Soph. By no means, my son! Certainly he made them thy servants; he wished them to stick close to thee, as eyes, ears, soul, and mind, to be always engaged on thy behalf, each of them to put aside his own affairs, and to make thy affairs his sole business, not so as to vex thee by imperiousness; but that those good and wise men should transform thy uncultivated manners into the virtue, glory, and excellence of a man; not so as to make thee a slave, but truly a free man and truly a prince. If thou dost not obey them, then wilt thou be a slave of the lowest order, worse than those here amongst us who are employed, bought and sold from Ethiopia or Africa.
Morob. Whose slave, then, would he be, if he did not mould his morals after his educators?
Soph. Not of men certainly, but of vices, which are more importunate masters, and more intolerable than a dishonest and wicked man!
Phil. I don’t quite understand what you say.
Soph. But did you understand Morobulus?
Phil. Most clearly, everything.
Soph. Oh, how happy men would be, if they had the sense and intelligence for good and satisfactory things which they have for frivolous and bad things! Now indeed, on the contrary, at your time of life, it happens that you understand with ease what is trifling, what is inept, nay, even what is insane, such things as those to which Morobulus has exhorted you, and then you regard what I would say on virtue, dignity, and every kind of praiseworthy thing, as if I were speaking Arabic or Gothic.
Phil. What, then, are you of opinion I ought to do?
Soph. You should at least suspend your judgment. Neither acquiesce in the opinions of Morobulus, nor in mine, until you are able to judge as to both.