agility are good; slowness, and inactivity, and quietness, are bad?
That is evident.
Then, I said, in all bodily actions, not quietness, but the greatest
agility and quickness, is noblest and best?
Yes, certainly.
And is temperance a good?
Yes.
Then, in reference to the body, not quietness, but quickness will be the
higher degree of temperance, if temperance is a good?
True, he said.
And which, I said, is better--facility in learning, or difficulty in
learning?
Facility.
Yes, I said; and facility in learning is learning quickly, and difficulty
in learning is learning quietly and slowly?
True.
And is it not better to teach another quickly and energetically, rather
than quietly and slowly?
Yes.
And which is better, to call to mind, and to remember, quickly and readily,
or quietly and slowly?
The former.
And is not shrewdness a quickness or cleverness of the soul, and not a
quietness?
True.
And is it not best to understand what is said, whether at the writing-
master's or the music-master's, or anywhere else, not as quietly as
possible, but as quickly as possible?
Yes.
And in the searchings or deliberations of the soul, not the quietest, as I
imagine, and he who with difficulty deliberates and discovers, is thought
worthy of praise, but he who does so most easily and quickly?
Quite true, he said.
And in all that concerns either body or soul, swiftness and activity are
clearly better than slowness and quietness?
Clearly they are.
Then temperance is not quietness, nor is the temperate life quiet,--
certainly not upon this view; for the life which is temperate is supposed
to be the good. And of two things, one is true,--either never, or very
seldom, do the quiet actions in life appear to be better than the quick and
energetic ones; or supposing that of the nobler actions, there are as many
quiet, as quick and vehement: still, even if we grant this, temperance
will not be acting quietly any more than acting quickly and energetically,
either in walking or talking or in anything else; nor will the quiet life
be more temperate than the unquiet, seeing that temperance is admitted by
us to be a good and noble thing, and the quick have been shown to be as
good as the quiet.
I think, he said, Socrates, that you are right.
Then once more, Charmides, I said, fix your attention, and look within;
consider the effect which temperance has upon yourself, and the nature of
that which has the effect. Think over all this, and, like a brave youth,
tell me--What is temperance?
After a moment's pause, in which he made a real manly effort to think, he
said: My opinion is, Socrates, that temperance makes a man ashamed or
modest, and that temperance is the same as modesty.
Very good, I said; and did you not admit, just now, that temperance is
noble?
Yes, certainly, he said.
And the temperate are also good?
Yes.
And can that be good which does not make men good?
Certainly not.
And you would infer that temperance is not only noble, but also good?
That is my opinion.
Well, I said; but surely you would agree with Homer when he says,
'Modesty is not good for a needy man'?
Yes, he said; I agree.
Then I suppose that modesty is and is not good?
Clearly.
But temperance, whose presence makes men only good, and not bad, is always
good?
That appears to me to be as you say.
And the inference is that temperance cannot be modesty--if temperance is a
good, and if modesty is as much an evil as a good?
All that, Socrates, appears to me to be true; but I should like to know
what you think about another definition of temperance, which I just now
remember to have heard from some one, who said, 'That temperance is doing
our own business.' Was he right who affirmed that?
You monster! I said; this is what Critias, or some philosopher has told
you.
Some one else, then, said Critias; for certainly I have not.
But what matter, said Charmides, from whom I heard this?
No matter at all, I replied; for the point is not who said the words, but
whether they are true or not.
There you are in the right, Socrates, he replied.
To be sure, I said; yet I doubt whether we shall ever be able to discover
their truth or falsehood; for they are a kind of riddle.
What makes you think so? he said.
Because, I said, he who uttered them seems to me to have meant one thing,
and said another. Is the scribe, for example, to be regarded as doing
nothing when he reads or writes?
I should rather think that he was doing something.
And does the scribe write or read, or teach you boys to write or read, your
own names only, or did you write your enemies' names as well as your own
and your friends'?
As much one as the other.
And was there anything meddling or intemperate in this?
Certainly not.
And yet if reading and writing are the same as doing, you were doing what
was not your own business?
But they are the same as doing.
And the healing art, my friend, and building, and weaving, and doing
anything whatever which is done by art,--these all clearly come under the
head of doing?
Certainly.
And do you think that a state would be well ordered by a law which
compelled every man to weave and wash his own coat, and make his own shoes,
and his own flask and strigil, and other implements, on this principle of
every one doing and performing his own, and abstaining from what is not his
own?
I think not, he said.
But, I said, a temperate state will be a well-ordered state.
Of course, he replied.
Then temperance, I said, will not be doing one's own business; not at least
in this way, or doing things of this sort?
Clearly not.
Then, as I was just now saying, he who declared that temperance is a man
doing his own business had another and a hidden meaning; for I do not think
that he could have been such a fool as to mean this. Was he a fool who
told you, Charmides?
Nay, he replied, I certainly thought him a very wise man.
Then I am quite certain that he put forth his definition as a riddle,
thinking that no one would know the meaning of the words 'doing his own
business.'
I dare say, he replied.
And what is the meaning of a man doing his own business? Can you tell me?
Indeed, I cannot; and I should not wonder if the man himself who used this
phrase did not understand what he was saying. Whereupon he laughed slyly,
and looked at Critias.
Critias had long been showing uneasiness, for he felt that he had a
reputation to maintain with Charmides and the rest of the company. He had,
however, hitherto managed to restrain himself; but now he could no longer
forbear, and I am convinced of the truth of the suspicion which I
entertained at the time, that Charmides had heard this answer about
temperance from Critias. And Charmides, who did not want to answer
himself, but to make Critias answer, tried to stir him up. He went on
pointing out that he had been refuted, at which Critias grew angry, and
appeared, as I thought, inclined to quarrel with him; just as a poet might
quarrel with an actor who spoiled his poems in repeating them; so he looked
hard at him and said--
Do you imagine, Charmides, that the author of this definition of temperance
did not understand the meaning of his own words, because you do not
understand them?
