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?
