches of Crœsus and the luxuries of Sardanapalus— to make his boast of mere ignorance. We might as well say that all robbers and criminals would be men of culture if they were to hide their blood-stained swords in books of philosophy and not in trunks of trees.