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  "chapter": {
    "num": 3,
    "slug": "03-charmides-or-temperance",
    "title": "Charmides, or Temperance",
    "of": 24,
    "words": 10626,
    "text": "## Charmides, or Temperance\n\n\n#### 380 BC\n\n#### translated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n##### New York, C. Scribner's Sons, [1871]\n\nPERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: SOCRATES, who is the narrator; CHARMIDES;\nCHAEREPHON; CRITIAS. Scene: The Palaestra of Taureas, which is near\nthe Porch of the King Archon.\n\nYesterday evening I returned from the army at Potidaea, and having\nbeen a good while away, I thought that I should like to go and look at\nmy old haunts. So I went into the palaestra of Taureas, which is\nover against the temple adjoining the porch of the King Archon, and\nthere I found a number of persons, most of whom I knew, but not all.\nMy visit was unexpected, and no sooner did they see me entering than\nthey saluted me from afar on all sides; and Chaerephon, who is a\nkind of madman, started up and ran to me, seizing my hand, and saying,\nHow did you escape, Socrates?-(I should explain that an engagement had\ntaken place at Potidaea not long before we came away, of which the\nnews had only just reached Athens.)\n\nYou see, I replied, that here I am.\n\nThere was a report, he said, that the engagement was very severe,\nand that many of our acquaintance had fallen.\n\nThat, I replied, was not far from the truth.\n\nI suppose, he said, that you were present.\n\nI was.\n\nThen sit down, and tell us the whole story, which as yet we have\nonly heard imperfectly.\n\nI took the place which he assigned to me, by the side of Critias the\nson of Callaeschrus, and when I had saluted him and the rest of the\ncompany, I told them the news from the army, and answered their\nseveral enquiries.\n\nThen, when there had been enough of this, I, in my turn, began to\nmake enquiries about matters at home-about the present state of\nphilosophy, and about the youth. I asked whether any of them were\nremarkable for wisdom or beauty, or both. Critias, glancing at the\ndoor, invited my attention to some youths who were coming in, and\ntalking noisily to one another, followed by a crowd. Of the\nbeauties, Socrates, he said, I fancy that you will soon be able to\nform a judgment. For those who are just entering are the advanced\nguard of the great beauty, as he is thought to be, of the day, and\nhe is likely to be not far off himself.\n\nWho is he, I said; and who is his father?\n\nCharmides, he replied, is his name; he is my cousin, and the son\nof my uncle Glaucon: I rather think that you know him too, although he\nwas not grown up at the time of your departure.\n\nCertainly, I know him, I said, for he was remarkable even then\nwhen he was still a child, and I should imagine that by this time he\nmust be almost a young man.\n\nYou will see, he said, in a moment what progress he has made and\nwhat he is like. He had scarcely said the word, when Charmides\nentered.\n\nNow you know, my friend, that I cannot measure anything, and of\nthe beautiful, I am simply such a measure as a white line is of chalk;\nfor almost all young persons appear to be beautiful in my eyes. But at\nthat moment, when I saw him coming in, I confess that I was quite\nastonished at his beauty and stature; all the world seemed to be\nenamoured of him; amazement and confusion reigned when he entered; and\na troop of lovers followed him. That grown-up men like ourselves\nshould have been affected in this way was not surprising, but I\nobserved that there was the same feeling among the boys; all of\nthem, down to the very least child, turned and looked at him, as if he\nhad been a statue.\n\nChaerephon called me and said: What do you think of him, Socrates?\nHas he not a beautiful face?\n\nMost beautiful, I said.\n\nBut you would think nothing of his face, he replied, if you could\nsee his naked form: he is absolutely perfect.\n\nAnd to this they all agreed.\n\nBy Heracles, I said, there never was such a paragon, if he has\nonly one other slight addition.\n\nWhat is that? said Critias.\n\nIf he has a noble soul; and being of your house, Critias, he may\nbe expected to have this.\n\nHe is as fair and good within, as he is without, replied Critias.\n\nThen, before we see his body, should we not ask him to show us his\nsoul, naked and undisguised? he is just of an age at which he will\nlike to talk.\n\nThat he will, said Critias, and I can tell you that he is a\nphilosopher already, and also a considerable poet, not in his own\nopinion only, but in that of others.\n\nThat, my dear Critias, I replied, is a distinction which has long\nbeen in your family, and is inherited by you from Solon. But why do\nyou not call him, and show him to us? for even if he were younger than\nhe is, there could be no impropriety in his talking to us in the\npresence of you, who are his guardian and cousin.\n\nVery well, he said; then I will call him; and turning to the\nattendant, he said, Call Charmides, and tell him that I want him to\ncome and see a physician about the illness of which he spoke to me the\nday before yesterday. Then again addressing me, he added: He has\nbeen complaining lately of having a headache when he rises in the\nmorning: now why should you not make him believe that you know a\ncure for the headache?\n\nWhy not, I said; but will he come?\n\nHe will be sure to come, he replied.\n\nHe came as he was bidden, and sat down between Critias and me. Great\namusement was occasioned by every one pushing with might and main at\nhis neighbour in order to make a place for him next to themselves,\nuntil at the two ends of the row one had to get up and the other was\nrolled over sideways. Now my friend, was beginning to feel awkward;\nformer bold belief in my powers of conversing with him had vanished.\nAnd when Critias told him that I was the person who had the cure, he\nlooked at me in such an indescribable manner, and was just going to\nask a question. And at that moment all the people in the palaestra\ncrowded about us, and, O rare! I caught a sight of the inwards of\nhis garment, and took the flame. Then I could no longer contain\nmyself. I thought how well Cydias understood the nature of love, when,\nin speaking of a fair youth, he warns some one \"not to bring the\nfawn in the sight of the lion to be devoured by him,\" for I felt\nthat I had been overcome by a sort of wild-beast appetite. But I\ncontrolled myself, and when he asked me if I knew the cure of the\nheadache, I answered, but with an effort, that I did know.\n\nAnd what is it? he said.\n\nI replied that it was a kind of leaf, which required to be\naccompanied by a charm, and if a person would repeat the charm at\nthe same time that he used the cure, he would be made whole; but\nthat without the charm the leaf would be of no avail.\n\nThen I will write out the charm from your dictation, he said.\n\nWith my consent? I said, or without my consent?\n\nWith your consent, Socrates, he said, laughing.\n\nVery good, I said; and are you quite sure that you know my name?\n\nI ought to know you, he replied, for there is a great deal said\nabout you among my companions; and I remember when I was a child\nseeing you in company with my cousin Critias.