Charmides

For all that was good and evil, he said, in the body and in man altogether was sprung from the soul, and flowed along from thence as it did from the head into the eyes. Wherefore that part was to be treated first and foremost, if all was to be well with the head and the rest of the body. And the treatment of the soul, so he said, my wonderful friend, is by means of certain charms, and these charms are words of the right sort: by the use of such words is temperance engendered in our souls, and as soon as it is engendered and present we may easily secure health to the head and to the rest of the body also. Now in teaching me the remedy and the charms he remarked,—Let nobody persuade you to treat his head with this remedy, unless he has first submitted his soul for you to treat with the charm. For at present, he said, the cure of mankind is beset with the error of certain doctors who attempt to practise the one method without the other. And he most particularly enjoined on me not to let anyone, however wealthy or noble or handsome, induce me to disobey him. So I, since I have given him my oath, and must obey him, will do as he bids; and if you agree to submit your soul first to the effect of the Thracian charms, according to the stranger’s injunctions, I will apply the remedy to your head: otherwise we shall be at a loss what to do with you, my dear Charmides. Then Critias, when he heard me say this, remarked,—This affection of the head, Socrates, will turn out to be a stroke of luck for the young man, if he is to be compelled on account of his head to improve his understanding also. However, let me tell you, Charmides is considered to excel his comrades not only in appearance, but also in that very thing which you say is produced by your charm: temperance, you say it is, do you not? Certainly, I replied. Then be assured, he said, that he is considered to be far and away the most temperate person now alive, while in every other respect, for a youth of his age, he is second to none. Why, yes, I said, and it is only right, Charmides, that you should excel the rest in all these respects; for I do not suppose there is anyone else here who could readily point to a case of any two Athenian houses uniting together which would be likely to produce handsomer or nobler offspring than those from which you are sprung.

For your father’s house, which comes from Critias, son of Dropides, has been celebrated by Anacreon and Solon and many other poets, so that it is famed by tradition among us as preeminent in beauty and virtue and all else that is accounted happiness; and then, your mother’s house is famous in the same way, for of Pyrilampes, your uncle, it is said that no one in all the continent was considered to be his superior in beauty or stature, whenever he came as envoy to the great king or anyone else in Asia, and his house as a whole is no whit inferior to the other. Sprung from such people, it is to be supposed that you would be first in all things. And indeed, as regards your visible form, dear son of Glaucon, I consider that nowhere have you fallen behind any of your ancestors. But if your nature is really rich in temperance and those other things, as our friend here says, blessed is the son, dear Charmides, I exclaimed, that your mother has borne in you! However, the case stands thus: if you already possess temperance, as Critias here declares, and you are sufficiently temperate, then you never had any need of the charms of Zalmoxis or of Abaris the Hyperborean, [*](A fabulous hero of the far north, to whom oracles and charms were ascribed by the Greeks; cf. Hdt. 4.36.) and might well be given at once the remedy for the head; but if you prove to be still lacking that virtue, we must apply the charm before the remedy. So tell me yourself whether you agree with our friend, and can say that you are already sufficiently provided with temperance, or are deficient in it? At this Charmides blushed and, for one thing, looked more beautiful then ever, for his modesty became his years; and then, too, he answered most ingenuously, saying it was no easy matter at the moment either to admit or to deny the words of the question. For if, he went on, I say I am not temperate, not only is it a strange thing to say against oneself, but I shall at the same time be taxing with untruth both Critias and many others who consider me to be temperate, as he gives out; while if, on the other hand, I say I am, and praise myself, it will probably be found distasteful; so that I cannot see what answer I am to give you. Then I said: Your answer is a natural one, in my opinion, Charmides; and I think, I went on, that we must join in inquiring whether you possess the thing I am asking after, or not, in order that neither you may be forced to say what you do not wish, nor I on my part may recklessly try my hand at medicine. So if it is agreeable to you, I am ready to inquire with you; but, if it is not, to let it alone. Why, nothing, he said, could be more agreeable to me : so far as that goes, therefore, inquire in whatever way you think we had better proceed. Then this is the way, I said, in which I consider that our inquiry into this matter had best be conducted.

