The Charmides: sȏphrosunȇ as self-knowledge

 

Inspired by the Delphic inscription (to Delphikon gramma) ‘Know thyself’ (Gnȏthi sauton), which he understands as a divine command Sȏphronei (‘Be temperate, and wise, and self-controllled’), Critias defines sȏphrosunȇ as ‘knowing oneself’ (to gignȏskein autos heauton, 165b4). Wanting to get this statement clarified, Socrates asked: ‘If indeed self-control is knowing something (Ei gar dȇ gignȏskein ge ti estin hȇ sȏphrosunȇ), it will obviously be a knowledge (dȇlon hoti epistȇmȇ tis an eiȇ) and a knowledge of something (kai tinos), won’t it (ȇ ou;)?’ Critias replied: ‘Yes (Estin), of oneself (heautou ge).’ But Socrates wanted to know more about it, comparing it to other knowledges. Critias rejected Socrates’ comparisons: ‘You’re trying to find some similarity between self-control and the other knowledges (su de homoiotȇta tina zȇteis autȇs [tȇs sȏphrosunȇs] tais allais [epistȇmais]). There isn’t any (to d’ ouk estin houtȏs). All the other knowledges are knowledges of something else (all’ hai men allai pasai allou eisin epistȇmai), not of themselves (heautȏn d’ ou). Self-control alone is the knowledge both of the other knowledges (hȇ de [sȏphrosunȇ] monȇ tȏn te allȏn epistȇmȇ esti) and of its own self (kai autȇ heautȇs). (166b9-c3) Socrates asks: ‘Would it be a knowledge of ignorance too (Oukoun kai anepistȇmosunȇs epistȇmȇ an eiȇ), if it is a knowledge of knowledge (eiper kai epistȇmȇs)?’ Critias replied: ‘Yes, certainly (Panu ge).’ (166e7-9)

Summarizing the main points, Socrates asks: ‘So the self-controlled man alone (Ho ara sȏphrȏn monos) will know himself (autos te heauton gnȏsetai) and be able to examine (kai hoios te estai exetasai) what he in fact knows (ti te tunchanei eidȏs) and what he doesn’t (kai ti mȇ), and he will be capable of looking at other people in the same way (kai tous allous hȏsautȏs dunatos estai episkopein) to see what any of them knows and thinks he knows (ti tis oiden kai oietai), if he does know (eiper oiden); and what (kai ti), on the other hand (au), he thinks he knows (oietai men eidenai), but does not (oiden d’ ou). No one else will be able to do that (tȏn de allȏn oudeis). In fact, that is being self-controlled (kai estin de touto to sȏphronein te) and self-control (kai sȏphrosunȇ) and knowing oneself (kai to heauton auton gignȏskein) – knowing what one knows and what one doesn’t (to eidenai ha te oiden kai ha mȇ oiden). Is that what you’re saying (ara tauta estin ha legeis;)?’

‘Yes (Egȏg’),’ he replied (ephȇ).

Having thus ascertained that this is Critias’ view on sȏphrosunȇ, Socrates suggested subjecting it to scrutiny; ‘Well then (Palin toinun),’ I said (ȇn d’ egȏ), ‘third time lucky (to triton tȏi sȏtȇri).’ (167a1-9)

***

Donals Watt in his translation of the Charmides explains: ‘Literally, ‘the third (libation) to (Zeus) the Saviour’. The third cup of wine of a libation was dedicated to Zeus the Saviour. To drink that third cup was to pray for good luck.

***

‘Let’s go back to the beginning again, as it were (hȏsper ex archȇs episkepsȏmetha), and consider – whether or not it is possible for that to be the case (prȏton men ei dunaton estin) – to know that one knows and that one does not know what one knows and what one does not know (to ha oiden kai ha mȇ oiden eidenai hoti oide kai hoti ouk oide); and secondly (epeita), if it is perfectly possible (ei hoti malista dunaton), what benefit our knowing that would bring us (tis an eiȇ hȇmin ȏphelia eidosin auto).’

‘Indeed we ought to look at that,’ Critias said (Alla chrȇ, ephȇ, skopein).

‘Come on then, Critias,’ I said (Ithi dȇ, ephȇn egȏ, ȏ Kritia), ‘look at it (skepsai), and see whether you can be shown to be closer to a solution in these matters than I (ean ti peri autȏn euporȏteros phanȇis emou), because I am at a loss (egȏ men gar aporȏ). Shall I tell you where I find myself in difficulties (hȇi de aporȏ, phrasȏ soi;)?’

‘Yes, certainly (Panu g’)’, Critias said (ephȇ).

‘Well then,’ I said, ‘if what you were saying a moment ago really is the case (Allo ti oun, ȇn d’ egȏ, panta taut’ an eiȇ), won’t it all amount to this, that there is some one knowledge which is the knowledge of nothing but itself and the other knowledges (ei estin hoper su nundȇ eleges, mia tis epistȇmȇ, hȇ ouk allou tinos estin ȇ heautȇs te kai tȏn allȏn epistȇmȏn epistȇmȇ), this same knowledge being the knowledge of ignorance too (kai dȇ kai anepistȇmosunȇs hȇ autȇ hautȇ;)?’

‘Yes, certainly (Panu ge).’

‘See what a strange thing we are trying to say, my friend (Ithi dȇ hȏs atopon epicheiroumen, ȏ hetaire, legein). If you look at the same proposition in other cases (en allois gar pou to auto touto ean skopȇis), it’ll seem to you (doxei soi), I think (hȏs egȏimai), that it is impossible (adunaton einai).’

