On Wisdom, or Prudence

SOCRATES: You’re Lis, aren’t you?
LIS: Yes, that’s me. Who are you, and how do you know my name?
SOCRATES: I’m Socrates, and I was directed here by our mutual friend Kurt.
LIS: Ah, Kurt! Yes, he is a good friend of mine, and I think he’s mentioned your name a few times. What is it you want?
SOCRATES: Well, Kurt told me that you know quite a bit about wisdom, so I came to see what you might have to say. I’ve brought along my friend Meno, who’s also interested. You see, we both think that we’re rather foolish on the whole, and we’d like to learn more about what wisdom is and how we can become wise.
LIS: It seems that Kurt has gone praising me again to others more than I deserve, for I don’t think I really know any more about wisdom than an average person.
SOCRATES: What! Are you sure you aren’t just being overly humble? Kurt was pretty adamant that you would know a lot about wisdom.
LIS: I can’t say I do. But wait, aren’t you the Socrates who likes to go around asking questions and discussing with people?
SOCRATES: I guess some people might say that of me, but why are you wondering?
LIS: Perhaps we could have a discussion right now, the three of us, and see what conclusions we can come to about wisdom? I would certainly be willing to do that.
SOCRATES: That’s a wonderful idea! Meno, what do you think?
MENO: I’ll stay and discuss if you would like to, Socrates.
SOCRATES: Then it’s settled. Where shall we start our discussion?
MENO: Oughtn’t we to start it where everyone usually starts it?
SOCRATES: Where’s that?
MENO: With knowledge.
SOCRATES: What do you mean?
MENO: Well, isn’t wisdom a lot like knowledge? In fact, I think it might even be the same thing.
LIS: No, that can’t be right, Meno. Or don’t you know that it’s completely possible to possess great knowledge of things and still be foolish?
MENO: I hadn’t heard that before, Lis. How so?
SOCRATES: Yes, Lis, I would like to know the same thing. It seems to me that the more a man knows, the less foolish he will be. Why do you think that this is not the case?
LIS: If you don’t see it, I feel I’m going to have a hard time explaining it, but I’ll give it a shot. Think about it this way. Can’t a man have a great deal of knowledge about the science of medicine—that is, the facts involved with bodies and what kinds of plants do what things, and the like—but have no idea whatsoever of how to apply that sort of thing to actual bodies? Such a man would know a great deal of things, but would be completely foolish, because he would use the wrong remedies at the wrong times. Thus, wisdom seems to me to be a sort of application of knowledge, not simply the possession of it.
SOCRATES: Hmm. I think I understand. So would we say that a wise man knows how to apply his knowledge?
LIS: I suppose so.
SOCRATES: Then that would mean that wisdom is a kind of knowledge, correct? For how else could he “know” how to apply his knowledge unless wisdom were also knowledge?
LIS: You’ve stumped me already, Socrates. I don’t know how to answer.
SOCRATES: That’s alright. Don’t think I’m trying to defeat you in an argument, or anything like that. I only want to reach a good answer, with your help, and you have certainly been helpful so far. So, it seems that if wisdom is application of knowledge, than wisdom must also be a sort of knowledge, even if it’s a different sort of knowledge than the knowledge which it knows how to apply.
MENO: That’s a bit convoluted, but I think what you’ve said is right so far.
SOCRATES: Then we must figure out what kind of knowledge it is. For I think we must agree that whatever it is, it is a different sort of knowledge than the knowledge it applies. If it were the same sort of knowledge, how could it be of itself? Does this happen in any other sorts of knowledge? Is medicine the knowledge of medicine, or of bodies?
MENO: Of bodies.
SOCRATES: And is carpentry the knowledge of carpentry, or of how to build things out of wood?
MENO: How to build things out of wood.
SOCRATES: So I would say that wisdom cannot be said to be knowledge of knowledge in a strict sense, but the two uses of “knowledge” must apply to different kinds of things. And yet, we must still say that they are both knowledge.
LIS: I follow you, Socrates, but I also have a question.
SOCRATES: Yes, Lis?
LIS: If we say that these are two different kinds of knowledge, oughtn’t we to give one of them a different name? For it seems that otherwise we are likely to confuse ourselves.
SOCRATES: You’re probably right.
LIS: Then we can simply call the knowledge of application, wisdom. Isn’t that we were doing in the first place? So it seems that wisdom and knowledge are still two different things.
SOCRATES: You’ve got me there! I see that you want to be practical about this, which is a good idea. Very well. Let’s say that, though wisdom seems to be a sort of knowing, it is quite distinct from that knowledge which it knows how to apply, and so we will continue to call it wisdom rather than knowledge, leaving the term “knowledge” to refer to that which is applied by wisdom.
MENO: I agree.
SOCRATES: Then, what shall be our next step? Or do we think that we have learned enough about wisdom now?
LIS: By no means, Socrates! There are still many more things to discover about wisdom. That is, unless you think that a man who has knowledge of statesmanship and knows how to apply that statesmanship, and then goes on to become a tyrant, is wise?
SOCRATES: What! Of course not. But you have a point, and I see that there is certainly more to discuss.
LIS: What, then, shall we say? This is a question that has stumped me for some time.
MENO: I can’t say that I see an answer, either. It seems to me that such a man would have wisdom, in the way that we have just defined wisdom, but I can’t agree that a man who uses knowledge of statesmanship to become a tyrant is actually wise.
SOCRATES: You’re absolutely right, Meno, so let’s see what we can do. It seems that these two kinds of knowledge, the one which we have left with the name knowledge, and the other which we have called wisdom, deal with two different sorts of things. The first seems to be knowledge of facts. Would you agree?
MENO: I think so, but can you give some examples?
SOCRATES: Certainly. Think about the examples we used before. Knowledge of medicine is knowledge of how bodies work, and of how various plants affect bodies, and other similar things like that.
MENO: Of course.
SOCRATES: And likewise, knowledge of carpentry is knowledge of what kinds of woods are good for making chairs or tables or houses, and then how to make those various things out of the right kinds of wood.
MENO: I suppose I see that, too. But then what room is left for wisdom?
SOCRATES: Well, in medicine, wisdom is clearly knowing when to apply which treatments. For without such knowledge, wouldn’t we say that a man is not a wise doctor, but a foolish one, no matter how much he knows about bodies?
LIS: But Socrates, I think I see the same difficulty here that we had before, when we were trying to distinguish wisdom from knowledge. For wouldn’t the knowledge of when to apply a certain kind of treatment simply be an amalgamation of the knowledge of bodies and the knowledge of medicines? Say, if a doctor saw a dirty, shallow wound, he would know from his knowledge of bodies that such a wound would be likely to get infected if left untreated, so it should be cleaned with water and then bound with a bandage and probably some sort of plant which would help the body resist infection. This sort of knowledge doesn’t seem to me to be any different from the knowledge of bodies and the knowledge of medicines, when combined.
SOCRATES: That’s a good point, Lis, so let’s look it over. Remember that we said earlier that wisdom is, indeed, a sort of knowledge, so finding that a good doctor makes use of knowledge when we think he is making use of wisdom is not truly a problem. I don’t think that’s your main concern, but I want to remind you of it anyway. Now, this is what I think you’re wondering about. See if I’m right: You think that applying medicine, as a good doctor would, is no different from adding together the knowledge of bodies and the knowledge of various kinds of treatments, and you think that this sort of addition doesn’t really create a new kind of knowledge, as it must if it were to be wisdom as we want to define wisdom, but that it is only the same sort of thing all over again. Is that right?