\n\nI am glad to find that you remember me, I said; for I shall now be\nmore at home with you and shall be better able to explain the nature\nof the charm, about which I felt a difficulty before. For the charm\nwill do more, Charmides, than only cure the headache. I dare say\nthat you have heard eminent physicians say to a patient who comes to\nthem with bad eyes, that they cannot cure his eyes by themselves,\nbut that if his eyes are to be cured, his head must be treated; and\nthen again they say that to think of curing the head alone, and not\nthe rest of the body also, is the height of folly. And arguing in this\nway they apply their methods to the whole body, and try to treat and\nheal the whole and the part together. Did you ever observe that this\nis what they say?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nAnd they are right, and you would agree with them?\n\nYes, he said, certainly I should.\n\nHis approving answers reassured me, and I began by degrees to regain\nconfidence, and the vital heat returned. Such, Charmides, I said, is\nthe nature of the charm, which I learned when serving with the army\nfrom one of the physicians of the Thracian king Zamolxis, who are to\nbe so skilful that they can even give immortality. This Thracian\ntold me that in these notions of theirs, which I was just now\nmentioning, the Greek physicians are quite right as far as they go;\nbut Zamolxis, he added, our king, who is also a god, says further,\n\"that as you ought not to attempt to cure the eyes without the head,\nor the head without the body, so neither ought you to attempt to\ncure the body without the soul; and this,\" he said, \"is the reason why\nthe cure of many diseases is unknown to the physicians of Hellas,\nbecause they are ignorant of the whole, which ought to be studied\nalso; for the part can never be well unless the whole is well.\" For\nall good and evil, whether in the body or in human nature, originates,\nas he declared, in the soul, and overflows from thence, as if from the\nhead into the eyes. And therefore if the head and body are to be well,\nyou must begin by curing the soul; that is the first thing. And the\ncure, my dear youth, has to be effected by the use of certain\ncharms, and these charms are fair words; and by them temperance is\nimplanted in the soul, and where temperance is, there health is\nspeedily imparted, not only to the head, but to the whole body. And he\nwho taught me the cure and the charm at the same time added a\nspecial direction: \"Let no one,\" he said, \"persuade you to cure the\nhead, until he has first given you his soul to be cured by the\ncharm. For this,\" he said, \"is the great error of our day in the\ntreatment of the human body, that physicians separate the soul from\nthe body.\" And he added with emphasis, at the same time making me\nswear to his words, \"Let no one, however rich, or noble, or fair,\npersuade you to give him the cure, without the charm.\" Now I have\nsworn, and I must keep my oath, and therefore if you will allow me\nto apply the Thracian charm first to your soul, as the stranger\ndirected, I will afterwards proceed to apply the cure to your head.\nBut if not, I do not know what I am to do with you, my dear Charmides.\n\nCritias, when he heard this, said: The headache will be an\nunexpected gain to my young relation, if the pain in his head\ncompels him to improve his mind: and I can tell you, Socrates, that\nCharmides is not only pre-eminent in beauty among his equals, but also\nin that quality which is given by the charm; and this, as you say,\nis temperance?\n\nYes, I said.\n\nThen let me tell you that he is the most temperate of human\nbeings, and for his age inferior to none in any quality.\n\nYes, I said, Charmides; and indeed I think that you ought to excel\nothers in all good qualities; for if I am not mistaken there is no one\npresent who could easily point out two Athenian houses, whose union\nwould be likely to produce a better or nobler scion than the two\nfrom which you are sprung. There is your father's house, which is\ndescended from Critias the son of Dropidas, whose family has been\ncommemorated in the panegyrical verses of Anacreon, Solon, and many\nother poets, as famous for beauty and virtue and all other high\nfortune: and your mother's house is equally distinguished; for your\nmaternal uncle, Pyrilampes, is reputed never to have found his\nequal, in Persia at the court of the great king, or on the continent\nof Asia, in all the places to which he went as ambassador, for stature\nand beauty; that whole family is not a whit inferior to the other.\nHaving such ancestors you ought to be first in all things, and,\nsweet son of Glaucon, your outward form is no dishonour to any of\nthem. If to beauty you add temperance, and if in other respects you\nare what Critias declares you to be, then, dear Charmides, blessed art\nthou, in being the son of thy mother. And here lies the point; for if,\nas he declares, you have this gift of temperance already, and are\ntemperate enough, in that case you have no need of any charms, whether\nof Zamolxis or of Abaris the Hyperborean, and I may as well let you\nhave the cure of the head at once; but if you have not yet acquired\nthis quality, I must use the charm before I give you the medicine.\nPlease, therefore, to inform me whether you admit the truth of what\nCritias has been saying;-have you or have you not this quality of\ntemperance?\n\nCharmides blushed, and the blush heightened his beauty, for\nmodesty is becoming in youth; he then said very ingenuously, that he\nreally could not at once answer, either yes, or no, to the question\nwhich I had asked: For, said he, if I affirm that I am not\ntemperate, that would be a strange thing for me to say of myself,\nand also I should give the lie to Critias, and many others who think\nas he tells you, that I am temperate: but, on the other hand, if I say\nthat I am, I shall have to praise myself, which would be ill\nmanners; and therefore I do not know how to answer you.\n\nI said to him: That is a natural reply, Charmides, and I think\nthat you and I ought together to enquire whether you have this quality\nabout which I am asking or not; and then you will not be compelled\nto say what you do not like; neither shall I be a rash practitioner of\nmedicine: therefore, if you please, I will share the enquiry with you,\nbut I will not press you if you would rather not.\n\nThere is nothing which I should like better, he said; and as far\nas I am concerned you may proceed in the way which you think best.\n\nI think, I said, that I had better begin by asking you a question;\nfor if temperance abides in you, you must have an opinion about her;\nshe must give some intimation of her nature and qualities, which may\nenable you to form a notion of her. Is not that true?\n\nYes, he said, that I think is true.\n\nYou know your native language, I said, and therefore you must be\nable to tell what you feel about this.\n\nCertainly, he said.\n\nIn order, then, that I may form a conjecture whether you have\ntemperance abiding in you or not, tell me, I said, what, in your\nopinion, is Temperance?\n\nAt first he hesitated, and was very unwilling to answer: then he\nsaid that he thought temperance was doing things orderly and\nquietly, such things for example as walking in the streets, and\ntalking, or anything else of that nature. In a word, he said, I should\nanswer that, in my opinion, temperance is quietness.