The Charmides — Plato
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ΧΑΡΜΙΔΗΣ
Translation/edition: Thomas Taylor (1804)
Language: English
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This file: https://plato-scroll.com/text/chrm-g.txt
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## The Charmides

[153a] Yesterday, when I came in the evening from the army, I gladly returned to my accustomed exercise, in consequence of having been for some time absent from it; and entered into the Palæstra of Taurean Neptune, which is opposite to the royal temple. Here I met with very many persons, some of whom were unknown to me, but the greater part of them I knew. And as soon as I was seen entering thus unexpectedly, some from all quarters immediately congratulated me at a distance. But Chærepho, as if he had been insane, leaping from the midst of them, ran towards me, and taking me by the hand, O Socrates, says he, how were you saved in the engagement? For a short time before we came away there was a battle at Potidæa, of which those that are here just now heard.
[153b] —And I answering them, said, It is as you see.
[153b] —Indeed, said he, a report was spread here, that a very sharp engagement had taken place, and that many of those that we know had perished in it.
[153c] —I replied, You were told the truth.
[153c] —But, said he, was you in the engagement?
[153c] —I was.
[153c] —Sit down here, said he, and relate the affair to us; for we have not yet clearly heard the whole. And at the same time leading me along, he seated me near Critias the son of Callæschrus. Being therefore seated, I saluted Critias, and the rest, and according as any one asked me, related the affairs of the army. [153d] But some asked me one thing, and others another. And when we had had enough of things of this kind, I again asked them respecting philosophy, how it was circumstanced at present; and whether there were any young men who were remarkable for wisdom, or beauty, or both. Critias then, looking towards the gate, and perceiving certain young men entering and reviling each other, and another crowd following behind them, said, It appears to me, Socrates, that you will immediately have an answer to your question respecting beautiful youths. For those that are now entering, are forerunners and lovers of one who seems to be the most beautiful of all of the present time. And it appears to me that he is now nearly entering.
[154a] —But who is he? I replied; and of whom is he the son?
[154a] —Perhaps you know, said he, (but he was very young when you left this place;) I say, perhaps you know Charmides, the son of our uncle Glauco, but my cousin.
[154b] —I know him indeed, by Jupiter, I replied, for he was not then to be despised, though he was but a boy, but now I think he must be almost a young man.
[154b] —You will immediately know, said he, both his age, and the qualities which he has acquired. And at the same time that he was thus speaking, Charmides entered.
[154b] —No consideration therefore, my friend, is to be paid to me. For I am indeed a white rule¹ with respect to those that are beautiful; since nearly all young men appear to me to be beautiful. But he then appeared to me to be wonderful, both on account of the magnitude and the beauty of his body: [154c] and all the rest seemed to me to be in love with him; so astonished and so disturbed were they, when he entered. Many other lovers also followed among those that were behind him. And as to the men indeed, this was less wonderful: but I also paid attention to the boys, and saw that none of these beheld any one else than him, not even the smallest among them, but the eyes of all were fixed on him, as on a statue. And Chærepho calling me, said, What do you think of the youth, Socrates? Is he not a beautiful person?
[154d] —I replied, transcendently so.
[154d] —But, said he, if he were willing to show himself naked, he would appear to you to have a deformed face, his form is so very beautiful. And this assertion of Chærepho was confirmed by all the rest.
[154d] —I then said, By Hercules, you speak of an unconquerable man, if only one small thing further belongs to him.
[154d] —What is that? said Critias.
[154d] —I replied, If his soul is naturally in a good condition. It is however proper, Critias, that it should be so, as being one of your family.
[154e] —But, he replied, he is also very beautiful and good in this respect.
[154e] —Why then, I said, do we not expose this naked to the view, and contemplate it prior to his form? For since he is thus inwardly beautiful, he will in every respect be willing to discourse.
[154e] —Very much so, said Critias; since he is a philosopher, and (as it appears both to others and himself) very poetic.
[155a] —I replied, This beauty, friend Critias, descends to you remotely, through your alliance to Solon. But why do you not call the youth hither, and present him to me? For it would not disgrace us to discourse with him, even if he were younger than he is, while you are present, who are his cousin and tutor.
[155a] —You speak well, said he; and we will call him. And at the same time turning to the person that followed him; Call, says he, Charmides, and tell him that I wish to commit him to the care of a physician, on account of the infirmity of which he has lately complained.
[155b] —Critias therefore said to me, Charmides lately has complained of a heaviness in his head when he rose in the morning. What then should hinder you from pretending to him, that you know a remedy for this disorder of the head?
[155b] —Nothing, I replied; let him only come.
[155b] — But he does come, said he. Which was indeed the case: [155c] for he came, and caused much laughter. For each of us that were seated together, through eagerness to sit near Charmides, pushed his neighbour; till of those that were seated last of all, some we forced to rise up, and others to fall on the ground. But he came and sat between me and Critias. And I then said, My friend, I am now perplexed, and the confidence which I before had, that I should easily discourse with Charmides, fails me. [155d] But when Critias had told him, that I was the person who knew a remedy for his disease, he fixed his eyes upon me as something prodigious, and drew near as if he meant to ask me a question. Then all that were in the Palæstra immediately gathered round us; and when, O generous man, I saw the beauty of his form within his garments, I was inflamed with the view, and was no longer myself. I likewise thought that Critias was most wise in amatory affairs, who said, when speaking of a beautiful boy, but employing the similitude of something else, that I should be cautious lest a fawn coming opposite to the lion, a portion of the flesh should be taken away: for he appeared to me to have been captured by an animal of this kind. But at the same time, when Charmides asked me, if I knew a remedy for the head, I scarcely knew what to answer. What is it? said he.
[155e] —I replied that it was a certain leaf, but that a certain incantation must be added to the medicine, which if any one employed together with the leaf, the medicine could perfectly restore him to health; but that the leaf would be of no use without the incantation.
[156a] — He then said, I will write down this incantation from you.
[156a] —I replied, Will you do this, whether you are persuaded by me or not?
[156a] —Upon this, he said laughing, I will, if I am persuaded by you, Socrates.
[156a] —Be it so, I replied. And do you also accurately know my name?
[156a] —I do, unless I am unjust, said he. For there is no small talk about you, among those of my age: and I can remember that you associated with Critias when I was a boy.
[156b] —You say well, I replied. For I shall now tell you, with greater freedom of speech, what the incantation is. But, just now, I was doubtful, after what manner I should show you its power. For this incantation is such, O Charmides, that it is not able to make the head alone well; just perhaps as you have often heard good physicians assert, when any one comes to them with diseased eyes: for then they say, that they must not attempt to cure the eyes alone, but that it is necessary for them at the same time to cure the head², if they design to render the eyes in a good condition. And again, that it would be very stupid to think to cure the head itself without the whole body. In consequence of this reasoning, they turn their attention to the regimen of the whole body, and endeavour to cure the part in conjunction with the whole. Or have you not heard that they thus speak, and that this is the case?
[156c] —Entirely so, he replied.