LIS: That’s just about it, I think.
SOCRATES: But now I have a question for you.
LIS: Fire away.
SOCRATES: Might not wisdom be this very thing, this addition of the two different kinds of knowledge so that they now relate to each other? Or, more precisely, wisdom is the knowing of when to bring two different branches of knowledge together.
LIS: I could see that being the case. Then what about the adding together of the two kinds of knowledge, as a thing in itself?
SOCRATES: That might remain a kind of knowledge in the knowledge sense, rather than in the wisdom sense, but the appropriate adding together of them is done by wisdom, which knows when to add two together and when not to. For example, it would not be wisdom to add together, say, the art of navigation and the art of baking. These two, as far as I can tell, have next to nothing to do with each other, so putting them together does little or no good. But the wise man knows when to add together two things which ought to go together, like the knowledge of navigation and the knowledge of astronomy.
LIS: Yes, I agree. So we seem to have come across some idea of what wisdom is: The knowing when to put two branches of knowledge together. Is this the whole of wisdom, then?
MENO: I wouldn’t think so. I’d wager there is still more to find, as that seems insufficient for what I have always taken wisdom to be.
SOCRATES: I think so, too, Meno. But tell us, do you have any ideas of what to do next?
MENO: Well, Socrates, I’ve always thought, and I think you’ll agree with me here, that wisdom is a part of virtue, along with moderation, courage, and justice.
SOCRATES: By Zeus, you’re right! And virtue, as I’ve heard before, is the thing that, when a man possesses it, makes him good. Isn’t that right?
LIS: Isn’t that part of a conversation you had with my friend Llyren?
SOCRATES: Yes, it was, Lis. That’s where we came to a sure conclusion in that respect. So let’s take this idea now, and see how it applies to wisdom. For I feel compelled to agree with Meno, that wisdom is a part of virtue.
LIS: I’ll try to start us off. If wisdom is part of what makes a man good, then it seems that knowing when two things ought to go together is part of what makes a man good. For that is what we said wisdom is, right?
SOCRATES: Indeed. Now we must see how such an ability truly makes a man good. For it seems that some “appropriate” pairings of knowledge are not good. Take this example: A man brings together knowledge of dancing, which enables him to be light on his feet, with gymnastics and boxing, which make him strong and able to fight others, and also adds in a cunning mind and perhaps some knowledge of locks. Wouldn’t such a man make a good thief? And yet such a pairing of knowledge would not be good, even though those sorts of knowledge do fit together in that way.
LIS: Why can’t we say that they don’t truly fit?
SOCRATES: What do you mean?
LIS: You said that the pairings of knowledge which make a good thief are “appropriate,” but couldn’t we say that they’re actually inappropriate, because they enable a man to do bad things? In this case, they would be just as inappropriate as the pairing you mentioned before, navigation and baking, though in a different way, since those two simply have nothing to do with each other, while the others enable a man to do wicked things.
SOCRATES: That’s a good point. We’ll need to make the right kinds of distinctions here if we’re going to come to a true understanding of wisdom. We could say that pairing navigation and baking is nonsensical, while the pairings of knowledge that make up thievery are sensical, but that both are inappropriate or bad pairings of knowledge.
LIS: That sounds good to me, Socrates.
MENO: And to me. Then, if I may make a conclusion, I would suppose that only sensical pairings belong to wisdom—that is, no nonsensical pairings do—yet not all sensical pairings belong to wisdom, since some of them are wicked.
SOCRATES: Agreed, Meno. Now, here’s another question which seems rather difficult to me: How do we know which pairings are sensical? I suppose what I’m asking is this: If wisdom is the thing which knows how to pair various branches of knowledge in the appropriate ways, how do we obtain wisdom?
LIS: That’s what I’ve wanted to know from the beginning, but I have no idea how to approach it. It seems to be something that you either have or you don’t, and I can’t figure out how someone who doesn’t have it would ever be able to learn it.
MENO: Why not, Lis? We agreed that wisdom is a kind of knowledge, didn’t we? Even though we did say that it’s a different kind of knowledge from the knowledges which it knows how to apply. But if it’s knowledge, it seems like we ought to be able to learn it.
LIS: I would agree that we ought to be able to learn it, but I simply can’t think of a way that it might work. Socrates, do you have any ideas?
SOCRATES: Well, let’s start from the beginning. How do we learn anything?
LIS: From a teacher, I suppose.
SOCRATES: Yes, at least in part. I think we also need something to learn about, but we’re already assuming that wisdom is that thing. Is there anything else we need?
MENO: Nothing comes to mind.
SOCRATES: Alright, then let’s move on. If we’ve forgotten anything, hopefully it will become apparent as we go on. Now, it seems we need a teacher if we’re going to learn to be wise. Who shall we learn from?
LIS: A wise man.
SOCRATES: Very good! But where shall we find one? Who do we think is a wise man?
LIS: I’m not sure what to say.
SOCRATES: How can we tell a wise man from other men?
LIS: I suppose he’ll be the one who makes the best choices.
MENO: Why do you say that, Lis?
LIS: Wouldn’t a wise man know more than anyone else which kinds of knowledge ought to be brought together? So it seems that he would make the best choices regarding any kind of knowledge, because he would understand them the best; and not only that, but he would simply make good choices in life, because he will have always brought together the right kinds of knowledge.
SOCRATES: That seems perfectly correct to me, and it reminds me of something that I’ve heard before on this same subject. Haven’t you heard that wisdom is sometimes called prudence?
LIS: Now that you remind me, I have indeed. What of it?
SOCRATES: Prudence, I think, indicates more clearly the making of good choices. Isn’t the term often used that way?
LIS: Yes, it is.
SOCRATES: So it seems that we have come around to a fuller understanding of wisdom by saying that it consists of making good choices. Now then, how do we learn which choices are good to make? Would we still say it’s by learning from a wise man—that is, one who makes the best choices?
MENO: I don’t see why not.
SOCRATES: Then, how do we learn such a thing from him?
LIS: Perhaps by observing him as he makes good choices?
SOCRATES: Would this be enough, Lis, or would we have to comprehend why he is making the choices he is?
LIS: I think we would have to comprehend why. Otherwise, we would not be wise ourselves, because I think being wise involves making the best choices ourselves, not just copying someone who makes the best choices.
SOCRATES: Then it seems that we must do more than simply observe a wise man.
LIS: Yes, it does. Perhaps he could tell us which choices to make, and which not to make?
SOCRATES: This might be helpful; but how many choices would you say there are in the world?
MENO: Oh, very many.
SOCRATES: Then how could any man, even the wisest, have time to explain all the best choices one by one to someone whom he was teaching?
LIS: I don’t see how that would be possible.
SOCRATES: Neither do I. I think we must learn wisdom from wise men in a different way.
MENO: What other way would you suggest, Socrates?
SOCRATES: It’s hard to say. Let’s go over what we’ve discovered so far, and perhaps we can come to an answer. Wisdom, we said at first, was a sort of knowledge which was able to apply other kinds of knowledge, and we decided that wisdom consisted of bringing together appropriate branches of knowledge. “Appropriate” here means that the pairing is both sensical and good, as opposed to those that are nonsensical, or sensical and wicked. Then, we determined that what this really means is that the wise man knows how to make the best choices in any situation. We thus equated wisdom with prudence, as many people often do. Does this all seem right so far?
