play brought out at the theatre. Then, as one might expect when
the standard is lowered, the philosopher laid aside his
dignified, venerable character, and put on his stage dress that
he might dance more easily: the populace was made spectator,
umpire, and judge, and the philosopher did that which the flute
player does not do on the stage,--he suited his music, not to his
own ideas and to the Muses, as his old teacher advises, but
wholly to the circle of onlookers and the crowd whence
distinction and gain was likely to come back to the actors.

There was no need of real, solid teaching (at least, not in the
opinion of those who are going to learn); but pretence and dust
were thrown in the eyes of the crowd. So the one plain road of
obtaining the truth was abandoned; six hundred ways of pretending
were made, by which each strove for what suited himself,
especially since there is nothing made so ugly as to lack a
sponsor.

Not only did the populace flock to this opinion--that the object
of learning is to dispute, just as it is the object of military
life to fight--but the public unanimity swept away the veterans,
the _triarii_ [the more experienced soldiers who were placed in
the third line] as it were, of the scholastic campaign (but these
have no more ability and judgment than the dregs of the people),
so that they regard him as superfluous and foolish who would call
them back to mental activity and character and that quiet method
of investigation, philosophy. [They think that] there is no other
fruit of studies save to keep your wits about you and not give
way to your adversary, either to attack him boldly or to bear up
against him, and shrewdly to contrive by what vigor, by what