[156c] —Does it therefore appear to you that they speak well; and do you admit this doctrine?
[156c] —The most of all things, said he.
[156c] —And I, on [156d] hearing him praise this method of cure, took courage, and my confidence again was a little excited and revived: and I said, Such, therefore, O Charmides, is the power of this incantation. But I learnt it there, in the army, from one of the Thracian physicians of Zamolxis³, who are said to render men immortal. This Thracian too said, “The Grecian physicians beautifully assert the same things as I now assert. [156e] But Zamolxis, said he, our king, being a god, says, that as it is not proper to attempt to cure the eyes without the head, nor the head without the body, so neither is it proper to cure the body without the soul: and that the reason why many diseases are unknown to the Grecian physicians is, because they are ignorant of the whole, to which attention ought to be paid. For when this is not well disposed, it is impossible that a part should be well affected. For all things, said he, originate from the soul, both such as are good and such as are evil, and emanate from thence into the body, and the whole man, just as things flow from the head to the eyes. [157a] It is requisite therefore that the maladies of this should in the first place and especially be healed, in order that the head and the whole body my be well affected.” But he said, O blessed youth, “that the soul was cured of its maladies by certain incantations; and that these incantations were beautiful reasons, from which temperance was generated in souls.” He further added, “that when this was inserted and present, it was easy to impart health, both to the head and the rest of the body.” [157b] Having therefore taught me the medicine, and the incantations, “Let none, said he, persuade you to cure the head of any one with this medicine, who has not first presented his soul to be cured by you with the incantation. For the fault, said he, of the present time, respecting men, is this, that certain persons endeavour to become physicians without a knowledge of temperance and health.” And he very earnestly ordered me to take care, that neither any rich, or noble, or beautiful person, ever persuaded me to do otherwise. I therefore declared to him, with an oath, that I would not; and hence it is necessary I should obey him, which I am determined to do. And indeed, if you are willing, according to the mandate of the stranger, to present your soul first of all to be enchanted by the incantations of the Thracian, I will administer the medicine to your head; but if not, I cannot in any respect benefit you, O friend Charmides.
[157c] —Critias therefore hearing me thus speak, said, This heaviness of the head, O Socrates, will be gain to the youth, if he should be compelled to become better in his dianoëtic part through his head. I can indeed assure you, that Charmides not only surpasses all his equals in the form of his body, but in this very thing for which you say you have an incantation. But you say this is temperance. Or do you not?
[157d] — Entirely so, I replied.
[157d] —Know then, said he, that Charmides appears to be by far the most temperate of those that exist at present; and that, as far as his age permits, he is not inferior to any one in every thing else.
[157d] —And I replied, It is but just, O Charmides, that you should excel all others in all such things as these. [157e] For I do not think that any one now present can easily show two families among the Athenians, from a conjunction between which by marriage, a beautiful and excellent offspring is so likely to be produced, as from those that were your progenitors. For the paternal family of Critias, here, the son of Diopis, is celebrated by Anacreon, and Solon, and many other poets, as excelling in beauty, virtue, and the rest of what is called felicity. And again, there is the same renown on his mother’s side: [158a] for no one of those that dwell on the continent is said to surpass in beauty and grandeur your uncle Pyrilampes, as often as he goes in the character of ambassador to the great king, or to some other inhabitant of the continent. But the whole of his family is in nothing inferior to any other. It is likely, therefore, that, being the offspring of such characters, you should be the first in all things. [158b] Hence, O beloved son of Glauco, with respect to your visible form, you appear to me to disgrace no one of your progenitors; and, if you are naturally endued with all that is sufficient to the possession of temperance, and the other virtues, according to the assertion of Critias here, your mother, O dear Charmides, brought you forth blessed. The case, then, is this: If temperance is present with you, as Critias says it is, and if you are sufficiently temperate, you will no longer require the incantations, either of Zamolxis, or the Hyperborean Abaris⁴, but the medicine for the head should be immediately administered you. But if you are in any respect indigent of this, the incantation must precede the medicine. Inform me therefore, whether you assent to Critias, and affirm that you sufficiently participate of temperance, or whether you are deficient in this respect.
[158c] —Charmides therefore blushing, in the first place appeared to be still more beautiful (for bashfulness becomes his age); and in the next place he answered me not ignobly. For he said, It is not easy either to admit or reject the subjects of the present investigation: for, said he, if I should affirm that I am not temperate, it would be absurd that I should assert such a thing of myself, and at the same time I should evince that Critias has spoken falsely, and many others to whom I appear to be temperate. But again, if I should affirm that I am temperate, by thus praising myself, I shall perhaps give offence: so that I do not know how to answer you.
[158d] —To this I replied, You appear to me, O Charmides, to speak well: and I think we should consider in common whether you possess that which I inquire after, or not; that you may neither be compelled to speak contrary to your will, nor I may again inconsiderately turn myself to the medicinal art. If, therefore, it is agreeable to you, I wish to consider this affair together with you; but if it is not, to dismiss it.
[158e] —But it is, said he, the most agreeable to me of all things. Pursue therefore the inquiry, in whatever manner appears to you to be best.
[158e] —This, I replied, seems to me to be the best mode of considering the subject: for it is evident, if temperance is present with you, that you have some opinion about it; for it is necessary, if it is really inherent in you, that it must produce some sensation of itself, from which you will possess an opinion respecting it, what it is, and what are the qualities with which it is endued. Or do you not think so?
[159a] —He replied, I do think so.
[159a] —And do you not also, I said, think this, since you know how to speak the Greek tongue, that you can likewise inform me what temperance appears to you to be?
[159a] —Perhaps so, said he.
[159a] —That we may therefore conjecture whether it is inherent in you or not, tell me, I said, what temperance is, according to your opinion? And at first, indeed, he was tardy, and was not altogether willing to answer; but afterwards he said, that temperance appeared to consist in doing all things in an orderly manner, in walking and discoursing quietly in the public ways, and acting similarly in every thing else. And, in short, said he, that which is the object of your inquiry appears to me to be a certain quietness⁵.
[159b] —I replied, You speak well; for they say, O Charmides, that quiet are temperate persons. But let us see if they say any thing to the purpose: for, tell me, is not temperance something beautiful?
[159c] —He replied, Entirely so.
[159c] —Whether, therefore, in the grammatic art, is it most beautiful to write similar letters swiftly or slowly?
[159c] —Swiftly.
[159c] —But what with respect to reading? Is it most beautiful to read swiftly or slowly?
[159c] —Swiftly.
[159c] — And is it also by far more beautiful to play on the harp rapidly, and to wrestle with celerity, than quietly and slowly? —Yes.
[159c] —And does not the like take place in pugilistic and pancratiatic contests? —Entirely so.
[159c] —And with respect to running and leaping, and all other works of the body, are they not beautiful when performed with vigour and rapidity; but when performed slowly, with difficulty, and quietly, are they not base?
[159d] —It appears so.
