Book VII, 531–538

531a “And do they not do something similar with harmony? Measuring the audible concords and notes against one another, they labor, like the astronomers, over something that cannot be brought to completion.”

“By the gods, yes,” he said, “and absurdly so. They speak of certain ‘densities’ and strain their ears, as if hunting for a sound next door. Some say they can still hear a note between two others, and that this is the smallest interval by which one should measure; others dispute this, saying the notes already sound alike. Both parties 531b put their ears before their understanding.”

“You mean,” I said, “those excellent fellows who harass the strings and put them to the test, twisting them around the tuning pegs. But lest the image grow too long—with blows struck by plectrums, and charges, denials, and boasts from the strings—I will leave the image there. I do not mean them, but the men we said just now we would question about harmony. For they do the same thing as the astronomers: 531c they search for numbers in these audible concords, but do not rise to questions about which numbers are harmonious and which are not, and why in either case.”

“That is an extraordinary undertaking you describe,” he said.

“A useful one, at least,” I said, “for the pursuit of the beautiful and the good; but pursued for any other purpose, useless.”

“That seems likely,” he said.

“And I think,” I said, “that if our study of all the subjects we have gone through 531d comes to grasp their communion and kinship with one another, and reasons out the ways they are related, the work will contribute something to the end we desire and will not be labor spent in vain. Otherwise it will be in vain.”

“I suspect as much myself,” he said. “But that is a tremendous task you are describing, Socrates.”

“Do you mean the prelude,” I said, “or something else? Do we not know that all this is a prelude to the very melody we have to learn? Surely you do not think that those who are skilled in these subjects are dialecticians. 531e”

“By Zeus, no,” he said, “except for a very few whom I have met.”

“And do you suppose,” I said, “that people unable to give an account or receive one will ever know anything of what we say they must know?”

“No, not that either,” he said.

532a “Then, Glaucon,” I said, “this is at last the melody that dialectic brings to its close. Though intelligible, it can be imitated by the power of sight, which we said first tries to look upon living creatures themselves, then upon the stars themselves, and finally upon the sun itself. So too, when someone undertakes through dialectic and reasoning alone, without any of the senses, to press toward what each thing itself is, and does not give up until 532b he grasps with understanding what the Good itself is, he arrives at the end of the intelligible realm, just as the other man then arrived at the end of the visible.”

“Entirely so,” he said.

“Well, do you not call this journey dialectic?”

“Of course.”

“And the release from bonds,” I said, “the turning from shadows to images and to light, the ascent from the cave to the sun, and there the inability still 532c to look at living things, plants, and the sunlight, though one can look at their divine reflections in water and the shadows of real things—not shadows of images cast by another light which, measured against the sun, is of the same kind—all this work of the disciplines we have surveyed has the power to lead the best part of the soul upward to the vision of the best among beings, just as, in the image, it led the clearest faculty of the body to the brightest thing in the bodily and visible realm. 532d”

“I accept it as you put it,” he said. “Though it seems to me exceedingly hard to accept and, in another way, hard not to accept. Still, since these are matters we must hear not just on this occasion but return to many times, let us assume they stand as you now say. Let us proceed to the melody itself and examine it as we examined the prelude. Tell me, then, what is the character of dialectic's power? 532e Into what forms is it divided, and what are its paths? For these, it seems, would lead us to the place where, on arriving, one might find rest from the road and an end to the journey.”

533a “You will no longer be able to follow me, dear Glaucon,” I said, “though no willingness on my part would be lacking. You would no longer see an image of what we speak of, but the truth itself, as it appears to me. Whether it really is so or not is no longer worth insisting on; but that there is something of the kind to be seen, that we must insist upon. Is that not so?”

“Of course.”

“And that only the power of dialectic could disclose it to someone practiced in the subjects we have just gone through, and that no other way can?”