\n\nAre you right, Charmides? I said. No doubt some would affirm that\nthe quiet are the temperate; but let us see whether these words have\nany meaning; and first tell me whether you would not acknowledge\ntemperance to be of the class of the noble and good?\n\nYes.\n\nBut which is best when you are at the writing-master's, to write the\nsame letters quickly or quietly?\n\nQuickly.\n\nAnd to read quickly or slowly?\n\nQuickly again.\n\nAnd in playing the lyre, or wrestling, quickness or sharpness are\nfar better than quietness and slowness?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd the same holds in boxing and in the pancratium?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd in leaping and running and in bodily exercises generally,\nquickness and agility are good; slowness, and inactivity, and\nquietness, are bad?\n\nThat is evident.\n\nThen, I said, in all bodily actions, not quietness, but the greatest\nagility and quickness, is noblest and best?\n\nYes, certainly.\n\nAnd is temperance a good?\n\nYes.\n\nThen, in reference to the body, not quietness, but quickness will be\nthe higher degree of temperance, if temperance is a good?\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nAnd which, I said, is better-facility in learning, or difficulty\nin learning?\n\nFacility.\n\nYes, I said; and facility in learning is learning quickly, and\ndifficulty in learning is learning quietly and slowly?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd is it not better to teach another quickly and energetically,\nrather than quietly and slowly?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd which is better, to call to mind, and to remember, quickly and\nreadily, or quietly and slowly?\n\nThe former.\n\nAnd is not shrewdness a quickness or cleverness of the soul, and not\na quietness?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd is it not best to understand what is said, whether at the\nwriting-master's or the music-master's, or anywhere else, not as\nquietly as possible, but as quickly as possible?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd in the searchings or deliberations of the soul, not the\nquietest, as I imagine, and he who with difficulty deliberates and\ndiscovers, is thought worthy of praise, but he who does so most easily\nand quickly?\n\nQuite true, he said.\n\nAnd in all that concerns either body or soul, swiftness and activity\nare clearly better than slowness and quietness?\n\nClearly they are.\n\nThen temperance is not quietness, nor is the temperate life\nquiet,-certainly not upon this view; for the life which is temperate\nis supposed to be the good. And of two things, one is true, either\nnever, or very seldom, do the quiet actions in life appear to be\nbetter than the quick and energetic ones; or supposing that of the\nnobler actions, there are as many quiet, as quick and vehement: still,\neven if we grant this, temperance will not be acting quietly any\nmore than acting quickly and energetically, either in walking or\ntalking or in anything else; nor will the quiet life be more temperate\nthan the unquiet, seeing that temperance is admitted by us to be a\ngood and noble thing, and the quick have been shown to be as good as\nthe quiet.\n\nI think, he said, Socrates, that you are right.\n\nThen once more, Charmides, I said, fix your attention, and look\nwithin; consider the effect which temperance has upon yourself, and\nthe nature of that which has the effect. Think over all this, and,\nlike a brave youth, tell me-What is temperance?\n\nAfter a moment's pause, in which he made a real manly effort to\nthink, he said: My opinion is, Socrates, that temperance makes a man\nashamed or modest, and that temperance is the same as modesty.\n\nVery good, I said; and did you not admit, just now, that\ntemperance is noble?\n\nYes, certainly, he said.\n\nAnd the temperate are also good?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd can that be good which does not make men good?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nAnd you would infer that temperance is not only noble, but also\ngood?\n\nThat is my opinion.\n\nWell, I said; but surely you would agree with Homer when he says,\n\nModesty is not good for a needy man?\n\nYes, he said; I agree.\n\nThen I suppose that modesty is and is not good?\n\nClearly.\n\nBut temperance, whose presence makes men only good, and not bad,\nis always good?\n\nThat appears to me to be as you say.\n\nAnd the inference is that temperance cannot be modesty-if temperance\nis a good, and if modesty is as much an evil as a good?\n\nAll that, Socrates, appears to me to be true; but I should like to\nknow what you think about another definition of temperance, which I\njust now remember to have heard from some one, who said, \"That\ntemperance is doing our own business.\" Was he right who affirmed that?\n\nYou monster! I said; this is what Critias, or some philosopher has\ntold you.\n\nSome one else, then, said Critias; for certainly I have not.\n\nBut what matter, said Charmides, from whom I heard this?\n\nNo matter at all, I replied; for the point is not who said the\nwords, but whether they are true or not.\n\nThere you are in the right, Socrates, he replied.\n\nTo be sure, I said; yet I doubt whether we shall ever be able to\ndiscover their truth or falsehood; for they are a kind of riddle.\n\nWhat makes you think so? he said.\n\nBecause, I said, he who uttered them seems to me to have meant one\nthing, and said another. Is the scribe, for example, to be regarded as\ndoing nothing when he reads or writes?\n\nI should rather think that he was doing something.\n\nAnd does the scribe write or read, or teach you boys to write or\nread, your own names only, or did you write your enemies' names as\nwell as your own and your friends'?\n\nAs much one as the other.\n\nAnd was there anything meddling or intemperate in this?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nAnd yet if reading and writing are the same as doing, you were doing\nwhat was not your own business?\n\nBut they are the same as doing.\n\nAnd the healing art, my friend, and building, and weaving, and doing\nanything whatever which is done by art,-these all clearly come under\nthe head of doing?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd do you think that a state would be well ordered by a law which\ncompelled every man to weave and wash his own coat, and make his own\nshoes, and his own flask and strigil, and other implements, on this\nprinciple of every one doing and performing his own, and abstaining\nfrom what is not his own?\n\nI think not, he said.\n\nBut, I said, a temperate state will be a well ordered state.\n\nOf course, he replied.\n\nThen temperance, I said, will not be doing one's own business; not\nat least in this way, or doing things of this sort?\n\nClearly not.\n\nThen, as I was just now saying, he who declared that temperance is a\nman doing his own business had another and a hidden meaning; for I\ndo not think that he could have been such a fool as to mean this.\nWas he a fool who told you, Charmides?\n\nNay, he replied, I certainly thought him a very wise man.\n\nThen I am quite certain that he put forth his definition as a\nriddle, thinking that no one would know the meaning of the words\n\"doing his own business.