[159d] —It appears to us, therefore, I replied, that with respect to the body, not the quiet, but the most rapid, and the most vigorous, are the most beautiful. Is it not so?
[159d] —Entirely so.
[159d] —But did we not say that temperance is something beautiful?
[159d] —Yes.
[159d] —Not quietness, therefore, but celerity will be the more temperate with respect to the body; since temperance is beautiful.
[159d] —It seems so, said he.
[159d] —What then, I replied, is docility more beautiful than dulness?
[159e] —It is.
[159e] —But docility, I said, is to learn swiftly; and dulness to learn quietly and slowly.
[159e] —It is.
[159e] —And is it not more beautiful to teach another swiftly and vehemently, than quietly and slowly. —Yes.
[159e] — And which is the more beautiful to recollect and commit things to memory quietly and slowly, or vehemently and rapidly?
[159e] —He replied, Vehemently and rapidly.
[160a] —And with respect to sagacity, is it not a certain acute energy, and not a quietness of the soul?
[160a] —True.
[160a] —Does it not therefore follow, that it is most beautiful in the grammatic art, in the art of playing on the harp, and in every thing else, to understand what is said, in the most rapid, and not in the most quiet manner?
[160a] —Yes.
[160a] —And again, in the investigations and consultations of the soul, it does not appear to me that he who consults and discovers in the most quiet manner, and with difficulty, is worthy of praise, but he who does this easily and rapidly.
[160a] —To this also he assented.
[160b] — Hence, I replied, in all things, both pertaining to the soul and the body, such as are performed with celerity and vigour appear to be more beautiful than such as are performed slowly and quietly.
[160b] —It appears so, said he.
[160b] —Temperance, therefore, will not be quietness, nor will a temperate be a quiet life, from this reasoning: since that which is temperate ought to be beautiful: for one of two things must take place, viz. [160c] quiet actions in life must either never, or very rarely, appear to be more beautiful than such as are swift and strenuous. If then, my friend, it were even found that not fewer quiet actions are beautiful than such as are vehement and rapid, neither would it follow from hence that temperance consisted rather in acting quietly, than in vehement and rapid energy, either in walking or in reading, or any thing else; nor would a quiet and orderly life be more temperate than one which is not orderly, since it has been admitted in our discourse, that temperance is something beautiful. But things swift have appeared to be no less beautiful than such as are quiet.
[160d] —What you have said, Socrates, he replied, appears to me to be right.
[160d] —Again, therefore, said I, O Charmides, be still more attentive, and looking to yourself, consider what kind of a person temperance, when present, causes you to be, and what sort of a thing it is itself while it accomplishes this: reasoning, therefore, on all these particulars, inform me well, and in a virile manner, what appears to you to be the truth.
[160d] —But then Charmides, collecting and looking into himself, in a very manly manner said, Temperance seems to me to make a man blush and be ashamed; and I, therefore, conclude that temperance is shame.
[160e] —Be it so, I replied: but did we not just now acknowledge that temperance is something beautiful?
[160e] —Entirely so, said he.
[160e] —Are not therefore temperate, good men?
[160e] —Yes.
[160e] —Will therefore that be good, which does not render men good?
[160e] —It will not.
[160e] —Temperance, therefore, is not only beautiful but good.
[160e] —It appears so to me.
[161a] —What then, I replied, will you not believe that Homer⁶ speaks well, when he says,
[161a] “Shame ill accompanies a man in need?”
[161a] I do, he replied.
[161a] —Shame, therefore, as it seems, is both not good, and good.
[161a] —It appears so.
[161a] —But temperance is good; since it makes those good, to whom it is present, but by no means evil.
[161a] —The case appears to me to be as you say,—Temperance, therefore, will not be shame; since temperance is good, but shame is not in any respect more good than evil.
[161b] —It appears to me, Socrates, said he, that this is rightly asserted. But attend to what I shall adduce respecting temperance. For just now I recollected what I had heard a certain person assert, viz. that temperance is to manage our own affairs. Consider, therefore, whether what I say appears to you to be well said.
[161b] —I replied, O vile youth! you have heard this from Critias, or from some other of the wise.
[161c] —It seems, said Critias, he must have heard it from some other person, for he did not hear it from me.
[161c] —But of what consequence is it, Socrates, Charmides replied, from whom I heard it?
[161c] —None at all, said I. For we are not to consider who said it, but whether he has spoken the truth or not.
[161c] —Now you speak as you ought, he replied.
[161c] —By Jupiter, I do, said I. But if we discover how this thing subsists, I shall wonder: for it is similar to a certain enigma.
[161c] —On what account, said he.
[161d] —Because, I replied, his meaning is not such as the words seem to imply, when he says that temperance is to manage our own affairs. Or do you think that a grammarian does nothing when he writes or reads?
[161d] —I think he does something, said he.
[161d] —Does a grammarian, therefore, appear to you to write and read his own name only, or to instruct you boys? And do you in consequence of his instructions no less write the names of your enemies than the names of your friends?
[161d] —No less, said he.
[161d] —When, therefore, you do this, are you too busily employed, and intemperate?
[161d] —By no means.
[161d] —And besides this, you do not perform things pertaining to yourself, if to write, and also to read, is to do something. But it certainly is. And besides, my friend, to be healed, to build, to weave, and to accomplish the work of any art, is certainly to do something. Is it not?
[161e] —Entirely so.
[161e] —What then, I replied, does that city appear to you to be well instituted in which there is a law commanding every one to weave and wash his own garment, to make his own shoes, oil-cruise, curry-comb, and every other necessary article, but not to touch things belonging to others, but to attend to his own affairs?
[161e] —He replied, It does not appear to me that such a city is well instituted.
[162a] —But, said I, if a city is temperately, it is well instituted. —Undoubtedly, he replied.
[162a] —For a man, therefore, to do such things as these, and to manage his own affairs, will not be temperance.
[162a] —It does not appear that it will.
[162a] —He, therefore, who said, that for a man to do things pertaining to himself is temperance, spoke, as I just now observed, obscurely: for he was not so stupid, as to mean that his words should be taken in the literal sense. Or did you hear some stupid person assert this, O Charmides?
[162b] —By no means, said he; since to me he appeared to be very wise.
[162b] —More than any thing, therefore, as it seems to me, he proposed this enigma, because it is difficult to know what it is for a man to transact his own affairs.
[162b] —Perhaps so, said he.
[162b] —Can you therefore tell me what it is to transact one’s own affairs?
[162b] —He replied, by Jupiter, I do not know. But perhaps nothing hinders, but that he who said this did not know the meaning of the assertion. And at the same time that he thus spoke, he laughed, and looked at Critias. But it was evident that Critias, who had formerly contended with, and was stimulated by ambition against [162c] Charmides, and those that were present, and who could then scarcely contain himself, was now no longer able to do so. And it appeared to me that my former suspicion was more than any thing true, that Charmides had heard this definition of temperance from Critias. Charmides, therefore, not being willing to support the definition himself, but being desirous that this province should fall to the lot of Critias, shewed as if he thought him confuted. This Critias could not endure, but appeared to me to be as much enraged with Charmides, as a poet with a player who acts his poems badly. So that, looking at him, he said, Do you therefore think, O Charmides, that if you do not understand his meaning who said, that temperance is for a man to transact his own affairs, neither does he know what he asserted?
