For your father’s house, which comes from Critias, son of Dropides, has been celebrated by Anacreon and Solon and many other poets, so that it is famed by tradition among us as preeminent in beauty and virtue and all else that is accounted happiness; and then, your mother’s house is famous in the same way, for of Pyrilampes, your uncle, it is said that no one in all the continent was considered to be his superior in beauty or stature, whenever he came as envoy to the great king or anyone else in Asia , and his house as a whole is no whit inferior to the other. Sprung from such people, it is to be supposed that you would be first in all things. And indeed, as regards your visible form, dear son of Glaucon, I consider that nowhere have you fallen behind any of your ancestors. But if your nature is really rich in temperance and those other things, as our friend here says, blessed is the son, dear Charmides, I exclaimed, that your mother has borne in you! However, the case stands thus: if you already possess temperance, as Critias here declares, and you are sufficiently temperate, then you never had any need of the charms of Zalmoxis or of Abaris the Hyperborean, A fabulous hero of the far north, to whom oracles and charms were ascribed by the Greeks; cf. Hdt. 4.36 . and might well be given at once the remedy for the head; but if you prove to be still lacking that virtue, we must apply the charm before the remedy. So tell me yourself whether you agree with our friend, and can say that you are already sufficiently provided with temperance, or are deficient in it?

 At this Charmides blushed and, for one thing, looked more beautiful then ever, for his modesty became his years; and then, too, he answered most ingenuously, saying it was no easy matter at the moment either to admit or to deny the words of the question. For if, he went on, I say I am not temperate, not only is it a strange thing to say against oneself, but I shall at the same time be taxing with untruth both Critias and many others who consider me to be temperate, as he gives out; while if, on the other hand, I say I am, and praise myself, it will probably be found distasteful; so that I cannot see what answer I am to give you.

 Then I said: Your answer is a natural one, in my opinion, Charmides; and I think, I went on, that we must join in inquiring whether you possess the thing I am asking after, or not, in order that neither you may be forced to say what you do not wish, nor I on my part may recklessly try my hand at medicine. So if it is agreeable to you, I am ready to inquire with you; but, if it is not, to let it alone.

 Why, nothing, he said, could be more agreeable to me : so far as that goes, therefore, inquire in whatever way you think we had better proceed.

 Then this is the way, I said, in which I consider that our inquiry into this matter had best be conducted. 
				Now, it is clear that, if you have temperance with you, you can hold an opinion about it. For being in you, I presume it must, in that case, afford some perception from which you can form some opinion of what temperance is, and what kind of thing it is : do you not think so ?

 I do, he replied.

 And since you understand the Greek tongue, I said, you can tell me, I suppose, your view of this particular thought of yours?

 I daresay, he said.

 Then in order that we may make a guess whether it is in you or not, tell me, I said, what you say of temperance according to your opinion. He at first hung back, and was not at all willing to answer: but presently he said that, to his mind, temperance was doing everything orderly and quietly—walking in the streets, talking, and doing everything else of that kind; and in a word, he said, I think the thing about which you ask may be called quietness.

 Well, I said, are you right there? They do say, you know, Charmides, that quiet people are temperate : so let us see if there is anything in what they say. Tell me, is not temperance, however, among the honorable things?

 To be sure, he said.

 Well, which is most honorable at the writing master’s, to write the same sort of letters quickly or quietly?

 Quickly. And in reading, to do it quickly or slowly? Quickly.

 And so, in the same way, to play the lyre quickly, or to wrestle nimbly, is far more honorable than to do it quietly and slowly?

 Yes.

 And what of boxing, alone or combined with wrestling? Is it not the same there too?

 To be sure.

 And in running and leaping and all activities of the body, are not nimble and quick movements accounted honorable, while sluggish and quiet ones are deemed disgraceful?

 Apparently.

 So we find, I said, that in the body, at least, it is not quietness, but the greatest quickness and nimbleness that is most honorable, do we not?

 Certainly. And temperance was an honorable thing? Yes.

 Then in the body, at least, it is not quietness but quickness that will be the more temperate thing, since temperance is honorable.

 So it seems, he said. Well now, I went on; in learning, is facility the more honorable, or difficulty? Facility.

 And facility in learning, I said, is learning quickly, and difficulty in learning is learning quietly and slowly?

 Yes.

 And is it not more honorable to teach another quickly and forcibly, rather than quietly and slowly?

 Yes.

 Well now, is it more honorable to be reminded and to remember quietly and slowly, or forcibly and quickly?
						
 Forcibly, he replied, and quickly. And is not readiness of mind a sort of nimbleness of the soul, not a quietness?

 True.

 And to apprehend what is said, whether at the writing-master’s or the lyre-master’s or anywhere else, not as quietly as possible, but as quickly, is most honorable?

 Yes.

 Well, and in the searchings of the soul, and in deliberation, it is not the quietest person, I imagine, or he who deliberates and discovers with difficulty, that is held worthy of praise, but he who does this most easily and quickly. That is so, he said.

 Then in all, I said, Charmides, that concerns either our soul or our body, actions of quickness and nimbleness are found to be more honorable than those of slowness and quietness?

 It looks like it, he said.

