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  "chapter": {
    "num": 9,
    "slug": "09-protagoras",
    "title": "Protagoras",
    "of": 24,
    "words": 22867,
    "text": "## Protagoras\n\n\n#### 380 BC\n\n#### translated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n##### New York, C. Scribner's Sons, [1871]\n\nPERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: SOCRATES, who is the narrator of the\nDialogue to his Companion; HIPPOCRATES; ALCIBIADES; CRINAS;\nPROTAGORAS, HIPPIAS, PRODICUS, Sophists; CALLIAS, a wealthy\nAthenian. Scene: The House of Callias\n\nCom. Where do you come from, Socrates? And yet I need hardly ask the\nquestion, for I know that you have been in chase of the fair\nAlcibiades. I saw the day before yesterday; and he had got a beard\nlike a man-and he is a man, as I may tell you in your ear. But I\nthought that he was still very charming.\n\nSoc. What of his beard? Are you not of Homer's opinion, who says\n\nYouth is most charming when the beard first appears?\n\nAnd that is now the charm of Alcibiades.\n\nCom. Well, and how do matters proceed? Have you been visiting him,\nand was he gracious to you?\n\nSoc. Yes, I thought that he was very gracious; and especially\nto-day, for I have just come from him, and he has been helping me in\nan argument. But shall I tell you a strange thing? I paid no attention\nto him, and several times I quite forgot that he was present.\n\nCom. What is the meaning of this? Has anything happened between\nyou and him? For surely you cannot have discovered a fairer love\nthan he is; certainly not in this city of Athens.\n\nSoc. Yes, much fairer.\n\nCom. What do you mean-a citizen or a foreigner?\n\nSoc. A foreigner.\n\nCom. Of what country?\n\nSoc. Of Abdera.\n\nCom. And is this stranger really in your opinion a fairer love\nthan the son of Cleinias?\n\nSoc. And is not the wiser always the fairer, sweet friend?\n\nCom. But have you really met, Socrates, with some wise one?\n\nSoc. Say rather, with the wisest of all living men, if you are\nwilling to accord that title to Protagoras.\n\nCom. What! Is Protagoras in Athens?\n\nSoc. Yes; he has been here two days.\n\nCom. And do you just come from an interview with him?\n\nSoc. Yes; and I have heard and said many things.\n\nCom. Then, if you have no engagement, suppose that you sit down tell\nme what passed, and my attendant here shall give up his place to you.\n\nSoc. To be sure; and I shall be grateful to you for listening.\n\nCom. Thank you, too, for telling us.\n\nSoc. That is thank you twice over. Listen then:-\n\nLast night, or rather very early this morning, Hippocrates, the\nson of Apollodorus and the brother of Phason, gave a tremendous\nthump with his staff at my door; some one opened to him, and he came\nrushing in and bawled out: Socrates, are you awake or asleep?\n\nI knew his voice, and said: Hippocrates, is that you? and do you\nbring any news?\n\nGood news, he said; nothing but good.\n\nDelightful, I said; but what is the news? and why have you come\nhither at this unearthly hour?\n\nHe drew nearer to me and said: Protagoras is come.\n\nYes, I replied; he came two days ago: have you only just heard of\nhis arrival?\n\nYes, by the gods, he said; but not until yesterday evening.\n\nAt the same time he felt for the truckle-bed, and sat down at my\nfeet, and then he said: Yesterday quite late in the evening, on my\nreturn from Oenoe whither I had gone in pursuit of my runaway slave\nSatyrus, as I meant to have told you, if some other matter had not\ncome in the way;-on my return, when we had done supper and were\nabout to retire to rest, my brother said to me: Protagoras is come.\nI was going to you at once, and then I thought that the night was\nfar spent. But the moment sleep left me after my fatigue, I got up and\ncame hither direct.\n\nI, who knew the very courageous madness of the man, said: What is\nthe matter? Has Protagoras robbed you of anything?\n\nHe replied, laughing: Yes, indeed he has, Socrates, of the wisdom\nwhich he keeps from me.\n\nBut, surely, I said, if you give him money, and make friends with\nhim, he will make you as wise as he is himself.\n\nWould to heaven, he replied, that this were the case! He might\ntake all that I have, and all that my friends have, if he pleased. But\nthat is why I have come to you now, in order that you may speak to him\non my behalf; for I am young, and also I have never seen nor heard\nhim; (when he visited Athens before I was but a child) and all men\npraise him, Socrates; he is reputed to be the most accomplished of\nspeakers. There is no reason why we should not go to him at once,\nand then we shall find him at home. He lodges, as I hear, with Callias\nthe son of Hipponicus: let us start.\n\nI replied: Not yet, my good friend; the hour is too early. But let\nus rise and take a turn in the court and wait about there until\ndaybreak; when the day breaks, then we will go. For Protagoras is\ngenerally at home, and we shall be sure to find him; never fear.\n\nUpon this we got up and walked about in the court, and I thought\nthat I would make trial of the strength of his resolution. So I\nexamined him and put questions to him. Tell me, Hippocrates, I said,\nas you are going to Protagoras, and will be paying your money to\nhim, what is he to whom you are going? and what will he make of you?\nIf, for example, you had thought of going to Hippocrates of Cos, the\nAsclepiad, and were about to give him your money, and some one had\nsaid to you: You are paying money to your namesake Hippocrates, O\nHippocrates; tell me, what is he that you give him money? how would\nyou have answered?\n\nI should say, he replied, that I gave money to him as a physician.\n\nAnd what will he make of you?\n\nA physician, he said.\n\nAnd if you were resolved to go to Polycleitus the Argive, or\nPheidias the Athenian, and were intending to give them money, and some\none had asked you: What are Polycleitus and Pheidias? and why do you\ngive them this money?-how would you have answered?\n\nI should have answered, that they were statuaries.\n\nAnd what will they make of you?\n\nA statuary, of course.\n\nWell now, I said, you and I are going to Protagoras, and we are\nready to pay him money on your behalf. If our own means are\nsufficient, and we can gain him with these, we shall be only too glad;\nbut if not, then we are to spend the money of your friends as well.\nNow suppose, that while we are thus enthusiastically pursuing our\nobject some one were to say to us: Tell me, Socrates, and you\nHippocrates, what is Protagoras, and why are you going to pay him\nmoney,-how should we answer? I know that Pheidias is a sculptor, and\nthat Homer is a poet; but what appellation is given to Protagoras? how\nis he designated?\n\nThey call him a Sophist, Socrates, he replied.\n\nThen we are going to pay our money to him in the character of a\nSophist?\n\nCertainly.\n\nBut suppose a person were to ask this further question: And how\nabout yourself? What will Protagoras make of you, if you go to see\nhim?\n\nHe answered, with a blush upon his face (for the day was just\nbeginning to dawn, so that I could see him): Unless this differs in\nsome way from the former instances, I suppose that he will make a\nSophist of me.\n\nBy the gods, I said, and are you not ashamed at having to appear\nbefore the Hellenes in the character of a Sophist?\n\nIndeed, Socrates, to confess the truth, I am.\n\nBut you should not assume, Hippocrates, that the instruction of\nProtagoras is of this nature: may you not learn of him in the same way\nthat you learned the arts of the grammarian, musician, or trainer, not\nwith the view of making any of them a profession, but only as a part\nof education, and because a private gentleman and freeman ought to\nknow them?\n\nJust so, he said; and that, in my opinion, is a far truer account of\nthe teaching of Protagoras.\n\nI said: I wonder whether you know what you are doing?\n\nAnd what am I doing?\n\nYou are going to commit your soul to the care of a man whom you call\na Sophist. And yet I hardly think that you know what a Sophist is; and\nif not, then you do not even know to whom you are committing your soul\nand whether the thing to which you commit yourself be good or evil.\n\nI certainly think that I do know, he replied.\n\nThen tell me, what do you imagine that he is?\n\nI take him to be one who knows wise things, he replied, as his\nname implies.\n\nAnd might you not, I said, affirm this of the painter and of the\ncarpenter also: Do not they, too, know wise things? But suppose a\nperson were to ask us: In what are the painters wise? We should\nanswer: In what relates to the making of likenesses, and similarly\nof other things. And if he were further to ask: What is the wisdom\nof the Sophist, and what is the manufacture over which he\npresides?-how should we answer him?\n\nHow should we answer him, Socrates? What other answer could there be\nbut that he presides over the art which makes men eloquent?\n\nYes, I replied, that is very likely true, but not enough; for in the\nanswer a further question is involved: Of what does the Sophist make a\nman talk eloquently? The player on the lyre may be supposed to make\na man talk eloquently about that which he makes him understand, that\nis about playing the lyre. Is not that true?\n\nYes.\n\nThen about what does the Sophist make him eloquent? Must not he make\nhim eloquent in that which he understands?\n\nYes, that may be assumed.\n\nAnd what is that which the Sophist knows and makes his disciple\nknow?\n\nIndeed, he said, I cannot tell.\n\nThen I proceeded to say: Well, but are you aware of the danger which\nyou are incurring? If you were going to commit your body to some\none, who might do good or harm to it, would you not carefully consider\nand ask the opinion of your friends and kindred, and deliberate many\ndays as to whether you should give him the care of your body? But when\nthe soul is in question, which you hold to be of far more value than\nthe body, and upon the good or evil of which depends the well-being of\nyour all,-about this never consulted either with your father or with\nyour brother or with any one of us who are your companions. But no\nsooner does this foreigner appear, than you instantly commit your soul\nto his keeping. In the evening, as you say, you hear of him, and in\nthe morning you go to him, never deliberating or taking the opinion of\nany one as to whether you ought to intrust yourself to him or not;-you\nhave quite made up your mind that you will at all hazards be a pupil\nof Protagoras, and are prepared to expend all the property of yourself\nand of your friends in carrying out at any price this determination,\nalthough, as you admit, you do not know him, and have never spoken\nwith him: and you call him a Sophist, but are manifestly ignorant of\nwhat a Sophist is; and yet you are going to commit yourself to his\nkeeping.