Two Apologies and Dialogue with Trypho

true Phœbus the sun god, often associated with intellectual light whose agitation warms the wits, looks upon only askance and from afar—but even among those vivid and ingenious Gauls, and their neighbors or fellow-countrymen of all the Muses, those men of divine skill, the Italians, scarcely three or four in any given age have successfully performed this task, if not for some incredible magnitude and difficulty of the thing itself?

For those who object to us the trifles of our craft must be asked to look into themselves and their own studies, whatever they may be. If they find that they themselves are free from this fault, and have no reason to be ashamed of themselves or their own, I do not say that they have no cause to use their right, and I will not begrudge them anything of ours. For why? Are critics the only ones among all mortals who delight in trifles? Do doctors, lawyers, physicists, or metaphysicians never trifle? What of that queen of sciences, theology? Does it not also have its own trifles and absurdities, quite ridiculous and quite numerous? What of those who call themselves mathematicians, who, not content with their own ancient boundaries—boundaries that are indeed quite wide and almost immense—now invade all arts and attempt to subject them to themselves, and now arrogate all knowledge to themselves, not only in name but in fact? Do they not have enough leisure from their own and others' business that, even in their own province—a most useful and noble one, to be sure—they often act out great trifles? Do they not, like boys with riddles, challenge each other with problems and make a profitable waste of time by proposing prizes for solutions? There are no more

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