\"\n\nI dare say, he replied.\n\nAnd what is the meaning of a man doing his own business? Can you\ntell me?\n\nIndeed, I cannot; and I should not wonder if the man himself who\nused this phrase did not understand what he was saying. Whereupon he\nlaughed slyly, and looked at Critias.\n\nCritias had long been showing uneasiness, for he felt that he had\na reputation to maintain with Charmides and the rest of the company.\nHe had, however, hitherto managed to restrain himself; but now he\ncould no longer forbear, and I am convinced of the truth of the\nsuspicion which I entertained at the time, that Charmides had heard\nthis answer about temperance from Critias. And Charmides, who did\nnot want to answer himself, but to make Critias answer, tried to\nstir him up. He went on pointing out that he had been refuted, at\nwhich Critias grew angry, and appeared, as I thought, inclined to\nquarrel with him; just as a poet might quarrel with an actor who\nspoiled his poems in repeating them; so he looked hard at him and\nsaid--\n\nDo you imagine, Charmides, that the author of this definition of\ntemperance did not understand the meaning of his own words, because\nyou do not understand them?\n\nWhy, at his age, I said, most excellent Critias, he can hardly be\nexpected to understand; but you, who are older, and have studied,\nmay well be assumed to know the meaning of them; and therefore, if you\nagree with him, and accept his definition of temperance, I would\nmuch rather argue with you than with him about the truth or\nfalsehood of the definition.\n\nI entirely agree, said Critias, and accept the definition.\n\nVery good, I said; and now let me repeat my question-Do you admit,\nas I was just now saying, that all craftsmen make or do something?\n\nI do.\n\nAnd do they make or do their own business only, or that of others\nalso?\n\nThey make or do that of others also.\n\nAnd are they temperate, seeing that they make not for themselves\nor their own business only?\n\nWhy not? he said.\n\nNo objection on my part, I said, but there may be a difficulty on\nhis who proposes as a definition of temperance, \"doing one's own\nbusiness,\" and then says that there is no reason why those who do\nthe business of others should not be temperate.\n\nNay, said he; did I ever acknowledge that those who do the\nbusiness of others are temperate? I said, those who make, not those\nwho do.\n\nWhat! I asked; do you mean to say that doing and making are not\nthe same?\n\nNo more, he replied, than making or working are the same; thus\nmuch I have learned from Hesiod, who says that \"work is no\ndisgrace.\" Now do you imagine that if he had meant by working and\ndoing such things as you were describing, he would have said that\nthere was no disgrace in them-for example, in the manufacture of\nshoes, or in selling pickles, or sitting for hire in a house of\nill-fame? That, Socrates, is not to be supposed: but I conceive him to\nhave distinguished making from doing and work; and, while admitting\nthat the making anything might sometimes become a disgrace, when the\nemployment was not honourable, to have thought that work was never any\ndisgrace at all. For things nobly and usefully made he called works;\nand such makings he called workings, and doings; and he must be\nsupposed to have called such things only man's proper business, and\nwhat is hurtful, not his business: and in that sense Hesiod, and any\nother wise man, may be reasonably supposed to call him wise who does\nhis own work.\n\nO Critias, I said, no sooner had you opened your mouth, than I\npretty well knew that you would call that which is proper to a man,\nand that which is his own, good; and that the markings of the good you\nwould call doings, for I am no stranger to the endless distinctions\nwhich Prodicus draws about names. Now I have no objection to your\ngiving names any signification which you please, if you will only tell\nme what you mean by them. Please then to begin again, and be a\nlittle plainer. Do you mean that this doing or making, or whatever\nis the word which you would use, of good actions, is temperance?\n\nI do, he said.\n\nThen not he who does evil, but he who does good, is temperate?\n\nYes, he said; and you, friend, would agree.\n\nNo matter whether I should or not; just now, not what I think, but\nwhat you are saying, is the point at issue.\n\nWell, he answered; I mean to say, that he who does evil, and not\ngood, is not temperate; and that he is temperate who does good, and\nnot evil: for temperance I define in plain words to be the doing of\ngood actions.\n\nAnd you may be very likely right in what you are saying; but I am\ncurious to know whether you imagine that temperate men are ignorant of\ntheir own temperance?\n\nI do not think so, he said.\n\nAnd yet were you not saying, just now, that craftsmen might be\ntemperate in doing another's work, as well as in doing their own?\n\nI was, he replied; but what is your drift?\n\nI have no particular drift, but I wish that you would tell me\nwhether a physician who cures a patient may do good to himself and\ngood to another also?\n\nI think that he may.\n\nAnd he who does so does his duty?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd does not he who does his duty act temperately or wisely?\n\nYes, he acts wisely.\n\nBut must the physician necessarily know when his treatment is likely\nto prove beneficial, and when not? or must the craftsman necessarily\nknow when he is likely to be benefited, and when not to be\nbenefited, by the work which he is doing?\n\nI suppose not.\n\nThen, I said, he may sometimes do good or harm, and not know what he\nis himself doing, and yet, in doing good, as you say, he has done\ntemperately or wisely. Was not that your statement?\n\nYes.\n\nThen, as would seem, in doing good, he may act wisely or\ntemperately, and be wise or temperate, but not know his own wisdom\nor temperance?\n\nBut that, Socrates, he said, is impossible; and therefore if this\nis, as you imply, the necessary consequence of any of my previous\nadmissions, I will withdraw them, rather than admit that a man can\nbe temperate or wise who does not know himself; and I am not ashamed\nto confess that I was in error. For self-knowledge would certainly\nbe maintained by me to be the very essence of knowledge, and in this I\nagree with him who dedicated the inscription, \"Know thyself!\" at\nDelphi. That word, if I am not mistaken, is put there as a sort of\nsalutation which the god addresses to those who enter the temple; as\nmuch as to say that the ordinary salutation of \"Hail!\" is not right,\nand that the exhortation \"Be temperate!\" would be a far better way\nof saluting one another. The notion of him who dedicated the\ninscription was, as I believe, that the god speaks to those who\nenter his temple, not as men speak; but, when a worshipper enters, the\nfirst word which he hears is \"Be temperate!\" This, however, like a\nprophet he expresses in a sort of riddle, for \"Know thyself!\" and\n\"Be temperate!\" are the same, as I maintain, and as the letters imply,\nand yet they may be easily misunderstood; and succeeding sages who\nadded \"Never too much,\" or, \"Give a pledge, and evil is nigh at hand,\"\nwould appear to have so misunderstood them; for they imagined that\n\"Know thyself!