[162d] —But, I replied, O Critias, best of men, it is nothing wonderful that Charmides, who is but a youth, should not understand this assertion; but it is fit that you should understand it, both on account of your age and employment. If therefore you affirm that this is a true definition of temperance, I shall very gladly consider with you, whether it is so or not.
[162e] —But I entirely assent to it, said he.
[162e] —You do well then, I replied. But inform me whether you admit what I just now asked: I mean, if all artists do something?
[162e] —I do.
[162e] —Do they therefore appear to you to do things belonging to themselves only, or things also belonging to others?
[162e] —Things also belonging to others.
[163a] —Do they act temperately, therefore, who only do things belonging to themselves?
[163a] —What should hinder? said he.
[163a] —Nothing, so far as respects myself, I replied; but see whether there may not be a hindrance with respect to him who, defining temperance to be the transacting one’s own affairs, afterwards says that nothing hinders but that those who transact the affairs of others may also be temperate.
[163a] —I indeed, he replied, have confessed that those that trans- act the affairs of others may be temperate. But have I also acknowledged that this is the case with respect to those that make things pertaining to others?
[163a] —But inform me, said I, do you not affirm that to make a thing is the same as to do it?
[163b] —I do not indeed, said he. Nor do I say that to operate is the same as to make. For I have learned to make this distinction from Hesiod⁷, who says, “No work is a disgrace.” Do you therefore think that if he had called by the names of to operate and to do, such works as you now speak of, he would have said that no work is a disgrace, whether it is that of the shoemaker, or of a salter of fish, or of one who sits in a shop?
[163b] —It is not proper to think he would, Socrates: [163c] but I think that he considered making as something different from action and operation; and that a thing made sometimes becomes a disgrace, when it is not produced in conjunction with the beautiful; but that no work is ever a disgrace. For things which are made beautifully and with utility he calls works, and denominates operations and actions certain makings of this kind. It is likewise proper to assert that he considered such things as these, as alone domestic and allied, but every thing noxious as foreign. Hence, it is requisite to think that Hesiod, and every other prudent person, calls him who transacts his own affairs temperate.
[163d] —O Critias, I replied, as soon as you began to speak, I almost immediately perceived, that you called things allied to a man, and which are his own good, and that you denominated the making of things good, actions. For I have ten thousand times heard Prodicus dividing names: and I will allow you to use every name as you please, if you only evince what you mean to signify by any particular name. Now therefore again, from the beginning, define more clearly, whether you say that temperance is the doing, or the making, (or in whatever manner you may wish to denominate it,) of good things.
[163e] —I do, said he.
[163e] —He therefore is not temperate who acts badly, but he who acts well.
[163e] —He replied, Does it not, O best of men, appear so to you?
[163e] —Dismiss this question, I said: for we do not consider what appears to me to be the case, but what you now say.
[163e] —But indeed, said he, I do not assert that he is temperate, who does not do good but evil. For I clearly define to you, that temperance is the practice of things good. And perhaps nothing hinders but that you speak the truth. But nevertheless I should wonder if you thought that men who conduct themselves temperately were ignorant that they are temperate.
[164a] — But I do not think so, said he.
[164a] —To this I replied, Did you not say a little before, that nothing hindered but that artists who made things pertaining to others might be temperate?
[164a] —It was asserted by me, said he. But what then?
[164b] —Nothing. But inform me whether he appears to you to be a physician, who, in making any one well, does that which is advantageous both to himself, and to him whom he cures?
[164b] —To me he does.
[164b] —Does not he, therefore, who acts in this manner, act well?
[164b] —Yes.
[164b] —And is not he temperate who acts well?
[164b] —He is temperate.
[164b] —Is it not therefore necessary that a physician should know when he cures with advantage, and when not? And likewise that every artist should know when he will be benefited by the work which he does, and when not?
[164b] —Perhaps not, said he.
[164b] —Sometimes, therefore, I replied, when a physician acts profitably, or noxiously, he will not know that he acts in this manner; though, according to your doctrine, when he acts profitably, he acts temperately. Or do you not say so?
[164c] —I do —Does it not therefore seem, I replied, that sometimes, when he acts profitably, he acts temperately, and is temperate, but is himself ignorant that he is temperate? But this, said he, Socrates, can never take place. If you think that this necessarily follows from what I have admitted above, I will readily grant it you. [164d] For I shall not be ashamed to confess, that something has been improperly asserted, rather than admit that the man who is ignorant of himself is temperate. For I nearly say, that to know ourselves, is temperance; and I agree with him who inscribed this precept in the temple of Apollo at Delphi. For this precept appears to me to have been inscribed as a salutation of Divinity, to be used by those that enter the temple, instead of hail! [164e] So that this inscription does not directly signify joy, or imply that we should exhort each other to rejoice, but rather, to be temperate. For thus the God speaks to those that enter the temple; and addresses us otherwise than men are wont to do, as he also conceived, in my opinion, who placed this inscription. It likewise says nothing else to those that enter, than that they should live temperately. But as speaking prophetically, it says this in a more enigmatic manner. For “Know thyself,” is the same as “Be temperate,” as both the writings and I assert. [165a] But perhaps some one may think it has a different meaning, which appears to me to have been the case with those who placed those posterior inscriptions, “Nothing too much⁸”, and “A surety is near to sorrow⁹.” For they thought that “Know thyself,” was advice, and not an address of the Divinity to those that enter the temple. Afterwards, that they might suspend advice in no respect inferior to this, they placed these inscriptions. Hence, Socrates, that for the sake of which I assert all these things is this, that I may grant you all that has been said above. For perhaps you may have said something more right respecting them, and perhaps this may be the case with myself; but we have not advanced any thing clear. However, I now wish to give you the reason of this, if you do not grant that temperance is to know one’s self. But, I replied, O Critias, you act by me as if I acknowledged that I knew that which is the subject of your inquiry. But this is not the case. For I always inquire in conjunction with you, respecting that which is proposed to be considered, in consequence of being myself ignorant. I am considering, therefore, whether I shall assent or not. But stop till I have considered.
[165b] —Consider then, he replied.
[165c] —I answered, I do. For if to know a certain thing is temperance, it is evident that temperance will be a certain science, and a science of something. Or will it not?
[165c] —It is, he replied, and of itself.
[165c] —Is not therefore, I said, medicine the science of that which is healthy?
[165c] —Entirely so.
[165c] —If then, I said, you should ask, since medicine is the science of that which is healthy, of what advantage it is to us, and what it accomplishes, I should reply that it is of no small advantage, because it procures us health, the effecting of which is beautiful, if you admit this.
[165d] —I do admit it.