\n\nWhen he heard me say this, he replied: No other inference, Socrates,\ncan be drawn from your words.\n\nI proceeded: Is not a Sophist, Hippocrates, one who deals\nwholesale or retail in the food of the soul? To me that appears to\nbe his nature.\n\nAnd what, Socrates, is the food of the soul?\n\nSurely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul; and we must\ntake care, my friend, that the Sophist does not deceive us when he\npraises what he sells, like the dealers wholesale or retail who sell\nthe food of the body; for they praise indiscriminately all their\ngoods, without knowing what are really beneficial or hurtful:\nneither do their customers know, with the exception of any trainer\nor physician who may happen to buy of them. In like manner those who\ncarry about the wares of knowledge, and make the round of the\ncities, and sell or retail them to any customer who is in want of\nthem, praise them all alike; though I should not wonder, O my\nfriend, if many of them were really ignorant of their effect upon\nthe soul; and their customers equally ignorant, unless he who buys\nof them happens to be a physician of the soul. If, therefore, you have\nunderstanding of what is good and evil, you may safely buy knowledge\nof Protagoras or of any one; but if not, then, O my friend, pause, and\ndo not hazard your dearest interests at a game of chance. For there is\nfar greater peril in buying knowledge than in buying meat and drink:\nthe one you purchase of the wholesale or retail dealer, and carry them\naway in other vessels, and before you receive them into the body as\nfood, you may deposit them at home and call in any experienced\nfriend who knows what is good to be eaten or drunken, and what not,\nand how much, and when; and then the danger of purchasing them is\nnot so great. But you cannot buy the wares of knowledge and carry them\naway in another vessel; when you have paid for them you must receive\nthem into the soul and go your way, either greatly harmed or greatly\nbenefited; and therefore we should deliberate and take counsel with\nour elders; for we are still young-too young to determine such a\nmatter. And now let us go, as we were intending, and hear\nProtagoras; and when we have heard what he has to say, we may take\ncounsel of others; for not only is Protagoras at the house of Callias,\nbut there is Hippias of Elis, and, if I am not mistaken, Prodicus of\nCeos, and several other wise men.\n\nTo this we agreed, and proceeded on our way until we reached the\nvestibule of the house; and there we stopped in order to conclude a\ndiscussion which had arisen between us as we were going along; and\nwe stood talking in the vestibule until we had finished and come to an\nunderstanding. And I think that the doorkeeper, who was a eunuch,\nand who was probably annoyed at the great inroad of the Sophists, must\nhave heard us talking. At any rate, when we knocked at the door, and\nhe opened and saw us, he grumbled: They are Sophists -he is not at\nhome; and instantly gave the door a hearty bang with both his hands.\nAgain we knocked, and he answered without opening: Did you not hear me\nsay that he is not at home, fellows? But, my friend, I said, you\nneed not be alarmed; for we are not Sophists, and we are not come to\nsee Callias, but we want to see Protagoras; and I must request you\nto announce us. At last, after a good deal of difficulty, the man\nwas persuaded to open the door.\n\nWhen we entered, we found Protagoras taking a walk in the\ncloister; and next to him, on one side, were walking Callias, the\nson of Hipponicus, and Paralus, the son of Pericles, who, by the\nmother's side, is his half-brother, and Charmides, the son of Glaucon.\nOn the other side of him were Xanthippus, the other son of Pericles,\nPhilippides, the son of Philomelus; also Antimoerus of Mende, who of\nall the disciples of Protagoras is the most famous, and intends to\nmake sophistry his profession. A train of listeners followed him;\nthe greater part of them appeared to be foreigners, whom Protagoras\nhad brought with him out of the various cities visited by him in his\njourneys, he, like Orpheus, attracting them his voice, and they\nfollowing. I should mention also that there were some Athenians in the\ncompany. Nothing delighted me more than the precision of their\nmovements: they never got into his way at all; but when he and those\nwho were with him turned back, then the band of listeners parted\nregularly on either side; he was always in front, and they wheeled\nround and took their places behind him in perfect order.\n\nAfter him, as Homer says, \"I lifted up my eyes and saw\" Hippias\nthe Elean sitting in the opposite cloister on a chair of state, and\naround him were seated on benches Eryximachus, the son of Acumenus,\nand Phaedrus the Myrrhinusian, and Andron the son of Androtion, and\nthere were strangers whom he had brought with him from his native city\nof Elis, and some others: they were putting to Hippias certain\nphysical and astronomical questions, and he, ex cathedra, was\ndetermining their several questions to them, and discoursing of them.\n\nAlso, \"my eyes beheld Tantalus\"; for Prodicus the Cean was at\nAthens: he had been lodged in a room which, in the days of Hipponicus,\nwas a storehouse; but, as the house was full, Callias had cleared this\nout and made the room into a guest-chamber. Now Prodicus was still\nin bed, wrapped up in sheepskins and bed-clothes, of which there\nseemed to be a great heap; and there was sitting by him on the couches\nnear, Pausanias of the deme of Cerameis, and with Pausanias was a\nyouth quite young, who is certainly remarkable for his good looks,\nand, if I am not mistaken, is also of a fair and gentle nature. I\nthought that I heard him called Agathon, and my suspicion is that he\nis the beloved of Pausanias. There was this youth, and also there were\nthe two Adeimantuses, one the son of Cepis, and the other of\nLeucolophides, and some others. I was very anxious to hear what\nProdicus was saying, for he seems to me to be an all-wise and inspired\nman; but I was not able to get into the inner circle, and his fine\ndeep voice made an echo in the room which rendered his words\ninaudible.\n\nNo sooner had we entered than there followed us Alcibiades the\nbeautiful, as you say, and I believe you; and also Critias the son\nof Callaeschrus.\n\nOn entering we stopped a little, in order to look about us, and then\nwalked up to Protagoras, and I said: Protagoras, my friend Hippocrates\nand I have come to see you.\n\nDo you wish, he said, to speak with me alone, or in the presence\nof the company?\n\nWhichever you please, I said; you shall determine when you have\nheard the purpose of our visit.\n\nAnd what is your purpose? he said.\n\nI must explain, I said, that my friend Hippocrates is a native\nAthenian; he is the son of Apollodorus, and of a great and\nprosperous house, and he is himself in natural ability quite a match\nfor anybody of his own age. I believe that he aspires to political\neminence; and this he thinks that conversation with you is most likely\nto procure for him. And now you can determine whether you would wish\nto speak to him of your teaching alone or in the presence of the\ncompany.\n\nThank you, Socrates, for your consideration of me. For certainly a\nstranger finding his way into great cities, and persuading the\nflower of the youth in them to leave company of their kinsmen or any\nother acquaintances, old or young, and live with him, under the idea\nthat they will be improved by his conversation, ought to be very\ncautious; great jealousies are aroused by his proceedings, and he is\nthe subject of many enmities and conspiracies. Now the art of the\nSophist is, as I believe, of great antiquity; but in ancient times\nthose who practised it, fearing this odium, veiled and disguised\nthemselves under various names, some under that of poets, as Homer,\nHesiod, and Simonides, some, of hierophants and prophets, as Orpheus\nand Musaeus, and some, as I observe, even under the name of\ngymnastic-masters, like Iccus of Tarentum, or the more recently\ncelebrated Herodicus, now of Selymbria and formerly of Megara, who\nis a first-rate Sophist. Your own Agathocles pretended to be a\nmusician, but was really an eminent Sophist; also Pythocleides the\nCean; and there were many others; and all of them, as I was saying,\nadopted these arts as veils or disguises because they were afraid of\nthe odium which they would incur. But that is not my way, for I do not\nbelieve that they effected their purpose, which was to deceive the\ngovernment, who were not blinded by them; and as to the people, they\nhave no understanding, and only repeat what their rulers are pleased\nto tell them. Now to run away, and to be caught in running away, is\nthe very height of folly, and also greatly increases the\nexasperation of mankind; for they regard him who runs away as a rogue,\nin addition to any other objections which they have to him; and\ntherefore I take an entirely opposite course, and acknowledge myself\nto be a Sophist and instructor of mankind; such an open\nacknowledgement appears to me to be a better sort of caution than\nconcealment. Nor do I neglect other precautions, and therefore I hope,\nas I may say, by the favour of heaven that no harm will come of the\nacknowledgment that I am a Sophist. And I have been now many years\nin the profession-for all my years when added up are many: there is no\none here present of whom I might not be the father. Wherefore I should\nmuch prefer conversing with you, if you want to speak with me, in\nthe presence of the company.