\" was a piece of advice which the god gave, and not\nhis salutation of the worshippers at their first coming in; and they\ndedicated their own inscription under the idea that they too would\ngive equally useful pieces of advice. Shall I tell you, Socrates,\nwhy I say all this? My object is to leave the previous discussion\n(in which I know not whether you or I are more right, but, at any\nrate, no clear result was attained), and to raise a new one in which I\nwill attempt to prove, if you deny, that temperance is self-knowledge.\n\nYes, I said, Critias; but you come to me as though I professed to\nknow about the questions which I ask, and as though I could, if I only\nwould, agree with you. Whereas the fact is that I enquire with you\ninto the truth of that which is advanced from time to time, just\nbecause I do not know; and when I have enquired, I will say whether\nI agree with you or not. Please then to allow me time to reflect.\n\nReflect, he said.\n\nI am reflecting, I replied, and discover that temperance, or wisdom,\nif implying a knowledge of anything, must be a science, and a\nscience of something.\n\nYes, he said; the science of itself.\n\nIs not medicine, I said, the science of health?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd suppose, I said, that I were asked by you what is the use or\neffect of medicine, which is this science of health, I should answer\nthat medicine is of very great use in producing health, which, as\nyou will admit, is an excellent effect.\n\nGranted.\n\nAnd if you were to ask me, what is the result or effect of\narchitecture, which is the science of building, I should say houses,\nand so of other arts, which all have their different results. Now I\nwant you, Critias, to answer a similar question about temperance, or\nwisdom, which, according to you, is the science of itself. Admitting\nthis view, I ask of you, what good work, worthy of the name wise, does\ntemperance or wisdom, which is the science of itself, effect? Answer\nme.\n\nThat is not the true way of pursuing the enquiry, Socrates, he said;\nfor wisdom is not like the other sciences, any more than they are like\none another: but you proceed as if they were alike. For tell me, he\nsaid, what result is there of computation or geometry, in the same\nsense as a house is the result of building, or a garment of weaving,\nor any other work of any other art? Can you show me any such result of\nthem? You cannot.\n\nThat is true, I said; but still each of these sciences has a subject\nwhich is different from the science. I can show you that the art of\ncomputation has to do with odd and even numbers in their numerical\nrelations to themselves and to each other. Is not that true?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nAnd the odd and even numbers are not the same with the art of\ncomputation?\n\nThey are not.\n\nThe art of weighing, again, has to do with lighter and heavier;\nbut the art of weighing is one thing, and the heavy and the light\nanother. Do you admit that?\n\nYes.\n\nNow, I want to know, what is that which is not wisdom, and of\nwhich wisdom is the science?\n\nYou are just falling into the old error, Socrates, he said. You come\nasking in what wisdom or temperance differs from the other sciences,\nand then you try to discover some respect in which they are alike; but\nthey are not, for all the other sciences are of something else, and\nnot of themselves; wisdom alone is a science of other sciences, and of\nitself. And of this, as I believe, you are very well aware: and that\nyou are only doing what you denied that you were doing just now,\ntrying to refute me, instead of pursuing the argument.\n\nAnd what if I am? How can you think that I have any other motive\nin refuting you but what I should have in examining into myself? which\nmotive would be just a fear of my unconsciously fancying that I knew\nsomething of which I was ignorant. And at this moment I pursue the\nargument chiefly for my own sake, and perhaps in some degree also\nfor the sake of my other friends. For is not the discovery of things\nas they truly are, a good common to all mankind?\n\nYes, certainly, Socrates, he said.\n\nThen, I said, be cheerful, sweet sir, and give your opinion in\nanswer to the question which I asked, never minding whether Critias or\nSocrates is the person refuted; attend only to the argument, and see\nwhat will come of the refutation.\n\nI think that you are right, he replied; and I will do as you say.\n\nTell me, then, I said, what you mean to affirm about wisdom.\n\nI mean to say that wisdom is the only science which is the science\nof itself as well as of the other sciences.\n\nBut the science of science, I said, will also be the science of\nthe absence of science.\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nThen the wise or temperate man, and he only, will know himself,\nand be able to examine what he knows or does not know, and to see what\nothers know and think that they know and do really know; and what they\ndo not know, and fancy that they know, when they do not. No other\nperson will be able to do this. And this is wisdom and temperance\nand self-knowledge-for a man to know what he knows, and what he does\nnot know. That is your meaning?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nNow then, I said, making an offering of the third or last argument\nto Zeus the Saviour, let us begin again, and ask, in the first\nplace, whether it is or is not possible for a person to know that he\nknows and does not know what he knows and does not know; and in the\nsecond place, whether, if perfectly possible, such knowledge is of any\nuse.\n\nThat is what we have to consider, he said.\n\nAnd here, Critias, I said, I hope that you will find a way out of\na difficulty into which I have got myself. Shall I tell you the nature\nof the difficulty?\n\nBy all means, he replied.\n\nDoes not what you have been saying, if true, amount to this: that\nthere must be a single science which is wholly a science of itself and\nof other sciences, and that the same is also the science of the\nabsence of science?\n\nYes.\n\nBut consider how monstrous this proposition is, my friend: in any\nparallel case, the impossibility will be transparent to you.\n\nHow is that? and in what cases do you mean?\n\nIn such cases as this: Suppose that there is a kind of vision\nwhich is not like ordinary vision, but a vision of itself and of other\nsorts of vision, and of the defect of them, which in seeing sees no\ncolour, but only itself and other sorts of vision: Do you think that\nthere is such a kind of vision?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nOr is there a kind of hearing which hears no sound at all, but\nonly itself and other sorts of hearing, or the defects of them?\n\nThere is not.\n\nOr take all the senses: can you imagine that there is any sense of\nitself and of other senses, but which is incapable of perceiving the\nobjects of the senses?\n\nI think not.\n\nCould there be any desire which is not the desire of any pleasure,\nbut of itself, and of all other desires?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nOr can you imagine a wish which wishes for no good, but only for\nitself and all other wishes?\n\nI should answer, No.\n\nOr would you say that there is a love which is not the love of\nbeauty, but of itself and of other loves?\n\nI should not.