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The dust we think to be of use for the opposite purpose, to prevent them from slipping away when they are grasped. After they have been trained in the mud to hold fast what eludes them because of its oiliness, they are given practice in escaping out of their opponent’s hands when they themselves are caught, even though they are held in a sure grip. Moreover, the dust, sprinkled on when the sweat is pouring out in profusion, is thought to check it; it makes their strength endure long, and hinders them from being harmed by the wind blowing upon their bodies, which are then unresisting and have the pores open. Besides, it rubs off the dirt and makes the man cleaner. I should like to put side by side one of those white-skinned fellows who have lived in the shade and any one you might select of the athletes in the Lyceum, after I had washed off the mud and the dust, and to ask you which of the two you would pray to be like. I know that even without testing each to see what he could do, you would immediately choose on first sight to be firm and hard rather than delicate and mushy and white because your blood is scanty and withdraws to the interior of the body.
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That, Anacharsis, is the training we give our young men, expecting them to become stout guardians of our city, and that we shall live in freedom through them, conquering our foes if they attack us and keeping our neighbours in dread of us, so that most of them will cower at our feet and pay tribute. In peace, too, we find them far better, for nothing that is base appeals to their ambitions and idleness does not incline them to arrogance, but exercises such as these give them diversion and keep them occupied. The chief good of the public and the supreme felicity of the state, which I mentioned before, are attained when our young men, striving at our behest for the fairest objects, have been most efficiently prepared both for peace and for war.