MENO: Yes, I think so.
SOCRATES: Then, has it revealed anything about how we ought to learn wisdom?
LIS: No, I still can’t see anything new.
SOCRATES: I wonder if we ought to approach wisdom from a different direction.
LIS: What do you mean?
SOCRATES: It seems that we’ve hit something of a dead end in our current discussion, or at least we don’t have enough light to see which way to go next. But perhaps if we enter the maze from a different point, as it were, we can join up with what we’ve already said while illuminating more of the path.
LIS: That sounds good to me, if we can. What did you have in mind?
SOCRATES: Think about this. If a man knows arithmetic, as one of the branches of knowledge over which wisdom has a sort of dominion, don’t we say that such a man knows how to count?
MENO: Yes.
SOCRATES: And if a man knows carpentry, don’t we say that he knows how to make things out of wood?
MENO: Of course.
SOCRATES: And the same with baking and navigation and geometry and anything else like it. In these cases, we always say that a man knows how to do something.
LIS: What of it?
SOCRATES: It seems to me that all of these basic kinds of knowledge have to do with the how.
MENO: But how does this relate to wisdom?
SOCRATES: I’m getting there. Do you think that wisdom also has to do with the how?
MENO: What else?
SOCRATES: Let’s examine it more closely. Remember that we said wisdom is, in a way, the art of making good choices.
LIS: I think I see where you’re going.
SOCRATES: Would you like to continue in my place, then?
LIS: I’ll try. When we make good choices, don’t we have to know why the choice is good? Specifically, in the way we started our discussion on wisdom, oughtn’t we to know why the different branches of knowledge go together?
SOCRATES: You’ve hit it exactly, Lis.
LIS: So it seems that the basic kinds of knowledge have to do with the how of things, while wisdom has to do with the why.
MENO: Does this help us understand wisdom as a whole any better?
LIS: Let’s see. If we are to learn wisdom from a wise man, then does that mean we must learn why the best choice is best, rather than how it is best?
MENO: It seems to me that both would be useful.
SOCRATES: I agree, Meno. Then ought we to say that there is even a knowledge of wisdom? For it seems that would be how we know how the best choice is best.
LIS: Now I’m confused again. For if we have knowledge of wisdom, oughtn’t there to be a wisdom which reigns over wisdom, telling us why the best choice is best? But then we’ll have an infinite series of wisdoms and knowledges, and that’s obviously impossible.
SOCRATES: Very true, Lis. We’ll have to be a bit more careful with how we describe this, it seems. I think you were right in the first place, and I sent us off course a bit. Looking back, I think it’s correct that we must learn both why the best choice is best and how it is best, but that these are simply the first wisdom and knowledge which we found, not a wisdom of wisdom and a knowledge of wisdom. Let’s look at an example to see if this makes sense. When a doctor combines his knowledge of medicines and his knowledge of bodies, he knows how the knowledge will help the sick body, right? That’s why people come to him: to be cured.
LIS: Yes, certainly.
SOCRATES: But does he know why he ought to put those kinds of knowledge together?
LIS: Aha! Do you mean that this is wisdom, namely, the knowing why one ought to make a certain choice?
SOCRATES: It seems that way to me, at least. But I think I might not leave it at that. What is it that shows a doctor why his knowledge of medicine actually goes with his knowledge of bodies? Surely, he knows that it does, but how does he know why it does?
LIS: I think it must be through wisdom, Socrates, but I can’t explain how wisdom is able to do such a thing. It seems almost miraculous, that wisdom can explain such difficult and obscure concepts as knowing not only how something works, but also why it works.
SOCRATES: Yes, that’s a difficult subject, so let’s leave it aside for now, and go back to wisdom as the knowing why one ought to make a certain choice. We would say that this is because one choice is certainly better than the other, right?
LIS: Of course.
SOCRATES: Well, what makes one choice better than another?
LIS: I’ve thought about it, and I can’t say. That is, I can’t pick out anything that would make some choices better than others. I want to say that it’s just because they’re better, but isn’t that going around in a circle?
SOCRATES: I don’t think it is. For if we say that one choice is better than another, we’re saying that it partakes of the good than the other choice does, aren’t we?
LIS: Yes, I see that.
SOCRATES: And remember, we said before that wisdom is a part of virtue, and virtue is that which, when a man has it, makes him good, right?
MENO: Certainly. What then?
LIS: Don’t you see, Meno? I think I’m starting to understand. If wisdom is a part of virtue, and virtue is what makes a man good, then of course wisdom would tell us which choices are better than others, for wisdom itself is a knowledge of what is good. Isn’t that right, Socrates?
SOCRATES: Just about, but let’s make sure we’re careful of exactly how we say this. We’ve already seen that we need to word our definitions correctly here to distinguish between knowledge and wisdom, between the how and the why, so let’s make sure that we don’t slip up now.
MENO: Agreed. Did you want to change Lis’s definition, then?
SOCRATES: Only slightly, I think. I would say that wisdom is understanding both that the pairing of certain kinds of knowledge is good, and also why such a pairing is good. Those are two very similar ideas, but I think they ought to be distinguished. The first, understanding that a choice is good, is what we’ve been talking about, and the second, understanding why a choice is good, is the one that we passed over just a moment ago, because it was difficult.
LIS: I think we must come back to that now, for it seems to me that we cannot understand that a choice is good unless we understand why it is good.
SOCRATES: Right, Lis, so let’s see if we can now make any progress at all with this idea. In fact, let me know what you think of this: Some choices are good because they are closer to the nature of God than other choices. For don’t you think that a thing is better the more like God it is?
LIS: I think that must be the case.
SOCRATES: Then it seems that we have our answer, don’t we?
MENO: Can you go over that again, Socrates? I’m afraid I didn’t quite follow it all.
SOCRATES: I’ll see if I can make it clearer. We said first that wisdom was the appropriate pairing of two different kinds of knowledge. Then, we noted that such a thing was a lot like prudence, so we decided that wisdom was, more properly, the making of the best choices. We also found that this had more to do with the why than with the how of things. Finally, we realized that why one choice is better than another has to do with how far each choice participates in what is good, and what is good is determined by the nature of God. Therefore, if I can offer one final conclusion, it would be that the wise man is the one who most fully knows God.
LIS: I think that concludes our discussion, gentlemen.

On Courage

KURT: Oh, there you are, Socrates! I’ve been looking all over for you! I was hoping to talk to you today about something.
SOCRATES: What a coincidence! Laches and I were just going to go find you, because we wanted to get your thoughts about courage.
KURT: A coincidence indeed! That’s the very thing I was going to ask you about.
SOCRATES: But then it sounds like we are all at a loss about courage, for if you were going to ask us about it, then that must mean that you don’t think you know what it is, either.
KURT: I’m afraid that’s the case, Socrates. I’ve thought for quite some time that I myself was courageous, but now that doesn’t seem to be so.
LACHES: Why, what has happened to make you doubt yourself, Kurt?
KURT: I’d rather not go into the whole story right now, Laches. But were you two together really unable to come to a conclusion about courage?
