able to examine what he knows or does not know, and to see what others
know and think that they know and do really know; and what they do not
know, and fancy that they know, when they do not. No other person
will be able to do this. And this is wisdom and temperance and
self-knowledge--for a man to know what he knows, and what he does not
know. That is your meaning?
Yes, he said.
Now then, I said, making an offering of the third or last argument
to Zeus the Saviour, let us begin again, and ask, in the first place,
whether it is or is not possible for a person to know that he knows and
does not know what he knows and does not know; and in the second place,
whether, if perfectly possible, such knowledge is of any use.
That is what we have to consider, he said.
And here, Critias, I said, I hope that you will find a way out of a
difficulty into which I have got myself. Shall I tell you the nature of
the difficulty?
By all means, he replied.
Does not what you have been saying, if true, amount to this: that there
must be a single science which is wholly a science of itself and of
other sciences, and that the same is also the science of the absence of
science?
Yes.
But consider how monstrous this proposition is, my friend: in any
parallel case, the impossibility will be transparent to you.
How is that? and in what cases do you mean?
In such cases as this: Suppose that there is a kind of vision which is
not like ordinary vision, but a vision of itself and of other sorts of
vision, and of the defect of them, which in seeing sees no colour, but
only itself and other sorts of vision: Do you think that there is such a
kind of vision?
Certainly not.
Or is there a kind of hearing which hears no sound at all, but only
itself and other sorts of hearing, or the defects of them?
There is not.
Or take all the senses: can you imagine that there is any sense of
itself and of other senses, but which is incapable of perceiving the
objects of the senses?
I think not.
Could there be any desire which is not the desire of any pleasure, but
of itself, and of all other desires?
Certainly not.
Or can you imagine a wish which wishes for no good, but only for itself
and all other wishes?
I should answer, No.
Or would you say that there is a love which is not the love of beauty,
but of itself and of other loves?
I should not.
Or did you ever know of a fear which fears itself or other fears, but
has no object of fear?
I never did, he said.
Or of an opinion which is an opinion of itself and of other opinions,
and which has no opinion on the subjects of opinion in general?
Certainly not.
But surely we are assuming a science of this kind, which, having no
subject-matter, is a science of itself and of the other sciences?
Yes, that is what is affirmed.
But how strange is this, if it be indeed true: we must not however as
yet absolutely deny the possibility of such a science; let us rather
consider the matter.
You are quite right.
Well then, this science of which we are speaking is a science of
something, and is of a nature to be a science of something?
Yes.
Just as that which is greater is of a nature to be greater than
something else? (Socrates is intending to show that science differs from
the object of science, as any other relative differs from the object
of relation. But where there is comparison--greater, less, heavier,
lighter, and the like--a relation to self as well as to other things
involves an absolute contradiction; and in other cases, as in the case
of the senses, is hardly conceivable. The use of the genitive after the
comparative in Greek, (Greek), creates an unavoidable obscurity in the
translation.)
Yes.
Which is less, if the other is conceived to be greater?
To be sure.
And if we could find something which is at once greater than itself, and
greater than other great things, but not greater than those things in
comparison of which the others are greater, then that thing would have
the property of being greater and also less than itself?
That, Socrates, he said, is the inevitable inference.
Or if there be a double which is double of itself and of other doubles,
these will be halves; for the double is relative to the half?
That is true.
And that which is greater than itself will also be less, and that which
is heavier will also be lighter, and that which is older will also be
younger: and the same of other things; that which has a nature relative
to self will retain also the nature of its object: I mean to say, for
example, that hearing is, as we say, of sound or voice. Is that true?
Yes.
Then if hearing hears itself, it must hear a voice; for there is no
other way of hearing.
Certainly.
And sight also, my excellent friend, if it sees itself must see a
colour, for sight cannot see that which has no colour.
No.
Do you remark, Critias, that in several of the examples which have been
recited the notion of a relation to self is altogether inadmissible, and
in other cases hardly credible--inadmissible, for example, in the case
of magnitudes, numbers, and the like?
Very true.
But in the case of hearing and sight, or in the power of self-motion,
and the power of heat to burn, this relation to self will be regarded
as incredible by some, but perhaps not by others. And some great man,
my friend, is wanted, who will satisfactorily determine for us, whether
there is nothing which has an inherent property of relation to self,
or some things only and not others; and whether in this class of
self-related things, if there be such a class, that science which is
called wisdom or temperance is included. I altogether distrust my own
power of determining these matters: I am not certain whether there is
such a science of science at all; and even if there be, I should not
acknowledge this to be wisdom or temperance, until I can also see
whether such a science would or would not do us any good; for I have an
impression that temperance is a benefit and a good. And therefore, O son
of Callaeschrus, as you maintain that temperance or wisdom is a science
of science, and also of the absence of science, I will request you to
show in the first place, as I was saying before, the possibility, and in
the second place, the advantage, of such a science; and then perhaps you
may satisfy me that you are right in your view of temperance.
