The next day, Anicetus seemed to pay little attention to Nicholas and his gymnastics, and he only assigned him some easy passages of the Aeneid. As Nicholas recited the passages beside the house, his tutor seemed lost in thought. When he was finished, Anicetus had no questions or critique as he usually did. He merely nodded and said, “That will do. It is time that I spoke with your father.” He turned and walked into the house.
That didn’t sound good to Nicholas, so he lost no time in getting some distance from the house where he might lay low until any trouble blew over. He found himself in one of his favorite places, sitting on the thick branch of a laurel tree. The long leaves surrounded him in whispers of the wind.
Eventually, he saw Anicetus leave. Soon after, he saw his father wander out from the house, looking this way and that. Nicholas couldn’t tell if he was angry or just serious in thought. He came at last to the laurel tree and stood just beneath Nicholas. Looking around at the hills, he called out “Nicholas!”
Being right above, Nicholas tried to answer as quietly as he could. “Yes father?”
Epiphanius still jumped. “Oh! There you are... Always climbing. Come down, I wish to speak with you, on the ground.”
Nicholas clambered down beside him. Epiphanius said, “I spoke with your tutor... He says you are doing very well with your rhetoric. Though he is not quite so complimentary about your gymnastics.” Nicholas opened his mouth to apologize, but his father added, “I can’t imagine why, with all the climbing you do.”
Nicholas smiled. He said, “I think he sees it as a matter of life and death.”
Epiphanius grinned back. “As it could be... If you were a soldier. Anyway, Anicetus says he has taken you as far as he can. He says you are ready to go away and study philosophy in Athens or Alexandria.”
Nicholas gave his father an uncertain look. His stomach turned in a knot. The last thing he wanted was to leave his family and home. And he knew the philosophers would be much like Anicetus, scoffing at Christus.
Epiphanius asked, “What would you say to this?”
That question rang familiar as one Anicetus would often ask him when testing his skill at rhetoric. He would have Nicholas claim an idea as his own and build a fortress of words about it such that no argument could stand against it. He considered his answer carefully, then said, “To make a living, a philosopher depends on drawing enough families into paying him his fees for teaching their sons. And to do that, he must teach something popular, that appeals to the greatest number of ears in Roman society... Whether it’s true or not.”
Epiphanius chuckled.
Nicholas continued, “And if there were a philosopher among them who believed in Christus, he would have to admit that all the gods of Greece and Rome were but empty fables, and that all the great questions of philosophy have already been settled long ago. And if he should teach such things, his students would quickly abandon him for his competitors, for they would tell the students what they really want to hear, that there is need for such a thing as a philosopher.”
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That didn’t sound good to Nicholas, so he lost no time in getting some distance from the house where he might lay low until any trouble blew over. He found himself in one of his favorite places, sitting on the thick branch of a laurel tree. The long leaves surrounded him in whispers of the wind.
Eventually, he saw Anicetus leave. Soon after, he saw his father wander out from the house, looking this way and that. Nicholas couldn’t tell if he was angry or just serious in thought. He came at last to the laurel tree and stood just beneath Nicholas. Looking around at the hills, he called out “Nicholas!”
Being right above, Nicholas tried to answer as quietly as he could. “Yes father?”
Epiphanius still jumped. “Oh! There you are... Always climbing. Come down, I wish to speak with you, on the ground.”
Nicholas clambered down beside him. Epiphanius said, “I spoke with your tutor... He says you are doing very well with your rhetoric. Though he is not quite so complimentary about your gymnastics.” Nicholas opened his mouth to apologize, but his father added, “I can’t imagine why, with all the climbing you do.”
Nicholas smiled. He said, “I think he sees it as a matter of life and death.”
Epiphanius grinned back. “As it could be... If you were a soldier. Anyway, Anicetus says he has taken you as far as he can. He says you are ready to go away and study philosophy in Athens or Alexandria.”
Nicholas gave his father an uncertain look. His stomach turned in a knot. The last thing he wanted was to leave his family and home. And he knew the philosophers would be much like Anicetus, scoffing at Christus.
Epiphanius asked, “What would you say to this?”
That question rang familiar as one Anicetus would often ask him when testing his skill at rhetoric. He would have Nicholas claim an idea as his own and build a fortress of words about it such that no argument could stand against it. He considered his answer carefully, then said, “To make a living, a philosopher depends on drawing enough families into paying him his fees for teaching their sons. And to do that, he must teach something popular, that appeals to the greatest number of ears in Roman society... Whether it’s true or not.”
Epiphanius chuckled.
Nicholas continued, “And if there were a philosopher among them who believed in Christus, he would have to admit that all the gods of Greece and Rome were but empty fables, and that all the great questions of philosophy have already been settled long ago. And if he should teach such things, his students would quickly abandon him for his competitors, for they would tell the students what they really want to hear, that there is need for such a thing as a philosopher.”
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