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I have no particular drift, but I wish that you would tell me
whether a physician who cures a patient may do good to himself and
good to another also?
I think that he may.
And he who does so does his duty?
Yes.
And does not he who does his duty act temperately or wisely?
Yes, he acts wisely.
But must the physician necessarily know when his treatment is likely
to prove beneficial, and when not? or must the craftsman necessarily
know when he is likely to be benefited, and when not to be
benefited, by the work which he is doing?
I suppose not.
Then, I said, he may sometimes do good or harm, and not know what he
is himself doing, and yet, in doing good, as you say, he has done
temperately or wisely. Was not that your statement?
Yes.
Then, as would seem, in doing good, he may act wisely or
temperately, and be wise or temperate, but not know his own wisdom
or temperance?
But that, Socrates, he said, is impossible; and therefore if this
is, as you imply, the necessary consequence of any of my previous
admissions, I will withdraw them, rather than admit that a man can
be temperate or wise who does not know himself; and I am not ashamed
to confess that I was in error. For self-knowledge would certainly
be maintained by me to be the very essence of knowledge, and in this I
agree with him who dedicated the inscription, "Know thyself!" at
Delphi. That word, if I am not mistaken, is put there as a sort of
salutation which the god addresses to those who enter the temple; as
much as to say that the ordinary salutation of "Hail!" is not right,
and that the exhortation "Be temperate!" would be a far better way
of saluting one another. The notion of him who dedicated the
inscription was, as I believe, that the god speaks to those who
enter his temple, not as men speak; but, when a worshipper enters, the
first word which he hears is "Be temperate!" This, however, like a
prophet he expresses in a sort of riddle, for "Know thyself!" and
"Be temperate!" are the same, as I maintain, and as the letters imply,
and yet they may be easily misunderstood; and succeeding sages who
added "Never too much," or, "Give a pledge, and evil is nigh at hand,"
would appear to have so misunderstood them; for they imagined that
"Know thyself!" was a piece of advice which the god gave, and not
his salutation of the worshippers at their first coming in; and they
dedicated their own inscription under the idea that they too would
give equally useful pieces of advice. Shall I tell you, Socrates,
why I say all this? My object is to leave the previous discussion
(in which I know not whether you or I are more right, but, at any
rate, no clear result was attained), and to raise a new one in which I
will attempt to prove, if you deny, that temperance is self-knowledge.
Yes, I said, Critias; but you come to me as though I professed to
know about the questions which I ask, and as though I could, if I only
would, agree with you. Whereas the fact is that I enquire with you
into the truth of that which is advanced from time to time, just
because I do not know; and when I have enquired, I will say whether
I agree with you or not. Please then to allow me time to reflect.
Reflect, he said.
I am reflecting, I replied, and discover that temperance, or wisdom,
if implying a knowledge of anything, must be a science, and a
science of something.
Yes, he said; the science of itself.
Is not medicine, I said, the science of health?
True.
And suppose, I said, that I were asked by you what is the use or
effect of medicine, which is this science of health, I should answer
that medicine is of very great use in producing health, which, as
you will admit, is an excellent effect.
Granted.
And if you were to ask me, what is the result or effect of
architecture, which is the science of building, I should say houses,
and so of other arts, which all have their different results. Now I
want you, Critias, to answer a similar question about temperance, or
wisdom, which, according to you, is the science of itself. Admitting
this view, I ask of you, what good work, worthy of the name wise, does
temperance or wisdom, which is the science of itself, effect? Answer
me.
That is not the true way of pursuing the enquiry, Socrates, he said;
for wisdom is not like the other sciences, any more than they are like
one another: but you proceed as if they were alike. For tell me, he
said, what result is there of computation or geometry, in the same
sense as a house is the result of building, or a garment of weaving,
or any other work of any other art? Can you show me any such result of
them? You cannot.
That is true, I said; but still each of these sciences has a subject
which is different from the science. I can show you that the art of
computation has to do with odd and even numbers in their numerical
relations to themselves and to each other. Is not that true?
Yes, he said.
And the odd and even numbers are not the same with the art of
computation?
They are not.
The art of weighing, again, has to do with lighter and heavier;
but the art of weighing is one thing, and the heavy and the light
another. Do you admit that?
Yes.
Now, I want to know, what is that which is not wisdom, and of
which wisdom is the science?
You are just falling into the old error, Socrates, he said. You come
asking in what wisdom or temperance differs from the other sciences,
and then you try to discover some respect in which they are alike; but
they are not, for all the other sciences are of something else, and
not of themselves; wisdom alone is a science of other sciences, and of
itself. And of this, as I believe, you are very well aware: and that
you are only doing what you denied that you were doing just now,
trying to refute me, instead of pursuing the argument.
And what if I am? How can you think that I have any other motive
in refuting you but what I should have in examining into myself? which
motive would be just a fear of my unconsciously fancying that I knew
something of which I was ignorant. And at this moment I pursue the
argument chiefly for my own sake, and perhaps in some degree also
for the sake of my other friends. For is not the discovery of things
as they truly are, a good common to all mankind?
Yes, certainly, Socrates, he said.
Then, I said, be cheerful, sweet sir, and give your opinion in
answer to the question which I asked, never minding whether Critias or
Socrates is the person refuted; attend only to the argument, and see
what will come of the refutation.
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