[165d] —If therefore you should again ask me, what architecture effects, which is the science of building, I should say, houses; [165e] and I should reply in a similar manner with respect to other arts: it is requisite therefore, Critias, since you say that temperance is the science of itself, that you should be able to answer him who asks you, what beautiful work temperance effects, and which deserves to be named. Tell me therefore what it is?
[166a] —But Socrates, said he, you do not interrogate rightly. For temperance is not naturally similar to other sciences, nor are other sciences similar to other. But you make your inquiry as if they were similar. For tell me, said he, what work is there in the logistic¹⁰, or geometric art, which is of the like nature with a house, the work of the architectural art, or with that of a garment, which is the work of the weaving art; and so in many other such particulars belonging to the several arts. Can you in these exhibit to me any such work? But you cannot.
[166a] —I replied, You speak the truth. But this I can show you, of what each of these sciences is the science, and which is something different from that science. Thus, for instance, the logistic science is the science of even and odd multitude, how they subsist with respect to themselves and to each other. Is it not?
[166a] —Entirely so, he replied.
[166a] —Are not, therefore, the even and the odd different from the logistic science?
[166a] —Undoubtedly.
[166a] — Staticks also is the science of the weight of a heavier and lighter body. And the heavy and the light are different from staticks itself. Do you admit this?
[166b] —I do.
[166b] —Tell me then, what that is of which temperance is the science, and which is different from temperance itself?
[166b] —This very thing, Socrates, said he, which you are now seeking, is that by which temperance differs from all other sciences: but you inquire after a certain similitude of it to other sciences. This however is not the case: for all other sciences are sciences of something different from themselves; but this alone is both the science of other sciences and of itself. And of these things you ought by no means to be ignorant. But I think that you do the very thing which you just now denied that you did: for you attempt to confute me, and dismiss that which is the subject of our discourse.
[166c] —What are you doing, I replied? Do you think that if I should endeavour to confute you, I should do it on any other account, than that I might discover the meaning of what I assert, as I am fearful, lest whilst I think myself knowing, when at the same time I am not, I should be unconscious of my ignorance? And now I say that I do this, viz. consider the discourse, principally indeed for my own sake, but, perhaps also for the sake of my other friends. Or do you not think it is a common good, for the condition of every thing to become apparent nearly to all men?
[166d] —Very much so, he replied, Socrates.
[166d] —Boldly therefore, said I, O blessed man, give your opinion in answer to the question, dismissing the consideration whether it is Critias or Socrates who is confuted; but attend to the discourse itself, considering what will be the consequence when either of us is confuted.
[166e] —I shall do so, he replied: for you appear to me to speak well.
[166e] —Inform me therefore, said I, what you say respecting temperance.
[166e] —I say then, he replied, that this alone, of all other sciences, is both the science of itself and of other sciences. Will it therefore, said I, be the science of ignorance¹¹, since it is of science?
[166e] —Entirely so.
[167a] —The temperate man therefore alone will know himself, and will be able to explore what it is he knows, and what it is he does not know. In a similar manner likewise he will be able to consider respecting others, what it is which any one knows, and thinks he knows; and what it is which he himself thinks he knows, but does not know. But no other person will be able to accomplish this. Likewise this is to be temperate, and is temperance, and the knowledge of ourselves, to know what we know, and what we do not know. Are these the things which you assert?
[167a] —They are, he replied.
[167a] —Again therefore, said I, the third¹² to the Saviour, let us consider as it were from the beginning. In the first place, whether this is possible or not, that with respect to what a man knows, and does not know, he may know that he knows and does not know. And, in the next place, if this is possible, what will be the utility of it to us who know it.
[167b] —It is requisite, said he, to consider this.
[167b] —Come then, said I, Critias, consider whether you have any clear conceptions respecting these things. For I am dubious, and I will tell you in what.
[167b] —By all means, said he.
[167b] —The following consequence then, I replied, will ensue (if that is true which you just now asserted), that there is one science which is not the science of any thing else than of itself and other sciences, and of ignorance. Will not this be the case?
[167c] —Entirely so.
[167c] —See then, my friend, how absurdly we have endeavoured to speak. For if you consider this same thing in other things, it will, I think, appear to you to be impossible.
[167c] — How and where?
[167c] —In the following particulars. For consider, whether it appears to you that there is a certain sight, which is not the vision of those things which are the objects of other visions, but is the vision of itself and other visions, and is likewise the vision of that which is not vision: and again, in a similar manner, which does not see any colour, though it is sight, but sees itself and other visions. Does it appear to you that there is such a sight as this?
[167c] —By Jupiter, it does not.
[167d] —What then? Can there be an auditory sense, which does not hear any sound, but hears itself, and other hearings, together with a privation of hearing?
[167d] —Nor yet this.
[167d] —In short, therefore, consider with respect to all the senses, whether it appears to you that there is any sense, which perceives other senses and itself, but perceives none of those things which are the objects of the other senses.
[167d] —This does not appear to me to be the case.
[167d] —But does it appear to you that there is any desire, which is the desire of no pleasure, but is the desire of itself and of other desires?
[167e] —It does not.
[167e] —Nor, as I think, is there any will which wills no good, but alone wills itself and other wills.
[167e] —There is not.
[167e] —But will you say that there is a love of such a kind, as to be the love of nothing beautiful, but which is the love of itself and other loves?
[167e] —Not I, said he.
[167e] —Do you conceive then, that there is any fear which fears itself and other fears, but fears nothing dreadful?
[168a] —I do not, said he.
[168a] —But is there any opinion which opines opinions and itself, but which forms no opinion respecting those things which are the subjects of other opinions?
[168a] —By no means.
[168a] —But we say, as it seems, that there is a science of such a kind, as to be the science of no discipline, but which is the science of itself and of other sciences.
[168a] —We do say so.
[168a] —Must it not therefore be wonderful if there is such a science? For we do not as yet strenuously contend that there is not, but consider if there is.
[168a] —Right.
[168a] —Come then, is this science the science of something? And does it possess a certain power, by which it is enabled to be the science of something?
[168b] —Entirely so.
[168b] —And must we not also say that the greater possesses a certain power, by which it is greater than something?
[168b] —We must.
[168b] —Must it not therefore be greater than something lesser, if it is greater?
[168b] —It is necessary.
[168b] —If therefore we should find something greater, which is greater than things greater, and than itself, but which is not greater than any of those things than which other things are greater, would it not follow that a thing of this kind, since it is greater than itself, is also less than itself?
[168c] —This is perfectly necessary, Socrates, said he.
[168c] —If therefore there is any thing which is double of other doubles, and of itself, it will be double of other doubles, and of itself, in consequence of being half. For nothing can be double of any thing else than of half.
[168c] —True.
[168c] —But being more than itself, will it not also be less than itself? And will not a thing which is heavier than, be also lighter than, itself? And that which is older than, be also younger than, itself? And in every thing else, in a similiar manner, will it not follow, that whatever has a power of its own with respect to itself, will also possess that essence to which this power is related? But my meaning is this: Do we not say, that hearing is nothing else than a hearing of sound?