Why, at his age, I said, most excellent Critias, he can hardly be expected
to understand; but you, who are older, and have studied, may well be
assumed to know the meaning of them; and therefore, if you agree with him,
and accept his definition of temperance, I would much rather argue with you
than with him about the truth or falsehood of the definition.
I entirely agree, said Critias, and accept the definition.
Very good, I said; and now let me repeat my question--Do you admit, as I
was just now saying, that all craftsmen make or do something?
I do.
And do they make or do their own business only, or that of others also?
They make or do that of others also.
And are they temperate, seeing that they make not for themselves or their
own business only?
Why not? he said.
No objection on my part, I said, but there may be a difficulty on his who
proposes as a definition of temperance, 'doing one's own business,' and
then says that there is no reason why those who do the business of others
should not be temperate.
Nay (The English reader has to observe that the word 'make' (Greek), in
Greek, has also the sense of 'do' (Greek).), said he; did I ever
acknowledge that those who do the business of others are temperate? I
said, those who make, not those who do.
What! I asked; do you mean to say that doing and making are not the same?
No more, he replied, than making or working are the same; thus much I have
learned from Hesiod, who says that 'work is no disgrace.' Now do you
imagine that if he had meant by working and doing such things as you were
describing, he would have said that there was no disgrace in them--for
example, in the manufacture of shoes, or in selling pickles, or sitting for
hire in a house of ill-fame? That, Socrates, is not to be supposed: but I
conceive him to have distinguished making from doing and work; and, while
admitting that the making anything might sometimes become a disgrace, when
the employment was not honourable, to have thought that work was never any
disgrace at all. For things nobly and usefully made he called works; and
such makings he called workings, and doings; and he must be supposed to
have called such things only man's proper business, and what is hurtful,
not his business: and in that sense Hesiod, and any other wise man, may be
reasonably supposed to call him wise who does his own work.
O Critias, I said, no sooner had you opened your mouth, than I pretty well
knew that you would call that which is proper to a man, and that which is
his own, good; and that the makings (Greek) of the good you would call
doings (Greek), for I am no stranger to the endless distinctions which
Prodicus draws about names. Now I have no objection to your giving names
any signification which you please, if you will only tell me what you mean
by them. Please then to begin again, and be a little plainer. Do you mean
that this doing or making, or whatever is the word which you would use, of
good actions, is temperance?
I do, he said.
Then not he who does evil, but he who does good, is temperate?
Yes, he said; and you, friend, would agree.
No matter whether I should or not; just now, not what I think, but what you
are saying, is the point at issue.
Well, he answered; I mean to say, that he who does evil, and not good, is
not temperate; and that he is temperate who does good, and not evil: for
temperance I define in plain words to be the doing of good actions.
And you may be very likely right in what you are saying; but I am curious
to know whether you imagine that temperate men are ignorant of their own
temperance?
I do not think so, he said.
And yet were you not saying, just now, that craftsmen might be temperate in
doing another's work, as well as in doing their own?
I was, he replied; but what is your drift?
I have no particular drift, but I wish that you would tell me whether a
physician who cures a patient may do good to himself and good to another
also?
I think that he may.
And he who does so does his duty?
Yes.
And does not he who does his duty act temperately or wisely?
Yes, he acts wisely.
But must the physician necessarily know when his treatment is likely to
prove beneficial, and when not? or must the craftsman necessarily know when
he is likely to be benefited, and when not to be benefited, by the work
which he is doing?
I suppose not.
Then, I said, he may sometimes do good or harm, and not know what he is
himself doing, and yet, in doing good, as you say, he has done temperately
or wisely. Was not that your statement?
Yes.
Then, as would seem, in doing good, he may act wisely or temperately, and
be wise or temperate, but not know his own wisdom or temperance?
But that, Socrates, he said, is impossible; and therefore if this is, as
you imply, the necessary consequence of any of my previous admissions, I
will withdraw them, rather than admit that a man can be temperate or wise
who does not know himself; and I am not ashamed to confess that I was in
error. For self-knowledge would certainly be maintained by me to be the
very essence of knowledge, and in this I agree with him who dedicated the
inscription, 'Know thyself!' at Delphi. That word, if I am not mistaken,
is put there as a sort of salutation which the god addresses to those who
enter the temple; as much as to say that the ordinary salutation of 'Hail!'
is not right, and that the exhortation 'Be temperate!' would be a far
better way of saluting one another. The notion of him who dedicated the
inscription was, as I believe, that the god speaks to those who enter his
temple, not as men speak; but, when a worshipper enters, the first word
which he hears is 'Be temperate!' This, however, like a prophet he
expresses in a sort of riddle, for 'Know thyself!' and 'Be temperate!' are
the same, as I maintain, and as the letters imply (Greek), and yet they may
be easily misunderstood; and succeeding sages who added 'Never too much,'
or, 'Give a pledge, and evil is nigh at hand,' would appear to have so
misunderstood them; for they imagined that 'Know thyself!' was a piece of
advice which the god gave, and not his salutation of the worshippers at
their first coming in; and they dedicated their own inscription under the
idea that they too would give equally useful pieces of advice. Shall I
tell you, Socrates, why I say all this? My object is to leave the previous
discussion (in which I know not whether you or I are more right, but, at
any rate, no clear result was attained), and to raise a new one in which I
will attempt to prove, if you deny, that temperance is self-knowledge.