Now, it is clear that, if you have temperance with you, you can hold an opinion about it. For being in you, I presume it must, in that case, afford some perception from which you can form some opinion of what temperance is, and what kind of thing it is : do you not think so ? I do, he replied. And since you understand the Greek tongue, I said, you can tell me, I suppose, your view of this particular thought of yours? I daresay, he said. Then in order that we may make a guess whether it is in you or not, tell me, I said, what you say of temperance according to your opinion. He at first hung back, and was not at all willing to answer: but presently he said that, to his mind, temperance was doing everything orderly and quietly—walking in the streets, talking, and doing everything else of that kind; and in a word, he said, I think the thing about which you ask may be called quietness. Well, I said, are you right there? They do say, you know, Charmides, that quiet people are temperate : so let us see if there is anything in what they say. Tell me, is not temperance, however, among the honorable things? To be sure, he said. Well, which is most honorable at the writing master’s, to write the same sort of letters quickly or quietly? Quickly.And in reading, to do it quickly or slowly?Quickly. And so, in the same way, to play the lyre quickly, or to wrestle nimbly, is far more honorable than to do it quietly and slowly? Yes. And what of boxing, alone or combined with wrestling? Is it not the same there too? To be sure. And in running and leaping and all activities of the body, are not nimble and quick movements accounted honorable, while sluggish and quiet ones are deemed disgraceful? Apparently. So we find, I said, that in the body, at least, it is not quietness, but the greatest quickness and nimbleness that is most honorable, do we not? Certainly.And temperance was an honorable thing?Yes. Then in the body, at least, it is not quietness but quickness that will be the more temperate thing, since temperance is honorable. So it seems, he said. Well now, I went on; in learning, is facility the more honorable, or difficulty?Facility. And facility in learning, I said, is learning quickly, and difficulty in learning is learning quietly and slowly? Yes. And is it not more honorable to teach another quickly and forcibly, rather than quietly and slowly? Yes. Well now, is it more honorable to be reminded and to remember quietly and slowly, or forcibly and quickly? Forcibly, he replied, and quickly.

And is not readiness of mind a sort of nimbleness of the soul, not a quietness? True. And to apprehend what is said, whether at the writing-master’s or the lyre-master’s or anywhere else, not as quietly as possible, but as quickly, is most honorable? Yes. Well, and in the searchings of the soul, and in deliberation, it is not the quietest person, I imagine, or he who deliberates and discovers with difficulty, that is held worthy of praise, but he who does this most easily and quickly. That is so, he said. Then in all, I said, Charmides, that concerns either our soul or our body, actions of quickness and nimbleness are found to be more honorable than those of slowness and quietness? It looks like it, he said. So temperance cannot be a sort of quietness, nor can the temperate life be quiet, by this argument at least; since, being temperate, it must be honorable. For we have these two alternatives: either in no cases, or I should think in very few, can we find that the quiet actions in life are more honorable than the quick and vigorous ones; or at all events, my friend, if of the more honorable actions there are absolutely as many quiet ones as forcible and quick, not even so will temperance be acting quietly any more than acting forcibly and quickly, either in walking or in talking or in any other sphere; nor will the quiet life be more temperate than the unquiet; since in our argument we assumed that temperance is an honorable thing, and have found that quick things are just as honorable as quiet things. Your statement, he said, Socrates, seems to me to be correct. Once more then, I went on, Charmides, attend more closely and look into yourself; reflect on the quality that is given you by the presence of temperance, and what quality it must have to work this effect on you. Take stock of all this and tell me, like a good, brave fellow, what it appears to you to be. He paused a little, and after a quite manly effort of self-examination: Well, I think, he said, that temperance makes men ashamed or bashful, and that temperance is the same as modesty. Well now, I asked, did you not admit a moment ago that temperance is honorable?Certainly I did, he said. And temperate men are also good? Yes.Well, can that be good which does not produce good men? No, indeed. And we conclude that it is not only honorable, but good also.