Critias heard me say this, and saw that I was in a difficulty; and as
one person when another yawns in his presence catches the infection of
yawning from him, so did he seem to be driven into a difficulty by my
difficulty. But as he had a reputation to maintain, he was ashamed
to admit before the company that he could not answer my challenge or
determine the question at issue; and he made an unintelligible attempt
to hide his perplexity. In order that the argument might proceed, I said
to him, Well then Critias, if you like, let us assume that there is
this science of science; whether the assumption is right or wrong may
hereafter be investigated. Admitting the existence of it, will you tell
me how such a science enables us to distinguish what we know or do not
know, which, as we were saying, is self-knowledge or wisdom: so we were
saying?
Yes, Socrates, he said; and that I think is certainly true: for he who
has this science or knowledge which knows itself will become like the
knowledge which he has, in the same way that he who has swiftness
will be swift, and he who has beauty will be beautiful, and he who has
knowledge will know. In the same way he who has that knowledge which is
self-knowing, will know himself.
I do not doubt, I said, that a man will know himself, when he possesses
that which has self-knowledge: but what necessity is there that, having
this, he should know what he knows and what he does not know?
Because, Socrates, they are the same.
Very likely, I said; but I remain as stupid as ever; for still I fail to
comprehend how this knowing what you know and do not know is the same as
the knowledge of self.
What do you mean? he said.
This is what I mean, I replied: I will admit that there is a science of
science;--can this do more than determine that of two things one is and
the other is not science or knowledge?
No, just that.
But is knowledge or want of knowledge of health the same as knowledge or
want of knowledge of justice?
Certainly not.
The one is medicine, and the other is politics; whereas that of which we
are speaking is knowledge pure and simple.
Very true.
And if a man knows only, and has only knowledge of knowledge, and has no
further knowledge of health and justice, the probability is that he will
only know that he knows something, and has a certain knowledge, whether
concerning himself or other men.
True.
Then how will this knowledge or science teach him to know what he knows?
Say that he knows health;--not wisdom or temperance, but the art of
medicine has taught it to him;--and he has learned harmony from the art
of music, and building from the art of building,--neither, from wisdom
or temperance: and the same of other things.
That is evident.
How will wisdom, regarded only as a knowledge of knowledge or science of
science, ever teach him that he knows health, or that he knows building?
It is impossible.
Then he who is ignorant of these things will only know that he knows,
but not what he knows?
True.
Then wisdom or being wise appears to be not the knowledge of the things
which we do or do not know, but only the knowledge that we know or do
not know?
That is the inference.
Then he who has this knowledge will not be able to examine whether a
pretender knows or does not know that which he says that he knows: he
will only know that he has a knowledge of some kind; but wisdom will not
show him of what the knowledge is?
Plainly not.
Neither will he be able to distinguish the pretender in medicine from
the true physician, nor between any other true and false professor of
knowledge. Let us consider the matter in this way: If the wise man or
any other man wants to distinguish the true physician from the false,
how will he proceed? He will not talk to him about medicine; and that,
as we were saying, is the only thing which the physician understands.
True.
And, on the other hand, the physician knows nothing of science, for this
has been assumed to be the province of wisdom.
True.
And further, since medicine is science, we must infer that he does not
know anything of medicine.
Exactly.
Then the wise man may indeed know that the physician has some kind of
science or knowledge; but when he wants to discover the nature of this
he will ask, What is the subject-matter? For the several sciences are
distinguished not by the mere fact that they are sciences, but by the
nature of their subjects. Is not that true?
Quite true.
And medicine is distinguished from other sciences as having the
subject-matter of health and disease?
Yes.
And he who would enquire into the nature of medicine must pursue the
enquiry into health and disease, and not into what is extraneous?
True.
And he who judges rightly will judge of the physician as a physician in
what relates to these?
He will.
He will consider whether what he says is true, and whether what he does
is right, in relation to health and disease?
He will.
But can any one attain the knowledge of either unless he have a
knowledge of medicine?
He cannot.
No one at all, it would seem, except the physician can have this
knowledge; and therefore not the wise man; he would have to be a
physician as well as a wise man.
Very true.
Then, assuredly, wisdom or temperance, if only a science of science, and
of the absence of science or knowledge, will not be able to distinguish
the physician who knows from one who does not know but pretends or
thinks that he knows, or any other professor of anything at all; like
any other artist, he will only know his fellow in art or wisdom, and no
one else.
That is evident, he said.