“That too,” he said, “is worth insisting on. 533b”

“At least,” I said, “no one will dispute our claim that there is no other method which systematically attempts to grasp what each thing itself is in every case. All the other arts are directed either to human opinions and desires, or to things coming into being and being compounded, or wholly to tending the things that grow or are made. As for the remaining studies, geometry and its companions, which we said lay hold of something of being, we see that they dream 533c about being but cannot see it awake so long as they take hypotheses for their starting points and leave them untouched, unable to give an account of them. For when one's starting point is something one does not know, and the conclusion and the steps between are woven from what one does not know, how could a chain of agreements of that kind ever become knowledge?”

“It could not,” he said.

“Then dialectic alone,” I said, “travels by this route: it does away with hypotheses and rises to the first principle itself 533d in order to establish it firmly. And when the eye of the soul is truly buried in some barbarian mire, it gently draws it out and leads it upward, taking as its helpers and guides the disciplines we have discussed. We have often called these ‘sciences’ from habit, but they need a different name, something clearer than opinion yet dimmer than knowledge. We defined it somewhere earlier as ‘thought.’ But I think 533e a quarrel over a name is no concern for those of us whose inquiry reaches matters as great as those before us.”

“No indeed,” he said.

“So long as the name conveys with some clarity the condition of the soul, will that suffice?”

“Yes.”

“Then it will suffice,” I said, “as before, to call the first division knowledge, the second thought, the third 534a belief, and the fourth conjecture; to call the latter two together opinion and the former two together understanding; to say that opinion deals with becoming and understanding with being; and that as being stands to becoming, so understanding stands to opinion, and as understanding stands to opinion, so knowledge stands to belief and thought to conjecture. But let us leave aside, Glaucon, the proportion between the objects of these faculties and the twofold division of each—the objects of opinion and those of understanding—lest it plunge us into many times as much discussion as we have already had. 534b”

“As far as I can follow,” he said, “I agree with the rest.”

“And do you call a person dialectical who can grasp an account of the being of each thing? And insofar as someone cannot give such an account to himself and another, will you say that to that extent he has no understanding of the thing?”

“How could I say otherwise?” he said.

“And is it not the same concerning the Good? Whoever cannot distinguish by reasoning the Form of the Good, separating it from everything else, and cannot make his way through every challenge as through a battle, eager to test it by being, not by opinion, 534c and go through all this without his argument falling—will you not say that such a man knows neither the Good itself nor anything else good? If he somehow touches an image of it, he touches it with opinion, not with knowledge, and passes his present life dreaming and asleep, only to arrive in Hades 534d before he wakes here, and there sink into his final sleep?”

“By Zeus,” he said, “I will say all that most emphatically.”

“But as for your own children, whom you are now rearing and educating in speech, if ever you rear them in fact, I believe you would never let them govern the city and hold authority over its greatest affairs if they were as devoid of reason as lines drawn on a page.”

“No indeed,” he said.

“Then you will lay down a law for them to devote themselves above all to the education that will make them most skilled in asking and answering questions? 534e”

“I will,” he said, “with your help.”

“Does it seem to you, then,” I said, “that dialectic stands above the other studies like the finishing stone on a wall, that no further subject could properly be placed above it, and that our studies have now 535a reached their end?”

“It does,” he said.

“The remaining task of selection is yours,” I said: “to whom shall we give these studies, and in what way?”

“Clearly,” he said.

“Do you recall our earlier selection of rulers, and the sort of people we chose?”

“How could I not?” he said.

“In other respects,” I said, “you should suppose we must choose the same natures: the most steadfast and courageous, and as far as possible the finest in appearance. 535b Besides these qualities, we must look not only for nobility and strength of character but for natural gifts suited to this education.”

“What gifts do you mean?”

“They must have a keen aptitude for study, my friend,” I said, “and learn without great difficulty. For souls lose heart much more readily under rigorous study than in physical training: the strain belongs more intimately to the soul, since it is its own and not shared with the body.”

“True,” he said. 535c

“And we must look for a good memory, endurance, and a love of hard work in every form. Otherwise how do you think anyone will be willing to bear the physical exertions and complete so much study and practice?”

“No one,” he said, “unless he were altogether exceptionally gifted.”

“At any rate,” I said, “the present error, and the dishonor that has fallen upon philosophy, have come about for the reason we gave earlier: those who take it up are unworthy of it. It should be approached not by illegitimate children but by true-born ones.”