‘How ­(Pȏs dȇ)? In what cases (kai pou;)?’

‘In these (En toisde). Consider (ennoei gar) whether you think there is a vision (ei soi dokei opsis tis einai) which is not the vision of what the other visons are visions of (hȇ hȏn men hai allai opseis eisin, ouk estin toutȏn opsis), but is the vision of itself and the other visions (heautȇs de kai tȏn allȏn opseȏn opsis estin), and non-vision in the same way (kai mȇ opseȏn hȏsautȏs): and though it is a vision, it sees no colour (kai chrȏma men horai ouden opsis ousa), only itself (hautȇn de) and the other visions (kai tas allas opseis). Do you think there is such a vision (dokei tis soi einai toiautȇ;)?’

‘Havens (Ma Di’), no, I don’t (ouk emoige).’

‘What about a hearing (Ti de akoȇn) which hears no sound (hȇ phȏnȇs men oudemias akouei), but hears itself (autȇs de) and the other hearings (kai tȏn allȏn akoȏn akouei) and non-hearings (kai tȏn mȇ akoȏn;)?’

‘No, not that either (Oude touto).’

‘Take all the senses together (Sullȇbdȇn dȇ skopei peri pasȏn tȏn aisthȇseȏn). Do you think there is (ei tis soi dokei einai) some sense of the senses (aisthȇseȏn men einai aisthȇsis) and of itself (kai heautȇs) which, however, senses nothing of what the other senses sense (hȏn de dȇ hai allai aisthȇseis aisthanontai, mȇdenos aisthanomenȇ;)?’

‘No, I don’t (Ouk emoige).’ (167a9-d10)

***

Having discarded the possibility that any of the senses might be self-reflective, Socrates raises the same question concerning other faculties:

***

‘Do you think that there is some desire (All’ epithumia dokei tis soi einai), which is the desire for no pleasure (hȇtis hȇdonȇs men oudemias estin epithumia), but for itself (hautȇs de) and the other desires (kai tȏn allȏn epithumiȏn;)? … and no wish (oude mȇn boulȇsis), I think (hȏs egȏimai), which does not wish any good (hȇ agathon men ouden bouletai), but which wishes for itself (hautȇn de) and for the other wishes (kai tas allas boulȇseis) wishes (bouletai)? … some love (erȏta), which is (hos tunchanei ȏn) love of no beautiful thing (erȏs kalou men oudenos), but of itself (hautou de) and the other loves (kai tȏn allȏn erȏtȏn;)?  … a fear (phobon de) which fears itself and the other fears (hos heauton men kai tous allous phobous phobeitai), but fears none of the thing which are frightening (tȏn deinȏn d’ oude hen phobeitai;)? … or any opinion which is an opinion of opinions (doxan de doxȏn doxan) and of itself (kai hautȇs), but which holds no opinion about what the other opinions hold opinions about (hȏn de hai allai doxazousin mȇden doxazousan;)?’ (167e1-168a4)

Critias says his ‘no’ to all these questions: ‘Certainly not (Ou dȇta).’ ‘No, definitely not (Ou gar oun).’ ‘No, I don’t (Ouk egȏge).’ ‘No, I haven’t (Ou katanenoȇka).’ ‘Not at all (Oudamȏs).’

With the question of self-reflectivity concerning opinion (doxa) Socrates comes the nearest to the question of self-reflectivity concerning knowledge (epistȇmȇ). Epistȇmȇ is considered, or rather re-considered, next.

‘But it would appear we’re saying that there is some such knowledge (All’ epistȇmȇn, hȏs eoiken, phamen tina einai toiautȇn), which is the knowledge of no branch of learning (hȇtis mathȇmatos men oudenos estin epistȇmȇ), but is the knowledge of itself and the other knowledges (hautȇs de kai tȏn allȏn epistȇmȏn epistȇmȇ;)?’

‘This we say, certainly (Phamen gar).’

‘Isn’t it strange, then (Oukoun atopon), if it really does exist (ei ara kai estin)? Let’s not state categorically just yet that it does not exist (mȇden gar pȏ diischurizȏmetha hȏs ouk estin), but let’s keep investigating whether it does exist (all’ ei estin eti skopȏmen).’

‘You’re right (Orthȏs legeis).’

‘Come on, then (Phere dȇ). This knowledge is the knowledge of something (esti men hautȇ hȇ epistȇmȇ tinos epistȇmȇ), and it has some such faculty (echei tina toiautȇn dunamin), so as to be of something (hȏste tinos einai), hasn’t it (ȇ gar;)?’

‘Yes, certainly (Panu ge).’ (168a6-b4)

***

Coming to the question whether knowledge of itself and of other knowledges does exist, Socrates points to instances of putative self-reflectivity, which in fact cannot exist, which cannot be self-reflective, cannot hold ‘of itself’.

***

‘For example, we say that that which is greater, has some such faculty (Kai gar to meizon phamen toiautȇn tina echein dunamin), so as to be greater than something (hȏste tinos einai meizon;)?’

‘Yes, it does’ (Echei gar).

‘Of something smaller (Oukoun elattonos tinos), if it is to be bigger (eiper estai meizon).

‘It must be (Anankȇ)’.

‘If it were the greater of itself (Eiper heautou meizon eiȇ), it would also be the smaller of itself (kai elatton heautou eiȇ), wouldn’t it (ȇ ou;)?’

‘Very much so, necessarily (Pollȇ anankȇ),’ Critias said (ephȇ), ‘Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates).’