But then what profit, Critias, I said, is there any longer in wisdom or
temperance which yet remains, if this is wisdom? If, indeed, as we were
supposing at first, the wise man had been able to distinguish what he
knew and did not know, and that he knew the one and did not know the
other, and to recognize a similar faculty of discernment in others,
there would certainly have been a great advantage in being wise; for
then we should never have made a mistake, but have passed through life
the unerring guides of ourselves and of those who are under us; and we
should not have attempted to do what we did not know, but we should have
found out those who knew, and have handed the business over to them and
trusted in them; nor should we have allowed those who were under us to
do anything which they were not likely to do well; and they would be
likely to do well just that of which they had knowledge; and the house
or state which was ordered or administered under the guidance of wisdom,
and everything else of which wisdom was the lord, would have been well
ordered; for truth guiding, and error having been eliminated, in all
their doings, men would have done well, and would have been happy. Was
not this, Critias, what we spoke of as the great advantage of wisdom--to
know what is known and what is unknown to us?
Very true, he said.
And now you perceive, I said, that no such science is to be found
anywhere.
I perceive, he said.
May we assume then, I said, that wisdom, viewed in this new light merely
as a knowledge of knowledge and ignorance, has this advantage:--that he
who possesses such knowledge will more easily learn anything which he
learns; and that everything will be clearer to him, because, in addition
to the knowledge of individuals, he sees the science, and this also will
better enable him to test the knowledge which others have of what he
knows himself; whereas the enquirer who is without this knowledge may be
supposed to have a feebler and weaker insight? Are not these, my friend,
the real advantages which are to be gained from wisdom? And are not we
looking and seeking after something more than is to be found in her?
That is very likely, he said.
That is very likely, I said; and very likely, too, we have been
enquiring to no purpose; as I am led to infer, because I observe that if
this is wisdom, some strange consequences would follow. Let us, if you
please, assume the possibility of this science of sciences, and further
admit and allow, as was originally suggested, that wisdom is the
knowledge of what we know and do not know. Assuming all this, still,
upon further consideration, I am doubtful, Critias, whether wisdom,
such as this, would do us much good. For we were wrong, I think, in
supposing, as we were saying just now, that such wisdom ordering the
government of house or state would be a great benefit.
How so? he said.
Why, I said, we were far too ready to admit the great benefits which
mankind would obtain from their severally doing the things which they
knew, and committing the things of which they are ignorant to those who
were better acquainted with them.
Were we not right in making that admission?
I think not.
How very strange, Socrates!
By the dog of Egypt, I said, there I agree with you; and I was thinking
as much just now when I said that strange consequences would follow, and
that I was afraid we were on the wrong track; for however ready we may
be to admit that this is wisdom, I certainly cannot make out what good
this sort of thing does to us.
What do you mean? he said; I wish that you could make me understand what
you mean.
I dare say that what I am saying is nonsense, I replied; and yet if a
man has any feeling of what is due to himself, he cannot let the thought
which comes into his mind pass away unheeded and unexamined.
I like that, he said.
Hear, then, I said, my own dream; whether coming through the horn or the
ivory gate, I cannot tell. The dream is this: Let us suppose that wisdom
is such as we are now defining, and that she has absolute sway over us;
then each action will be done according to the arts or sciences, and
no one professing to be a pilot when he is not, or any physician or
general, or any one else pretending to know matters of which he is
ignorant, will deceive or elude us; our health will be improved; our
safety at sea, and also in battle, will be assured; our coats and shoes,
and all other instruments and implements will be skilfully made, because
the workmen will be good and true. Aye, and if you please, you may
suppose that prophecy, which is the knowledge of the future, will be
under the control of wisdom, and that she will deter deceivers and set
up the true prophets in their place as the revealers of the future. Now
I quite agree that mankind, thus provided, would live and act according
to knowledge, for wisdom would watch and prevent ignorance from
intruding on us. But whether by acting according to knowledge we shall
act well and be happy, my dear Critias,--this is a point which we have
not yet been able to determine.
Yet I think, he replied, that if you discard knowledge, you will hardly
find the crown of happiness in anything else.
But of what is this knowledge? I said. Just answer me that small
question. Do you mean a knowledge of shoemaking?
God forbid.
Or of working in brass?
Certainly not.
Or in wool, or wood, or anything of that sort?
No, I do not.
Then, I said, we are giving up the doctrine that he who lives according
to knowledge is happy, for these live according to knowledge, and yet
they are not allowed by you to be happy; but I think that you mean
to confine happiness to particular individuals who live according to
knowledge, such for example as the prophet, who, as I was saying, knows
the future. Is it of him you are speaking or of some one else?
Yes, I mean him, but there are others as well.
Yes, I said, some one who knows the past and present as well as the
future, and is ignorant of nothing. Let us suppose that there is such a
person, and if there is, you will allow that he is the most knowing of
all living men.
Certainly he is.
Yet I should like to know one thing more: which of the different kinds
of knowledge makes him happy? or do all equally make him happy?
Not all equally, he replied.