\n\nOr did you ever know of a fear which fears itself or other fears,\nbut has no object of fear?\n\nI never did, he said.\n\nOr of an opinion which is an opinion of itself and of other\nopinions, and which has no opinion on the subjects of opinion in\ngeneral?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nBut surely we are assuming a science of this kind, which, having\nno subject-matter, is a science of itself and of the other sciences?\n\nYes, that is what is affirmed.\n\nBut how strange is this, if it be indeed true: must not however as\nyet absolutely deny the possibility of such a science; let us rather\nconsider the matter.\n\nYou are quite right.\n\nWell then, this science of which we are speaking is a science of\nsomething, and is of a nature to be a science of something?\n\nYes.\n\nJust as that which is greater is of a nature to be greater than\nsomething else?\n\nYes.\n\nWhich is less, if the other is conceived to be greater?\n\nTo be sure.\n\nAnd if we could find something which is at once greater than itself,\nand greater than other great things, but not greater than those things\nin comparison of which the others are greater, then that thing would\nhave the property of being greater and also less than itself?\n\nThat, Socrates, he said, is the inevitable inference.\n\nOr if there be a double which is double of itself and of other\ndoubles, these will be halves; for the double is relative to the half?\n\nThat is true.\n\nAnd that which is greater than itself will also be less, and that\nwhich is heavier will also be lighter, and that which is older will\nalso be younger: and the same of other things; that which has a nature\nrelative to self will retain also the nature of its object: I mean\nto say, for example, that hearing is, as we say, of sound or voice. Is\nthat true?\n\nYes.\n\nThen if hearing hears itself, it must hear a voice; for there is\nno other way of hearing.\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd sight also, my excellent friend, if it sees itself must see a\ncolour, for sight cannot see that which has no colour.\n\nNo.\n\nDo you remark, Critias, that in several of the examples which have\nbeen recited the notion of a relation to self is altogether\ninadmissible, and in other cases hardly credible-inadmissible, for\nexample, in the case of magnitudes, numbers, and the like?\n\nVery true.\n\nBut in the case of hearing and sight, or in the power of\nself-motion, and the power of heat to burn, this relation to self will\nbe regarded as incredible by some, but perhaps not by others. And some\ngreat man, my friend, is wanted, who will satisfactorily determine for\nus, whether there is nothing which has an inherent property of\nrelation to self, or some things only and not others; and whether in\nthis class of self-related things, if there be such a class, that\nscience which is called wisdom or temperance is included. I altogether\ndistrust my own power of determining these matters: I am not certain\nwhether there is such a science of science at all; and even if there\nbe, I should not acknowledge this to be wisdom or temperance, until\nI can also see whether such a science would or would not do us any\ngood; for I have an impression that temperance is a benefit and a\ngood. And therefore, O son of Callaeschrus, as you maintain that\ntemperance or wisdom is a science of science, and also of the\nabsence of science, I will request you to show in the first place,\nas I was saying before, the possibility, and in the second place,\nthe advantage, of such a science; and then perhaps you may satisfy\nme that you are right in your view of temperance.\n\nCritias heard me say this, and saw that I was in a difficulty; and\nas one person when another yawns in his presence catches the infection\nof yawning from him, so did he seem to be driven into a difficulty\nby my difficulty. But as he had a reputation to maintain, he was\nashamed to admit before the company that he could not answer my\nchallenge or determine the question at issue; and he made an\nunintelligible attempt to hide his perplexity. In order that the\nargument might proceed, I said to him, Well then Critias, if you like,\nlet us assume that there is this science of science; whether the\nassumption is right or wrong may hereafter be investigated.\nAdmitting the existence of it, will you tell me how such a science\nenables us to distinguish what we know or do not know, which, as we\nwere saying, is self-knowledge or wisdom: so we were saying?\n\nYes, Socrates, he said; and that I think is certainly true: for he\nwho has this science or knowledge which knows itself will become\nlike the knowledge which he has, in the same way that he who has\nswiftness will be swift, and he who has beauty will be beautiful,\nand he who has knowledge will know. In the same way he who has that\nknowledge which is self-knowing, will know himself.\n\nI do not doubt, I said, that a man will know himself, when he\npossesses that which has self-knowledge: but what necessity is there\nthat, having this, he should know what he knows and what he does not\nknow?\n\nBecause, Socrates, they are the same.\n\nVery likely, I said; but I remain as stupid as ever; for still I\nfail to comprehend how this knowing what you know and do not know is\nthe same as the knowledge of self.\n\nWhat do you mean? he said.\n\nThis is what I mean, I replied: I will admit that there is a science\nof science;-can this do more than determine that of two things one\nis and the other is not science or knowledge?\n\nNo, just that.\n\nBut is knowledge or want of knowledge of health the same as\nknowledge or want of knowledge of justice?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nThe one is medicine, and the other is politics; whereas that of\nwhich we are speaking is knowledge pure and simple.\n\nVery true.\n\nAnd if a man knows only, and has only knowledge of knowledge, and\nhas no further knowledge of health and justice, the probability is\nthat he will only know that he knows something, and has a certain\nknowledge, whether concerning himself or other men.\n\nTrue.\n\nThen how will this knowledge or science teach him to know what he\nknows? Say that he knows health;-not wisdom or temperance, but the art\nof medicine has taught it to him; and he has learned harmony from\nthe art of music, and building from the art of building, neither, from\nwisdom or temperance: and the same of other things.\n\nThat is evident.\n\nHow will wisdom, regarded only as a knowledge of knowledge or\nscience of science, ever teach him that he knows health, or that he\nknows building?\n\nIt is impossible.\n\nThen he who is ignorant of these things will only know that he\nknows, but not what he knows?\n\nTrue.\n\nThen wisdom or being wise appears to be not the knowledge of the\nthings which we do or do not know, but only the knowledge that we know\nor do not know?\n\nThat is the inference.\n\nThen he who has this knowledge will not be able to examine whether a\npretender knows or does not know that which he says that he knows:\nhe will only know that he has a knowledge of some kind; but wisdom\nwill not show him of what the knowledge is?\n\nPlainly not.