[168d] —We do?
[168d] —If therefore it could hear itself, would it not hear in consequence of itself possessing a voice? For otherwise it would not hear.
[168d] —It is perfectly necessary this should be the case.
[168d] —Sight likewise, O best of men, if it could itself see itself, must necessarily possess a certain colour. For without colour, sight would never be able to perceive any thing.
[168e] —It would not.
[168e] —You see therefore, O Critias, that the particulars which we have discussed, appear to us to be partly altogether impossible, and partly dubious in the extreme, whether they possess a power of their own with respect to themselves. For it is perfectly impossible that this can be the case with magnitude, multitude, and other things of this kind. Or is it not?
[168e] —Entirely so.
[168e] —Again, that hearing hears itself, and sight sees itself, and that motion moves itself, and heat burns itself, and [169a] all other such like assertions, may be not credited by some, but may perhaps be believed by others. But there is occasion, my friend, for some great man, who may be able to show sufficiently, by a division through all things, whether nothing except science naturally possesses a power of its own with respect to itself, and not a power only over something else; or whether this is the case with some things, and not with others: and again, if there are certain things which possess a power with respect to themselves, whether the science which we say is temperance, ranks in the number of these. For I do not believe myself sufficient for the discussion of these particulars: [169b] on which account I am not able strenuously to affirm, whether it is possible there can be a science of science. Nor if there is, could I admit that temperance is this science, till I had considered whether, being such, it would be of any advantage to us, or not. For I prophesy that temperance is something advantageous and good. Do you therefore, O son of Callæschrus, (since you assert that temperance is this science of science, and likewise of ignorance,) in the first place evince this, that it is possible for you to prove that which I have just now mentioned; and in the next place, in addition to its being possible, show that it is profitable; and thus perhaps you will satisfy me that what you have said respecting temperance is right.
[169c] —But, Critias, when he had heard these things, and saw that I was dubious, in the same manner as those that look directly at others who are gaping, gape themselves, so he appeared to me to be involved in doubt, in consequence of my doubting. However, being very much celebrated, he was ashamed of those that were present; and was neither willing to grant me that he was incapable of deciding the question which I proposed to him, nor yet did he assert any thing perspicuous, but concealed his perplexity. But I, that the discourse might proceed, said, If it is agreeable to you, Critias, we will now grant this, that it is possible there may be a science of science. But again, let us consider whether it is so or not. If therefore this is in the highest degree possible, why is it more possible to know what any one knows, and what he does not know? For we say that this is for a man to know himself, and to be temperate. Or do we not?
[169d] —Entirely so, he replied, and this happens in a certain respect to be the case, Socrates. For if any one possesses that science which knows itself, he will be such as that is which he possesses. Just as when any one possesses swiftness, he is swift; when he possesses beauty, is beautiful; and when knowledge, is knowing. But when any one possesses a knowledge of himself, he will then become himself knowing himself.
[169e] —To this I replied, I was not dubious, that when any one possesses the knowledge of himself, he then knows himself; but I was doubtful, what necessity compels the man who possesses this knowledge to know what he knows, and what he does not know.
[170a] —Because, Socrates, this is the same with that.
[170a] —Perhaps so, I replied; but I seem to be always similarly affected. For again, I do not understand how it is the same thing for a man to know what he knows, and to know what he does not know.
[170a] —How do you mean? said he.
[170a] —Thus, I replied. Since there is a science of science, will this science be able to divide any further than this, that of these things this is science, and that is ignorance?
[170a] —It will not; but thus far alone.
[170a] —Is the science therefore, and ignorance of that which is healthful, the same with the science and ignorance of the just?
[170b] —By no means.
[170b] —But I think that the one is a medicinal, and the other a political science; and that the science of science is nothing else than science.
[170b] —Undoubtedly.
[170b] —He therefore who has not a scientific knowledge of the healthy and the just, but alone knows science, as alone possessing science of this, such a one will know that he knows, and that he possesses a certain science, both with respect to himself and other things. Or will he not?
[170b] —Yes.
[170b] —But how will he know that he knows through this science? For he knows the healthful through the medicinal science, and not through temperance; the harmonic through the musical science, and not through temperance; and that which pertains to building through the architectural science, and not through temperance; and so in every thing else. Is it not so?
[170c] —So it appears.
[170c] —But how can temperance, if it is the science of sciences, know that it knows the salubrious, or that which pertains to building?
[170c] —It cannot by any means.
[170c] —Being therefore ignorant of this, it will not know that which it knows, but will alone know that it knows.
[170d] —So it seems.
[170d] —To know therefore that which we know, and that of which we are ignorant, will not be to be temperate, nor yet will be temperance, but as it seems this will consist alone in knowing that we know, and that we do not know.
[170d] —It appears so.
[170d] —Hence, he who possesses this science of sciences, will not be able to examine another, who professes to have a scientific knowledge, whether he knows scientifically or not that which he says he knows; but as it seems he will alone know this, that he possesses a certain science, but temperance will not enable him to know the object of this science.
[170d] —It does not appear that it will.
[170e] —Neither therefore will he be able to distinguish one who pretends to be a physician, but is not, from one who is a true physician, nor any other who is from one who is not endued with scientific knowledge. But let us thus consider; if a temperate man, or any other person, intends to discover a true and a false physician, will he not act as follows? He will not discourse with him respecting the medicinal science: for, as we have said, a physician attends to nothing else than the healthy and the diseased, the salubrious and the noxious. Is it not so?
[170e] —It is.
[170e] —But he knows nothing respecting science; for this we have attributed to temperance alone.
[170e] —We have.
[170e] —The physician therefore will not know any thing about medicine, since medicine is a science.
[171a] —True.
[171a] —And the temperate man will know that he possesses a certain science; but it is necessary that of this science the physician should make trial; and to know what this science is must be the province of some other person. Or is not every science defined by this, not only that it is a science, but by ascertaining what science it is, and what are its objects?
[171a] —Yes.
[171a] —The medicinal science, therefore, is defined to be different from other sciences in this, that it is the science of the salubrious and the noxious.
[171a] —It is.
[171a] —Is it not therefore necessary, that he who wishes to consider the medicinal science, should consider the subjects with which it is conversant? For it is not proper to contemplate it in things external, with which it is not conversant.
[171b] —Certainly not.
[171b] —He therefore who contemplates rightly, will contemplate a physician, so far as he is a physician, in things salubrious and noxious.
[171b] —So it seems.
[171b] —In words and actions therefore, will not such a one consider whether what is asserted is true, and whether what is done is done rightly?
[171b] —It is necessary.
[171b] —But can any one accomplish this without the medicinal science?
[171b] —Certainly not.
[171b] —Nor yet can any other, as it seems, except the physician; nor can this be accomplished by the temperate man. For, besides being temperate, he would be a physician.
[171c] —True.
[171c] —More than any thing therefore will it follow, if temperance is alone the science of science, and the science of ignorance, that neither can he who knows the medical art, nor he who does not, be able to distinguish the real or pretended physician, or one who thinks he is a physician, nor can any other person who is knowing in any thing whatever, be able to accomplish this, except him who professes the same art, as is the case with other artists.