\n\nAs I suspected that he would like to have a little display and\nglorification in the presence of Prodicus and Hippias, and would\ngladly show us to them in the light of his admirers, I said: But why\nshould we not summon Prodicus and Hippias and their friends to hear\nus?\n\nVery good, he said.\n\nSuppose, said Callias, that we hold a council in which you may sit\nand discuss.-This was agreed upon, and great delight was felt at the\nprospect of hearing wise men talk; we ourselves took the chairs and\nbenches, and arranged them by Hippias, where the other benches had\nbeen already placed. Meanwhile Callias and Alcibiades got Prodicus out\nof bed and brought in him and his companions.\n\nWhen we were all seated, Protagoras said: Now that the company are\nassembled, Socrates, tell me about the youngman of whom you were\njust now speaking.\n\nI replied: I will begin again at the same point, Protagoras, and\ntell you once more the purport of my visit: this is my friend\nHippocrates, who is desirous of making your acquaintance; he would\nlike to know what will happen to him if he associates with you. I have\nno more to say.\n\nProtagoras answered: Young man, if you associate with me, on the\nvery first day you will return home a better man than you came, and\nbetter on the second day than on the first, and better every day\nthan you were on the day before.\n\nWhen I heard this, I said: Protagoras, I do not at all wonder at\nhearing you say this; even at your age, and with all your wisdom, if\nany one were to teach you what you did not know before, you would\nbecome better no doubt: but please to answer in a different way-I will\nexplain how by an example. Let me suppose that Hippocrates, instead of\ndesiring your acquaintance, wished to become acquainted with the young\nman Zeuxippus of Heraclea, who has lately been in Athens, and he had\ncome to him as he has come to you, and had heard him say, as he has\nheard you say, that every day he would grow and become better if he\nassociated with him: and then suppose that he were to ask him, \"In\nwhat shall I become better, and in what shall I grow?\"-Zeuxippus would\nanswer, \"In painting.\" And suppose that he went to Orthagoras the\nTheban, and heard him say the same thing, and asked him, \"In what\nshall I become better day by day?\" he would reply, \"In flute-playing.\"\nNow I want you to make the same sort of answer to this young man and\nto me, who am asking questions on his account. When you say that on\nthe first day on which he associates with you he will return home a\nbetter man, and on every day will grow in like manner,-In what,\nProtagoras, will he be better? and about what?\n\nWhen Protagoras heard me say this, he replied: You ask questions\nfairly, and I like to answer a question which is fairly put. If\nHippocrates comes to me he will not experience the sort of drudgery\nwith which other Sophists are in the habit of insulting their\npupils; who, when they have just escaped from the arts, are taken\nand driven back into them by these teachers, and made to learn\ncalculation, and astronomy, and geometry, and music (he gave a look at\nHippias as he said this); but if he comes to me, he will learn that\nwhich he comes to learn. And this is prudence in affairs private as\nwell as public; he will learn to order his own house in the best\nmanner, and he will be able to speak and act for the best in the\naffairs of the state.\n\nDo I understand you, I said; and is your meaning that you teach\nthe art of politics, and that you promise to make men good citizens?\n\nThat, Socrates, is exactly the profession which I make.\n\nThen, I said, you do indeed possess a noble art, if there is no\nmistake about this; for I will freely confess to you, Protagoras, that\nI have a doubt whether this art is capable of being taught, and yet\nI know not how to disbelieve your assertion. And I ought to tell you\nwhy I am of opinion that this art cannot be taught or communicated\nby man to man. I say that the Athenians are an understanding people,\nand indeed they are esteemed to be such by the other Hellenes. Now I\nobserve that when we are met together in the assembly, and the\nmatter in hand relates to building, the builders are summoned as\nadvisers; when the question is one of shipbuilding, then the\nship-wrights; and the like of other arts which they think capable of\nbeing taught and learned. And if some person offers to give them\nadvice who is not supposed by them to have any skill in the art,\neven though he be good-looking, and rich, and noble, they will not\nlisten to him, but laugh and hoot at him, until either he is clamoured\ndown and retires of himself; or if he persist, he is dragged away or\nput out by the constables at the command of the prytanes. This is\ntheir way of behaving about professors of the arts. But when the\nquestion is an affair of state, then everybody is free to have a\nsay-carpenter, tinker, cobbler, sailor, passenger; rich and poor, high\nand low-any one who likes gets up, and no one reproaches him, as in\nthe former case, with not having learned, and having no teacher, and\nyet giving advice; evidently because they are under the impression\nthat this sort of knowledge cannot be taught. And not only is this\ntrue of the state, but of individuals; the best and wisest of our\ncitizens are unable to impart their political wisdom to others: as for\nexample, Pericles, the father of these young men, who gave them\nexcellent instruction in all that could be learned from masters, in\nhis own department of politics neither taught them, nor gave them\nteachers; but they were allowed to wander at their own free will in\na sort of hope that they would light upon virtue of their own\naccord. Or take another example: there was Cleinias the younger\nbrother of our friend Alcibiades, of whom this very same Pericles\nwas the guardian; and he being in fact under the apprehension that\nCleinias would be corrupted by Alcibiades, took him away, and placed\nhim in the house of Ariphron to be educated; but before six months had\nelapsed, Ariphron sent him back, not knowing what to do with him.\nAnd I could mention numberless other instances of persons who were\ngood themselves, and never yet made any one else good, whether\nfriend or stranger. Now I, Protagoras, having these examples before\nme, am inclined to think that virtue cannot be taught. But then again,\nwhen I listen to your words, I waver; and am disposed to think that\nthere must be something in what you say, because I know that you\nhave great experience, and learning, and invention. And I wish that\nyou would, if possible, show me a little more clearly that virtue\ncan be taught. Will you be so good?\n\nThat I will, Socrates, and gladly. But what would you like? Shall I,\nas an elder, speak to you as younger men in an apologue or myth, or\nshall I argue out the question?\n\nTo this several of the company answered that he should choose for\nhimself.\n\nWell, then, he said, I think that the myth will be more interesting.\n\nOnce upon a time there were gods only, and no mortal creatures.\nBut when the time came that these also should be created, the gods\nfashioned them out of earth and fire and various mixtures of both\nelements in the interior of the earth; and when they were about to\nbring them into the light of day, they ordered Prometheus and\nEpimetheus to equip them, and to distribute to them severally their\nproper qualities. Epimetheus said to Prometheus: \"Let me distribute,\nand do you inspect.\" This was agreed, and Epimetheus made the\ndistribution. There were some to whom he gave strength without\nswiftness, while he equipped the weaker with swiftness; some he armed,\nand others he left unarmed; and devised for the latter some other\nmeans of preservation, making some large, and having their size as a\nprotection, and others small, whose nature was to fly in the air or\nburrow in the ground; this was to be their way of escape. Thus did\nhe compensate them with the view of preventing any race from\nbecoming extinct. And when he had provided against their destruction\nby one another, he contrived also a means of protecting them against\nthe seasons of heaven; clothing them with close hair and thick skins\nsufficient to defend them against the winter cold and able to resist\nthe summer heat, so that they might have a natural bed of their own\nwhen they wanted to rest; also he furnished them with hoofs and hair\nand hard and callous skins under their feet. Then he gave them\nvarieties of food-herb of the soil to some, to others fruits of trees,\nand to others roots, and to some again he gave other animals as\nfood. And some he made to have few young ones, while those who were\ntheir prey were very prolific; and in this manner the race was\npreserved. Thus did Epimetheus, who, not being very wise, forgot\nthat he had distributed among the brute animals all the qualities\nwhich he had to give-and when he came to man, who was still\nunprovided, he was terribly perplexed. Now while he was in this\nperplexity, Prometheus came to inspect the distribution, and he\nfound that the other animals were suitably furnished, but that man\nalone was naked and shoeless, and had neither bed nor arms of defence.\nThe appointed hour was approaching when man in his turn was to go\nforth into the light of day; and Prometheus, not knowing how he\ncould devise his salvation, stole the mechanical arts of Hephaestus\nand Athene, and fire with them (they could neither have been\nacquired nor used without fire), and gave them to man. Thus man had\nthe wisdom necessary to the support of life, but political wisdom he\nhad not; for that was in the keeping of Zeus, and the power of\nPrometheus did not extend to entering into the citadel of heaven,\nwhere Zeus dwelt, who moreover had terrible sentinels; but he did\nenter by stealth into the common workshop of Athene and Hephaestus, in\nwhich they used to practise their favourite arts, and carried off\nHephaestus' art of working by fire, and also the art of Athene, and\ngave them to man. And in this way man was supplied with the means of\nlife. But Prometheus is said to have been afterwards prosecuted for\ntheft, owing to the blunder of Epimetheus.