Socrates heaps up similar instances:

‘And if something is the double both of the other doubles and of itself (Oukoun kai ei ti diplasion estin tȏn te allȏn diplasiȏn kai heautou), it would itself constitute a half of itself (hȇmiseos dȇpou ontos heautou te), and of the others (kai tȏn allȏn), would be the double (diplasion an eiȇ), since there is not, I’m sure, a double of anything but half (ou gar estin pou allou diplasion ȇ hȇmiseos) … and what is heavier of itself (baruteron de heautou) will be lighter of itself too (kai kouphoteron estai), and what is older (kai presbuteron on) younger (neȏteron), and so on (kai t’alla hȏsautȏs). Whatever relates its own faculty to itself (hotiper an tȇn heautou dunamin pros heauto echȇ) won’t it also have that essential nature (ou kai ekeinȇn hexei tȇn ousian) to which its faculty was related (pros hȇn hȇ dunamis autou ȇn;)?’

‘Yes (Nai)’

Do you see, then (Horais oun), Critias (ȏ Kritia), that of all the examples we’ve gone through (hoti hosa dielȇluthamen), for some it seems to us absolutely impossible (ta men autȏn adunata pantapasi phainetai hȇmin), while in the case of the others it is very difficult to believe (ta d’ apisteitai sphodra), that they could ever relate their own faculty to themselves (mȇ pot’ an tȇn heautȏn dunamin pros heauta schein;)? For instance, it is absolutely impossible for magnitudes and numbers and the like (megethȇ men gar kai plȇthȇ kai ta toiauta pantapasin adunaton), isn’t it (ȇ ouchi;)?’

‘Yes, certainly (Panu ge).’

‘Whereas hearing (Akoȇ d’ au) and vision (kai opsis), and also (kai eti ge) motion (kinȇsis) moving itself (autȇ heautȇn kinein) and heat burning itself (kai thermotȇs kaein) and everything like that (kai panta au ta toiauta), would excite disbelief in some people (tois men apistan an paraschoi), though perhaps not in others (isȏs de tisin ou). What we need, my friend, is some great man (megalou dȇ tinos, ȏ phile, andros dei) to determine satisfactorily for all instances (hostis touto kata pantȏn hikanȏs diairȇsetai) whether none of the things which exist (poteron ouden tȏn ontȏn) relates its own faculty to itself (tȇn hautou dunamin auto pros hauto pephuken echein), but to something else instead (alla pros allo), or whether some do (ȇ ta men), but others don’t (ta d’ ou); and if there are things which relate it to themselves (kai ei estin au hatina auta pros hauta echei), whether the knowledge which we say is self-control is one of them (ar’ en toutois estin epistȇmȇ, hȇn dȇ hȇmeis sȏphrosunȇn phamen einai). I don’t believe I’m competent to settle these questions (egȏ men ou pisteuȏ emautȏi hikanos einai tauta dielesthai), which is why I cannot state categorically whether it is possible for there to be a knowledge of knowledge (dio kai out ei dunaton esti touto genesthai, epistȇmȇs epistȇmȇn einai echȏ diischurisasthai), and why I do not accept that, if it definitely does exist, it is self-control (out’ ei hoti malista esti, sȏphrosunȇn apodechomai auto einai), until I have considered a thing like that would benefit us (prin an episkepsȏmai eite ti an hȇmas ȏpheloi toiouton on) or not (eite mȇ), since I do have a feeling that self-control is something beneficial and good (tȇn gar oun dȇ sȏphrosunȇn ȏphelimon ti kai agathon manteuomai einai).’ (168b5-169a5)

***

By including ‘motion that moves itself’ (kinȇsis autȇ heautȇn kinein) among the putative instances of self-reflection, Socrates includes the very foundation of the Phaedran Palinode within the framework of his self-deprecation: ‘I don’t believe I’m competent to settle these questions (egȏ men ou pisteuȏ emautȏi hikanos einai tauta dielesthai, 169a7-8).

In the Palinode, Socrates opens the proof of the soul’s immortality with the words: ‘All soul is immortal (Psuchȇ pasa athanatos). For that which is always in movement is immortal (to gar aeikinȇton athanaton); that which moves something else (to d’ allo kinoun) and is moved by something else (kai hup’ allou kinoumenon), in ceasing from movement (paulan echon kinȇseȏs), ceases from living (paulan echei zȏȇs). Only that which moves itself (monon dȇ to hauto kinoun), because it does not abandon itself (hate ouk apoleipon heauto), never stops moving (oupote lȇgei kinoumenon). It is also source and first principle of movement for the other things which move (alla kai tois allois hosa kineitai touto pȇgȇ kai archȇ kinȇseȏs).’ (Pl. Phdr. 245c5-9, translation C.J. Rowe)

In the Charmides, dramatically preceding the Phaedrus by some thirty years, Socrates points to Plato as a great man that is needed (megalou dȇ tinos andros dei) to solve the problems outlined in the dialogue.

***

Socrates, rising from his self-deprecation, turned to Critias: ‘Right, then, son of Callaeschrus (su oun, ȏ pai Kallaischrou), since you maintain that self-control is the knowledge of knowledge (tithesai gar sȏphrosunȇn tout’ einai, epistȇmȇn epistȇmȇs) and indeed of ignorance too (kai dȇ kai anepistȇmosunȇs), show first (prȏton men touto endeixai), as I said a minute ago, that it is possible (hoti dunaton ho nundȇ elegon), and then in addition to being possible it is beneficial as well (epeita pros tȏi dunatȏi hoti kai ȏphelimon); and you may perhaps satisfy me that you’re right in what you say self-control is (k’ame tach’ an apoplȇrȏsais hȏs orthȏs legeis peri sȏphrosunȇs ho estin).