“How so?” he said. 535d

“To begin with,” I said, “the one who takes it up must not be lame in his love of effort, loving toil in one half of life but shunning it in the other. That is what happens when a man loves exercise and hunting, and delights in every sort of physical effort, but has no love of learning, listening, or inquiry, and hates exertion in all these things. The man who directs his love of effort the other way round is lame too.”

“What you say is entirely true,” he said.

“And as regards truth,” I said, “shall we not likewise call that soul maimed 535e which hates deliberate falsehood, finding it hard to bear in itself and deeply resenting it in others, but readily accepts unwitting falsehood and feels no distress at being caught in ignorance, wallowing in it as contentedly as a pig?”

536a “Certainly,” he said.

“And where temperance, courage, nobility of spirit, and every part of virtue are concerned,” I said, “we must be no less careful to distinguish the true-born from the illegitimate. For when individuals or cities do not know how to examine these qualities in every way, they unwittingly employ the lame and the spurious in whatever capacity they happen to need them—some as friends, others as rulers.”

“Exactly so,” he said.

“We must therefore take every precaution of that kind,” I said. 536b “If we bring people sound in body and mind to so much learning and exercise, and educate them, justice herself will find no fault with us, and we shall preserve the city and its constitution. But if we bring people of another kind, we shall achieve the opposite in everything and pour yet more ridicule upon philosophy.”

“That would be shameful,” he said.

“It certainly would,” I said. “But I seem to have done something ridiculous myself just now.”

“What was that?” he said. 536c

“I forgot,” I said, “that we were speaking in play, and spoke too passionately. As I talked, I looked toward philosophy; seeing how undeservedly she has been dragged through the mud, I was indignant, I think, and spoke more gravely than I meant to, as though angry with those responsible.”

“Not by Zeus,” he said, “not to my ears as a listener.”

“But to mine as the speaker,” I said. “Let us not forget this: in our first selection we chose older men, 536d but that will not do in this one. We must not believe Solon when he says a man can learn many things as he grows old: he can do so even less than he can run. All great and abundant labors belong to the young.”

“Necessarily,” he said.

“Then arithmetic, geometry, and all the preparatory education that must precede dialectic should be offered to them as children, without making instruction take the form of compulsory study.”

“Why?” 536e

“Because,” I said, “a free person should learn no subject under compulsion. Forced bodily exertions do the body no harm, but nothing forced upon the soul remains in it as learning.”

“True,” he said.

“Do not use force, then, my good friend,” I said, “in bringing up children in their 537a studies. Let them learn through play, so that you may also better discern what each is naturally suited for.”

“There is reason in what you say,” he said.

“And do you remember,” I said, “that we also said children must be taken to war on horseback as spectators, brought close wherever it is safe and given a taste of blood, like puppies?”

“I remember,” he said.

“In all these things, then—in exertions, studies, and dangers—those who always show the greatest readiness should be admitted to a select group. 537b”

“At what age?” he asked.

“When they are released,” I said, “from their compulsory physical training. During that time, whether it lasts two or three years, they cannot do anything else: weariness and sleep are enemies of study. At the same time, how each of them proves himself in training is no small part of the test.”

“Of course,” he said.

“After that period,” I said, “those chosen from among the twenty-year-olds will receive greater honors than the rest. 537c The studies they were given indiscriminately as children must now be gathered for them into a comprehensive view of their kinship with one another and with the nature of being.”

“That is the only kind of learning,” he said, “that takes firm root in those who receive it.”

“And it is the greatest test,” I said, “of a nature fit for dialectic. The person who can see things together is dialectical; the one who cannot is not.”

“I agree,” he said.

“You will have to watch them accordingly,” I said, “and select those among them who are most capable of this, and steadfast both in study and in war and in all other duties. 537d When they have passed the age of thirty, choose again from those already selected and raise them to greater honors; test them by the power of dialectic to see who can relinquish sight and every other sense and proceed with truth toward being itself. Here, my friend, great caution is needed. 537e”

“Why especially?” he asked.

“Do you not see,” I said, “how great an evil now grows up around the practice of dialectic?”

