“But does a _philosopher_ invite people to come and hear him? Is it not that as the sun, or as food, is its own sufficient attraction, so the philosopher also is his own sufficient attraction to those who are to be benefited by him? Does a physician invite people to come and let him heal them?... (Imagine what a genuine philosopher’s invitation would be)—‘I invite you to come and be told that you are in a bad way—that you care for everything except what you should care for—that you do not know what things are good and what evil—and that you are unhappy and unfortunate.’ A nice invitation! and yet if that is not the result of what a philosopher says, he and his words alike are dead. (Musonius) Rufus used to say, ‘If you have leisure to praise me, my teaching has been in vain.’ Accordingly he used to talk in such a way that each individual one of us who sat there thought that some one had been telling Rufus about him: he so put his finger upon what we had done, he so set the individual faults of each one of us clearly before our eyes. “The philosopher’s lecture-room, gentlemen, is a surgery: when you go away you ought to have felt not pleasure but pain. For when you come in, something is wrong with you: one man has put his shoulder out, another has an abscess, another a headache. Am I—the surgeon—then, to sit down and give you a string of fine sentences, that you may praise me—and then go away—the man with the dislocated arm, the man with the abscess, the man with the headache—just as you came? Is it for this that young men come away from home, and leave their parents and their kinsmen and their property, to say ‘Bravo!’ to you for your fine moral conclusions? Is this what Socrates did—or Zeno—or Cleanthes? “Well, but is there no such class of speeches as exhortations?