When Critias heard this (Kai ho Kritias akousas tauta), and saw that I was in difficulties (kai idȏn me aporounta), just as (hȏsper) people who see others yawning in their faces (hoi tous chasmȏmenous katantikry horȏntes) are affected similarly (t’auton touto sumpaschousin), he too seemed to me by my being in difficulties (k’akeinos edoxe moi hup’ emou aporountos) to be forced (anankasthȇnai) to fall into difficulties himself (kai autos halȏnai hupo aporias). Well, conscious that he had a reputation to keep up (hate oun eudokimȏn hekastote), he felt ashamed in front of the others (ȇischuneto tous parontas), and was unwilling to admit to me that he was unable to determine the points on which I was challenging him (kai oute sunchȏrȇsai moi ȇthelen adunatos einai dielesthai ha proukaloumȇn auton). He said nothing clear (elegen te ouden saphes), in an attempt to conceal his difficulties (epikaluptȏn tȇn aporian). (169b5-d1)

***

In these lines culminates Socrates’ harsh criticism of Critias in the Charmides; let us now cast our eye at the discussion on Socrates between Critias and Charmides at the close of the dialogue, and compare the two.

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Socrates ends his discussion with Critias bewailing his inability to investigate anything worthwhile concerning temperance (hoti oden chrȇston peri sȏphrosunȇs skopȏ, 175a 10-11}, and that, worst of all, after doing their best to obtain a definition of temperance, temperance thus defined appeared to them to be useless (touto hȇmin anȏpheles on apephaine, 175d4-5).

Socrates says: ‘As far as I am concerned (to men oun emon), I lament it less (kai hȇtton aganaktȏ), but concerning you (huper de sou), Charmides (ȏ Charmidȇ), I lament it very much (panu aganaktȏ), if you (ei su), having such beauty (toioutos ȏn tȇn idean) and furthermore (kai pros toutȏi), being most temperate of soul (tȇn psuchȇn sȏphronestatos), should have no profit or good in life from this temperance (mȇden onȇsȇi apo tautȇs tȇs sȏphrosunȇs). And still more I lament (eti de mallon aganaktȏ) about the charm (huper tȇs epȏidȇs) which I learned from the Thracian (hȇn para tou Thraikos emathon), if for the sake of a thing which is nothing worth (ei mȇdenos axiou pragmatos ousan) I was learning it with much effort (autȇn meta pollȇs spoudȇs emanthanon). This then (taut’ oun) I really do not think (panu men ouk oiomai) to be like this (houtȏs echein), but I think that I am a bad enquierer (all’ eme phaulon einai zȇtȇtȇn); for temperance (epei tȇn ge sȏphrosunȇn) is a great good (mega ti agathon einai), and if you have it (kai eiper ge echeis auto), you are a blessed man (makarion einai se). But see (all’ hora) if you have it (ei echeis te) and have no need of the charm (kai mȇden deȇi tȇs epȏidȇs); for if you do (ei gar echeis), I would rather advise you (mallon an egȏge soi sumbouleusaimi) to regard me simply as a fool (eme men lȇron hȇgeisthai einai) who is never able to reason out anything (kai adunaton logȏi hotioun zȇtein); but that you yourself (seauton de), the more wise and temperate you are (hosȏper sȏphronesteros ei), the happier you are (tosoutȏi einai kai eudaimonesteron).’ (175d5-176a5)

Charmides replied (kai ho Charmidȇs): ‘But, dear God (Alla ma Di’)’, said he (ȇ d’ hos), I myself (egȏge), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), do not know (ouk oida) whether I have (out’ ei echȏ) or do not have it (out’ ei mȇ echȏ); for how could I know (pȏs gar an eideiȇn), that which even you and Critias are (ho ge mȇd’ humeis) unable to discover (hoioi te este exeurein) what it is (hoti pot’ estin), as you say (hȏs phȇis su)? But I do not really believe you (egȏ mentoi ou panu soi peithomai), and I think that I (kai emauton), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), am very much in need of the charm (panu oimai deisthai tȇs epȏidȇs), and as far as I am concerned (kai to g’ emon), nothing stands in the way (ouden kȏluei) of my being charmed by you (epaidesthai hupo sou) daily (hosai hȇmerai), until you say (heȏs an phȇis su) that I have had enough (hikanȏs echein).’ (176a6-b4)

‘Very good (Eien)’ said Critias (ephȇ ho Kritias), ‘Charmides (ȏ Charmidȇ), if you do this (ȇn drais touto) to me this will be a proof (emoig’ estai touto tekmȇrion) that you are self-controlled (hoti sȏphroneis), that is if you allow yourself to be charmed by Socrates (ȇn epaidein parechȇis Sȏkratei), and never desert him (kai mȇ apoleipȇi toutou) at all (mȇte mega mȇte smikron).’

‘You may depend on my following and not deserting him (Hȏs akolouthȇsontos kai mȇ apoleipomenou),’ said Charmides (ephȇ) ‘for I should be very wrong (deina gar an poioiȇn) not to obey you (ei mȇ peithoimȇn soi) who are my guardian (tȏi epitropȏi), and if I didn’t do (kai mȇ poioiȇn) what you command me to do (ha keleueis).’