But which most tends to make him happy? the knowledge of what past,
present, or future thing? May I infer this to be the knowledge of the
game of draughts?
Nonsense about the game of draughts.
Or of computation?
No.
Or of health?
That is nearer the truth, he said.
And that knowledge which is nearest of all, I said, is the knowledge of
what?
The knowledge with which he discerns good and evil.
Monster! I said; you have been carrying me round in a circle, and all
this time hiding from me the fact that the life according to knowledge
is not that which makes men act rightly and be happy, not even if
knowledge include all the sciences, but one science only, that of good
and evil. For, let me ask you, Critias, whether, if you take away this,
medicine will not equally give health, and shoemaking equally produce
shoes, and the art of the weaver clothes?--whether the art of the pilot
will not equally save our lives at sea, and the art of the general in
war?
Quite so.
And yet, my dear Critias, none of these things will be well or
beneficially done, if the science of the good be wanting.
True.
But that science is not wisdom or temperance, but a science of human
advantage; not a science of other sciences, or of ignorance, but of good
and evil: and if this be of use, then wisdom or temperance will not be
of use.
And why, he replied, will not wisdom be of use? For, however much we
assume that wisdom is a science of sciences, and has a sway over other
sciences, surely she will have this particular science of the good under
her control, and in this way will benefit us.
And will wisdom give health? I said; is not this rather the effect of
medicine? Or does wisdom do the work of any of the other arts,--do they
not each of them do their own work? Have we not long ago asseverated
that wisdom is only the knowledge of knowledge and of ignorance, and of
nothing else?
That is obvious.
Then wisdom will not be the producer of health.
Certainly not.
The art of health is different.
Yes, different.
Nor does wisdom give advantage, my good friend; for that again we have
just now been attributing to another art.
Very true.
How then can wisdom be advantageous, when giving no advantage?
That, Socrates, is certainly inconceivable.
You see then, Critias, that I was not far wrong in fearing that I could
have no sound notion about wisdom; I was quite right in depreciating
myself; for that which is admitted to be the best of all things would
never have seemed to us useless, if I had been good for anything at
an enquiry. But now I have been utterly defeated, and have failed to
discover what that is to which the imposer of names gave this name of
temperance or wisdom. And yet many more admissions were made by us than
could be fairly granted; for we admitted that there was a science of
science, although the argument said No, and protested against us; and we
admitted further, that this science knew the works of the other sciences
(although this too was denied by the argument), because we wanted to
show that the wise man had knowledge of what he knew and did not know;
also we nobly disregarded, and never even considered, the impossibility
of a man knowing in a sort of way that which he does not know at all;
for our assumption was, that he knows that which he does not know;
than which nothing, as I think, can be more irrational. And yet, after
finding us so easy and good-natured, the enquiry is still unable to
discover the truth; but mocks us to a degree, and has gone out of its
way to prove the inutility of that which we admitted only by a sort
of supposition and fiction to be the true definition of temperance or
wisdom: which result, as far as I am concerned, is not so much to be
lamented, I said. But for your sake, Charmides, I am very sorry--that
you, having such beauty and such wisdom and temperance of soul, should
have no profit or good in life from your wisdom and temperance. And
still more am I grieved about the charm which I learned with so much
pain, and to so little profit, from the Thracian, for the sake of a
thing which is nothing worth. I think indeed that there is a mistake,
and that I must be a bad enquirer, for wisdom or temperance I believe to
be really a great good; and happy are you, Charmides, if you certainly
possess it. Wherefore examine yourself, and see whether you have this
gift and can do without the charm; for if you can, I would rather
advise you to regard me simply as a fool who is never able to reason out
anything; and to rest assured that the more wise and temperate you are,
the happier you will be.
Charmides said: I am sure that I do not know, Socrates, whether I have
or have not this gift of wisdom and temperance; for how can I know
whether I have a thing, of which even you and Critias are, as you say,
unable to discover the nature?--(not that I believe you.) And further,
I am sure, Socrates, that I do need the charm, and as far as I am
concerned, I shall be willing to be charmed by you daily, until you say
that I have had enough.
Very good, Charmides, said Critias; if you do this I shall have a proof
of your temperance, that is, if you allow yourself to be charmed by
Socrates, and never desert him at all.
You may depend on my following and not deserting him, said Charmides: if
you who are my guardian command me, I should be very wrong not to obey
you.
And I do command you, he said.
Then I will do as you say, and begin this very day.
You sirs, I said, what are you conspiring about?
We are not conspiring, said Charmides, we have conspired already.
And are you about to use violence, without even going through the forms
of justice?
Yes, I shall use violence, he replied, since he orders me; and therefore
you had better consider well.
But the time for consideration has passed, I said, when violence is
employed; and you, when you are determined on anything, and in the mood
of violence, are irresistible.
Do not you resist me then, he said.
I will not resist you, I replied.