“What evil?” he asked.

“They become filled, I believe, with lawlessness,” I said.

“Very much so,” he said.

“Do you think it surprising that this happens to them?” I said. “Do you not feel some sympathy?”

“On what grounds?” he asked.

“Imagine,” I said, “a child secretly substituted for another and brought up amid great wealth, 538a in a large and distinguished family, surrounded by many flatterers. When grown, he learns that those who claim to be his parents are not, but cannot find his real parents. Can you guess how he would feel toward the flatterers and toward those who brought him up, both when he did not know about the substitution and when he did? Or would you like to hear my guess?”

“I would,” he said.

“My guess,” I said, “is that he would honor 538b those he believed to be his father, mother, and other relatives more than the flatterers. He would be less willing to see them in need, less likely to act or speak unlawfully against them, and less likely to disobey them in important matters than to disobey the flatterers, so long as he did not know the truth.”

“Likely enough,” he said.

“But once he recognized the truth, I suspect his respect and concern for those people would relax, while his regard for the flatterers would increase. He would obey them far more than before 538c and begin living as they did, associating with them openly, and would care nothing for his supposed father or his other supposed relatives, unless his nature were exceptionally decent.”

“Everything you say is just what would happen,” he said. “But how does this image apply to those who take up argument?”

“Like this. From childhood we have beliefs about justice and beauty under which we have been raised as if by parents, obeying and honoring them.”

“We have indeed.” 538d

“And there are other practices, opposed to these, which offer pleasures that flatter our souls and draw us toward them. But they do not persuade those who are moderate in any degree: such people honor and obey their ancestral beliefs.”

“That is so.”

“What, then,” I said, “when a question comes to someone so raised and asks, ‘What is beauty?’ He answers what he heard from the lawgiver, but argument refutes him; and, refuting him many times in many ways, reduces him to believing that this is no more 538e beautiful than ugly; and the same occurs with justice, goodness, and the things he honored most. Afterward, how do you think he will behave toward those beliefs in honor and obedience?”

“He must cease to honor and obey them as before,” he said.

“So when,” I said, “he no longer thinks these things honorable and his own, as he once did, and cannot discover the true ones, to what sort of

531a “And don’t they do something similar with musical harmony? They measure the audible combinations and notes against one another, and, like the astronomers, do endless work.”

“By the gods, yes,” he said, “and it’s ridiculous. They talk about some kind of tiny intervals and hold their ears close together, as if trying to catch a sound from next door. Some say they can still hear a sound in between and that this is the smallest interval to use as a measure. Others disagree and say the notes already sound the same. Both groups 531b trust their ears instead of their minds.”

“You mean,” I said, “those fine fellows who give the strings a hard time, testing and twisting them around the tuning pegs. But I don’t want to stretch this comparison out with talk of strings being struck by picks, accused, denying the charge, and boasting. So I’ll stop the comparison. Those are not the people I mean. I mean the people we just said we would question about harmony. They do the same thing as the astronomers. 531c They look for numerical relations in audible harmonies. But they don’t move up to questions about which numbers form harmonious relations, which don’t, and why.”

“That sounds like a remarkable undertaking,” he said.

“It is useful,” I said, “for the search for what is beautiful and good. Pursued for any other purpose, it is useless.”

“That seems right,” he said.

“And I think,” I said, “that if the study of all the subjects we have discussed 531d gets as far as their connections and kinship, and works out how they belong together, the effort will help us reach our goal and won’t be wasted. Otherwise it will be wasted.”

“That’s my guess too,” he said. “But what you’re describing is an enormous job, Socrates.”

“Do you mean the prelude,” I asked, “or something else? Don’t we know that all this is only the prelude to the main song we must learn? You surely don’t think that experts in these subjects are dialecticians, 531e do you?”

“No, by Zeus,” he said, “apart from a very few whom I’ve met.”

“Well then,” I said, “will people who cannot give and receive an account ever know any of the things we say they must know?”

“No, not that either,” he said.