‘And I do command you,’ he said (Alla mȇn, ephȇ, keleuȏ  egȏge).

‘Then I will do as you say (Poiȇsȏ toinun),’ said Charmides (ephȇ), ‘and begin this very day (apo tautȇs tȇs hȇmeras arxamenos).’ (176b5-c4)

 ***

Critias’ magnanimity shines bright as against Socrates’ harsh criticism of him; but the two are separated by the section in which the latter outlines a well-functioning state built on sȏphrosunȇ.

Socrates: And I (K’agȏ), so that our discussion might continue (hȇmin hina ho logos proioi), said (eipon): ‘But, if you like, Critias (All’ ei dokei, ȏ Kritia), let’s grant now (nun men touto sungchȏrȇsȏmen) that it is possible (dunaton einai) for there to be (genesthai) a knowledge (epistȇmȇn) of knowledge (epistȇmȇs, 169d2-4) … If self-control is only the knowledge of knowledge (ei hȇ sȏphrosunȇ epistȇmȇs epistȇmȇ monon estin) and of ignorance (kai anepistȇmosunȇs), it won’t be able to distinguish the doctor (oute iatron diakrinai hoia te estai) who knows his art (epistamenon ta tȇs tchnȇs) from one who doesn’t (ȇ mȇ epistamenon), but pretends he does (prospoioumenon de) or thinks he does (ȇ oiomenon), or any other of those people (oute allon oudena) who know (tȏn epistamenȏn) anything at all (kai hotioun), except for the man who practices the same art as himself (plȇn ge ton hautou homotechnon), in the way other craftsmen do (hȏsper hoi alloi dȇmiourgoi).’

‘So it seems (Phainetai),’ Critias said (ephȇ).

‘What benefit would we get from self-control in that case, Critias,’ I said, ‘if it is like that (Tis oun, ȇn d’ egȏ, ȏ Kritia, ȏphelia hȇmin eti an eiȇ apo tȇs sȏphrosunȇs toiautȇs ousȇs)’? For if indeed (ei men gar), as we assumed in the beginning [at 167a1-7] (ho ex archȇs hupetithemetha), the self-controlled man knew (ȇidei ho sȏphrȏn) what he knew (ha te ȇidei) and what he didn’t know (ha te mȇ ȇidei) – that he knew the former (ta men hoti oiden) and didn’t know the latter (ta d’ hoti ouk oiden) – and was able to examine anyone else in the same position (kai allon t’auto touto peponthota episkepsasthai hoios t’ ȇn), it would be to us a great benefit, we maintain (megalȏsti an hȇmin ȏphelimon ȇn, phamen), to be self-controlled (sȏphrosin einai). We’d live all our lives without making any mistakes (anamartȇtoi gar an ton bion diezȏmen), and not just those of us who possessed self-control, but all those other people who were governed by us as well (autoi te hoi tȇn sȏphrosunȇn echontes kai hoi alloi pantes hosoi huph’ hȇmȏn ȇrchonto), because we’d neither try ourselves to do what we didn’t know (oute gar an autoi epecheiroumen prattein ha mȇ ȇpistametha), but would find those who knew (all’ exeuriskontes tous epistamenous) and hand the matter over to them (ekeinois an paredidomen), nor trust those whom we governed (oute tois allois epetrepomen, hȏn ȇrchomen) to do anything except what they were likely to do properly (allo ti prattein ȇ hoti prattontes orthȏs emellon praxein) – and that would be (touto d’ ȇn an) what they possessed knowledge of (hou epistȇmȇn eichon). And in that way (kai houtȏ dȇ) a house run on the principle of self-control (hupo sȏphrosunȇs oikia te oikoumenȇ) would be likely to be run admirably (emellen kalȏs oikeisthai), as would a state that was run on that principle (polis te politeuomenȇ) and everything else (kai allo pan) that self-control governed (hou sȏphrosunȇ archoi). When error has been removed (hamartias gar exȇirȇmenȇs) and correctness leads the way (orthotȇtos de hȇgoumenȇs), in every activity (en pasȇi praxei) must do admirably and well (kalȏs kai eu prattein anankaion) people in such circumstances (tous houtȏ diakeimenous), and those who do well (tous de eu prattontas) to be happy (eudaimonas einai). Isn’t that what we said about self-control, Critias,’ I asked (ar’ ouch houtȏs, ȇn d’ egȏ, ȏ Kritia, elegomen peri sȏphrosunȇs), ‘when we said (legontes) what a good thing it was (hoson agathon eiȇ) to know (to eidenai) what one knows (ha te oiden tis) and what one doesn’t know (kai ha mȇ oiden;)?’ (171c4-172a5)

Critias confirms that this is what they were saying about knowing what one knows and what one doesn’t know, which serves Socrates as an invitation to his raising difficulties about it: ‘But now (Nun de),’ I said (ȇn d’ egȏ), ‘you can see (horais) that there is obviously no knowledge like that anywhere (hoti oudamou epistȇmȇ oudemia toiautȇ ousa pephantai).’ ‘I can (Horȏ),’ he said (ephȇ). (172a7-8)