\n\nNeither will he be able to distinguish the pretender in medicine\nfrom the true physician, nor between any other true and false\nprofessor of knowledge. Let us consider the matter in this way: If the\nwise man or any other man wants to distinguish the true physician from\nthe false, how will he proceed? He will not talk to him about\nmedicine; and that, as we were saying, is the only thing which the\nphysician understands.\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd, on the other hand, the physician knows nothing of science,\nfor this has been assumed to be the province of wisdom.\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd further, since medicine is science, we must infer that he does\nnot know anything of medicine.\n\nExactly.\n\nThen the wise man may indeed know that the physician has some kind\nof science or knowledge; but when he wants to discover the nature of\nthis he will ask, What is the subject-matter? For the several sciences\nare distinguished not by the mere fact that they are sciences, but\nby the nature of their subjects. Is not that true?\n\nQuite true.\n\nAnd medicine is distinguished from other sciences as having the\nsubject-matter of health and disease?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd he who would enquire into the nature of medicine must pursue the\nenquiry into health and disease, and not into what is extraneous?\n\nTrue.\n\nAnd he who judges rightly will judge of the physician as a physician\nin what relates to these?\n\nHe will.\n\nHe will consider whether what he says is true, and whether what he\ndoes is right, in relation to health and disease?\n\nHe will.\n\nBut can any one attain the knowledge of either unless he have a of\nmedicine?\n\nHe cannot.\n\nNo one at all, it would seem, except the physician can have this\nknowledge; and therefore not the wise man; he would have to be a\nphysician as well as a wise man.\n\nVery true.\n\nThen, assuredly, wisdom or temperance, if only a science of science,\nand of the absence of science or knowledge, will not be able to\ndistinguish the physician who knows from one who does not know but\npretends or thinks that he knows, or any other professor of anything\nat all; like any other artist, he will only know his fellow in art\nor wisdom, and no one else.\n\nThat is evident, he said.\n\nBut then what profit, Critias, I said, is there any longer in wisdom\nor temperance which yet remains, if this is wisdom? If, indeed, as\nwe were supposing at first, the wise man had been able to\ndistinguish what he knew and did not know, and that he knew the one\nand did not know the other, and to recognize a similar faculty of\ndiscernment in others, there would certainly have been a great\nadvantage in being wise; for then we should never have made a mistake,\nbut have passed through life the unerring guides of ourselves and of\nthose who are under us; and we should not have attempted to do what we\ndid not know, but we should have found out those who knew, and have\nhanded the business over to them and trusted in them; nor should we\nhave allowed those who were under us to do anything which they were\nnot likely to do well and they would be likely to do well just that of\nwhich they had knowledge; and the house or state which was ordered\nor administered under the guidance of wisdom, and everything else of\nwhich wisdom was the lord, would have been well ordered; for truth\nguiding, and error having been eliminated, in all their doings, men\nwould have done well, and would have been happy. Was not this,\nCritias, what we spoke of as the great advantage of wisdom to know\nwhat is known and what is unknown to us?\n\nVery true, he said.\n\nAnd now you perceive, I said, that no such science is to be found\nanywhere.\n\nI perceive, he said.\n\nMay we assume then, I said, that wisdom, viewed in this new light\nmerely as a knowledge of knowledge and ignorance, has this\nadvantage:-that he who possesses such knowledge will more easily learn\nanything which he learns; and that everything will be clearer to\nhim, because, in addition to the knowledge of individuals, he sees the\nscience, and this also will better enable him to test the knowledge\nwhich others have of what he knows himself; whereas the enquirer who\nis without this knowledge may be supposed to have a feebler and weaker\ninsight? Are not these, my friend, the real advantages which are to be\ngained from wisdom? And are not we looking and seeking after something\nmore than is to be found in her?\n\nThat is very likely, he said.\n\nThat is very likely, I said; and very likely, too, we have been\nenquiring to no purpose; as I am led to infer, because I observe\nthat if this is wisdom, some strange consequences would follow. Let\nus, if you please, assume the possibility of this science of sciences,\nand further admit and allow, as was originally suggested, that\nwisdom is the knowledge of what we know and do not know. Assuming\nall this, still, upon further consideration, I am doubtful, Critias,\nwhether wisdom, such as this, would do us much good. For we were\nwrong, I think, in supposing, as we were saying just now, that such\nwisdom ordering the government of house or state would be a great\nbenefit.\n\nHow so? he said.\n\nWhy, I said, we were far too ready to admit the great benefits which\nmankind would obtain from their severally doing the things which\nthey knew, and committing the things of which they are ignorant to\nthose who were better acquainted with them.\n\nWere we not right in making that admission?\n\nI think not.\n\nHow very strange, Socrates!\n\nBy the dog of Egypt, I said, there I agree with you; and I was\nthinking as much just now when I said that strange consequences\nwould follow, and that I was afraid we were on the wrong track; for\nhowever ready we may be to admit that this is wisdom, I certainly\ncannot make out what good this sort of thing does to us.\n\nWhat do you mean? he said; I wish that you could make me\nunderstand what you mean.\n\nI dare say that what I am saying is nonsense, I replied; and yet\nif a man has any feeling of what is due to himself, he cannot let\nthe thought which comes into his mind pass away unheeded and\nunexamined.\n\nI like that, he said.\n\nHear, then, I said, my own dream; whether coming through the horn or\nthe ivory gate, I cannot tell. The dream is this: Let us suppose\nthat wisdom is such as we are now defining, and that she has\nabsolute sway over us; then each action will be done according to\nthe arts or sciences, and no one professing to be a pilot when he is\nnot, or any physician or general, or any one else pretending to know\nmatters of which he is ignorant, will deceive or elude us; our\nhealth will be improved; our safety at sea, and also in battle, will\nbe assured; our coats and shoes, and all other instruments and\nimplements will be skilfully made, because the workmen will be good\nand true. Aye, and if you please, you may suppose that prophecy, which\nis the knowledge of the future, will be under the control of wisdom,\nand that she will deter deceivers and set up the true prophets in\ntheir place as the revealers of the future. Now I quite agree that\nmankind, thus provided, would live and act according to knowledge, for\nwisdom would watch and prevent ignorance from intruding on us. But\nwhether by acting according to knowledge we shall act well and be\nhappy, my dear Critias,-this is a point which we have not yet been\nable to determine.\n\nYet I think, he replied, that if you discard knowledge, you will\nhardly find the crown of happiness in anything else.