Complete Works

by Plato, Cooper, John M. , Hutchinson, D. S.

  “And if you should ask me about housebuilding, which is a science of building houses, and ask what I say that it produces, I would say that it produces houses, and so on with the other arts. So you ought to give an answer on behalf of temperance, since you say it is a science of self, in case [e] you should be asked, ‘Critias, since temperance is a science of self, what fine result does it produce which is worthy of the name?’ Come along, tell me.”

  “But, Socrates,” he said, “you are not conducting the investigation in the right way. This science does not have the same nature as the rest, any more than they have the same nature as each other, but you are carrying on the investigation as though they were all the same. For instance,” he said, “in the arts of calculation and geometry, tell me what is the product corresponding to the house in the case of housebuilding and the cloak in [166] the case of weaving and so on—one could give many instances from many arts. You ought to point out to me a similar product in these cases, but you won’t be able to do it.”

  And I said, “You are right. But I can point out to you in the case of each one of these sciences what it is a science of, this being distinct from the science itself. For instance, the art of calculation, of course, is of the odd and even—how many they are in themselves and with respect to other numbers—isn’t that so?”

  “Yes indeed,” he said.

  “Now aren’t the odd and even distinct from the art of calculation itself?”

  “Of course.”

  [b] “And again, the art of weighing is an art concerned with the heavier and lighter; and the heavy and light are distinct from the art of weighing. Do you agree?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Then, since temperance is also a science of something, state what that something is which is distinct from temperance itself.”

  “This is just what I mean, Socrates,” he said. “You arrive at the point of investigating the respect in which temperance differs from all the other sciences, and then you start looking for some way in which it resembles [c] all the others. It’s not like this; but rather, all the others are sciences of something else, not of themselves, whereas this is the only science which is both of other sciences and of itself. And I think you are quite consciously doing what you denied doing a moment ago—you are trying to refute me and ignoring the real question at issue.”

  “Oh come,” I said, “how could you possibly think that even if I were to refute everything you say, I would be doing it for any other reasons than the one I would give for a thorough investigation of my own [d] statements—the fear of unconsciously thinking I know something when I do not. And this is what I claim to be doing now, examining the argument for my own sake primarily, but perhaps also for the sake of my friends. Or don’t you believe it to be for the common good, or for that of most men, that the state of each existing thing should become clear?”

  “Very much so, Socrates,” he said.

  “Pluck up courage then, my friend, and answer the question as seems best to you, paying no attention to whether it is Critias or Socrates who [e] is being refuted. Instead, give your attention to the argument itself to see what the result of its refutation will be.”

  “All right, I will do as you say, because you seem to me to be talking sense.”

  “Then remind me,” I asked, “what it is you say about temperance.”

  “I say,” he replied, “that it is the only science that is both a science of itself and of the other sciences.”

  “Would it then,” I said, “also be a science of the absence of science, if it is a science of science?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Then only the temperate man will know himself and will be able to [167] examine what he knows and does not know, and in the same way he will be able to inspect other people to see when a man does in fact know what he knows and thinks he knows, and when again he does not know what he thinks he knows, and no one else will be able to do this. And being temperate and temperance and knowing oneself amount to this, to knowing what one knows and does not know. Or isn’t this what you say?”

  “Yes, it is,” he said.

  “Then for our third libation, the lucky one,7 let us investigate, as though [b] from the beginning, two points: first, whether it is possible or not to know that one knows and does not know what he knows and does not know and second, should this be perfectly possible, what benefit there would be for those who know this.”

  “Yes, we ought to look into this,” he said.

  “Then, come on, Critias,” said I, “and consider whether you appear better off than I in these matters, because I am in difficulties. Shall I tell you where my difficulty lies?”

  “Yes, do.”

  “Well,” I said, “wouldn’t the whole thing amount to this, if what you [c] said just now is true, that there is one science which is not of anything except itself and the other sciences and that this same science is also a science of the absence of science?”

  “Yes indeed.”

  “Then see what an odd thing we are attempting to say, my friend—because if you look for this same thing in other cases, you will find, I think, that it is impossible.”

  “How is that, and what cases do you mean?”

  “Cases like the following: consider, for instance, if you think there could be a kind of vision that is not the vision of the thing that other visions are of but is the vision of itself and the other visions and also of the lack of [d] visions, and, although it is a type of vision, it sees no color, only itself and the other visions. Do you think there is something of this kind?”

  “Good heavens, no, not I.”

  “And what about a kind of hearing that hears no sound but hears itself and the other hearings and nonhearings?”

  “Not this either.”

  “Then take all the senses together and see if there is any one of them that is a sense of the senses and of itself but that senses nothing which the other senses sense.”

