'Nay, Socrates, the argument is our servant, and not our master. Who is
the judge or where is the spectator, having a right to control us?'

I will describe the leaders, then: for the inferior sort are not worth the
trouble. The lords of philosophy have not learned the way to the dicastery
or ecclesia; they neither see nor hear the laws and votes of the state,
written or recited; societies, whether political or festive, clubs, and
singing maidens do not enter even into their dreams. And the scandals of
persons or their ancestors, male and female, they know no more than they
can tell the number of pints in the ocean. Neither are they conscious of
their own ignorance; for they do not practise singularity in order to gain
reputation, but the truth is, that the outer form of them only is residing
in the city; the inner man, as Pindar says, is going on a voyage of
discovery, measuring as with line and rule the things which are under and
in the earth, interrogating the whole of nature, only not condescending to
notice what is near them.

'What do you mean, Socrates?'

I will illustrate my meaning by the jest of the witty maid-servant, who saw
Thales tumbling into a well, and said of him, that he was so eager to know
what was going on in heaven, that he could not see what was before his
feet. This is applicable to all philosophers. The philosopher is
unacquainted with the world; he hardly knows whether his neighbour is a man
or an animal. For he is always searching into the essence of man, and
enquiring what such a nature ought to do or suffer different from any
other. Hence, on every occasion in private life and public, as I was
saying, when he appears in a law-court or anywhere, he is the joke, not
only of maid-servants, but of the general herd, falling into wells and