\n\nBut of what is this knowledge? I said. Just answer me that small\nquestion. Do you mean a knowledge of shoemaking?\n\nGod forbid.\n\nOr of working in brass?\n\nCertainly not.\n\nOr in wool, or wood, or anything of that sort?\n\nNo, I do not.\n\nThen, I said, we are giving up the doctrine that he who lives\naccording to knowledge is happy, for these live according to\nknowledge, and yet they are not allowed by you to be happy; but I\nthink that you mean to confine happiness to particular individuals who\nlive according to knowledge, such for example as the prophet, who,\nas I was saying, knows the future. Is it of him you are speaking or of\nsome one else?\n\nYes, I mean him, but there are others as well.\n\nYes, I said, some one who knows the past and present as well as\nthe future, and is ignorant of nothing. Let us suppose that there is\nsuch a person, and if there is, you will allow that he is the most\nknowing of all living men.\n\nCertainly he is.\n\nYet I should like to know one thing more: which of the different\nkinds of knowledge makes him happy? or do all equally make him happy?\n\nNot all equally, he replied.\n\nBut which most tends to make him happy? the knowledge of what\npast, present, or future thing? May I infer this to be the knowledge\nof the game of draughts?\n\nNonsense about the game of draughts.\n\nOr of computation?\n\nNo.\n\nOr of health?\n\nThat is nearer the truth, he said.\n\nAnd that knowledge which is nearest of all, I said, is the knowledge\nof what?\n\nThe knowledge with which he discerns good and evil.\n\nMonster! I said; you have been carrying me round in a circle, and\nall this time hiding from me the fact that the life according to\nknowledge is not that which makes men act rightly and be happy, not\neven if knowledge include all the sciences, but one science only, that\nof good and evil. For, let me ask you, Critias, whether, if you take\naway this, medicine will not equally give health, and shoemaking\nequally produce shoes, and the art of the weaver clothes?-whether\nthe art of the pilot will not equally save our lives at sea, and the\nart of the general in war?\n\nQuite so.\n\nAnd yet, my dear Critias, none of these things will be well or\nbeneficially done, if the science of the good be wanting.\n\nTrue.\n\nBut that science is not wisdom or temperance, but a science of human\nadvantage; not a science of other sciences, or of ignorance, but of\ngood and evil: and if this be of use, then wisdom or temperance will\nnot be of use.\n\nAnd why, he replied, will not wisdom be of use? For, however much we\nassume that wisdom is a science of sciences, and has a sway over other\nsciences, surely she will have this particular science of the good\nunder her control, and in this way will benefit us.\n\nAnd will wisdom give health? I said; is not this rather the effect\nof medicine? Or does wisdom do the work any of the other arts, do they\nnot each of them do their own work? Have we not long ago asseverated\nthat wisdom is only the knowledge of knowledge and of ignorance, and\nof nothing else?\n\nThat is obvious.\n\nThen wisdom will not be the producer of health.\n\nCertainly not.\n\nThe art of health is different.\n\nYes, different.\n\nNor does wisdom give advantage, my good friend; for that again we\nhave just now been attributing to another art.\n\nVery true.\n\nHow then can wisdom be advantageous, when giving no advantage?\n\nThat, Socrates, is certainly inconceivable.\n\nYou see then, Critias, that I was not far wrong in fearing that I\ncould have no sound notion about wisdom; I was quite right in\ndepreciating myself; for that which is admitted to be the best of\nall things would never have seemed to us useless, if I had been good\nfor anything at an enquiry. But now I have been utterly defeated,\nand have failed to discover what that is to which the imposer of names\ngave this name of temperance or wisdom. And yet many more admissions\nwere made by us than could be fairly granted; for we admitted that\nthere was a science of science, although the argument said No, and\nprotested against us; and we admitted further, that this science\nknew the works of the other sciences (although this too was denied\nby the argument), because we wanted to show that the wise man had\nknowledge of what he knew and did not know; also we nobly disregarded,\nand never even considered, the impossibility of a man knowing in a\nsort of way that which he does not know at all; for our assumption\nwas, that he knows that which he does not know; than which nothing, as\nI think, can be more irrational. And yet, after finding us so easy and\ngood-natured, the enquiry is still unable to discover the truth; but\nmocks us to a degree, and has gone out of its way to prove the\ninutility of that which we admitted only by a sort of supposition\nand fiction to be the true definition of temperance or wisdom: which\nresult, as far as I am concerned, is not so much to be lamented, I\nsaid. But for your sake, Charmides, I am very sorry-that you, having\nsuch beauty and such wisdom and temperance of soul, should have no\nprofit or good in life from your wisdom and temperance. And still more\nam I grieved about the charm which I learned with so much pain, and to\nso little profit, from the Thracian, for the sake of a thing which\nis nothing worth. I think indeed that there is a mistake, and that I\nmust be a bad enquirer, for wisdom or temperance I believe to be\nreally a great good; and happy are you, Charmides, if you certainly\npossess it. Wherefore examine yourself, and see whether you have\nthis gift and can do without the charm; for if you can, I would rather\nadvise you to regard me simply as a fool who is never able to reason\nout anything; and to rest assured that the more wise and temperate you\nare, the happier you will be.\n\nCharmides said: I am sure that I do not know, Socrates, whether I\nhave or have not this gift of wisdom and temperance; for how can I\nknow whether I have a thing, of which even you and Critias are, as you\nsay, unable to discover the nature?-(not that I believe you.) And\nfurther, I am sure, Socrates, that I do need the charm, and as far\nas I am concerned, I shall be willing to be charmed by you daily,\nuntil you say that I have had enough.\n\nVery good, Charmides, said Critias; if you do this I shall have a\nproof of your temperance, that is, if you allow yourself to be charmed\nby Socrates, and never desert him at all.\n\nYou may depend on my following and not deserting him, said\nCharmides: if you who are my guardian command me, I should be very\nwrong not to obey you.\n\nAnd I do command you, he said.\n\nThen I will do as you say, and begin this very day.\n\nYou sirs, I said, what are you conspiring about?\n\nWe are not conspiring, said Charmides, we have conspired already.\n\nAnd are you about to use violence, without even going through the\nforms of justice?\n\nYes, I shall use violence, he replied, since he orders me; and\ntherefore you had better consider well.\n\nBut the time for consideration has passed, I said, when violence\nis employed; and you, when you are determined on anything, and in\nthe mood of violence, are irresistible.\n\nDo not you resist me then, he said.\n\nI will not resist you, I replied.\n\n-THE END-",
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