[171c] —It appears so, said he.
[171c] —What further utility then, Critias, shall we derive from temperance, if it is such as we have asserted it to be? [171d] For if, as we supposed in the beginning, the temperate man knows that which he knows, and that of which he is ignorant, knowing with respect to the former that he knows, and with respect to the latter that he does not know, and is able to contemplate another person who is affected in the very same manner,—if this be the case, we must say that we derive a great advantage from being temperate. [171e] For both we who possess temperance, and all such as are governed by us, shall pass through life without guilt; since we shall neither ourselves endeavour to do any thing which we do not know, but finding out skilful persons, commit it to their care, nor shall we allow those that are in subjection to us to do any thing else than what they will do well, but this will be that of which they possess a scientific knowledge. And thus through temperance we shall govern our families in a proper manner, well administer the affairs of cities, and every thing else which is under the dominion of temperance. For erroneous conduct being taken away, and rectitude being the leader in every action, it is necessary that men with these qualifications should act beautifully and well; and that those that act well should be happy. Should we not, O Critias, speak in this manner respecting temperance; asserting, how great a good it is to know what any one knows, and what he does not know?
[172a] —Entirely so, he replied.
[172a] —But now, said I, you see that no such science has appeared to us any where.
[172a] —I do see it, he replied.
[172a] —Has not therefore, said I, temperance, which we have now found to be that which knows both [172b] science and the privation of science, this good, that he who possesses it will easily learn whatever else he may attempt to learn, and all things will appear to him in a clearer point of view? Will not this likewise follow from his looking to science in whatever he learns? And will he not examine others better, respecting things which he has learned? And must not those who examine others without this, do it in a more imbecile and unbecoming manner? Are these the privileges, my friend, which we enjoy through the possession of temperance? But at the same time, do we look to something greater, and require temperance to be greater than it really is?
[172c] —Perhaps, said he, this is the case.
[172c] —Perhaps so, I replied. And perhaps too we have investigated nothing profitable. But I conjecture this from hence, that certain absurd consequences appear to me to ensue respecting temperance, if it is such as we have defined it to be. For let us see, if you please admitting that it is possible to have a scientific knowledge of science; and let us not deprive temperance of the power of knowing what it knows, and what it does not know, which we ascribed to it at first, but let us confer upon it this power. And, admitting all these particulars, let us still more diligently consider, if being such it will benefit us at present. For what we just now said, I mean that temperance would be a great good, if it were of such a nature as to govern families and cities, does not appear to me, O Critias, to have been properly granted.
[172d] —How so, he replied.
[172d] —Because, said I, we easily admitted, that it would be a great good to mankind, if each of us performed those things which we knew, and committed to others endued with knowledge the management of things of which we are ignorant.
[172d] —Did we not then, said he, do right in assenting to these things?
[172e] —It appears to me, I replied, that we did not.
[172e] —You really speak absurdly, said he, Socrates.
[172e] —By the dog, said I, thus it appears to me. And just now looking at these things, I said, that they seemed to me to be absurd, and that I was afraid we had not rightly considered them. For in reality, if temperance is such as we have described it, it does not appear evident to me, what good it will produce for us.
[173a] —Inform me, said he, how this is, that we also may know what you say.
[173a] —I think, I replied, that I am trifling; but at the same time, it is necessary to consider that which presents itself to our view, and not rashly omit it, if any one pays to it the smallest degree of attention.
[173a] —You speak well, said he.
[173a] —Hear then, I replied, my dream, whether it has passed through the gate of horn¹³, or through that of ivory. For if temperance should govern us, being such as we have now defined it to be, it would indeed act scientifically; [173b] nor would he who asserts himself to be a pilot, when he is not, deceive us; nor would a physician, nor a general of an army, nor any other who pretends to know that which he does not know, elude our penetration. But from these things thus subsisting, something else would happen to us; for our bodies would be more healthful than they are at present, and we should be preserved in the perils of the sea and war. [173c] We should likewise possess all our vessels and instruments, together with our garments, shoes, and all the conveniences and necessaries of life, more artificially constructed than at present, because we should employ true artists. If also you are willing we should grant that prophecy is the science of that which is future, and that temperance presiding over it, avoids arrogant diviners, but chooses true prophets for the prediction of future events, I should affirm that the human race, furnished with this, would act and live scientifically. For temperance being our guard, it will not suffer ignorance interfering to cooperate with us. But that we shall act well and be happy, in consequence of acting scientifically, this, friend Critias, I am not yet able to understand.
[173d] —But indeed, he replied, you will not easily find any other end of acting well, if you despise acting scientifically.
[173d] —Instruct me therefore more particularly, I said, what kind of scientific action you mean. Is it that of cutting leather?
[173e] —It is not, by Jupiter.
[173e] —Is it that of a brazier?
[173e] —By no means.
[173e] —Is it that of a wool-worker, or a turner, or any such like artists?
[173e] —It is not.
[173e] —We must therefore, I replied, no longer persist in the assertion, that he is happy who lives scientifically. For these artists, though they live scientifically, are not acknowledged by you to be happy; but it appears to me that the happy man should be ranked among certain persons that live scientifically. And perhaps you will assert the happy man to be him whom I just now mentioned, I mean the diviner, who knows all future events. Do you speak of this, or of any other character?
[174a] —Of this, said he, and another.
[174a] —What other? I replied. Do you speak of the man who, besides knowing future events, knows every thing past and present, and is not ignorant of any thing? For let us admit that there is such a man: for I think you will not say that any one lives more scientifically than this man.
[174a] —Certainly not.
[174a] —But this also should be added, Which of the sciences makes him happy? Or do all the sciences similarly produce this effect?
[174a] —By no means, said he.
[174a] —But which most eminently accomplishes this? Is it that by which a man knows things past, present, and to come? And will it therefore be the science of chess?
[174b] —But why of chess? he replied.
[174b] —Will it then be the logistic science?
[174b] —By no means.
[174b] —Shall we say it is the science by which health is procured.
[174b] —Rather so, said he.
[174b] —But is it, I replied, especially that science by which we know some particular thing?
[174b] —It is that, said he, by which we know good and evil.
[174b] —O vile man, I replied, some time since you drew me round in a circle, concealing from me that to act well, and be happy, did not consist in living scientifically, and were not produced by the possession of all the other sciences, but are effected by one science alone, which enables us to know good and evil. And if, O Critias, you were willing to take away this science from the other sciences, would the medicinal science no less produce health, that of the leather-worker shoes, that of the weaver garments? And would the pilot’s art no less prevent us from perishing in the sea, and the military science from being killed in battle?
[174c] —No less, said he.
[174c] —But, friend Critias, this science, by which we know good and evil, being taken away, each of these other sciences will no longer operate beneficially.
[174d] —True.