SOCRATES: Yes, that’s really what happened. You would think that courage, being courage, would stand right out in the open and face us, but instead it’s been hiding from us like a coward.
KURT: Then perhaps I can help you make it stand its ground so that we can all find out what kind of thing it is.
SOCRATES: That sounds like a great idea, Kurt. What do you think, Laches? Shall we give it another try?
LACHES: Definitely.
SOCRATES: So then, where should we start, Kurt? Could you perhaps tell us what you used to think courage was, and then explain to us why you now think that’s wrong? That seems to me like as good a place to start as any.
KURT: Let’s do that. I used to think that courage is not being afraid of anything, but running straight in and approaching danger with confidence.
LACHES: And you no longer think this is courage, Kurt? Why not? It seems quite appropriate.
KURT: Well, I still think that perhaps this is part of what courage is, but it now seems insufficient to me. For example, I’ve often heard it said that courage is a part of virtue, and that virtue is doing good things.
SOCRATES: Yes, I’ve heard something quite similar, Kurt, and I won’t quibble about any minor differences in the definition. But how did this turn you away from your first definition of courage?
KURT: Isn’t wisdom also part of virtue? But it seems to me that sometimes running into danger with confidence is not a wise thing to do. In fact, quite recently I put some of my close friends in danger because I wasn’t careful.
SOCRATES: Ah, I think I understand what you mean. I think it’s likely that confidence is a large part of courage, but it isn’t the only part, because courage without wisdom isn’t virtuous. Is that right?
KURT: Yes, that’s exactly what I was thinking. But then I’m left wondering again what courage is. It seems that true courage must be tempered by wisdom, but then how is courage different from wisdom? Or, maybe more exactly, is wisdom superior to courage? But I thought both were supposed to be parts of virtue.
SOCRATES: Those are good questions, Kurt. I don’t have any answers yet, but perhaps if we keep talking we can figure something out. I would certainly think that wisdom and courage are both parts of virtue, along with temperance and justice, but it’s a hypothesis that I’m willing to discard if it seems that we must. However, let’s keep it for now, and see where it takes us. Then, we must assume that wisdom is not superior to courage, but that it only works with courage, right?
KURT: That seems right to me.
SOCRATES: Alright. Now we must see how wisdom works with courage. I think that some people would call wisdom and courage opposites—or don’t you think so?
LACHES: I don’t see how, Socrates. Who would say that?
SOCRATES: Isn’t wisdom sometimes called prudence, as well? Because wisdom looks toward the future, intending to provide for whatever may come.
LACHES: I guess that’s true. What of it?
SOCRATES: But prudence is often seen in a bad light, for that’s where the word “prude” comes from: someone who takes prudence too far. Isn’t that right?
LACHES: I think I see now what you’re saying.
SOCRATES: So in this case, people think wisdom is the opposite of courage, because those who are overly prudent, if we may say so, run away from dangerous situations because they are trying to be as safe as possible, while those who are courageous seem to rush into situations without taking proper forethought. I think this is what Kurt said that he did, and so endangered his friends.
KURT: That’s what happened.
SOCRATES: So we can see that these two things seem to be opposed. But I think we’ll be right in saying that both of these are improper extremes, the one of extreme wisdom turning into cowardice, and the other of extreme courage turning into foolishness. Now, we think that this is not what either wisdom or courage are supposed to be, but that when we find what they are supposed to be, then we can perhaps see how they work together.
KURT: Agreed.
SOCRATES: I think we ought still to say that, though wisdom and courage are not opposites, they are certainly complementary, in that they do different things and sort of make up for each others’ weaknesses. Does that seem so?
LACHES: It does.
SOCRATES: Now, wisdom has to do with the mind and with knowledge, right?
KURT: That seems to be the case.
SOCRATES: Then I think we can say that courage has to do with the body and with actions?
LACHES: Obviously.
SOCRATES: But wait. Doesn’t wisdom, using knowledge, help us to see how we ought to act? So doesn’t wisdom cross over with courage there?
LACHES: What of it?
SOCRATES: It makes me wonder if perhaps courage crosses over in the opposite way, so that it is primarily related to the body and actions, but also applies somehow to the mind and knowledge.
KURT: I think you may be on to something, Socrates.
SOCRATES: Let’s not stop now.
LACHES: Where can we go next? I have no idea how courage crosses over into wisdom.
SOCRATES: I don’t know if this is the right way to go, but I have a thought. Are there ever times when we act on something against our better judgment, in a way, but the outcome is better than if we had followed what seemed to be the wiser course?
KURT: That seems right.
SOCRATES: And don’t we call this sort of thing “acting on instinct”?
LACHES: That’s what I would call it.
SOCRATES: But when we act on instinct, we haven’t taken time to think through the action and make sure that it’s the best course, have we? So when we act on instinct, we aren’t acting wisely.
LACHES: I would say the same thing.
SOCRATES: And yet we see that in this case, as we’re supposing, acting wisely would bring about a worse result than acting on instinct.
KURT: Why does this happen, Socrates? For I thought we agreed that wisdom was a good thing, and even that it was part of virtue. Then how could wisdom be bad?
SOCRATES: Well, perhaps we haven’t got the right idea of wisdom yet, Kurt. All the same, let’s keep going on this line, because I think we may make a discovery here. If not, we can always go back through our discussion and find the place where we went off course, and start again from there.
KURT: Alright, let’s continue, then.
SOCRATES: We’ve said that sometimes the wise action would not be the best one, but I’ve had another thought. Could we instead say that the action we think is the wise one would not be the best? Because we may be wrong about which action is best.
KURT: I like that thought a lot better. Sometimes, then, we may think that an action is wise, but it is only our own failures in wisdom that lead us to think so. But I still can’t say I understand how courage then results in a better action than what we think is wisdom.
LACHES: Perhaps we need to look at what instinct is.
SOCRATES: That’s a good idea, Laches, but I can’t say I know where to start. Kurt, you seem to have some experience of instinct. Do you think you can explain it?
KURT: I’ll try, Socrates, though I don’t know if I can get the words out. I feel like one needs to understand instinct by instinct, as it were, and not by wisdom, but if we can gain any understanding of instinct through discussion, I’ll try to make it happen.
SOCRATES: That’s only fair.
KURT: Instinct, then, seems to be a real understanding of something, and in that sense is a lot like wisdom, but it is perhaps obtained and acted out in a different way than wisdom usually is. In fact, I think that instinct could even be said to be a sort of wisdom.
SOCRATES: I don’t think that can be right, Kurt, at least if we’re right in saying that instinct is part of courage. For then we would no longer have wisdom and courage both as parts of virtue, but courage subservient to wisdom. I thought we wanted to avoid that idea at all costs, unless it turns out unavoidably to be true.
KURT: You’re right, Socrates. I’ll try to be more clear in what I mean. I think perhaps it would be best to go back to the idea that wisdom and courage are counterparts, and that each acts where the other is weak, in tandem, as it were. Wisdom, then, knows some things, and courage knows others, and in different ways; and just where wisdom fails, courage picks up.
SOCRATES: That may be the case, but I still think it’s lacking. Wait: what if we’re thinking of knowledge itself in the wrong way? I’ve had a sort of thought before that knowledge is actually a higher thing than wisdom, in the way that we’re talking about it, and that knowledge is really a part of virtue itself, not like wisdom or courage is a part of virtue, but more fundamentally.