\n\nNow man, having a share of the divine attributes, was at first the\nonly one of the animals who had any gods, because he alone was of\ntheir kindred; and he would raise altars and images of them. He was\nnot long in inventing articulate speech and names; and he also\nconstructed houses and clothes and shoes and beds, and drew sustenance\nfrom the earth. Thus provided, mankind at first lived dispersed, and\nthere were no cities. But the consequence was that they were destroyed\nby the wild beasts, for they were utterly weak in comparison of\nthem, and their art was only sufficient to provide them with the means\nof life, and did not enable them to carry on war against the\nanimals: food they had, but not as yet the art of government, of which\nthe art of war is a part. After a while the desire of\nself-preservation gathered them into cities; but when they were\ngathered together, having no art of government, they evil intreated\none another, and were again in process of dispersion and\ndestruction. Zeus feared that the entire race would be exterminated,\nand so he sent Hermes to them, bearing reverence and justice to be the\nordering principles of cities and the bonds of friendship and\nconciliation. Hermes asked Zeus how he should impart justice and\nreverence among men:-Should he distribute them as the arts are\ndistributed; that is to say, to a favoured few only, one skilled\nindividual having enough of medicine or of any other art for many\nunskilled ones? \"Shall this be the manner in which I am to\ndistribute justice and reverence among men, or shall I give them to\nall?\" \"To all,\" said Zeus; \"I should like them all to have a share;\nfor cities cannot exist, if a few only share in the virtues, as in the\narts. And further, make a law by my order, that he who has no part\nin reverence and justice shall be put to death, for he is a plague\nof the state.\"\n\nAnd this is the reason, Socrates, why the Athenians and mankind in\ngeneral, when the question relates to carpentering or any other\nmechanical art, allow but a few to share in their deliberations; and\nwhen any one else interferes, then, as you say, they object, if he\nbe not of the favoured few; which, as I reply, is very natural. But\nwhen they meet to deliberate about political virtue, which proceeds\nonly by way of justice and wisdom, they are patient enough of any\nman who speaks of them, as is also natural, because they think that\nevery man ought to share in this sort of virtue, and that states could\nnot exist if this were otherwise. I have explained to you, Socrates,\nthe reason of this phenomenon.\n\nAnd that you may not suppose yourself to be deceived in thinking\nthat all men regard every man as having a share of justice or\nhonesty and of every other political virtue, let me give you a further\nproof, which is this. In other cases, as you are aware, if a man\nsays that he is a good flute-player, or skilful in any other art in\nwhich he has no skill, people either laugh at him or are angry with\nhim, and his relations think that he is mad and go and admonish him;\nbut when honesty is in question, or some other political virtue,\neven if they know that he is dishonest, yet, if the man comes publicly\nforward and tells the truth about his dishonesty, then, what in the\nother case was held by them to be good sense, they now deem to be\nmadness. They say that all men ought to profess honesty whether they\nare honest or not, and that a man is out of his mind who says anything\nelse. Their notion is, that a man must have some degree of honesty;\nand that if he has none at all he ought not to be in the world.\n\nI have been showing that they are right in admitting every man as\na counsellor about this sort of virtue, as they are of opinion that\nevery man is a partaker of it. And I will now endeavour to show\nfurther that they do not conceive this virtue to be given by nature,\nor to grow spontaneously, but to be a thing which may be taught; and\nwhich comes to a man by taking pains. No one would instruct, no one\nwould rebuke, or be angry with those whose calamities they suppose\nto be due to nature or chance; they do not try to punish or to prevent\nthem from being what they are; they do but pity them. Who is so\nfoolish as to chastise or instruct the ugly, or the diminutive, or the\nfeeble? And for this reason. Because he knows that good and evil of\nthis kind is the work of nature and of chance; whereas if a man is\nwanting in those good qualities which are attained by study and\nexercise and teaching, and has only the contrary evil qualities, other\nmen are angry with him, and punish and reprove him-of these evil\nqualities one is impiety, another injustice, and they may be described\ngenerally as the very opposite of political virtue. In such cases\nany man will be angry with another, and reprimand him,-clearly because\nhe thinks that by study and learning, the virtue in which the other is\ndeficient may be acquired. If you will think, Socrates, of the\nnature of punishment, you will see at once that in the opinion of\nmankind virtue may be acquired; no one punishes the evil-doer under\nthe notion, or for the reason, that he has done wrong, only the\nunreasonable fury of a beast acts in that manner. But he who desires\nto inflict rational punishment does not retaliate for a past wrong\nwhich cannot be undone; he has regard to the future, and is desirous\nthat the man who is punished, and he who sees him punished, may be\ndeterred from doing wrong again. He punishes for the sake of\nprevention, thereby clearly implying that virtue is capable of being\ntaught. This is the notion of all who retaliate upon others either\nprivately or publicly. And the Athenians, too, your own citizens, like\nother men, punish and take vengeance on all whom they regard as evil\ndoers; and hence, we may infer them to be of the number of those who\nthink that virtue may be acquired and taught. Thus far, Socrates, I\nhave shown you clearly enough, if I am not mistaken, that your\ncountrymen are right in admitting the tinker and the cobbler to advise\nabout politics, and also that they deem virtue to be capable of\nbeing taught and acquired.\n\nThere yet remains one difficulty which has been raised by you\nabout the sons of good men. What is the reason why good men teach\ntheir sons the knowledge which is gained from teachers, and make\nthem wise in that, but do nothing towards improving them in the\nvirtues which distinguish themselves? And here, Socrates, I will leave\nthe apologue and resume the argument. Please to consider: Is there\nor is there not some one quality of which all the citizens must be\npartakers, if there is to be a city at all? In the answer to this\nquestion is contained the only solution of your difficulty; there is\nno other. For if there be any such quality, and this quality or\nunity is not the art of the carpenter, or the smith, or the potter,\nbut justice and temperance and holiness and, in a word, manly\nvirtue-if this is the quality of which all men must be partakers,\nand which is the very condition of their learning or doing anything\nelse, and if he who is wanting in this, whether he be a child only\nor a grown-up man or woman, must be taught and punished, until by\npunishment he becomes better, and he who rebels against instruction\nand punishment is either exiled or condemned to death under the idea\nthat he is incurable-if what I am saying be true, good men have\ntheir sons taught other things and not this, do consider how\nextraordinary their conduct would appear to be. For we have shown that\nthey think virtue capable of being taught and cultivated both in\nprivate and public; and, notwithstanding, they have their sons\ntaught lesser matters, ignorance of which does not involve the\npunishment of death: but greater things, of which the ignorance may\ncause death and exile to those who have no training or knowledge of\nthem-aye, and confiscation as well as death, and, in a word, may be\nthe ruin of families-those things, I say, they are supposed not to\nteach them-not to take the utmost care that they should learn. How\nimprobable is this, Socrates!\n\nEducation and admonition commence in the first years of childhood,\nand last to the very end of life. Mother and nurse and father and\ntutor are vying with one another about the improvement of the child as\nsoon as ever he is able to understand what is being said to him: he\ncannot say or do anything without their setting forth to him that this\nis just and that is unjust; this is honourable, that is dishonourable;\nthis is holy, that is unholy; do this and abstain from that. And if he\nobeys, well and good; if not, he is straightened by threats and blows,\nlike a piece of bent or warped wood. At a later stage they send him to\nteachers, and enjoin them to see to his manners even more than to\nhis reading and music; and the teachers do as they are desired. And\nwhen the boy has learned his letters and is beginning to understand\nwhat is written, as before he understood only what was spoken, they\nput into his hands the works of great poets, which he reads sitting on\na bench at school; in these are contained many admonitions, and many\ntales, and praises, and encomia of ancient famous men, which he is\nrequired to learn by heart, in order that he may imitate or emulate\nthem and desire to become like them. Then, again, the teachers of\nthe lyre take similar care that their young disciple is temperate\nand gets into no mischief; and when they have taught him the use of\nthe lyre, they introduce him to the poems of other excellent poets,\nwho are the lyric poets; and these they set to music, and make their\nharmonies ana rhythms quite familiar to the children's souls, in order\nthat they may learn to be more gentle, and harmonious, and rhythmical,\nand so more fitted for speech and action; for the life of man in every\npart has need of harmony and rhythm. Then they send them to the master\nof gymnastic, in order that their bodies may better minister to the\nvirtuous mind, and that they may not be compelled through bodily\nweakness to play the coward in war or on any other occasion. This is\nwhat is done by those who have the means, and those who have the means\nare the rich; their children begin to go to school soonest and leave\noff latest. When they have done with masters, the state again\ncompels them to learn the laws, and live after the pattern which\nthey furnish, and not after their own fancies; and just as in learning\nto write, the writing-master first draws lines with a style for the\nuse of the young beginner, and gives him the tablet and makes him\nfollow the lines, so the city draws the laws, which were the invention\nof good lawgivers living in the olden time; these are given to the\nyoung man, in order to guide him in his conduct whether he is\ncommanding or obeying; and he who transgresses them is to be\ncorrected, or, in other words, called to account, which is a term used\nnot only in your country, but also in many others, seeing that justice\ncalls men to account. Now when there is all this care about virtue\nprivate and public, why, Socrates, do you still wonder and doubt\nwhether virtue can be taught? Cease to wonder, for the opposite\nwould be far more surprising.