  “I can’t see that there is.”

  [e] “And do you think there is any desire that is a desire for no pleasure but for itself and the other desires?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Nor indeed any wish, I think, that wishes for no good but only for itself and the other wishes.”

  “No, that would follow.”

  “And would you say there was a love of such a sort as to be a love of no fine thing but of itself and the other loves?”

  “No,” he said, “I would not.”

  [168] “And have you ever observed a fear that fears itself and the other fears, but of frightful things fears not a one?”

  “I have never observed such a thing,” he said.

  “Or an opinion that is of itself and other opinions but opines nothing that other opinions do?”

  “Never.”

  “But we are saying, it seems, that there is a science of this sort, which is a science of no branch of learning but is a science of itself and the other sciences.”

  “Yes, we are saying that.”

  “But isn’t it strange if there really is such a thing? However, we ought not yet to state categorically that there is not, but still go on investigating whether there is.”

  “You are right.” [b]

  “Come on then: is this science a science of something and does it have a certain faculty of being ‘of something’? What about it?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  “And do we say the greater has a certain faculty of being greater than something?”

  “Yes, it has.”

  “Presumably than something less, if it is going to be greater.”

  “Necessarily.”

  “Then if we should discover something greater that is greater than the greater things and than itself, but greater than nothing than which the other greater things are greater, surely what would happen to it is that, if it were actually greater than itself, it would also be less than itself, [c] wouldn’t it?”

  “That would certainly have to
be the case, Socrates,” he said.

  “It would follow, too, that anything that was the double of the other doubles and of itself would, I suppose, be half of itself and of the other doubles—because I don’t suppose there is a double of anything else except a half.”

  “That’s true.”

  “And something that is more than itself will also be less, and the heavier, lighter and the older, younger, and so with all the other cases—the very [d] thing which has its own faculty applied to itself will have to have that nature towards which the faculty was directed, won’t it? I mean something like this: in the case of hearing don’t we say that hearing is of nothing else than sound?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then if it actually hears itself, it will hear itself possessing sound? Because otherwise it would not do any hearing.”

  “Necessarily so.”

  “And vision, I take it, O best of men, if it actually sees itself, will have to have some color? Because vision could certainly never see anything that [e] has no color.”

  “No, that would follow.”

  “You observe then, Critias, that of the cases we have gone through, some appear to us to be absolutely impossible, whereas in others it is very doubtful if they could ever apply their own faculties to themselves? And that magnitude and number and similar things belong to the absolutely impossible group, isn’t that so?”

  “Certainly.”

  “Again, that hearing or vision or, in fact, any sort of motion should move itself, or heat burn itself—all cases like this also produce disbelief in some, though perhaps there are some in whom it does not. What [169] we need, my friend, is some great man to give an adequate interpretation of this point in every detail, whether no existing thing can by nature apply its own faculty to itself but only towards something else, or whether some can, but others cannot. We also need him to determine whether, if there are things that apply to themselves, the science which we call temperance is among them. I do not regard myself as competent [b] to deal with these matters, and this is why I am neither able to state categorically whether there might possibly be a science of science nor, if it definitely were possible, able to accept temperance as such a science before I investigate whether such a thing would benefit us or not. Now I divine that temperance is something beneficial and good. Do you then, O son of Callaeschrus, since the definition of temperance as the science of science and, more especially, of the absence of science belongs to you, first clear up this point, that what I just mentioned is possible [c] and then, after having shown its possibility, go on to show that it is useful. And so, perhaps, you will satisfy me that you are right about what temperance is.”

  When Critias heard this and saw that I was in difficulties, then, just as in the case of people who start yawning when they see other people doing it, he seemed to be affected by my troubles and to be seized by difficulties himself. But since his consistently high reputation made him feel ashamed in the eyes of the company and he did not wish to admit to me that he [d] was incapable of dealing with the question I had asked him, he said nothing clear but concealed his predicament. So I, in order that our argument should go forward, said, “But if it seems right, Critias, let us now grant this point, that the existence of a science of science is possible—we can investigate on some other occasion whether this is really the case or not. Come then, if this is perfectly possible, is it any more possible to know what one knows and does not know? We did say, I think, that knowing oneself and being temperate consisted in this?”

  [e] “Yes indeed,” he said, “and your conclusion seems to me to follow, Socrates, because if a man has a science which knows itself, he would be the very same sort of man as the science which he has. For instance, whenever a person has speed he is swift, and when he has beauty he is beautiful, and when he has knowledge he is knowing. So when a person has a knowledge which knows itself, then I imagine he will be a person who knows himself.”

  “It is not this point,” I said, “on which I am confused, that whenever someone possesses this thing which knows itself he will know himself, but how the person possessing it will necessarily know what he knows and what he does not know.”