LACHES: Could you explain more, Socrates? I think I understand what you’re saying, but I’m not sure yet.
SOCRATES: Let’s see. I think I would have to say that virtue is more than simply knowledge itself. Perhaps we could say that knowledge is a building block for virtue? That is, knowledge is necessary, but it is not the sum of virtue. Rather, virtue, or “being good,” consists in applying knowledge in the right ways and at the right times. This is the practice of moderation, courage, wisdom, and justice.
KURT: Great, Socrates. I like where your thoughts are going. But can you tie this back in to courage?
SOCRATES: I’m getting there. Have patience! Wisdom, then, is not the having of knowledge, but a certain way of how to apply the knowledge we have. Courage is a different way. And I think that by distinguishing wisdom from knowledge, we are able to put wisdom back on a level with courage, but appropriately this time, and not as if we were forcing wisdom and courage into places where they don’t belong.
KURT: So, we’ve said then that courage has to do with instinct, and that instinct is a sort of having of knowledge which is different from the having of knowledge that is wisdom. But I guess we’ll have to change this a bit. We’ll say that instinct is the applying of knowledge that we already have, but in a different way than wisdom. Except, this doesn’t yet seem quite right, either.
SOCRATES: How so, Kurt?
KURT: Well, I want to know how we acquire the sort of knowledge on which instinct acts. I can understand where the knowledge comes from that wisdom uses, but what about courage? When we talk about beasts acting on instinct, we don’t think that they have knowledge in the same way that we have knowledge, do we? So is theirs the same kind of instinct as ours, or something different? And if it’s the same, then does instinct really act on knowledge, or not?
SOCRATES: What a flood of questions! I don’t know how I can answer them all. I think you’ll have to help me.
KURT: Of course, if I can.
SOCRATES: Let me see. I think the same as you do about beasts, that they don’t have knowledge in the same way that we do, for we can’t see that they think about the good, or about mathematics or music or their own history, or anything like that. Of course, it’s possible that they do, and we just can’t communicate with them on these matters, but all the same, I doubt that they do these things.
KURT: Agreed.
SOCRATES: But I think they do think about their families, or at least that many of them do; for we see that many beasts travel in herds or packs, like wild dogs or lions or even some kinds of birds. And one of the most obvious ways in which men are courageous is in defending those they care about, especially their families. Doesn’t this seem to be so?
KURT: It does. But please go on, Socrates. I want to see what else you have to say about this.
SOCRATES: Isn’t this enough? For if there are some ways in which the knowledge of beasts is like our knowledge, mightn’t that be the sort of knowledge which is applied by instinct?
KURT: It might be, but I want to make sure. I’d also like to see if there are any other kinds of knowledge on which our instinct acts, that might be distinct from what beasts have, since I still think that our instinct, even if similar to that of the beasts, is probably greater than theirs.
SOCRATES: I share the same thoughts, Kurt, so let’s see if we can answer some of these further questions. However, I can’t see how to make more sure that the instinct relating to families is common to both beasts and men.
KURT: First of all, couldn’t we look at what kind of knowledge this actually is? For you haven’t said yet what kind of knowledge has to do with the instinct to protect families.
SOCRATES: Isn’t it obvious? It has to be, first, the knowledge of who our families are. For if we don’t know this, we clearly can’t have an instinct to protect them.
KURT: Of course.
SOCRATES: Next, it must be knowledge of who the enemies of our family are. For if we don’t know that, how can we defend against the right people?
KURT: Very true.
SOCRATES: Then, we must know how to defend against such people. This would include not only who the enemies of our families are, but also the weaknesses of those enemies, as well as our own strengths and how to make use of them in battle.
KURT: This is perfect, Socrates, and I see how all of this knowledge is common to both beasts and men. But I still have two problems.
SOCRATES: What are they?
KURT: First, I would like to know if you think that human courage goes beyond bestial courage. For the things you have listed all seem to belong to human courage, but I can’t help thinking that there is still more to human courage than this. Second, can you tell me how one gains the kind of knowledge that has to do with courage, and how one then knows how to apply it? For the applying of such knowledge is instinct, as we have said, and is the heart of courage.
SOCRATES: What difficult questions you ask, Kurt! Are you not satisfied yet?
KURT: No, I’m not.
LACHES: And neither am I, Socrates. I quite agree with Kurt’s questions. Otherwise, what would distinguish men from beasts in this respect? Would we say, then, that beasts are good and virtuous insofar as they partake of courage? For unless we can distinguish human courage from bestial courage, as Kurt said, we would either need to say this, that beasts can participate in one part of virtue without participating in the others—since it can’t be right that beasts can also be moderate and wise and just—or that courage is actually no part of virtue at all, neither of which I am willing to do.
SOCRATES: What a speech, Laches! But I am forced to agree with you. Let us, then, examine courage further. I think I have a place to start, in fact. We’ve been talking about instinct in one way, but we actually haven’t quite grasped the concept in the way that we want to. If we distinguish it properly, then our first question may be answered for us.
LACHES: Which question was that?
SOCRATES: The question of whether human courage goes beyond bestial courage. We were saying that some beasts have an instinct to protect their families. I think we can add to this some other sorts of instincts, like that many kinds of birds and fish, and even butterflies, migrate to different places at different times, many without having ever in their short lives been to the places to which they go. Now, this seems to me to be rather different from the kind of instinct which we said that men have, such as in battles. Kurt, can you help us to see what sort of instinct that is? For I think you have more experience with it than either Laches or I do.
KURT: I’ll do my best, Socrates. What is it you wish to know?
SOCRATES: Simply what sort of instinct you think you use when you are in combat, and what it looks like, and how you learned it, if you can say so much.
KURT: What you want to know doesn’t seem so simple to explain, but I’ll try. When I act on instinct in combat, I wouldn’t say it’s like these latter bestial instincts which you described, which are ones that the beasts have no way of learning through experience, but have to know in some other way. I think the instincts I make use of are sort of put together from my own experience and training, but not in a conscious way. That is, I don’t think about what I’m going to do, as we’ve already said; I just do it. So in that way, it seems like a sort of unconscious wisdom, whereas what we would usually call wisdom is conscious wisdom.
SOCRATES: Very good. But is it like any of the bestial instincts at all, such as the instinct to protect one’s family?
KURT: I suppose it might be, but that doesn’t seem quite right to me. And I would like to distinguish courage from wisdom, but that may have to wait for another time. My friend Lis will have something to say about that, for he’s very wise.
LACHES: Well, since he isn’t here right now, please go on with what you were thinking.
KURT: No, I’m afraid now I must go back. I suddenly think that we’ve been going about this discussion all wrong. I want to go back to the very beginning.
SOCRATES: What! All the way back to the beginning? And ignore all the things we’ve said so far?
KURT: Not quite, Socrates, but I think we have gone far off course. Let me start from the beginning and restate what we wanted to do, and then perhaps I can find the place where we went off. For didn’t we say at some point that we may be going off course, and that if we found that was the case, we should go back and restart from there?
SOCRATES: We did say that, Kurt, so go ahead and see if you can find what you’re looking for.
KURT: Now, we want to know what courage is. We think it’s part of virtue, along with wisdom, temperance, and justice, but that it’s particularly paired up with wisdom, in a sort of complementary way. Does all this seem right so far?