532a “So, Glaucon,” I said, “isn’t this the main song that discussion itself brings to its close? It belongs to thought, but the power of sight could imitate it. We said sight tries to look at the living things themselves, then the stars themselves, and finally the sun itself. In the same way, when someone uses discussion and reason alone, without any of the senses, to reach what each thing really is, and doesn’t stop until 532b the mind itself grasps what the Good itself is, that person arrives at the end of the realm of thought, just as the other arrived at the end of the visible realm.”

“Absolutely,” he said.

“So don’t you call this journey dialectic?”

“Of course.”

“And consider,” I said, “the release from chains, the turn from shadows toward the images and the light, and the climb out of the cave into the sunlight. Once there, the person still cannot look 532c at the animals, the plants, or the sunlight, but can look at the divine reflections in water and at shadows of real things—not at shadows of images cast by a different kind of light that is like the sun only by comparison. All the study of the subjects we have discussed has this power. It leads the best part of the soul up to see the best thing among all that is, just as the clearest faculty in the body was led to see the brightest thing in the bodily, 532d visible world.”

“I accept that,” he said. “Still, it seems very hard to accept, but hard in another way not to accept. In any case, we shouldn’t hear these points just once now; we’ll have to come back to them many times. Let’s take them as stated for the moment and move on to the main song itself. Let’s go through it as we went through the prelude. Tell me what kind of power dialectic has, 532e what its divisions are, and what paths it takes. Those paths would apparently lead us to our destination. When we reach it, we can rest from the road, at the end of our journey.”

533a “My dear Glaucon,” I said, “you won’t be able to follow me any further, though I wouldn’t lack enthusiasm. You would no longer see an image of what we mean, but the truth itself, at least as it appears to me. Whether it really is the truth or not is more than I should insist on now. But we must insist that there is something of this kind to see. Right?”

“Of course.”

“And that the power of dialectic alone could reveal it to someone experienced in the studies we just went through, and no other method could?”

“Yes,” he said, “that too is worth insisting on. 533b”

“At any rate,” I said, “no one will dispute this: no other method sets out systematically to grasp what each thing itself is. All the other arts deal with people’s opinions and desires, or with things being produced and assembled, or with caring for things that grow or are assembled. As for the remaining subjects, which we said do grasp something of what is—geometry and its related studies—we can see that they dream 533c about what is, but cannot see it while awake. They use assumptions, leave them undisturbed, and cannot give an account of them. If someone starts with what they do not know, and builds both the conclusion and everything between on what they do not know, how could that connected argument ever become knowledge?”

“It couldn’t,” he said.

“Then dialectic alone follows this route,” I said. “It does away with assumptions to reach the first principle itself 533d and establish a firm basis. The eye of the soul is really buried in a kind of foreign mud; dialectic gently pulls it out and leads it upward. It uses the studies we discussed as helpers in this turning. We have often called those studies knowledge out of habit. But they need a different name, something clearer than opinion but less clear than knowledge. Earlier we defined it as thought. Yet I don’t think a dispute 533e about names matters when we have such important things to examine.”

“No, it doesn’t,” he said.

“As long as the name clearly expresses the state of the soul, that will be enough?”

“Yes.”

“Then, as before,” I said, “we can call the first part knowledge, the second thought, the third

534a belief, and the fourth imagining. We can group the last two together as opinion, and the first two as understanding. Opinion concerns what comes into being; understanding concerns what is. What understanding is to opinion, being is to becoming. And as understanding is to opinion, knowledge is to belief and thought is to imagining. But let’s leave aside, Glaucon, the exact relations between their objects and the twofold division of each realm, the realm of opinion and the realm of thought. Otherwise we’ll be caught up in far more discussion than we’ve had already. 534b”

“As far as I can follow,” he said, “I agree with the rest.”

“Would you call someone a dialectician if they can give an account of what each thing is? And when a person cannot give such an account to themselves or anyone else, wouldn’t you say that, to that extent, they don’t understand it?”

“How could I say otherwise?” he said.