\n\nBut why then do the sons of good fathers often turn out ill? There\nis nothing very wonderful in this; for, as I have been saying, the\nexistence of a state implies that virtue is not any man's private\npossession. If so-and nothing can be truer-then I will further ask you\nto imagine, as an illustration, some other pursuit or branch of\nknowledge which may be assumed equally to be the condition of the\nexistence of a state. Suppose that there could be no state unless we\nwere all flute-players, as far as each had the capacity, and everybody\nwas freely teaching everybody the art, both in private and public, and\nreproving the bad player as freely and openly as every man now teaches\njustice and the laws, not concealing them as he would conceal the\nother arts, but imparting them-for all of us have a mutual interest in\nthe justice and virtue of one another, and this is the reason why\nevery one is so ready to teach justice and the laws;-suppose, I say,\nthat there were the same readiness and liberality among us in teaching\none another flute-playing, do you imagine, Socrates, that the sons\nof good flute players would be more likely to be good than the sons of\nbad ones? I think not. Would not their sons grow up to be\ndistinguished or undistinguished according to their own natural\ncapacities as flute-players, and the son of a good player would\noften turn out to be a bad one, and the son of a bad player to be a\ngood one, all flute-players would be good enough in comparison of\nthose who were ignorant and unacquainted with the art of\nflute-playing? In like manner I would have you consider that he who\nappears to you to be the worst of those who have been brought up in\nlaws and humanities, would appear to be a just man and a master of\njustice if he were to be compared with men who had no education, or\ncourts of justice, or laws, or any restraints upon them which\ncompelled them to practise virtue-with the savages, for example,\nwhom the poet Pherecrates exhibited on the stage at the last year's\nLenaean festival. If you were living among men such as the\nman-haters in his Chorus, you would be only too glad to meet with\nEurybates and Phrynondas, and you would sorrowfully long to revisit\nthe rascality of this part of the world. you, Socrates, are\ndiscontented, and why? Because all men are teachers of virtue, each\none according to his ability; and you say, Where are the teachers? You\nmight as well ask, Who teaches Greek? For of that too there will not\nbe any teachers found. Or you might ask, Who is to teach the sons of\nour artisans this same art which they have learned of their fathers?\nHe and his fellow-workmen have taught them to the best of their\nability,-but who will carry them further in their arts? And you\nwould certainly have a difficulty, Socrates, in finding a teacher of\nthem; but there would be no difficulty in finding a teacher of those\nwho are wholly ignorant. And this is true of virtue or of anything\nelse; if a man is better able than we are to promote virtue ever so\nlittle, we must be content with the result. A teacher of this sort I\nbelieve myself to be, and above all other men to have the knowledge\nwhich makes a man noble and good; and I give my pupils their\nmoney's-worth, and even more, as they themselves confess. And\ntherefore I have introduced the following mode of payment:-When a\nman has been my pupil, if he likes he pays my price, but there is no\ncompulsion; and if he does not like, he has only to go into a temple\nand take an oath of the value of the instructions, and he pays no more\nthan he declares to be their value.\n\nSuch is my Apologue, Socrates, and such is the argument by which I\nendeavour to show that virtue may be taught, and that this is the\nopinion of the Athenians. And I have also attempted to show that you\nare not to wonder at good fathers having bad sons, or at good sons\nhaving bad fathers, of which the sons of Polycleitus afford an\nexample, who are the companions of our friends here, Paralus and\nXanthippus, but are nothing in comparison with their father; and\nthis is true of the sons of many other artists. As yet I ought not\nto say the same of Paralus and Xanthippus themselves, for they are\nyoung and there is still hope of them.\n\nProtagoras ended, and in my ear\n\nSo charming left his voice, that I the while\n\nThought him still speaking; still stood fixed to hear.\n\nAt length, when the truth dawned upon me, that he had really finished,\nnot without difficulty I began to collect myself, and looking at\nHippocrates, I said to him: O son of Apollodorus, how deeply\ngrateful I am to you for having brought me hither; I would not have\nmissed the speech of Protagoras for a great deal. For I used to\nimagine that no human care could make men good; but I know better now.\nYet I have still one very small difficulty which I am sure that\nProtagoras will easily explain, as he has already explained so much.\nIf a man were to go and consult Pericles or any of our great\nspeakers about these matters, he might perhaps hear as fine a\ndiscourse; but then when one has a question to ask of any of them,\nlike books, they can neither answer nor ask; and if any one challenges\nthe least particular of their speech, they go ringing on in a long\nharangue, like brazen pots, which when they are struck continue to\nsound unless some one puts his hand upon them; whereas our friend\nProtagoras can not only make a good speech, as he has already shown,\nbut when he is asked a question he can answer briefly; and when he\nasks he will wait and hear the answer; and this is a very rare gift.\nNow I, Protagoras, want to ask of you a little question, which if\nyou will only answer, I shall be quite satisfied. You were saying that\nvirtue can be taught;-that I will take upon your authority, and\nthere is no one to whom I am more ready to trust. But I marvel at\none thing about which I should like to have my mind set at rest. You\nwere speaking of Zeus sending justice and reverence to men; and\nseveral times while you were speaking, justice, and temperance, and\nholiness, and all these qualities, were described by you as if\ntogether they made up virtue. Now I want you to tell me truly\nwhether virtue is one whole, of which justice and temperance and\nholiness are parts; or whether all these are only the names of one and\nthe same thing: that is the doubt which still lingers in my mind.\n\nThere is no difficulty, Socrates, in answering that the qualities of\nwhich you are speaking are the parts of virtue which is one.\n\nAnd are they parts, I said, in the same sense in which mouth,\nnose, and eyes, and ears, are the parts of a face; or are they like\nthe parts of gold, which differ from the whole and from one another\nonly in being larger or smaller?\n\nI should say that they differed, Socrates, in the first way; they\nare related to one another as the parts of a face are related to the\nwhole face.\n\nAnd do men have some one part and some another part of virtue? Of if\na man has one part, must he also have all the others?\n\nBy no means, he said; for many a man is brave and not just, or\njust and not wise.\n\nYou would not deny, then, that courage and wisdom are also parts\nof virtue?\n\nMost undoubtedly they are, he answered; and wisdom is the noblest of\nthe parts.\n\nAnd they are all different from one another? I said.\n\nYes.\n\nAnd has each of them a distinct function like the parts of the\nface;-the eye, for example, is not like the ear, and has not the\nsame functions; and the other parts are none of them like one another,\neither in their functions, or in any other way? I want to know whether\nthe comparison holds concerning the parts of virtue. Do they also\ndiffer from one another in themselves and in their functions? For that\nis clearly what the simile would imply.\n\nYes, Socrates, you are right in supposing that they differ.\n\nThen, I said, no other part of virtue is like knowledge, or like\njustice, or like courage, or like temperance, or like holiness?\n\nNo, he answered.\n\nWell then, I said, suppose that you and I enquire into their\nnatures. And first, you would agree with me that justice is of the\nnature of a thing, would you not? That is my opinion: would it not\nbe yours also?\n\nMine also, he said.\n\nAnd suppose that some one were to ask us, saying, \"O Protagoras, and\nyou, Socrates, what about this thing which you were calling justice,\nis it just or unjust?\"-and I were to answer, just: would you vote with\nme or against me?\n\nWith you, he said.\n\nThereupon I should answer to him who asked me, that justice is of\nthe nature of the just: would not you?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nAnd suppose that he went on to say: \"Well now, is there also such\na thing as holiness? \"we should answer, \"Yes,\" if I am not mistaken?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nWhich you would also acknowledge to be a thing-should we not say so?\n\nHe assented.\n\n\"And is this a sort of thing which is of the nature of the holy,\nor of the nature of the unholy?\" I should be angry at his putting such\na question, and should say, \"Peace, man; nothing can be holy if\nholiness is not holy.\" What would you say? Would you not answer in the\nsame way?\n\nCertainly, he said.\n\nAnd then after this suppose that he came and asked us, \"What were\nyou saying just now? Perhaps I may not have heard you rightly, but you\nseemed to me to be saying that the parts of virtue were not the same\nas one another.\" I should reply, \"You certainly heard that said, but\nnot, as you imagine, by me; for I only asked the question;\nProtagoras gave the answer.