LACHES: It still seems as right to me as when we first said it.
KURT: My problem, and the reason why I first came looking for you, Socrates, was that I thought I was acting courageously when in fact I was acting foolishly, and so my understanding of courage was shaken. But, if I was acting foolishly and therefore was not acting courageously, then this seems to imply that wisdom and courage are the same thing, which we’ve said can’t be the case. So my foolish acting was not contrary to courage. How can that be?
SOCRATES: That’s a difficult question. I don’t think we can say that courage is naturally foolish, and is thereby opposed to wisdom, for then courage, a part of virtue, would be opposed to wisdom, another part of virtue, and that’s impossible, if we’re completely sure that wisdom and courage are both virtuous, as I’m still convinced they are.
KURT: Of course.
SOCRATES: Perhaps we could say that your action was mostly courageous, but that insofar as it was foolish, it was not good, and therefore not courageous?
KURT: Maybe. But it seems as though you are equating both wisdom and courage with goodness, and thereby setting wisdom and courage equal to each other, as though this were a mathematical equation.
SOCRATES: You’re right, and I shouldn’t do that, for this issue is less clear than a simple equation. It seems even more difficult than I had thought it was at first.
LACHES: Don’t give up, Socrates! I still want to know what courage is.
SOCRATES: Never fear, Laches! I will continue on as long as you and Kurt wish to, or until we have found an answer. Kurt, I wonder if you can tell us why you thought you were courageous before you found yourself endangering your friends? For it seems that the answer you gave us at the beginning, that courage is just running straight in and not fearing anything, wasn’t sufficient.
KURT: I’m not sure I can say what I thought it was, Socrates. I never really thought about it before at all. I suppose it was simply because I was good at fighting, and I never backed down until I won.
SOCRATES: So did you think courage was just skill in fighting?
KURT: I guess so.
SOCRATES: And now you think that’s not enough?
KURT: Not by itself, at least. Or can a man be courageous without having skill in fighting?
SOCRATES: I wonder. Haven’t you seen a weak man turn and fight his enemies if they threaten not only him, but also those he cares about? Won’t he stand up for his wife and children even if he has no skill in fighting at all, and is certain to lose?
KURT: Well, it seems foolish to do so, but that does happen at times.
SOCRATES: Then courage must have more to do with standing up for those weaker than ourselves than it has to do with skill in fighting, though such skill would certainly make courage more effective in accomplishing its goal, namely, to defend those we care about who are weaker than ourselves.
KURT: Yes, that’s certainly true.
SOCRATES: So have we found what courage is? If we flesh out our definition, it seems that courage is being willing to turn and fight those who may be stronger than we are, and even to sacrifice our own lives if necessary, to defend those we care about who are weaker than we are. That means that your action, Kurt, wasn’t courageous only because, rather than defending those you care about, you actually put them in danger yourself. And might this even be how wisdom relates to courage? For wisdom can show us how best to defend those we care about, but it takes courage to act upon that knowledge.
KURT: That seems good to me. But hold on! What about all the things we had said about instinct? What shall we do with those?
SOCRATES: I’m afraid you’ve caught me, Kurt. I had hoped to leave those behind.
LACHES: You’re lying, Socrates. I know you can’t leave behind any part of an argument. You were just waiting for Kurt to bring it up again so that you could blame any difficulty on him, rather than take the blame yourself.
SOCRATES: Why must you be so hard on me, Laches? I swear I wouldn’t have mentioned instinct again if it was up to me—but now that Kurt has brought it up, I suppose we’ll have to bring it back into our discussion. Let’s look at how we can understand instinct in connection with this most recent idea of courage that we had, that courage is standing up to defend those one cares about who are weaker than oneself.
KURT: Yes, let’s do that.
SOCRATES: Now, right from the beginning, I see a connection that we seem to have passed over entirely in our previous treatments of courage and instinct.
LACHES: What connection is that?
SOCRATES: We said that courage is defending those we care about who are weaker than ourselves. But then, isn’t it just like the way we were comparing our instincts to those of the beasts? For our primary example was that of defending families, something that both beasts and men do.
KURT: You’re right, Socrates. I don’t know why we didn’t think of that before.
SOCRATES: Well, we’ve thought of it now, which is what matters. So it seems that we were, indeed, on the right track about courage in the first place, though I think you may have cleaned up some minor difficulties by going back to the beginning. But I don’t think we’ve fully made the connection yet, so let’s not stop with our bridge half-built, as it were. For, if it is through wisdom that we know how to defend those we care about, but through courage that we act, is wisdom then the same thing as the instinct by which we know how to defend our families? It seems that it must be that way to me.
KURT: I would like to agree with you, Socrates, but then we must unsay some of the things we had said about instinct before. For if instinct is part of wisdom, then it is not part of courage, or else we are again facing the same problem of properly distinguishing the different parts of virtue.
SOCRATES: Indeed. Shall we say, then, that instinct is actually a part of wisdom—perhaps an unconscious wisdom, as you said once before—and that it relates to courage only insofar as wisdom and courage as a whole relate to each other, all under the heading of virtue? And perhaps, since instinct seems to be almost internalized within our bodies, and yet is still a kind of knowledge, we could call this the kind of knowledge that is closest to action by its nature. We must still say that it belongs to wisdom, and is not a third thing intermediate between wisdom and courage, but that it is more closely related to courage and bodily actions than other kinds of wisdom are.
KURT: That sounds good to me.
LACHES: Before we finish, would the two of you be averse to exploring one more aspect of courage?
SOCRATES: Go ahead, Laches. What are you thinking?
LACHES: Isn’t courage called fortitude, as well? Yet we seem to have said nothing about that.
SOCRATES: You’re absolutely right! I think Kurt touched on the idea in some of his accounts, but we never took it up, and I can’t think why.
KURT: Neither can I, Socrates. But why don’t we take it up now? Now that we’ve brought it up, I wouldn’t be willing to abandon our discussion now.
SOCRATES: Let’s add this to our thoughts on courage, then. Doesn’t fortitude carry with it the idea of being strong?
LACHES: Yes.
SOCRATES: So it seems that some of what Kurt said before, about having skill in fighting, is more important than we realized at the time. At least, I would say that someone with greater skill in fighting would have more fortitude than someone with less skill. Wouldn’t you?
LACHES: I would.
SOCRATES: Fortitude also gives me the idea of standing one’s ground, which we already sort of thought was a part of courage.
KURT: We did. But I would say that it isn’t just standing one’s ground in any situation at all; it’s standing one’s ground, and being strong, in a particularly difficult situation. Or do we think that just anyone who stands his ground or is strong is displaying fortitude?
SOCRATES: Well, why not? It may not be so much fortitude as someone who is in a more difficult situation, but it seems to be fortitude nonetheless.
KURT: I suppose you’re right. So we’ll have to add this on to our previous definition of courage: Having strength, and standing firm and not backing down when difficulties come. Do you think there’s any more to courage, Socrates?
SOCRATES: I think there is. Can we add that fortitude, or courage, seems to spread confidence to those around us? If there is one very courageous man in our midst when we are in danger, then we take comfort in his presence, and become braver ourselves. Isn’t this so?