“The same goes for the Good. Suppose someone cannot separate the Form 534c of the Good from everything else and define it in an argument. Suppose they cannot make their way through every challenge, as if through a battle, testing their case by what is rather than by opinion, and come through all these tests with their argument intact. You will say that this person knows neither the Good itself nor anything else good. If they somehow get hold of an image of it, they grasp it by opinion, not knowledge. They spend this life dreaming and asleep. Before waking up here, they will arrive in Hades 534d and fall completely asleep.”

“By Zeus,” he said, “I will certainly say all of that.”

“Now imagine the children you are raising and educating in our discussion. If you ever raised them in reality, you wouldn’t, I think, let them rule the city and decide its most important matters while they were as unable to reason as lines drawn on a page.”

“No, I wouldn’t,” he said.

“So you will make a law that they must receive above all an education that enables them to ask and answer questions with the greatest understanding? 534e”

“I will,” he said, “with your help.”

“Then,” I said, “doesn’t dialectic sit on top of our studies like the capstone? No other study can rightly be placed above it. Haven’t our studies

535a now reached their end?”

“I think so,” he said.

“What remains for you to decide,” I said, “is who will receive these studies and how.”

“Clearly,” he said.

“Do you remember our earlier choice of rulers, and what kind of people we chose?”

“Of course I do,” he said.

“For the most part,” I said, “choose people with those same qualities. We should prefer the steadiest and bravest, and, as far as possible, the best-looking. 535b Besides being noble and strong in character, they must also have qualities suited to this education.”

“What qualities do you mean?”

“My friend,” I said, “they must be quick at their studies and learn without too much difficulty. Souls lose heart much more readily over demanding studies than over physical training. The effort of study falls on the soul alone; the body does not share it.”

“That’s true,” he said. 535c

“We must also look for someone with a good memory, who doesn’t give up, and who is willing to work hard in every way. Otherwise, how could anyone be willing both to train the body and to complete so much learning and practice?”

“No one,” he said, “unless they have an exceptional natural ability.”

“In fact,” I said, “the present mistake, which has brought philosophy into disrepute, comes from just what we said before: people who take it up are not worthy of it. It should be taken up by genuine students, not false ones.”

“What do you mean?” he asked. 535d

“First,” I said, “anyone who takes it up must not be halfhearted about hard work—eager for effort in one area but lazy in another. That happens when a person loves exercise and hunting and gladly works hard at anything physical, but doesn’t love learning, listening, or inquiry and hates effort in all those areas. Someone whose willingness to work is the reverse of that is just as lacking.”

“What you say is quite true,” he said.

“And when it comes to truth,” I said, “won’t we also call a soul defective 535e if it hates deliberate lies, cannot bear to tell them, and is outraged when others do, yet readily accepts an unintentional falsehood? Such a person feels no shame when caught in ignorance, but is happy to wallow in it like a pig in mud.”

536a “Certainly,” he said.

“We must be just as careful to tell genuine character from counterfeit when we look at self-control, courage, generosity of spirit, and every other part of virtue. Unless an individual or a city knows how to examine all these qualities, they may unknowingly use defective and counterfeit people for any purpose—as friends in one case, as rulers in the other.”

“That is very true,” he said.

“We must guard against all such mistakes,” I said. “536b If we bring people who are sound in body and mind to so much study and training, and educate them, justice itself will have no complaint against us. We will preserve the city and its constitution. But if we bring people of another kind to this, we will bring about the exact opposite, and heap even more ridicule on philosophy.”

“That would certainly be shameful,” he said.

“Yes,” I said. “But I seem to have done something ridiculous myself just now.”

“What?” he asked. 536c

“I forgot that we were playing a game,” I said, “and spoke too intensely. While I was speaking, I looked toward philosophy. I saw her being treated with undeserved contempt, and I think I got upset. I was almost angry at those responsible, and spoke more seriously than I meant to.”

“Not to my ears, by Zeus,” he said.

“But to mine as the speaker,” I said. “Let’s not forget one thing: in our earlier selection we chose older people, 536d but that won’t do this time. We must not believe Solon’s saying that a person can learn many things as they grow old. They are even less able to learn than to run. All the great and many kinds of effort belong to the young.”

“That must be so,” he said.

“Then arithmetic, geometry, and all the other preparatory studies needed before dialectic must be offered to them as children. But we must not shape the teaching as a compulsory course.”