\" And suppose that he turned to you and\nsaid, \"Is this true, Protagoras? and do you maintain that one part\nof virtue is unlike another, and is this your position?\"-how would you\nanswer him?\n\nI could not help acknowledging the truth of what he said, Socrates.\n\nWell then, Protagoras, we will assume this; and now supposing that\nhe proceeded to say further, \"Then holiness is not of the nature of\njustice, nor justice of the nature of holiness, but of the nature of\nunholiness; and holiness is of the nature of the not just, and\ntherefore of the unjust, and the unjust is the unholy\": how shall we\nanswer him? I should certainly answer him on my own behalf that\njustice is holy, and that holiness is just; and I would say in like\nmanner on your behalf also, if you would allow me, that justice is\neither the same with holiness, or very nearly the same; and above\nall I would assert that justice is like holiness and holiness is\nlike justice; and I wish that you would tell me whether I may be\npermitted to give this answer on your behalf, and whether you would\nagree with me.\n\nHe replied, I cannot simply agree, Socrates, to the proposition that\njustice is holy and that holiness is just, for there appears to me\nto be a difference between them. But what matter? if you please I\nplease; and let us assume, if you will I, that justice is holy, and\nthat holiness is just.\n\nPardon me, I replied; I do not want this \"if you wish\" or \"if you\nwill\" sort of conclusion to be proven, but I want you and me to be\nproven: I mean to say that the conclusion will be best proven if there\nbe no \"if.\"\n\nWell, he said, I admit that justice bears a resemblance to holiness,\nfor there is always some point of view in which everything is like\nevery other thing; white is in a certain way like black, and hard is\nlike soft, and the most extreme opposites have some qualities in\ncommon; even the parts of the face which, as we were saying before,\nare distinct and have different functions, are still in a certain\npoint of view similar, and one of them is like another of them. And\nyou may prove that they are like one another on the same principle\nthat all things are like one another; and yet things which are like in\nsome particular ought not to be called alike, nor things which are\nunlike in some particular, however slight, unlike.\n\nAnd do you think, I said in a tone of surprise, that justice and\nholiness have but a small degree of likeness?\n\nCertainly not; any more than I agree with what I understand to be\nyour view.\n\nWell, I said, as you appear to have a difficulty about this, let\nus take another of the examples which you mentioned instead. Do you\nadmit the existence of folly?\n\nI do.\n\nAnd is not wisdom the. very opposite of folly?\n\nThat is true, he said.\n\nAnd when men act rightly and advantageously they seem to you to be\ntemperate?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nAnd temperance makes them temperate?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd they who do not act rightly act foolishly, and in acting thus\nare not temperate?\n\nI agree, he said.\n\nThen to act foolishly is the opposite of acting temperately?\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd foolish actions are done by folly, and temperate actions by\ntemperance?\n\nHe agreed.\n\nAnd that is done strongly which is done by strength, and that\nwhich is weakly done, by weakness?\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd that which is done with swiftness is done swiftly, and that\nwhich is done with slowness, slowly?\n\nHe assented again.\n\nAnd that which is done in the same manner, is done by the same;\nand that which is done in an opposite manner by the opposite?\n\nHe agreed.\n\nOnce more, I said, is there anything beautiful?\n\nYes.\n\nTo which the only opposite is the ugly?\n\nThere is no other.\n\nAnd is there anything good?\n\nThere is.\n\nTo which the only opposite is the evil?\n\nThere is no other.\n\nAnd there is the acute in sound?\n\nTrue.\n\nTo which the only opposite is the grave?\n\nThere is no other, he said, but that.\n\nThen every opposite has one opposite only and no more?\n\nHe assented.\n\nThen now, I said, let us recapitulate our admissions. First of all\nwe admitted that everything has one opposite and not more than one?\n\nWe did so.\n\nAnd we admitted also that what was done in opposite ways was done by\nopposites?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd that which was done foolishly, as we further admitted, was\ndone in the opposite way to that which was done temperately?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd that which was done temperately was done by temperance, and that\nwhich was done foolishly by folly?\n\nHe agreed.\n\nAnd that which is done in opposite ways is done by opposites?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd one thing is done by temperance, and quite another thing by\nfolly?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd in opposite ways?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd therefore by opposites:-then folly is the opposite of\ntemperance?\n\nClearly.\n\nAnd do you remember that folly has already been acknowledged by us\nto be the opposite of wisdom?\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd we said that everything has only one opposite?\n\nYes.\n\nThen, Protagoras, which of the two assertions shall we renounce? One\nsays that everything has but one opposite; the other that wisdom is\ndistinct from temperance, and that both of them are parts of virtue;\nand that they are not only distinct, but dissimilar, both in\nthemselves and in their functions, like the parts of a face. Which\nof these two assertions shall we renounce? For both of them together\nare certainly not in harmony; they do not accord or agree: for how can\nthey be said to agree if everything is assumed to have only one\nopposite and not more than one, and yet folly, which is one, has\nclearly the two opposites wisdom and temperance? Is not that true,\nProtagoras? What else would you say?\n\nHe assented, but with great reluctance.\n\nThen temperance and wisdom are the same, as before justice and\nholiness appeared to us to be nearly the same. And now, Protagoras,\nI said, we must finish the enquiry, and not faint. Do you think that\nan unjust man can be temperate in his injustice?\n\nI should be ashamed, Socrates, he said, to acknowledge this which\nnevertheless many may be found to assert.\n\nAnd shall I argue with them or with you? I replied.\n\nI would rather, he said, that you should argue with the many\nfirst, if you will.\n\nWhichever you please, if you will only answer me and say whether you\nare of their opinion or not. My object is to test the validity of\nthe argument; and yet the result may be that I who ask and you who\nanswer may both be put on our trial.\n\nProtagoras at first made a show of refusing, as he said that the\nargument was not encouraging; at length, he consented to answer.\n\nNow then, I said, begin at the beginning and answer me. You think\nthat some men are temperate, and yet unjust?\n\nYes, he said; let that be admitted.\n\nAnd temperance is good sense?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd good sense is good counsel in doing injustice?\n\nGranted.\n\nIf they succeed, I said, or if they do not succeed?\n\nIf they succeed.\n\nAnd you would admit the existence of goods?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd is the good that which is expedient for man?\n\nYes, indeed, he said: and there are some things which may be\ninexpedient, and yet I call them good.\n\nI thought that Protagoras was getting ruffled and excited; he seemed\nto be setting himself in an attitude of war. Seeing this, I minded\nmy business, and gently said:-\n\nWhen you say, Protagoras, that things inexpedient are good, do you\nmean inexpedient for man only, or inexpedient altogether? and do you\ncall the latter good?\n\nCertainly not the last, he replied; for I know of many things-meats,\ndrinks, medicines, and ten thousand other things, which are\ninexpedient for man, and some which are expedient; and some which\nare neither expedient nor inexpedient for man, but only for horses;\nand some for oxen only, and some for dogs; and some for no animals,\nbut only for trees; and some for the roots of trees and not for\ntheir branches, as for example, manure, which is a good thing when\nlaid about the roots of a tree, but utterly destructive if thrown upon\nthe shoots and young branches; or I may instance olive oil, which is\nmischievous to all plants, and generally most injurious to the hair of\nevery animal with the exception of man, but beneficial to human hair\nand to the human body generally; and even in this application (so\nvarious and changeable is the nature of the benefit), that which is\nthe greatest good to the outward parts of a man, is a very great\nevil to his inward parts: and for this reason physicians always forbid\ntheir patients the use of oil in their food, except in very small\nquantities, just enough to extinguish the disagreeable sensation of\nsmell in meats and sauces.\n\nWhen he had given this answer, the company cheered him. And I\nsaid: Protagoras, I have a wretched memory, and when any one makes a\nlong speech to me I never remember what he is talking about. As\nthen, if I had been deaf, and you were going to converse with me,\nyou would have had to raise your voice; so now, having such a bad\nmemory, I will ask you to cut your answers shorter, if you would\ntake me with you.\n\nWhat do you mean? he said: how am I to shorten my answers? shall I\nmake them too short?\n\nCertainly not, I said.\n\nBut short enough?\n\nYes, I said.\n\nShall I answer what appears to me to be short enough, or what\nappears to you to be short enough?\n\nI have heard, I said, that you can speak and teach others to speak\nabout the same things at such length that words never seemed to\nfail, or with such brevity that no one could use fewer of them. Please\ntherefore, if you talk with me, to adopt the latter or more\ncompendious method.\n\nSocrates, he replied, many a battle of words have I fought, and if I\nhad followed the method of disputation which my adversaries desired,\nas you want me to do, I should have been no better than another, and\nthe name of Protagoras would have been nowhere.