KURT: It is indeed, and I’m glad you mentioned it. I’ve had that same thought before, but it either slipped my mind or I lost it in some other way when we were going through our discussion before this. So courage isn’t a selfish virtue, as you might say, but it spreads to those around us. The presence of one very courageous or brave man, then, spreads courage to many, and teaches them to be brave and strong and to stand firm even in the face of many dangers in order to protect those they care about.
SOCRATES: Well said. Now, before we go, I would like to add one last rhetorical flourish to our idea of courage. It takes the form of some lines I heard somewhere:

Courage is almost a contradiction in terms. It means a strong desire to live taking the form of a readiness to die. [...] A soldier surrounded by enemies, if he is to cut his way out, needs to combine a strong desire for living with a strange carelessness about dying. He must not merely cling to life, for then he will be a coward, and will not escape. He must not merely wait for death, for then he will be a suicide, and will not escape. He must seek his life in a spirit of furious indifference to it; he must desire life like water and yet drink death like wine.

KURT: That seems to me to express it all very well, Socrates, and better than I ever could have on my own. I’m glad I found you, and was able to discuss these matters.

Moderation, or Temperance

SOCRATES: I'm glad you've come, Llyren. I was just here talking with my friend Critias, and the subject of temperance came up. Now, we've heard that you know quite a bit about temperance, and we were hoping you could enlighten us some. For, you see, neither of us really has any idea what it could be.
LLYREN: I don't know who told you that, Socrates. That is, I don't think I know any more about temperance than the next man. But I'll gladly talk with you about it, as it's been on my mind lately, too, and I have some time to spare right now.
SOCRATES: Certainly. Well then, Critias, shall we say how far we got in our conversation?
CRITIAS: I don't know what there is to say, Socrates. We're pretty sure that temperance is a part of virtue, but we can't exactly say what its purpose is. In fact, we're a bit hazy on the idea of virtue as a whole.
SOCRATES: Didn't we say that the virtuous man is the one who lives well? Therefore, virtue is a thing that helps a man to live well.
CRITIAS: But that's just where it becomes unclear, Socrates. Virtue seems to be a quality, but what sort of quality is it?
LLYREN: I would gladly discuss virtue with you, as well, gentlemen, but what you've said of virtue so far seems to be enough to go on if we wish to discuss temperance. And, if we find that it isn't, then perhaps at least we'll have a better idea of where our understanding of virtue is lacking, and we'll be able to make some more progress on it.
SOCRATES: What Llyren has said makes a lot of sense to me. What do you think, Critias? Shall we go on with our discussion of temperance?
CRITIAS: Yes, let's.
SOCRATES: So, we think that temperance is a part of virtue, but just what part it is, we aren't sure.
LLYREN: I don’t know how this fits with virtue, but I’ve always thought that temperance involved not showing any sort of extreme emotion. In that way, I guess it’s sort of like quietness and moderation.
SOCRATES: No, no, no, that won’t do at all, Llyren. You see, Critias and I were saying much the same thing before you got here, but we found that it wasn’t sufficient at all. Isn’t that right, Critias?
CRITIAS: Yes, I believe we found that the not showing of an extreme emotion, which we termed self-control, is certainly a part of temperance, but is not the whole thing.
SOCRATES: That’s quite right. What shall we do, then?
LLYREN: It seems to me that I’ll have to make a broader definition of temperance.
SOCRATES: It seems so to me, too. How about you try again?
LLYREN: Well, I think what I said before is at least partly right, that temperance and moderation are related.
SOCRATES: That's very true.
LLYREN: Then, it seems to me that temperance is being moderate in all things. That is, doing neither too much nor too little of anything, but holding a sort of middle point. That way, we can avoid the extremes in either direction.
SOCRATES: I think I understand. Do you mean that, for example, a cobbler ought not to make either too many shoes or too few, but just the right number?
LLYREN: Yes, exactly.
SOCRATES: And that a carpenter ought not to make too many tables and chairs or too few, but just the right number?
LLYREN: Yes.
SOCRATES: That does seem likely. But hold on a moment; I think I see a problem.
CRITIAS: What is it, Socrates?
SOCRATES: Is it possible to do too little wickedness, or too much goodness?
CRITIAS: No, I wouldn't think so.
SOCRATES: Then if temperance is doing neither too much nor too little, it doesn't seem that it applies to goodness or wickedness at all, for we ought to do none of the latter and as much as we can of the former. But if that's the case, then how could temperance apply to virtue at all? For isn't virtue concerned with these very things, with the doing of goodness and the not-doing of wickedness? So temperance couldn't be a part of virtue, like we first thought. It looks like we'll either have to give up the idea that temperance is a part of virtue, or we'll have to redefine what we mean by temperance.
CRITIAS: As for me, Socrates, I would much rather redefine our idea of temperance than to deny that temperance is a part of virtue.
LLYREN: And I agree. I think, perhaps, I wasn't as clear as I meant to be when I was defining temperance.
SOCRATES: Well then, would you like to give it another try?
LLYREN: Certainly. It seems to me that, again, what I have said is not wrong, but incomplete. So let me see if I can find a way to show how goodness and wickedness do apply to temperance. You said that virtue is that which, when a man has it, makes him good, right?
SOCRATES: Indeed.
LLYREN: And you think that temperance is a part of goodness, right?
CRITIAS: Yes.
LLYREN: Then I think I may have it. As they say, the third time’s a charm. I think temperance is that part of virtue, of that which has to do with goodness and its opposite, wickedness, which tells us how much of each thing it is right to do, and how much would be wicked to do.
CRITIAS: What do you mean by that, Llyren? Could you explain further?
LLYREN: Let’s see. I said earlier that temperance was like moderation, in doing neither too much nor too little of anything. Could we say, instead, that temperance shows us how much of each thing it is good to do, whether that is much or little?
SOCRATES: I think you may have hit upon the right answer, Llyren. So temperance would show us that it is good to work enough to make money to live on, but wicked to work so much that we cannot give time to our families and friends, as well. Is that right?
CRITIAS: I would say so, at least, Socrates.
SOCRATES: And temperance would also show us that it is good to drink a small amount of wine, to stay healthy, but that it is wicked to get drunk. But, on the other hand, that it is always good to help someone in need, and that it is always wicked to steal or to murder or to cheat someone.
LLYREN: Yes, indeed. This seems to me to be the best definition of temperance we could find. And I think it has even, as we thought it might, shown us some more about what virtue itself is. However, there is still one point that I think we haven’t cleared up yet, because we went in a different direction with our discussion.
CRITIAS: What point is that?
LLYREN: How is self-control a part of temperance? For example, how does one control one’s own emotions? And, as a sort of similar question, is it ever right to show an extreme emotion? For we agreed that temperance shows us how much of each thing we ought to do. Ought we ever, then, to show any extreme emotions? Very rarely, I imagine, but I think now that there might be some cases where it would be good.
SOCRATES: That’s a good point, Llyren, and something we’ll certainly have to look into. As far as your first question goes, how one controls emotion, I think you’re actually asking now how one is or becomes temperate. It’s only a small step from controlling emotions to being temperate in everything, since our emotions are often what lead us into excess. That’s a pretty difficult question, so with your permission, I’d like to take the second one first.
LLYREN: Go ahead.
SOCRATES: Well then, your second question was whether we ever ought to show extreme emotions. Or perhaps, to put it a different way, are there any extreme emotions which are good? For, if there are any, then it seems that temperance will tell us exactly when we ought to use them, and that will be sometimes, as opposed to anything which would always be bad to do, like stealing or lying.