“Why not? 536e”

“Because,” I said, “a free person should not learn any subject under compulsion. Physical exertion forced on the body makes it no worse. But nothing forced into the soul as learning stays there.”

“That’s true,” he said.

“So, my friend,” I said, “don’t use force to train children in their

537a studies. Let them learn through play. Then you will be better able to see what each one is naturally suited to.”

“That makes sense,” he said.

“And do you remember,” I said, “that we also said children should be taken to war on horseback as spectators? If it is safe, they should be brought close enough to get a taste of blood, like young dogs.”

“I remember,” he said.

“Then in all these efforts, studies, and dangers, we must select the ones who consistently show the greatest skill and put them on a list. 537b”

“At what age?” he asked.

“When they finish the required physical training,” I said. “For that period, whether it lasts two years or three, they cannot do much else. Exhaustion and sleep are enemies of study. Besides, how each one performs in physical training is itself a major test.”

“Of course it is,” he said.

“After that period,” I said, “the chosen ones, now twenty years old, will receive greater honors than the others. 537c They must bring together the subjects they learned in no particular order as children, to see how the subjects relate to each other and to the nature of what is.”

“That is the only kind of learning,” he said, “that lasts in those who acquire it.”

“And it is the best test,” I said, “of who has a natural talent for dialectic. Someone who can see things together is a dialectician; someone who cannot, isn’t.”

“I agree,” he said.

“So,” I said, “you will have to observe them and select those 537d who are strongest in this ability and who remain steady in their studies, in war, and in their other lawful duties. When they pass the age of thirty, select again from this chosen group. Give them greater honors and test them with dialectic, to see who can leave behind the eyes and other senses and reach what truly is. And here, my friend, you must be very careful.”

“Why especially here?” he asked. 537e

“Don’t you see,” I said, “how much harm comes from the way dialectic is practiced now?”

“What harm?” he asked.

“People who practice it become filled with contempt for the law,” I said.

“They certainly do,” he said.

“Do you think that is surprising,” I asked, “and can’t you forgive them?”

“Why should I?” he asked.

“Take this example,” I said. “Suppose a child brought into a family as someone else’s child grew up with great wealth, 538a in a large and distinguished family, surrounded by many flatterers. When he became a man, he discovered that the people who claimed to be his parents were not his parents, but could not find the people who really gave birth to him. Can you guess how he would treat the flatterers and the people who took him in, both before and after he knew the truth? Or would you like to hear my guess?”

“I would,” he said.

“My guess,” I said, “is that before he knew the truth he would respect 538b the man and woman he thought were his parents, and the other people he thought were his family, more than the flatterers. He would be less likely to neglect them if they needed anything, less likely to say or do anything unlawful against them, and less likely to disobey them in important matters than to disobey the flatterers.”

“That seems likely,” he said.

“But once he learned the truth, I expect he would relax his respect and concern for the people he had thought were his family, and give more of both to the flatterers. He would listen to them much more than before 538c and begin to live as they do, associating with them openly. Unless he had an exceptionally decent nature, he would care nothing for the man he once called his father or for his supposed family.”

“Everything you say sounds like what would happen,” he said. “But how does this example apply to people who take up arguments?”

“In this way. From childhood we have beliefs about justice and what is honorable. We are raised with them as with parents; we obey and respect them.”

“Yes, we are. 538d”

“But there are also opposite ways of behaving that offer pleasure. They flatter our souls and draw us toward them, though they cannot persuade anyone with even a little self-control. Such people respect and obey the beliefs handed down to them instead.”

“That’s so.”

“Now suppose someone like this is asked, ‘What is honorable?’ He answers with what he heard from the lawgiver, but an argument refutes his answer. After repeated challenges on many points, he comes to think that the thing in question is no more 538e honorable than shameful. The same happens with justice, the Good, and the things he used to respect most. After that, how do you think he will treat those beliefs? Will he still respect and obey them?”

“He can’t respect or obey them as he did before,” he said.

“So when he no longer considers them worthy of respect or close to him as he once did, and has not found the truth, what kind of