Know Thyself

Socrates brings the young man to the real point. The Oracle at Delphi has two words carved above its entrance: Know Thyself. Most people think they already do.

“There are two words carved above the entrance to the Oracle at Delphi,” Socrates said. “Have you seen them? Gnothi seauton. Know yourself.”

“I know them.”

“What do they mean?”

“They mean to know who you are.”

“And do you?”

“I think so.”

“Do you know what you are?”

Alcibiades paused.

“Are you your body?” Socrates asked.

“I suppose so.”

“Your body can be hurt, can grow sick, will eventually die. Does that thing that gets hurt and grows sick and dies, is that really you? Or is that the thing that belongs to you?”

“I think it belongs to me.”

“Then what are you, the thing that has the body?”

“I am, the one using the body. The one thinking. The one making choices.”

“Good. What do you call that part?”

“The soul, I suppose.”

“To know yourself, then, is to know your soul. Not your body, not your reputation, not your family, not your possessions. Your soul. The thing that actually decides, that actually cares, that is actually you. Do you know that?”

“I do not know,” Alcibiades said.

“Before you tell the city what is good for it,” Socrates said, “you must know what is good for you. Before you can know what is good for you, you must know what you are. Before you can be trusted to advise the soul of Athens, you must have examined your own. Have you done this work?”

“No.”

“Then do not speak in the assembly. Not yet. Go home. Examine yourself. Come back when you know what you are. After that, the city will be lucky to hear from you.”