To save the discussion, Socrates makes a new move: ‘Well perhaps (Ar’ oun),’ I said (ȇn d’ egȏ), it is this good that self-control – what we are now finding self-control to be, knowing knowledge and ignorance – has (tout’ echei to agathon hȇn nun heuriskomen sȏphrosunȇn ousan, to epistȇmȇn epistasthai kai anepistȇmosunȇn), that the man who possesses it (hoti ho tautȇn echȏn), whatever else he may learn (hoti an allo manthanȇi), he will learn more easily (raion te mathȇsetai), and everything will appear clearer to him (kai enargestera panta autȏi phaneitai), inasmuch as (hate) in addition to each thing he learns (pros hekastȏi hȏi an manthanȇi), he will in addition see knowledge (proskathorȏnti tȇn epistȇmȇn)? And he will examine other people better in things he has learned himself (kai tous allous dȇ kallion exetasei peri hȏn an kai autos mathȇi), whereas people who examine others without it (hoi de aneu toutou exetazontes) will do so more feebly and incompetently (asthenesteron kai phauloteron touto drasousin)? Aren’t those the sorts of benefit we’ll derive from self-control, my friend (ar’, ȏ phile, toiauta atta estin ha apolausometha tȇs sȏphrosunȇs)? Haven’t we got our eyes on something grander (hȇmeis de meizon ti blepomen), and aren’t we demanding that it should be something more than it actually is (kai zȇtoumen auto meizon ti einai ȇ hoson estin;)?’

‘That may perhaps be so,’ Critias replied (Tacha d’an, ephȇ, houtȏs echoi). (172b1-c3)

***

Socrates abandoned this less ambitious picture of self-control as soon as he raised it and went on to find self-control useless even in its most ambitious manifestation.

***

‘Possibly (Isȏs),’ I said (ȇn d’egȏ), but possibly (isȏs de ge) what we demanded it should be isn’t anything useful (hȇmeis ouden chrȇston ezȇtȇsamen, 172c4-5) … Supposing self-control were as we now define it, and did govern us completely (ei gar hoti malista hȇmȏn archoi hȇ sȏphrosunȇ, ousa hoian nun horizometha, 173a8-9) … I agree that the human race, given this, would do things and live as knowledge directed (kateskeuasmenon dȇ houtȏ to anthrȏpinon genos hoti men epistȇmonȏs an prattoi kai zȏiȇ, hepomai) – because self-control would mount guard (hȇ gar sȏphrosunȇ phulattousa) and wouldn’t let (ouk an eȏiȇ) ignorance creep in (parempiptousan tȇn anepistȇmosunȇn) and be a partner in our work (sunergon hȇmin einai). But that by doing things as knowledge directed (hoti d’ epistȇmonȏs an prattontes) we’d do well (eu an prattoimen) and be happy (kai eudaimonoimen), that is something we can’t as yet be sure of (touto de oupȏ dunametha mathein), my dear Critias (ȏ phile Kritia).

Critias replied: ‘On the other hand (Alla mentoi),’ he said (ȇ d’ hos), ‘you won’t easily find (ou raidiȏs heurȇseis) any other complete form of success (allo ti telos tou eu prattein), if you disregard doing things as knowledge directs (ean to epistȇmonȏs atimasȇis).’ (173c7-d7)

Socrates does not reject Critias’ reply, he merely subjects him to a barrage of questions concerning knowledge: ‘There’s just one more little thing I’d like you to explain to me in addition to what you said,’ I said (Smikron toinun me, ȇn d’ egȏ, eti prosdidaxon), ‘knowledge of what do you mean (tinos epistȇmonȏs legeis;)? Of cutting leather for shoes (ȇ skutȏn tomȇs;)?’

‘Heavens (Ma Di’), no (ouk egȏge)!’

‘Of working in bronze (Alla chalkou ergasias)? … is it the knowledge by which he knows what is healthy (All hȇi to hugieinon;)?’

‘You’re getting closer (Mallon),’ said Critias (ephȇ).

‘The closest one I can get to is the one by which he knows – what? (Ekeinȇ hȇn legȏ malista, ȇn d’egȏ, hȇi ti;)’

‘By which he knows good and bad,’ Critias replied. (Hȇi to agathon, ephȇ, kai kakon.)

‘You wretch (O miare),’ I said (ephȇn egȏ), ‘you’ve been leading me round in a circle all this time (palai me perielkeis kuklȏi), keeping from me (apokruptomenos) that it was not living as knowledge directed (hoti ou to epistȇmonȏs zȇn) that made one do well and happy (to eu prattein te kai eudaimonȏs poioun), not even if it were knowledge of all the other knowledges put together (oude sumpasȏn tȏn allȏn epistȇmȏn), but only if it were knowledge of this one alone (alla mias ousȇs tautȇs monon), that of good and bad (tȇs peri to agathon kai kakon). Because (epei), Critias (ȏ Kritia), if it’s your intention to remove that knowledge (ei ‘theleis exelein tautȇn tȇn epistȇmȇn) from the other knowledges (ek tȏn allȏn epistȇmȏn), will the medicine make us healthy any the less; shoemaking make shoes any the less; weaving make cloths any the less)? Will piloting prevent death at sea any the less, or generalship death in war (hȇtton te hȇ men iatrikȇ hugiainein poiȇsei skutikȇ hupodedesthai hȇ de huphantikȇ ȇmphiesthai hȇ de kubernȇtikȇ kȏlusei en tȇi thalattȇi apothnȇiskein kai hȇ stratȇgikȇ en polemȏi;)?

‘No (Ouden hȇtton),’ he said (ephȇ).

‘But (All’), my dear Critias (ȏ phile Kritia), we’ll be unable to ensure that each of these is performed well and beneficially (to eu ge toutȏn hekasta gignesthai kai ȏphelimȏs apoleloipos hȇmas estai) if that knowledge is absent (tautȇs apousȇs).’

