Complete Works (143 page)
I’ve told you all these things because this spiritual thing has absolute [e] power in my dealings with those who associate with me. On the one hand, it opposes many, and it’s impossible for them to be helped by associating with me, so I can’t associate with them. On the other hand, it does not prevent my associating with many others, but it is of no help to them. Those whose association with me the power of the spiritual thing assists, however—these are the ones you’ve noticed, for they make rapid progress
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right away. And of these, again, who make progress, some are helped in a secure and permanent way, whereas many make wonderful progress as long as they’re with me, but when they go away from me they’re again no different from anyone else.
This is what happened to Aristides (son of Lysimachus, grandson of Aristides). While he was associating with me he made tremendous progress in a short time; but then there was some military expedition and he sailed away. On his return he learned that Thucydides (son of Melesias, grandson of Thucydides)
12
was associating with me. Thucydides had quarrelled with [b] me the day before about some arguments that had come up.
When Aristides saw me, after greeting me and talking of other things, he said, “I hear, Socrates, that Thucydides is rather indignant and irritated with you, as if he were someone important.”
“Yes, that’s right,” I said.
“Doesn’t he know,” he said, “what a slave
13
he was before he began associating with you?”
“Apparently not, by the gods,” I said.
“You know, Socrates, he said, “I am also in a ridiculous situation!”
“Why?” I said. [c]
“Because,” he said, “before I sailed away, I was able to discuss things with anyone, and never came off worse than anyone in arguments; I even tried to associate with the cleverest people. But now, on the contrary, whenever I even
see
anybody with any education, I avoid them. That’s how ashamed I am of my incompetence.”
“Did you lose your ability all of a sudden,” I asked, “or little by little?”
“Little by little,” he said.
“And when you had your ability,” I said, “Did you have it by learning something from me, or some other way?” [d]
“By the gods, Socrates, you’re not going to believe this, but it’s true! I’ve never learned anything from you, as you know. But I made progress whenever I was with you, even if I was only in the same house and not in the same room—but more when I was in the same room. And it seemed, to me at least, that when I was in the same room and looked at you when you were speaking, I made much more progress than when I looked away. [e] And I made by far the most and greatest progress when I sat right beside you, and physically held on to you or touched you. But now,” he said, “all that condition has trickled away.”
So this is how it is when you associate with me, Theages. If it’s favored by the god, you’ll make great and rapid progress; if not, you won’t. So think about it; wouldn’t it be safer for you to become educated in the company of somebody who has control over the way he benefits people rather than taking your chances with me?
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T
HEAGES
: It seems to me, Socrates, that we should do this: let’s test this spiritual thing by associating with one another. If it allows us, then that’s what’s best; if not, then we’ll immediately think about what we should do—whether to go and associate with someone else, or try to appease the divine thing that comes to you with prayers and sacrifices and any other way the diviners might suggest.
D
EMODOCUS
: Don’t oppose the boy any more in these things, Socrates; for Theages is right.
S
OCRATES
: Well, if it seems that this is what we ought to do, then let’s do it.
1
. The name seems to mean either “guided by god” or “revered by god” or “revering god.”
2
. Reading
eti kai hetera
in a7.
3
. Accepting the emendation to
t
ō
n ta mageirika
in c10.
4
. Accepting an emendation to
poia au
in d6.
5
. Three of the most famous leaders of democratic Athens.
6
. Accepting the conjectural deletion of
akontiois
in c1.
7
. Cf.
Alcibiades
118d–119a;
Meno
93a–94e;
Protagoras
319e–320b.
8
. Accepting an emendation to
prokatatithentas
in a6.
9
. Accepting a conjectural deletion of
euthu tou daimoniou
in a3.
10
. Socrates refers to the ill-fated Sicilian expedition of 415–413
B.C.
, in which the Athenian invasion force was almost totally lost.
11
. Reading
pragmateias
in d8.
12
. On Aristides and Thucydides see
Laches
178a ff. and
Theaetetus
150d ff.
13
. Accepting the conjectural deletion of
to
in b7.
Translated by Rosamond Kent Sprague.
Charmides was Plato’s uncle, on his mother’s side. He is seen here as a teenager
in conversation with Socrates in 432
B.C.
on the latter’s return to Athens
from service in the battle at Potidaea, the battle that initiated the Peloponnesian
War. Socrates’ other interlocutor is an older kinsman, first cousin of both
Charmides and Plato’s mother—Critias. It was a very distinguished family,
tracing its descent from Solon, the great poet and statesman of the beginning
of the sixth century, with distinguished forebears even before that. The subject
of discussion is the virtue of
‘s
ō
phrosun
ē
’,
here translated ‘temperance’—but
there is no adequate translation in modern European languages.
S
ō
phrosun
ē
means a well-developed consciousness of oneself and one’s legitimate duties in
relation to others (where it will involve self-restraint and showing due respect)
and in relation to one’s own ambitions, social standing, and the relevant expectations
as regards one’s own behavior. It is an aristocrat’s virtue
par excellence,
involving a sense of dignity and self-command. At the time Plato was
writing, both Charmides and Critias were notorious for involvement with the
Thirty Tyrants (Critias was their leader). These were rich antidemocrats appointed
by the Spartan king in 404
B.C.
to draw up a new constitution after
the defeat of Athens in the Peloponnesian War, who however seized power and
established a reign of terror against their political and class enemies (Socrates
alludes in
Apology
to his own behavior during this sorry episode). They both
died in 403 in the fighting that overthrew them and restored the democracy.
