Their souls we fan into flame with music and arithmetic at first and we teach them to write their letters and to read them trippingly. As they progress, we recite for them sayings of wise men, deeds of olden times, and helpful fictions, which we have adorned with metre that they may remember them better. Hearing of certain feats of arms and famous exploits, little by little they grow covetous and are incited to imitate them, in order that they too may be sung and admired by men of after time. Both Hesiod and Homer have composed much poetry of that sort for us.

When they enter political life and have at length to handle public affairs—but this, no doubt, is foreign to the case, as the subject proposed for discussion at the outset was not how we discipline their souls, but why we think fit to train their bodies with hardships like these. Therefore I order myself to be silent, without waiting for the crier to do it, or for you, the Areopagite; it is out of deference, I suppose, that you tolerate my saying so much that is beside the point.

Tell me, Solon, when people do not say what is most essential in the Areopagus, but keep it to themselves, has the court devised no penalty for them?

Why did you ask me that question? I do not understand.

Because you propose to pass over what is best and: for me most delightful to hear about, what concerns the soul, and to speak of what is less essential, gymnastics and physical exercises.

Why, my worthy friend, I remember your admonitions in the beginning and do not wish the discussion to meander out of its channel for fear of confusing your memory with its flow. However, I shall discuss this, too, in brief, as best I can. To consider it carefully would be matter for another conversation.

We harmonize their minds by causing them to learn by heart the laws of the community, which are exposed in public for everyone to read, written in large letters, and tell what one should do and what one should refrain from doing; also by causing them to hold converse with good men, from whom they learn to say what is fitting and do what is right, to associate with one another on an equal footing, not to aim at what is base, to seek what is noble, and to do no violence. These men we call sophists and philosophers. Furthermore, assembling them in the theatre, we instruct them publicly through comedies and tragedies, in which they behold both the virtues and the vices of the ancients, in order that they may recoil from the vices and emulate the virtues. The comedians, indeed, we allow to abuse and ridicule any citizens whom they perceive to be following practices that are base and unworthy of the city, not only for the sake of those men themselves, since they are made better by chiding, but for the sake of the general public, that they may shun castigation for similar offences.

I have seen the tragedians and comedians that you are speaking of, Solon, if I am not mistaken; they

The tragedians. There may be a lacuna in the text.

had on heavy, high footgear, clothing that was gay with gold stripes, and very ludicrous head- pieces with great, gaping mouths; they shouted loudly from out of these, and strode about in the footgear, managing somehow or other to do it safely. The city was then holding a feast, in honour, I think, of Dionysus. The comedians were shorter, nearer to the common level, more human, and less given to shouting, but their headpieces were far more ludicrous. In fact the whole audience laughed at them; but they all wore long faces while they listened to the tall fellows, pitying them, I suppose, because they were dragging such clogs about!

It was not the actors that they pitied, my dear fellow. No doubt the poet was presenting some calamity of old to the spectators and declaiming mournful passages to the audience by which his hearers were moved to tears. Probably you also saw flute-players at that time, and others who sang in concert, standing in a circle. Even singing and flute-playing is not without value, Anacharsis. By all these means, then, and others like them, we whet their souls and make them better.

As to their bodies—for that is what you were especially eager to hear about—we train them as follows. When, as I said,

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they are no longer soft and wholly strengthless, we strip them, and think it best to begin by habituating them to the weather, making them used to the several seasons, so as not to be distressed by the heat or give in to the cold. Then we rub them with olive-oil and supple them in order that they may be more elastic, for since we believe that leather, when softened by oil, is harder to break and far more durable, lifeless as it is, it would be extraordinary if we should not think that the living body would be put in better condition by the oil. After that, having invented many forms of athletics and appointed teachers for each, we teach one, for instance, boxing, and another the pancratium, in order that they may become accustomed to endure hardships and to meet blows, and not recoil for fear of injuries. This helps us by creating in them two effects that are most useful, since it makes them not only spirited in facing dangers and unmindful of their bodies, but healthy and strong into the bargain. Those of them who put their bent heads together and wrestle learn to fall safely and get up easily, to push, grip and twist in various ways, to stand being choked, and to lift their opponent high in the air. They too are not engaging in useless exercises; on the contrary, they indisputably acquire one thing, which is first and greatest: their bodies become less susceptible and more vigorous through being exercised thoroughly. There is something else, too, which itself is not trivial: they become expert as a result of it, in case they should ever come to need what they have learned in battle. Clearly such a man, when he closes with an enemy, will trip and throw him more quickly, and when he is down, will know how to get up again most easily. For we make all these preparations, Anacharsis, with a view to that contest, the contest under arms, and we expect to find men thus disciplined far superior, after we have suppled and trained their bodes naked, and so have made them healthier and stronger, light and elastic, and at the same time too heavy for their opponents.

You can imagine, I suppose, the consequence— what they are likely to be with arms in hand when even unarmed they would implant fear in the enemy. They show no white and ineffective corpulence or pallid leanness, as if they were women’s bodies bleached out in the shade, quivering and streaming with profuse sweat at once and panting beneath the helmet, especially if the sun, as at present, blazes with the heat of noon. What use could one make of men like that, who get thirsty, who cannot stand dust, who break ranks the moment they catch sight of blood, who lie down and die before they get within a spear’s cast and come to grips with the enemy? But these young men of ours have a ruddy skin, coloured darker by the sun, and manly faces; they reveal great vitality, fire, and courage; they are aglow with such splendid condition; they are neither lean and emaciated nor so full-bodied as to be heavy, but symmetrical in their lines; they have sweated away the useless and superfluous part of their tissues, but what made for strength and elasticity is left upon them uncontaminated by what is worthless, and they maintain it vigorously. In fact, athletics do in our bodies just what winnowers do to wheat: they blow away the husks and the chaff, but separate the grain out cleanly and accumulate it for future use.