‘That’s true (Alȇthȇ legeis).’

‘But it would appear that that knowledge isn’t self-control (Ouch hautȇ de ge, hȏs eoiken, estin hȇ sȏphrosunȇ) but rather the knowledge whose function is to benefit us (all’ hȇs ergon estin to ȏphelein hȇmas). It’s not the knowledge of knowledges and ignorances (ou gar epistȇmȏn ge kai anepistȇmosunȏn hȇ epistȇmȇ estin), but (alla) of good (agathou te) and bad (kai kakou); so that if that knowledge is beneficial (hȏste ei hautȇ estin ȏphelimos), our self-control must be something else (hȇ sȏphrosunȇ allo ti an eiȇ hȇmin).’

Why wouldn’t self-control benefit us (Ti d’, ȇ d’ hos, ouk an hautȇ ȏpheloi;)?’ he asked. ‘If self-control is in the fullest sense knowledge of knowledges (ei gar hoti malista tȏn epistȇmȏn epistȇmȇ estin hȇ sȏphrosunȇ) and presides over the other knowledges too (epistatei de kai tais allais epistȇmais), it would certainly govern the knowledge of good too (kai tautȇs dȇpou an archousa tȇs peri t’agathon epistȇmȇs) and consequently benefit us (ȏpheloi an hȇmas).’

‘Would it make us healthy too,’ I asked (Ȇ k’an hugiainein poioi, ȇn d’ egȏ, hautȇ), ‘not medicine (all ouch hȇ iatrikȇ;)?’ Would it make the products of the other arts (kai t’alla ta tȏn technȏn hautȇ an poioi), instead of each of them making its own (kai ouch hai allai to hautȇs ergon hekastȇ;)? Weren’t we solemnly declaring all this time (ȇ ou palai diemarturometha) that it was knowledge only of knowledge and ignorance (hoti epistȇmȇs monon estin kai anepistȇmosunȇs epistȇmȇ,) and nothing else (allou de oudenos;)? Isn’t that so (ouch houtȏ)?’

‘Apparently (Phainetai).’

‘So it won’t be the producer of health (Ouk ara hugieias estai dȇmiourgos;)?’

‘Certainly not (Ou dȇta).’

‘Because health belonged to another art (Allȇs gar ȇn technȇs hugieia), didn’t it (ȇ ou;)?’

‘Yes (Allȇs).’

‘So it won’t be the producer of benefit either (Oud’ ara ȏphelias), my friend (ȏ hetaire), since we allocated that product to another art a minute ago (allȇi gar au apedomen touto to ergon technȇi nundȇ), didn’t we (ȇ gar;)?’

‘Yes (Panu ge).’

‘How will self-control be beneficial, then, when it is the producer of no benefit (Pȏs oun ȏphelimos estai hȇ sȏphrosunȇ, oudemias ȏphelias ousa dȇmiourgos;}?’

‘It won’t at all (Oudamȏs), it would appear, Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates, eoiken ge).’ (173d8-175a8)

On this admission of Kritias, Socrates embarks on his final lament about his incompetence: ‘Do you see (Horais oun), Critias (ȏ Kritia), how all this time I had good reason to be apprehensive (hȏs egȏ palai eikotȏs ededoikȇ), and was quite right to accuse myself (kai dikaiȏs emauton ȇitiȏmȇn) of not conducting a worthwhile inquiry into self-control (hoti ouden chrȇston peri sȏphrosunȇs skopȏ)? Something that is agreed to be the most admirable of all things wouldn’t have seemed to us to be of no benefit (ou gar an pou ho ge kalliston pantȏn homologeitai einai, touto hȇmin anȏpheles ephanȇ) if I had been any use (ei ti emou ophelos ȇn) in making a proper investigation (pros to kalȏs zȇtein) (175a9-b2) ... I’m not annoyed so much for myself (to men oun emon kai hȇtton aganaktȏ), but concerning you (huper de sou),’ I said (ȇn d’ egȏ), ‘Charmides (ȏ Charmidȇ), I lament very much (panu aganaktȏ), if you (ei su), who have such good looks (toioutos ȏn tȇn idean) and are in addition very self-controlled of soul (kai pros toutȏi tȇn psuchȇn sȏphronestatos), will not profit (mȇden onȇsȇi) from this self-control (apo tautȇs tȇs sȏphrosunȇs), and because despite its presence in you, it won’t bring you any benefit at all in life! (mȇde ti s’ ȏphelȇsei en tȏi biȏi parousa) I’m even more annoyed (eti de mallon aganaktȏ) about the charm (huper tȇs epȏidȇs) I learned from the Thracian (hȇn para tou Thraikos emathon) – that I went on taking great pains to learn the charm for a thing which is worth nothing (ei mȇdenos axiou pragmatos ousan autȇn meta pollȇs spoudȇs emanthanon). In fact, I really don’t think that this is the case at all (taut’ oun panu men ouk oiomai houtȏs echein), but that I am an awful investigator (all’ eme phaulon einai zȇtȇtȇn) – because I do think that self-control is a great good (epei de sȏhrosunȇn [oiomai] mega ti agathon einai), and that if you do possess it (kai eiper ge echeis auto), you are fortunate (makarion einai se). See whether you do possess it and have no need of the charm (all’ hora ei echeis te kai mȇden deȇi tȇs epȏidȇs) – because if you do possess it (ei gar echeis), I’d advise you to consider me a fool (mallon an egȏge soi sumbouleusaimi eme men lȇron hȇgeisthai einai), and incapable (kai adunaton) of investigating anything in a reasoned argument (logȏi hotioun zȇtein), and yourself (seauton de) the more self-controlled you are (hosȏiper sȏphronesteros ei), the happier to be (tosoutȏi einai kai edaimonesteron).’