Their behavior was the antithesis of what could be expected of ‘temperate’ (
s
ō
phr
ō
n
) gentlemen.
For an ancient reader, these historic overtones would have played vividly
against the bright surface of the dialogue. Charmides comes on stage here as a
beautiful, thoughtful, much-admired youth, very modest and self-possessed—
for Critias and the others present, the model of aristocratic excellence in the
making. Only at the very end of the dialogue does Plato, very delicately, reveal
another side of his character: advised by Critias to attach himself to Socrates so
as to learn
s
ō
phrosun
ē
through repeated discussion with him, Charmides tells
Socrates he will do that by force, since his guardian Critias has commanded it,
without allowing Socrates to say yea or nay. That ominous sour note aside, we
get here a rich and subtle portrait of Socrates in conversation with an adolescent
male, beautiful in body, but (infinitely more important) giving signs of
beauty of soul and character—just the sort of person he was so constantly attracted
to. Equally rich and subtle is the complementary portrayal in
Lysis,
on
friendship, with which this dialogue should be compared.
Questioned by Socrates, Charmides attempts to say what this virtue of ‘temperance’
is, of which Critias and others think him a paragon. He offers three
successive accounts, the last being something he has gathered from some respected
adult (Critias, it turns out), but without being able to explain it satisfactorily
either to himself or to Socrates. That by itself should suggest (anyhow
to Socrates) that he does not possess the virtue, but out of consideration for his
age, Socrates does not press the point. Instead, Critias takes over the defense of
this last account—that ‘temperance’ is (equivalently) ‘minding one’s own business’,
or behaving in a way that suits the person who one is, or behaving with
self-knowledge. Critias, too, is unable to develop and defend this idea satisfactorily,
and the dialogue ends, as usual with Plato’s ‘Socratic’ dialogues, in perplexity.
Both Charmides’ and Critias’ proposals, and some of Socrates’ criticisms,
may strike us as oddly off base as accounts of whatever it is we mean by
temperance; matters may be put to rights if we bear in mind the wider scope of
the Greek virtue, as explained above.
J.M.C.
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We got back the preceding evening from the camp at Potidaea, and since I was arriving after such a long absence I sought out my accustomed haunts with special pleasure. To be more specific, I went straight to the palaestra of Taureas (the one directly opposite the temple of Basile), and there I found a good number of people, most of whom were familiar, [b] though there were some, too, whom I didn’t know. When they saw me coming in unexpectedly, I was immediately hailed at a distance by people coming up from all directions, and Chaerephon,
1
like the wild man he is, sprang up from the midst of a group of people and ran towards me and, seizing me by the hand, exclaimed, “Socrates! how did you come off in the battle?” (A short time before we came away there had been a battle at Potidaea and the people at home had only just got the news.)
And I said in reply, “Exactly as you see me.”
[c] “The way we heard it here,” he said, “the fighting was very heavy and many of our friends were killed.”
“The report is pretty accurate,” I said.
“Were you actually in the battle?” he said.
“Yes, I was there.”
“Well, come sit down and give us a complete account, because we’ve had very few details so far.” And while he was still talking he brought me over to Critias, the son of Callaeschrus, and sat me down there.
When I took my seat I greeted Critias and the rest and proceeded to [d] relate the news from the camp in answer to whatever questions anyone asked, and they asked plenty of different ones.
When they had had enough of these things, I in my turn began to question them with respect to affairs at home, about the present state of philosophy and about the young men, whether there were any who had become distinguished for wisdom or beauty or both. Whereupon Critias, glancing towards the door and seeing several young men coming in and
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laughing with each other, with a crowd of others following behind, said “As far as beauty goes, Socrates, I think you will be able to make up your mind straight away, because those coming in are the advance party and the admirers of the one who is thought to be the handsomest young man of the day, and I think that he himself cannot be far off.”
“But who is he,” I said, “and who is his father?”
“You probably know him,” he said, “but he was not yet grown up when [b] you went away. He is Charmides, the son of my mother’s brother Glaucon, and my cousin.”
“Good heavens, of course I know him,” I said, “because he was worth noticing even when he was a child. By now I suppose he must be pretty well grown up.”
“It won’t be long,” he said, “before you discover how grown up he is and how he has turned out.” And while he was speaking Charmides came in.
You mustn’t judge by me, my friend. I’m a broken yardstick as far as handsome people are concerned, because practically everyone of that age strikes me as beautiful. But even so, at the moment Charmides came in [c] he seemed to me to be amazing in stature and appearance, and everyone there looked to me to be in love with him, they were so astonished and confused by his entrance, and many other lovers followed in his train. That men of my age should have been affected this way was natural enough, but I noticed that even the small boys fixed their eyes upon him and no one of them, not even the littlest, looked at anyone else, but all gazed at him as if he were a statue. And Chaerephon called to me and said, “Well, Socrates, what do you think of the young man? Hasn’t he a [d] splendid face?”
“Extraordinary,” I said.
“But if he were willing to strip,” he said, “you would hardly notice his face, his body is so perfect.”
Well, everyone else said the same things as Chaerephon, and I said, “By Heracles, you are describing a man without an equal—if he should happen to have one small thing in addition.”
“What’s that?” asked Critias.
“If he happens to have a well-formed soul,” I said. “It would be appropriate if he did, Critias, since he comes from your family.”
“He is very distinguished in that respect, too,” he said.
“Then why don’t we undress this part of him and have a look at it before we inspect his body? Surely he has already reached the age when he is willing to discuss things.”
“Very much so,” said Critias, “since he is not only a philosopher but
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also, both in his own opinion and that of others, quite a poet.”