\n\nI saw that he was not satisfied with his previous answers, and\nthat he would not play the part of answerer any more if he could help;\nand I considered that there was no call upon me to continue the\nconversation; so I said: Protagoras, I do not wish to force the\nconversation upon you if you had rather not, but when you are\nwilling to argue with me in such a way that I can follow you, then I\nwill argue with you. Now you, as is said of you by others and as you\nsay of yourself, are able to have discussions in shorter forms of\nspeech as well as in longer, for you are a master of wisdom; but I\ncannot manage these long speeches: I only wish that I could. You, on\nthe other hand, who are capable of either, ought to speak shorter as I\nbeg you, and then we might converse. But I see that you are\ndisinclined, and as I have an engagement which will prevent my staying\nto hear you at greater length (for I have to be in another place), I\nwill depart; although I should have liked to have heard you.\n\nThus I spoke, and was rising from my seat, when Callias seized me by\nthe right hand, and in his left hand caught hold of this old cloak\nof mine. He said: We cannot let you go, Socrates, for if you leave\nus there will be an end of our discussions: I must therefore beg you\nto remain, as there is nothing in the world that I should like\nbetter than to hear you and Protagoras discourse. Do not deny the\ncompany this pleasure.\n\nNow I had got up, and was in the act of departure. Son of\nHipponicus, I replied, I have always admired, and do now heartily\napplaud and love your philosophical spirit, and I would gladly\ncomply with your request, if I could. But the truth is that I\ncannot. And what you ask is as great an impossibility to me, as if you\nbade me run a race with Crison of Himera, when in his prime, or with\nsome one of the long or day course runners. To such a request I should\nreply that I would fain ask the same of my own legs; but they refuse\nto comply. And therefore if you want to see Crison and me in the\nsame stadium, you must bid him slacken his speed to mine, for I cannot\nrun quickly, and he can run slowly. And in like manner if you want\nto hear me and Protagoras discoursing, you must ask him to shorten his\nanswers, and keep to the point, as he did at first; if not, how can\nthere be any discussion? For discussion is one thing, and making an\noration is quite another, in my humble opinion.\n\nBut you see, Socrates, said Callias, that Protagoras may fairly\nclaim to speak in his own way, just as you claim to speak in yours.\n\nHere Alcibiades interposed, and said: That, Callias, is not a true\nstatement of the case. For our friend Socrates admits that he cannot\nmake a speech-in this he yields the palm to Protagoras: but I should\nbe greatly surprised if he yielded to any living man in the power of\nholding and apprehending an argument. Now if Protagoras will make a\nsimilar admission, and confess that he is inferior to Socrates in\nargumentative skill, that is enough for Socrates; but if he claims a\nsuperiority in argument as well, let him ask and answer-not, when a\nquestion is asked, slipping away from the point, and instead of\nanswering, making a speech at such length that most of his hearers\nforget the question at issue (not that Socrates is likely to\nforget-I will be bound for that, although he may pretend in fun that\nhe has a bad memory). And Socrates appears to me to be more in the\nright than Protagoras; that is my view, and every man ought to say\nwhat he thinks.\n\nWhen Alcibiades had done speaking, some one-Critias, I\nbelieve-went on to say: O Prodicus and Hippias, Callias appears to\nme to be a partisan of Protagoras: and this led Alcibiades, who\nloves opposition, to take the other side. But we should not be\npartisans either of Socrates or of Protagoras; let us rather unite\nin entreating both of them not to break up the discussion.\n\nProdicus added: That, Critias, seems to me to be well said, for\nthose who are present at such discussions ought to be impartial\nhearers of both the speakers; remembering, however, that\nimpartiality is not the same as equality, for both sides should be\nimpartially heard, and yet an equal meed should not be assigned to\nboth of them; but to the wiser a higher meed should be given, and a\nlower to the less wise. And I as well as Critias would beg you,\nProtagoras and Socrates, to grant our request, which is, that you will\nargue with one another and not wrangle; for friends argue with friends\nout of goodwill, but only adversaries and enemies wrangle. And then\nour meeting will be delightful; for in this way you, who are the\nspeakers, will be most likely to win esteem, and not praise only,\namong us who are your audience; for esteem is a sincere conviction\nof the hearers' souls, but praise is often an insincere expression\nof men uttering falsehoods contrary to their conviction. And thus we\nwho are the hearers will be gratified and not pleased; for\ngratification is of the mind when receiving wisdom and knowledge,\nbut pleasure is of the body when eating or experiencing some other\nbodily delight. Thus spoke Prodicus, and many of the company applauded\nhis words.\n\nHippias the sage spoke next. He said: All of you who are here\npresent I reckon to be kinsmen and friends and fellow-citizens, by\nnature and not by law; for by nature like is akin to like, whereas law\nis the tyrant of mankind, and often compels us to do many things which\nare against nature. How great would be the disgrace then, if we, who\nknow the nature of things, and are the wisest of the Hellenes, and\nas such are met together in this city, which is the metropolis of\nwisdom, and in the greatest and most glorious house of this city,\nshould have nothing to show worthy of this height of dignity, but\nshould only quarrel with one another like the meanest of mankind I\npray and advise you, Protagoras, and you, Socrates, to agree upon a\ncompromise. Let us be your peacemakers. And do not you, Socrates,\naim at this precise and extreme brevity in discourse, if Protagoras\nobjects, but loosen and let go the reins of speech, that your words\nmay be grander and more becoming to you. Neither do you, Protagoras,\ngo forth on the gale with every sail set out of sight of land into\nan ocean of words, but let there be a mean observed by both of you. Do\nas I say. And let me also persuade you to choose an arbiter or\noverseer or president; he will keep watch over your words and will\nprescribe their proper length.\n\nThis proposal was received by the company with universal approval;\nCallias said that he would not let me off, and they begged me to\nchoose an arbiter. But I said that to choose an umpire of discourse\nwould be unseemly; for if the person chosen was inferior, then the\ninferior or worse ought not to preside over the better; or if he was\nequal, neither would that be well; for he who is our equal will do\nas we do, and what will be the use of choosing him? And if you say,\n\"Let us have a better then,\"-to that I answer that you cannot have any\none who is wiser than Protagoras. And if you choose another who is not\nreally better, and whom you only say is better, to put another over\nhim as though he were an inferior person would be an unworthy\nreflection on him; not that, as far as I am concerned, any\nreflection is of much consequence to me. Let me tell you then what I\nwill do in order that the conversation and discussion may go on as you\ndesire. If Protagoras is not disposed to answer, let him ask and I\nwill answer; and I will endeavour to show at the same time how, as I\nmaintain, he ought to answer: and when I have answered as many\nquestions as he likes to ask, let him in like manner answer me; and if\nhe seems to be not very ready at answering the precise question\nasked of him, you and I will unite in entreating him, as you entreated\nme, not to spoil the discussion. And this will require no special\narbiter-all of you shall be arbiters.\n\nThis was generally approved, and Protagoras, though very much\nagainst his will, was obliged to agree that he would ask questions;\nand when he had put a sufficient number of them, that he would\nanswer in his turn those which he was asked in short replies. He began\nto put his questions as follows:-\n\nI am of opinion, Socrates, he said, that skill in poetry is the\nprincipal part of education; and this I conceive to be the power of\nknowing what compositions of the poets are correct, and what are\nnot, and how they are to be distinguished, and of explaining when\nasked the reason of the difference. And I propose to transfer the\nquestion which you and I have been discussing to the domain of poetry;\nwe will speak as before of virtue, but in reference to a passage of\na poet. Now Simonides says to Scopas the son of Creon the Thessalian:\n\nHardly on the one hand can a man become truly good, built\nfour-square in hands and feet and mind, a work without a flaw.\n\nDo you know the poem? or shall I repeat the whole?\n\nThere is no need, I said; for I am perfectly well acquainted with\nthe ode-I have made a careful study of it.\n\nVery well, he said. And do you think that the ode is a good\ncomposition, and true?\n\nYes, I said, both good and true.\n\nBut if there is a contradiction, can the composition be good or\ntrue?\n\nNo, not in that case, I replied.\n\nAnd is there not a contradiction? he asked. Reflect.\n\nWell, my friend, I have reflected.\n\nAnd does not the poet proceed to say, \"I do not agree with the\nword of Pittacus, albeit the utterance of a wise man: Hardly can a man\nbe good\"? Now you will observe that this is said by the same poet.\n\nI know it.\n\nAnd do you think, he said, that the two sayings are consistent?\n\nYes, I said, I think so (at the same time I could not help fearing\nthat there might be something in what he said). And you think\notherwise?\n\nWhy, he said, how can he be consistent in both? First of all,\npremising as his own thought, \"Hardly can a man become truly good\";\nand then a little further on in the poem, forgetting, and blaming\nPittacus and refusing to agree with him, when he says, \"Hardly can a\nman be good,\" which is the very same thing. And yet when he blames him\nwho says the same with himself, he blames himself; so that he must\nbe wrong either in his first or his second assertion.