Draw the comparison: you philosophers grant the premises of the various systems and then believe everything that follows, supposing that the consistency you find, false though it is, is a proof of its essential truth. Then some of you die in your hopes before they perceive the truth and condemn their deceivers, while others, even if they see too late that they have been deceived, are old men already, and hesitate to turn back out of shame, for fear that in their old age they have to acknowledge that they did not know that they were playing children’s games; so they stick to it out of shame, and praise their lot and turn as many as they can into the same course so that they may not be the only ones who are swindled, but that a multitude of others in the same state as themselves may be a consolation to them. They realise moreover this, that if they speak the truth they will no longer be revered above the many as now, nor receive the same honour. No, they would not be ready to speak the truth, knowing as they do the heights from which they will fall to the state of ordinary mortals. You will certainly find very few brave enough to admit that they have been deceived and to turn away others from a similar attempt. If, then, you meet such a one, call him a lover of truth, honest, and just, and, if you like, a philosopher; for to him alone I would not begrudge the name. As for the rest, either they have no knowledge of the truth, though they think they have, or they know it and hide it from cowardice and shame and the wish to be highly honoured.

However, in Athena’s name let us forget all that I have said and let it drop, let it pass into oblivion like all history before Euclid’s archonship. The year 403–402 B.C. when the democracy was reestablished in Athens and an amnesty went into effect. Let us assume that this philosophy of the Stoics and no other is right, and see whether it is attainable and possible, or if those who desire it labour in vain. For I hear that it makes wonderful promises of the happiness in store for those who attain its height, for they alone will take and possess every true good. You may know the answer to the next question better than I—have you ever met a Stoic, one of the top men, of a type that feels no pain, one who is not dragged down by pleasure, who is never angry, but rises above envy, despises wealth, and is perfectly happy? Our canon and measure of the virtuous life must be like that—for if he fall short in the least thing he is imperfect, even if he has more of everything—and if he is not like that, he is not yet happy.

I have never seen such a man.

Good for you, Hermotimus! You do not tell deliberate lies. Then what have you in view as a philosopher, when you see neither your teacher nor his teacher nor his predecessor even back to the tenth generation truly wise and therefore happy? For it would not be right for you to say that it is enough if you come near to happiness—that is of no use: a man standing by the door is as much outside the threshold and in the open as one a long way off, the difference being that the former will be more annoyed because he has a near view of what he cannot have. Then just to get near happiness (this I will grant you) you take all that trouble, wearing yourself out, and so much of your life has slipped away in torpor and weariness, slumped in sleeplessness; and you will labour on, as you say, for at least another twenty years, so that when you are eighty (have you a guarantee of living so long?) you may be one of those who are not yet happy—unless you think that you alone will reach and grasp in your pursuit that which very many good and far swifter men have pursued before you and failed to catch.

Well, catch it then, if you wish: grasp and hold all of it; but in the first place I do not see what good could ever be supposed to compensate for all these efforts. Then what time will you have left to enjoy it, old man as you will be, too far gone for pleasure, and with one foot in the grave, as they say? Unless, my noble friend, you are putting in training for a future life, so that you can live it better when you get there, knowing how to live like a man preparing and training himself for a better dinner for such a long time that before he knows it he is dead of hunger.

Moreover, you have never realised, I suppose, that virtue lies in action, in acting justly and wisely and bravely. While all of you (by “you” I mean the philosophers at the top) neglect these things, and are studying how to find and compose your wretched texts and syllogisms and problems. You spend most of your lives on this, and whoever wins in this race is your Conquering Hero. That, I fancy, is why you admire this teacher of yours, the old man, because he reduces his pupils to perplexity and knows how to question and quibble and cheat and throw into inextricable confusion. So you just throw away the fruit—which has to do with works—and busy yourselves with the husk, in your discussions throwing the leaves over each other. Isn’t that what you all do, Hermotimus, from dawn till dusk?

Yes, just that.

Then wouldn’t it be right to say that you forget the substance and hunt the shadow, or ignore the crawling serpent and hunt the slough? Yes, and that you are like a man pouring water into a mortar and braying it with an iron pestle who thinks that he is doing essential and productive work, not knowing that although you bray your arms off, as they say, water is still water?

Now here let me ask you if, leaving aside his talk, you would care to be like your teacher. Would you care to be so irritable, so mean, so quarrelsome, yes, and so fond of pleasure, even if people don’t think it? Why don’t you speak, Hermotimus? Shall I tell you what I heard the other day from a very old man who spoke in defence of some philosophy or other? Quite a number of young men keep him company to learn his wisdom, and he was in a temper as he demanded payment from one of his pupils, saying that it was overdue and that the day had gone by: the debt ought to have been paid sixteen days before on the last day of the month, according to the agreement.