[174d] —But this science, as it seems, is not temperance, but that, the employment of which is to benefit us: for it is not the science of sciences, and their privations, but it is the science of good and evil. So that if temperance is beneficial, it will be useful to us in some other respect.
[174d] —But, he replied, is not temperance then beneficial? For if temperance is the science of sciences, and presides over other sciences, it will also benefit us by ruling over this science which is conversant with the good. —But will temperance, I replied, give us health, and not the medicinal science? And will this effect all that the other arts effect, so that each of these will no longer accomplish its proper work? Or did we not some time since testify that temperance is the science of science, and ignorance alone, but of nothing else? Is it not so?
[174e] —So it appears.
[174e] —It is not therefore the artificer of health.
[174e] —Clearly not.
[175a] —For health is the production of another art. Is it not?
[175a] —It is.
[175a] —Hence, my friend, temperance is not the artificer of utility: for we attributed this effect to another art. Did we not?
[175a] —Entirely so.
[175a] —How therefore will temperance be beneficial, since it is the artificer of no utility.
[175a] —By no means, Socrates, as it seems.
[175a] —Do you not see, therefore, Critias, that I was very properly afraid some time since, and that I justly accused myself, because I beheld nothing useful respecting temperance? For that which is acknowledged to be the most beautiful of all things, would not have appeared to us to be useless, if I were myself in any respect useful for the purpose of proper investigation. [175b] But now we are every way vanquished, and by no means able to discover with what design the legislator instituted this name temperance; although we have granted many things which by no means followed from our discourse. For we admitted, that there is a science of science, though our discourse neither suffers nor affirms this. [175c] We likewise granted that the works of other sciences were known by this science, though neither did our discourse suffer this, in order that we might define a temperate man to be one who knows that he knows the things which he knows, and who likewise knows that he does not know the things of which he is ignorant. This indeed we granted in a manner perfectly magnificent, not considering that it is impossible, after a manner, for a man to know that which he in no respect knows. For we agreed that he who is ignorant of any thing may know¹⁴ that he is ignorant of that [175d] thing, though in my opinion there is nothing which appears more irrational than this assertion. But at the same time, so silly were we, though not obstinate in the pursuit of this inquiry, that we were not rendered in any respect more able to discover the truth. Indeed, so ridiculous was our investigation, that what we had formerly acknowledged, and mutually devised to be temperance, this in a very insolent manner has appeared to us to be useless. On my own account, therefore, I am less indignant; [175e] but for your sake I replied, O Charmides, I am very indignant, if you who are so beautiful in your body, and most temperate with respect to your soul, derive no advantage from this temperance, and are not in any respect benefited in life by its presence. But I am still more indignant for the sake of the incantation, which I learned from a Thracian, if being a thing of no worth, I have bestowed so much labour in learning it to no purpose. I do not, therefore, by any means think that this is the case, but I am of opinion that I am a bad investigator. For I consider temperance as a certain mighty good; and I am persuaded, that if you possess it, you are blessed. [176a] But see if you do possess it, and do not in any respect require the incantation. For if you possess it, I shall rather advise you to consider me as a trifler, and one who is incapable of investigating by discourse; but I shall advise you to consider yourself happy in proportion to the degree of temperance which you possess. And, O Charmides— But, by Jupiter, Socrates, said he, I do not know whether I possess it, or not. For how can I know that, the nature of which you, as you say, are unable to discover? I, indeed, am not very much persuaded by you, and I consider myself, Socrates, to be greatly in want of the incantation. I likewise am of opinion, so far as pertains to myself, that nothing hinders me from being daily enchanted by you, as long as you shall think it necessary.
[176b] —Be it so, said Critias: but, O Charmides, if you act in this manner, it will be to me as an argument that you are temperate, because you will present yourself to Socrates to be enchanted, and will not desert him for any occasion, whether great or small.
[176c] —I shall follow, said he, and not desert him. For I should act in a dire manner, if I were not persuaded by you who are my tutor, and did not do what you order.
[176c] —But, said Critias, I do order you.
[176c] —I shall, therefore, act in this manner, Charmides replied, beginning from this very day.
[176c] —But what are these, I replied, deliberating about?
[176c] —Nothing, said Charmides: but we have determined to act in this manner.
[176c] —You have employed violence, therefore, said I, and do not permit me to interrogate.
[176c] —Consider me as having used force, said he, since Critias commands me to adopt this mode of conduct. Besides this, do you also consult what you are to do.
[176d] —But, I replied, there is no place left for consultation: for no man is able to oppose you, when you are endeavouring and compelling to do any thing.
[176d] —Do not you, therefore, resist, said he.
[176d] —I shall not indeed, said I, oppose you.

## Notes

[1] The expression a white rule, says the Greek Scholiast on Plato, is applied to those who signify things immanifest, by such as are immanifest, and in so doing indicate nothing. For a white rule can indicate nothing in white stones (with respect to whiteness), as a rule can which is of a red colour.
[2] Viz. Not only the head, but the whole body must be cured, when the eyes are diseased from an internal cause.
[3] A slave and disciple of Pythagoras.
[4] A Scythian in the time of the Trojan war, who is fabled to have received a flying arrow from Apollo, with which he gave oracles, and transported himself wherever he pleased.
[5] Ἡσυχια, quietness, signifies, in this place, a leisurely mode of acting in every thing.
[6] Odyss. lib. 17.
[7] In his Works and Days.
[8] The saying of Solon.
[9] The saying of Pittacus.
[10] Logistic is the contemplation of things numbered, but is not conversant with pure numbers. Hence it considers any one sensible particular as the monad, and that which is numbered as number; as for instance three things as the triad, and ten things as the decad. It is nothing else than vulgar practical arithmetic.
[11] Socrates asks this, because there is one and the same science of contraries. Thus the medicinal science, which knows health, knows also disease.
[12] See this explained in the Notes on the Philebus.
[13] Socrates here alludes to Homer’s well-known description of the two gates of dreams, of which the following explanation is given by Porphyry, as preserved by Macrobins in Somn. Scip. cap. 3. “All truth, says he, is latent; but this the soul sometimes beholds, when she is a little liberated by sleep from the employments of the body. And sometimes she extends her sight, but never perfectly reaches the object of her vision. Hence when she beholds, she does not see it with a free and direct light, but through an intervening veil, which the folds of darkening nature draw over her eye. This veil, when in sleep it admits the sight to extend as far as to truth, is said to be of horn, whose nature is such, from its tenuity, that it is pervious to the sight. But when it dulls the sight and repels it from the vision of truth, it is said to be of ivory, which is a body so naturally dense, that, however thin it may be scraped, it cannot be penetrated by the visual rays.”
[14] He who is passing from twofold ignorance, or the being ignorant that he is ignorant, to knowledge, subsists in a middle condition between ignorance and knowledge. Accurately speaking, therefore, he does not know that he is ignorant, but may be said to have a confused consciousness, or a dreaming perception, that he is so. This is the key to the profound meaning of Socrates when he said that he knew that he knew nothing, which I have explained in a note on the Apoplogy, and elsewhere.