And Charmides said (kai ho Charmidȇs): ‘But, dear God (Alla ma Di’)’, said he (ȇ d’ hos), I myself (egȏge), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), do not know (ouk oida) whether I have (out’ ei echȏ) or do not have it (out’ ei mȇ echȏ); for how could I know (pȏs gar an eideiȇn), that which even you and Critias are (ho ge mȇd’ humeis) unable to discover (hoioi te este exeurein) what it is (hoti pot’ estin), as you say (hȏs phȇis su)? But I do not really believe you (egȏ mentoi ou panu soi peithomai), and I think that I (kai emauton), Socrates (ȏ Sȏkrates), am very much in need of the charm (panu oimai deisthai tȇs epȏidȇs), and as far as I am concerned (kai to g’ emon), nothing stands in the way (ouden kȏluei) of my being charmed by you (epaidesthai hupo sou) daily (hosai hȇmerai), until you say (heȏs an phȇis su) that I have had enough (hikanȏs echein).’ (175d5-176b4)

The question is, on what ground could Charmides legitimately disbelieve Socrates and Critias? There ought to be more to it than just a hunch, which we, readers, are supposed to share.

Let us see once again on what ground Socrates rejects Critias’ identification of sȏphrosunȇ with ‘doing one’s own things’ (ta heautou prattein). Asked by Socrates to explain what he means by ‘doing one’s own things’: are those self-controlled (sȏphrones) who do other people’s things – the shoemakers make ‘other people’s shoes’, not just their own, and so do all the other artisans? Critias rejoined: ‘What objection is there?’ Socrates replied: ‘None as far as I am concerned. But watch that there is not one for the man who assumes that doing one’s own job is self-control, and then says that there is no objection to those who do other people’s things being self-controlled.

To overcome this difficulty, Critias defines self-control (sȏphrosunȇn) as ‘doing the things that are good’ (tȇn gar tȏn agathȏn praxin sȏphrosunȇn einai soi diorizomai, 163e10-11). Socrates does not reject this definition outright; he just wonders (thaumazȏ) whether Critias thinks that self-controlled men don’t know they are self-controlled (ei sȏphronountas anthrȏpous hȇgȇi su agnoein hoti sȏphronousin). ‘But I don’t (All’ ouch hȇgoumai),’ Critias said (ephȇ). (164a2-4)

Socrates asked: ‘Then must a doctor know (Ȇ oun kai gignȏskein anankȇ tȏi iatrȏi) when his curing is beneficial (hotan te ȏphelimȏs iatai) and when it’s not (kai hotan mȇ;)? Must every craftsman (kai hekastȏi tȏn dȇmiourgȏn) know when he’s likely to profit (hotan te mellȇi onȇsesthai) from the work (apo tou ergou) he does (hou an prattȇi) and when he’s not (kai hotan mȇ;)?

Critias replied: ‘Perhaps not (Isȏs ou).’ (174b7-10)

Human activities are enveloped in uncertainty; Socrates’ rejection of self-control as useless (anȏpheles) on account of defining usefulness as knowledge of good and bad (epistȇmȇ agathou te kai kakou, 174d 5-6), is wrong, and rightly rejected by Charmides as Socrates’ ‘way of talking’ (hȏs phȇis su): ‘I don’t really believe you at all (egȏ mentoi ou panu soi peithomai).’ (176b1)

***

The uncertainty, in which human activities are enveloped, is indeterminate; it can be mitigated; the way it can be reduced to a minimum politically on a state level is outlined by Plato at 171d1-172a3, in his outline of an ideal state he hoped the Thirty aristocrats could accomplish.

On an individual level, in my own experience, sometimes, when I am determined to do something really good, it goes all wrong, but ‘it’s going all wrong’ can have unexpectedly positive aspects.

In 1970s I opened an unofficial seminar for young men and women who were deprived of all higher education by the communist regime, simply because their parents were involved in Prague Spring 1968, which was an attempt to give socialism ‘a human face’, i.e. to unite socialism with basic rights and freedoms.

I did my best for my students, but they deserved more; I invited Oxford academics to my seminar.

I hoped that I myself would greatly benefit from our encounters, which was true, as long as our encounters were taking place in Prague, in my seminar. I knew that I had one great advantage compared to my Oxford colleagues: I have been learning the Greek so as to understand it in Greek. My colleagues have learnt to translate the Greek into English in order to understand it. (When I’ve said ‘I have been learning the Greek’, I’ve meant it; in writing these articles on the Charmides, trying to shadow the English rendering of the text by the Geek original, I’ve worked on my Greek more intensely than ever before.)

I did expect that after coming to Oxford my colleagues might not be very enthusiastic about discussing Plato with me, but I did not expect that I would be prevented from presenting the results of my investigations to Oxford students and academics.

What is the positive side? I’ve had all my time at my disposal, and so I could read not only Plato and Aristotle again and again, not just one or two of their works, but all their works; not just Plato and Aristotle, but Homer and Hesiod, Aeschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, and Aristophanes; Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon … Plotinus and Proclus. I’m 84 years old, and the Greeks continue to make every day of my life worth living; I am still improving my understanding Greek language, Greek thinking, Greek ways of life; and I am enjoying every bit of it.