 So temperance cannot be a sort of quietness, nor can the temperate life be quiet, by this argument at least; since, being temperate, it must be honorable. For we have these two alternatives: either in no cases, or I should think in very few, can we find that the quiet actions in life are more honorable than the quick and vigorous ones; or at all events, my friend, if of the more honorable actions there are absolutely as many quiet ones as forcible and quick, not even so will temperance be acting quietly any more than acting forcibly and quickly, either in walking or in talking or in any other sphere; nor will the quiet life be more temperate than the unquiet; since in our argument we assumed that temperance is an honorable thing, and have found that quick things are just as honorable as quiet things.

 Your statement, he said, Socrates, seems to me to be correct.

 Once more then, I went on, Charmides, attend more closely and look into yourself; reflect on the quality that is given you by the presence of temperance, and what quality it must have to work this effect on you. Take stock of all this and tell me, like a good, brave fellow, what it appears to you to be. He paused a little, and after a quite manly effort of self-examination: Well, I think, he said, that temperance makes men ashamed or bashful, and that temperance is the same as modesty.

 Well now, I asked, did you not admit a moment ago that temperance is honorable? Certainly I did, he said.

 And temperate men are also good?

 Yes. Well, can that be good which does not produce good men?

 No, indeed.

 And we conclude that it is not only honorable, but good also. I think so.

 Well then, I said, are you not convinced that Homer is right in saying— Modesty, no good mate for a needy man? Hom. Od. 17.347 

 I am, he said.

 Then it would seem that modesty is not good, and good. Apparently.

 But temperance is good, if its presence makes men good, and not bad.

 It certainly seems to me to be as you say.

 So temperance cannot be modesty, if it is in fact good, while modesty is no more good than evil. Why, I think, he said, Socrates, that is correctly stated; but there is another view of temperance on which I would like to have your opinion. I remembered just now what I once heard someone say, that temperance might be doing one’s own business. I ask you, then, do you think he is right in saying this?

 You rascal, I said, you have heard it from Critias here, or some other of our wise men!

 Seemingly, said Critias, from some other; for indeed he did not from me. But what does it matter, Socrates, said Charmides, from whom I heard it?

 Not at all, I replied; for in any case we have not to consider who said it, but whether it is a true saying or no.

 Now you speak rightly, he said.

 Yes, on my word, I said: but I shall be surprised if we can find out how it stands; for it looks like a kind of riddle.

 Why so? he asked.

 Because, I replied, presumably the speaker of the words temperance is doing one’s own business did not mean them quite as he spoke them. Or do you consider that the scribe does nothing when he writes or reads?

 I rather consider that he does something, he replied. And does the scribe, in your opinion, write and read his own name only, and teach you boys to do the same with yours? Or did you write your enemies’ names just as much as your own and your friends’?

 Just as much.

 Well, were you meddlesome or intemperate in doing this?

 Not at all. And you know you were not doing your own business, if writing and reading are doing something.

 Why, so they are.

 And indeed medical work, my good friend, and building and weaving and producing anything whatever that is the work of any art, I presume is doing something.

 Certainly. Well then, I went on, do you think a state would be well conducted under a law which enjoined that everyone should weave and scour his own coat, and make his own shoes, and his own flask and scraper, The flask contained oil for anointing the body before exercise, and the scraper was for scraping it afterwards, or at the bath. and everything else on the same principle of not touching the affairs of others but performing and doing his own for himself?

 I think not, he replied.

 But still, I said, a state whose conduct is temperate will be well conducted.

 Of course, he said.

 Then doing one’s own business in that sense and in that way will not be temperance. Apparently not.

 So that person was riddling, it seems, just as I said a moment ago, when he said that doing one’s own business is temperance. For I take it he was not such a fool as all that: or was it some idiot that you heard saying this, Charmides?

 Far from it, he replied, for indeed he seemed to be very wise.

 Then it is perfectly certain, in my opinion, that he propounded it as a riddle, in view of the difficulty of understanding what doing one’s own business can mean.

 I daresay, he said.

 Well, what can it mean, this doing one’s own business ? Can you tell me?

 I do not know, upon my word, he replied: but I daresay it may be that not even he who said it knew in the least what he meant. And as he said this he gave a sly laugh and glanced at Critias. Now Critias for some time had been plainly burning with anxiety to distinguish himself in the eyes of Charmides and the company, and having with difficulty restrained himself heretofore, he now could do so no longer; for I believe that what I had supposed was perfectly true—that Charmides had heard this answer about temperance from Critias. And so Charmides, wishing him to make answer instead of himself, sought to stir him up in particular, and pointed out that he himself had been refuted; but Critias rebelled against it, and seemed to me to have got angry with him, as a poet does with an actor who mishandles his verses on the stage: so he looked hard at him and said: Do you really suppose, Charmides, that if you do not know what can have been the meaning of the man who said that temperance was doing one’s own business, he did not know either?

 Why, my excellent Critias, I said, no wonder if our friend, at his age, cannot understand; but you, I should think, may be expected to know, in view of your years and your studies. So if you concede that temperance is what he says, and you accept the statement, for my part I would greatly prefer to have you as partner in the inquiry as to whether this saying is true or not. Well, I quite concede it, he said, and accept it. That is good, then, I said. Now tell me, do you also concede what I was asking just now—that all craftsmen make something?

 I do.

 And do you consider that they make their own things only, or those of others also?