  [170] “But this is the same thing as the other, Socrates.”

  “Perhaps,” I said, “but I’m in danger of being as confused as ever, because I still don’t understand how knowing what one knows and does not know is the same thing as knowledge of self.”

  “How do you mean?” he said.

  “It’s like this,” I said. “Supposing that there is a science of science, will it be anything more than the ability to divide things and say that one is science and the other not?”

  “No, it amounts to this.”

  “And is it the same thing as the science and absence of science of health, [b] and as the science and absence of science of justice?”

  “Not at all.”

  “One is medicine, I think, and the other politics, but we are concerned with science pure and simple.”

  “What else?”

  “Therefore, when a person lacks this additional science of health and justice but knows science only, seeing that this is the only knowledge he has, then he will be likely, both in his own case and in that of others, to know that he knows something and has a certain science, won’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “And how will he know whatever he knows by means of this science? [c] Because he will know the healthy by medicine, but not by temperance, and the harmonious by music, but not by temperance, and housebuilding by that art, but not by temperance, and so on—isn’t it so?”

  “It seems so.”

  “But by temperance, if it is merely a science of science, how will a person know that he knows the healthy or that he knows housebuilding?”

  “He won’t at all.”

  “Then the man ignorant of this won’t know what he knows, but only that he knows.”

  “Very likely.”

  “Then this would not be being temperate and would not be temperance: [d] to know what one knows and does not know, but only that one knows and does not know—or so it seems.”

  “Probably.”

  “Nor, when another person claims to know something, will our friend be able to find out whether he knows what he says he knows or does not know it. But he will only know this much, it seems, that the man has some science; yes, but of what, temperance will fail to inform him.”

  “Apparently so.”

  “So neither will he be able to distinguish the man who pretends to be [e] a doctor, but is not, from the man who really is one, nor will he be able to make this distinction for any of the other experts. And let’s see what follows: if the temperate man or anyone else whatsoever is going to tell the real doctor from the false, how will he go about it? He won’t, I suppose, engage him in conversation on the subject of medicine, because what the doctor knows, we say, is nothing but health and disease, isn’t that so?”

  “Yes, that is the case.”

  “But about science the doctor knows nothing, because we have allotted precisely this function to temperance alone.”

  “Yes.”

  [171] “Neither will the doctor know anything about medicine since medicine is a science.”

  “True.”

  “However, the temperate man will know that the doctor has some science, but in order to try and grasp what sort it is, won’t he have to examine what it is of? Because hasn’t each science been defined, not just as science, but also by that which it is of?”

  “By that, certainly.”

  “Now medicine is distinguished from the other sciences by virtue of its definition as science of health and disease.”

  “Yes.”

  [b] “It follows that the man who wants to examine medicine should look for it where it is to be found, because I don’t suppose he will discover it where it is not to be found, do you?”

  “Certainly not.”

  “Then the man who conducts the examination correctly will exam
ine the doctor in those matters in which he is a medical man, namely health and disease.”

  “So it seems.”

  “And he will look into the manner of his words and actions to see if what he says is truly spoken and what he does is correctly done?”

  “Necessarily.”

  “But, without the medical art, would anyone be able to follow up either of these things?”

  “Certainly not.”

  [c] “No one, in fact, could do this, it seems, except the doctor—not even the temperate man himself. If he could, he would be a doctor in addition to his temperance.”

  “That is the case.”

  “The upshot of the matter is, then, that if temperance is only the science of science and absence of science, it will not be able to distinguish the doctor who knows the particulars of his art from the one who does not know them but pretends or supposes he does, nor will it recognize any other genuine practitioner whatsoever, except the man in its own field, the way other craftsmen do.”

  “It seems so,” he said.

  [d] “Then, Critias,” I replied, “what benefit would we get from temperance if it is of this nature? Because if, as we assumed in the beginning8 the temperate man knew what he knew and what he did not know (and that he knows the former but not the latter) and were able to investigate another man who was in the same situation, then it would be of the greatest benefit to us to be temperate. Because those of us who had temperance would [e] live lives free from error and so would all those who were under our rule. Neither would we ourselves be attempting to do things we did not understand—rather we would find those who did understand and turn the matter over to them—nor would we trust those over whom we ruled to do anything except what they would do correctly, and this would be that of which they possessed the science. And thus, by means of temperance, every household would be well-run, and every city well-governed, and so in every case where temperance reigned. And with error rooted [172] out and rightness in control, men so circumstanced would necessarily fare admirably and well in all their doings and, faring well, they would be happy. Isn’t this what we mean about temperance, Critias,” I said, “when we say what a good thing it would be to know what one knows and what one does not know?”