CRITIAS: For my part, I would agree, Socrates. Can you answer the question, then?
SOCRATES: I’ll do my best. I think we agree that some extreme emotions are certainly bad. For example, when our anger is too strong, that’s called wrath, and is condemned by sensible people, right?
LLYREN: Of course.
SOCRATES: And likewise, if our fear is too strong, that’s called cowardice, which is also bad. I’m sure you’ll agree that fear is an emotion?
LLYREN: I don’t see what else it could be.
SOCRATES: So it’s clear that some extreme emotions are bad. Now we must see if we can find any that are good.
CRITIAS: This may be stupid of me, but I can’t think of any.
SOCRATES: What’s that? What about passion? Or perhaps we could also call it love.
CRITIAS: But Socrates, isn’t extreme love often the cause of many problems?
SOCRATES: Ah, but you may be thinking of the wrong kind of love, Critias. Or don’t you know that there are two kinds of love? One is a selfish kind, that loves things for the sake of what they can do for oneself. That kind, it seems, drives people into all sorts of ridiculous and even harmful acts. On the other hand, there’s a selfless kind, that cares about the thing loved in itself, and when it is extreme, it goes to great lengths to make the loved thing happy. Isn’t this always good?
LLYREN: I certainly think so, Socrates.
SOCRATES: Then we have found at least one extreme emotion which seems to be a good thing in all cases. But we must be very careful to distinguish this selfless love from selfish love, which is very often a bad thing.
CRITIAS: Indeed.
LLYREN: That’s one question answered, Socrates, but we still have one left: How does one become temperate?
SOCRATES: I haven’t forgotten, and if you’ll help me out, we can try to find an answer.
LLYREN: Willingly.
SOCRATES: Then let’s see if we can find a good place to start. We want to see how a man can become temperate. How does a man “become” anything else? For example, how does he become a good cook, or a good carpenter?
CRITIAS: Presumably, he studies cooking or carpentry.
SOCRATES: What do you mean by that? Is this really all that we need to do? Are you saying that we can become temperate simply by studying temperance?
CRITIAS: Why not? How else does one learn anything except by studying? Isn’t that how someone learns arithmetic, or public speaking, or anything else?
SOCRATES: You may be right, Critias, but I still feel that something is missing. Wouldn’t you say that, whenever learning is going on, there must also be teaching?
CRITIAS: I’m not sure I follow, Socrates. Or can’t someone, by simply inquiring into a matter and researching it diligently, learn whatever he wants to without having a teacher?
SOCRATES: Think about it this way: Can an inanimate object be a teacher? I believe I heard this phrase somewhere:
The heavens declare the glory of God...
Now, certainly the heavens are inanimate; that is, they are not living creatures themselves, though surely there are creatures that dwell in the heavens. If whoever said this really meant “the heavens,” and not “the creatures who live in the heavens,” then it seems that inanimate objects can be said to do things simply by being what they are. Or doesn’t this seem to be the case?
CRITIAS: I’ll take your word for it.
SOCRATES: Then let’s continue. If inanimate objects can be said to do such things, then can’t they also be teachers, in a way?
CRITIAS: I suppose so.
SOCRATES: Then wherever learning is happening, I think there must conversely be teaching. Or at least, I can’t seem to shake that idea. What do you think?
LLYREN: I agree. Critias?
CRITIAS: Let it be so. I’d like to see where this will take us.
SOCRATES: Alright then. It seems that if we are studying temperance, and thereby learning what temperance is, then we must have someone or something to teach us what temperance is. But does temperance itself exist as itself?
CRITIAS: No, not that I’ve ever seen.
SOCRATES: So it seems that we cannot learn what temperance is from temperance itself. But doesn’t the same hold true for arithmetic? Arithmetic itself doesn’t seem to exist any more than temperance itself does, and yet people learn arithmetic all the time.
CRITIAS: True.
SOCRATES: Then how do we learn arithmetic?
LLYREN: It seems that we learn it from things that partake of arithmetic.
SOCRATES: I agree, Llyren. Then, if we apply the same rules, we learn temperance from things that partake of temperance?
LLYREN: Certainly.
SOCRATES: Does that answer your question?
LLYREN: Not entirely. We haven’t really discovered how one learns temperance. We’ve only discovered what kind of thing one learns temperance from.
SOCRATES: Well, what more do you want, Llyren?
LLYREN: First, I’d like to know some specific things that we can learn temperance from, not just general kinds of things. For to say that one learns temperance from things that partake of temperance is unhelpful if we don’t yet know what temperance is; for how can we learn from temperate things if we don’t know which they are?
SOCRATES: Well said. I would like to talk more about this. But what was your second point?
LLYREN: I’m not quite sure how to put it into words, Socrates, but I’ll try. We’ve said that we learn temperance from temperate things; but how do we learn it? I feel like I’m repeating myself, but I’m not sure how else to make myself clear. In what manner do we learn temperance, or become temperate?
SOCRATES: The way you said that gave me a thought. You asked how we learn temperance, or how we become temperate. I think those may actually be two different things. Now, as far as your first question goes, I think we’re all forgetting something. We went off in entirely the wrong direction when we determined what kind of thing one learns temperance from. We already determined what temperance is, didn’t we? It’s what shows us how much of each thing we ought to do.
LLYREN: That’s right.
SOCRATES: In that case, we already know what temperance is, so we can judge for ourselves what things are temperate; isn’t that right?
LLYREN: It looks so to me.
SOCRATES: Then, our only remaining questions are how one learns temperance—which we seem to have done in a way already—and, what is perhaps the more important question, how one becomes temperate when he has already learned what temperance is.
LLYREN: Yes, that’s exactly what I still want to know.
SOCRATES: Then let’s take the first of these questions: How does one learn temperance? I think what we’re really asking here is, How does one learn anything at all? That’s a difficult thing to comprehend, and I think the discussion of it must be saved for another time, for it doesn’t seem, in the end, to have anything to do with actually becoming temperate. For haven’t we learned what temperance is?
CRITIAS: Of course.
SOCRATES: Then, as far as becoming temperate men, it must not be important how we learn temperance, only that we do learn it. Or don’t you agree?
LLYREN: Yes, let’s leave that question aside for now. What I really want to know is how we become temperate.
SOCRATES: Well, how does one become healthy? Would you say it’s by learning about medicine and nutrition and physical exercise?
LLYREN: I think that’s part of it, Socrates, but it certainly doesn’t end there. For if I know what foods to eat and what sorts of exercises to do, but don’t eat those foods or do those exercises, then I won’t be healthy.
SOCRATES: Exactly. Then what we need to do to become temperate is first to have knowledge of what temperance is, and then to act on that knowledge. So, to become temperate, we must act in the way that our knowledge of temperance tells us to act.
LLYREN: But Socrates, that looks circular to me. Aren’t you saying that to be temperate, we need to act temperately?
SOCRATES: What’s circular about that? If we know how to be temperate, why would we not act that way?
LLYREN: Again, I don’t know how to put it into words, but something seems strange about that.
SOCRATES: Well, until you know how to explain it to me, I don’t understand your objection, and I will go on saying that to be temperate, we must act temperately, and acting temperately consists in doing just as much of each thing as we ought to do.