Republic

“Do you agree, then,” said I, “that we have set dialectics above all other studies to be as it were the coping-stone—and that no other higher kind of study could rightly be placed above it, but that our discussion of studies is now complete” “I do,” he said. “The distribution, then, remains,” said I, “to whom we are to assign these studies and in what way.” Clearly, he said. “Do you remember, then, the kind of man we chose in our former selection of rulers?” “Of course,” he said. “In most respects, then,” said I, “you must suppose that we have to choose those same natures. The most stable, the most brave and enterprising are to be preferred, and, so far as practicable, the most comely. But in addition we must now require that they not only be virile and vigorous in temper, but that they possess also the gifts of nature suitable to this type of education.” “What qualities are you distinguishing?” “They must have, my friend, to begin with, a certain keenness for study, and must not learn with difficulty. For souls are much more likely to flinch and faint in severe studies than in gymnastics, because the toil touches them more nearly, being peculiar to them and not shared with the body.” True, he said. “And we must demand a good memory and doggedness and industry in every sense of the word. Otherwise how do you suppose anyone will consent both to undergo all the toils of the body and to complete so great a course of study and discipline?” “No one could,” he said, “unless most happily endowed.” “Our present mistake,” said I, “and the disesteem that has in consequence fallen upon philosophy are, as I said before, caused by the unfitness of her associates and wooers. They should not have been bastards but true scions.” “What do you mean?” he said. “In the first place,” I said, “the aspirant to philosophy must not limp in his industry, in the one half of him loving, in the other shunning, toil. This happens when anyone is a lover of gymnastics and hunting and all the labors of the body, yet is not fond of learning or of listening or inquiring, but in all such matters hates work. And he too is lame whose industry is one-sided in the reverse way.” “Most true,” he said. “Likewise in respect of truth,” I said, “we shall regard as maimed in precisely the same way the soul that hates the voluntary lie and is troubled by it in its own self and greatly angered by it in others, but cheerfully accepts the involuntary falsehood and is not distressed when convicted of lack of knowledge, but wallows in the mud of ignorance as insensitively as a pig.”