\n\nMany of the audience cheered and applauded this. And I felt at first\ngiddy and faint, as if I had received a blow from the hand of an\nexpert boxer, when I heard his words and the sound of the cheering;\nand to confess the truth, I wanted to get time to think what the\nmeaning of the poet really was. So I turned to Prodicus and called\nhim. Prodicus, I said, Simonides is a countryman of yours, and you\nought to come to his aid. I must appeal to you, like the river\nScamander in Homer, who, when beleaguered by Achilles, summons the\nSimois to aid him, saying:\n\nBrother dear, let us both together stay the force of the hero.\n\nAnd I summon you, for I am afraid that Protagoras will make an end\nof Simonides. Now is the time to rehabilitate Simonides, by the\napplication of your philosophy of synonyms, which enables you to\ndistinguish \"will\" and \"wish,\" and make other charming distinctions\nlike those which you drew just now. And I should like to know\nwhether you would agree with me; for I am of opinion that there is\nno contradiction in the words of Simonides. And first of all I wish\nthat you would say whether, in your opinion, Prodicus, \"being\" is\nthe same as \"becoming.\"\n\nNot the same, certainly, replied Prodicus.\n\nDid not Simonides first set forth, as his own view, that \"Hardly can\na man become truly good\"?\n\nQuite right, said Prodicus.\n\nAnd then he blames Pittacus, not, as Protagoras imagines, for\nrepeating that which he says himself, but for saying something\ndifferent from himself. Pittacus does not say as Simonides says,\nthat hardly can a man become good, but hardly can a man be good: and\nour friend Prodicus would maintain that being, Protagoras, is not\nthe same as becoming; and if they are not the same, then Simonides\nis not inconsistent with himself. I dare say that Prodicus and many\nothers would say, as Hesiod says,\n\nOn the one hand, hardly can a man become good,\n\nFor the gods have made virtue the reward of toil,\n\nBut on the other hand, when you have climbed the height,\n\nThen, to retain virtue, however difficult the acquisition, is easy.\n\nProdicus heard and approved; but Protagoras said: Your correction,\nSocrates, involves a greater error than is contained in the sentence\nwhich you are correcting.\n\nAlas! I said, Protagoras; then I am a sorry physician, and do but\naggravate a disorder which I am seeking to cure.\n\nSuch is the fact, he said.\n\nHow so? I asked.\n\nThe poet, he replied, could never have made such a mistake as to say\nthat virtue, which in the opinion of all men is the hardest of all\nthings, can be easily retained.\n\nWell, I said, and how fortunate are we in having Prodicus among\nus, at the right moment; for he has a wisdom, Protagoras, which, as\nI imagine, is more than human and of very ancient date, and may be\nas old as Simonides or even older. Learned as you are in many\nthings, you appear to know nothing of this; but I know, for I am a\ndisciple of his. And now, if I am not mistaken, you do not\nunderstand the word \"hard\" (chalepon) in the sense which Simonides\nintended; and I must correct you, as Prodicus corrects me when I use\nthe word \"awful\" (deinon) as a term of praise. If I say that\nProtagoras or any one else is an \"awfully\" wise man, he asks me if I\nam not ashamed of calling that which is good \"awful\"; and then he\nexplains to me that the term \"awful\" is always taken in a bad sense,\nand that no one speaks of being \"awfully\" healthy or wealthy, or\n\"awful\" peace, but of \"awful\" disease, \"awful\" war, \"awful\" poverty,\nmeaning by the term \"awful,\" evil. And I think that Simonides and\nhis countrymen the Ceans, when they spoke of \"hard\" meant \"evil,\" or\nsomething which you do not understand. Let us ask Prodicus, for he\nought to be able to answer questions about the dialect of Simonides.\nWhat did he mean, Prodicus, by the term \"hard?\"\n\nEvil, said Prodicus.\n\nAnd therefore, I said, Prodicus, he blames Pittacus for saying,\n\"Hard is the good,\" just as if that were equivalent to saying, Evil is\nthe good.\n\nYes, he said, that was certainly his meaning; and he is twitting\nPittacus with ignorance of the use of terms, which in a Lesbian, who\nhas been accustomed to speak a barbarous language, is natural.\n\nDo you hear, Protagoras, I asked, what our friend Prodicus is\nsaying? And have you an answer for him?\n\nYou are entirely mistaken, Prodicus, said Protagoras; and I know\nvery well that Simonides in using the word \"hard\" meant what all of us\nmean, not evil, but that which is not easy-that which takes a great\ndeal of trouble: of this I am positive.\n\nI said: I also incline to believe, Protagoras, that this was the\nmeaning of Simonides, of which our friend Prodicus was very well\naware, but he thought that he would make fun, and try if you could\nmaintain your thesis; for that Simonides could never have meant the\nother is clearly proved by the context, in which he says that God only\nhas this gift. Now he cannot surely mean to say that to be good is\nevil, when he afterwards proceeds to say that God only has this\ngift, and that this is the attribute of him and of no other. For if\nthis be his meaning, Prodicus would impute to Simonides a character of\nrecklessness which is very unlike his countrymen. And I should like to\ntell you, I said, what I imagine to be the real meaning of Simonides\nin this poem, if you will test what, in your way of speaking, would be\ncalled my skill in poetry; or if you would rather, I will be the\nlistener.\n\nTo this proposal Protagoras replied: As you please;-and Hippias,\nProdicus, and the others told me by all means to do as I proposed.\n\nThen now, I said, I will endeavour to explain to you my opinion\nabout this poem of Simonides. There is a very ancient philosophy which\nis more cultivated in Crete and Lacedaemon than in any other part of\nHellas, and there are more philosophers in those countries than\nanywhere else in the world. This, however, is a secret which the\nLacedaemonians deny; and they pretend to be ignorant, just because\nthey do not wish to have it thought that they rule the world by\nwisdom, like the Sophists of whom Protagoras was speaking, and not\nby valour of arms; considering that if the reason of their superiority\nwere disclosed, all men would be practising their wisdom. And this\nsecret of theirs has never been discovered by the imitators of\nLacedaemonian fashions in other cities, who go about with their ears\nbruised in imitation of them, and have the caestus bound on their\narms, and are always in training, and wear short cloaks; for they\nimagine that these are the practices which have enabled the\nLacedaemonians to conquer the other Hellenes. Now when the\nLacedaemonians want to unbend and hold free conversation with their\nwise men, and are no longer satisfied with mere secret intercourse,\nthey drive out all these laconizers, and any other foreigners who\nmay happen to be in their country, and they hold a philosophical\nseance unknown to strangers; and they themselves forbid their young\nmen to go out into other cities-in this they are like the Cretans-in\norder that they may not unlearn the lessons which they have taught\nthem. And in Lacedaemon and Crete not only men but also women have a\npride in their high cultivation. And hereby you may know that I am\nright in attributing to the Lacedaemonians this excellence in\nphilosophy and speculation: If a man converses with the most\nordinary Lacedaemonian, he will find him seldom good for much in\ngeneral conversation, but at any point in the discourse he will be\ndarting out some notable saying, terse and full of meaning, with\nunerring aim; and the person with whom he is talking seems to be\nlike a child in his hands. And many of our own age and of former\nages have noted that the true Lacedaemonian type of character has\nthe love of philosophy even stronger than the love of gymnastics; they\nare conscious that only a perfectly educated man is capable of\nuttering such expressions. Such were Thales of Miletus, and Pittacus\nof Mitylene, and Bias of Priene, and our own Solon, and Cleobulus\nthe Lindian, and Myson the Chenian; and seventh in the catalogue of\nwise men was the Lacedaemonian Chilo. All these were lovers and\nemulators and disciples of the culture of the Lacedaemonians, and\nany one may perceive that their wisdom was of this character;\nconsisting of short memorable sentences, which they severally uttered.\nAnd they met together and dedicated in the temple of Apollo at Delphi,\nas the first-fruits of their wisdom, the far-famed inscriptions, which\nare in all men's mouths-\"Know thyself,\" and \"Nothing too much.\"\n\nWhy do I say all this? I am explaining that this Lacedaemonian\nbrevity was the style of primitive philosophy. Now there was a\nsaying of Pittacus which was privately circulated and received the\napprobation of the wise, \"Hard is it to be good.\" And Simonides, who\nwas ambitious of the fame of wisdom, was aware that if he could\noverthrow this saying, then, as if he had won a victory over some\nfamous athlete, he would carry off the palm among his\ncontemporaries. And if I am not mistaken, he composed the entire\npoem with the secret intention of damaging Pittacus and his saying.\n\nLet us all unite in examining his words, and see whether I am\nspeaking the truth. Simonides must have been a lunatic, if, in the\nvery first words of the poem, wanting to say only that to become\ngood is hard, he inserted (men) \"on the one hand\" [\"on the one hand to\nbecome good is hard\"]; there would be no reason for the introduction\nof (men), unless you suppose him to speak with a hostile reference\nto the words of Pittacus. Pittacus is saying \"Hard is it to be\ngood,\" and he, in refutation of this thesis, rejoins that the truly\nhard thing, Pittacus, is to become good, not joining \"truly\" with\n\"good,\" but with \"hard.\" Not, that the hard thing is to be truly good,\nas though there were some truly good men, and there were others who\nwere good but not truly good (this would be a very simple observation,\nand quite unworthy of Simonides); but you must suppose him to make a\ntrajection of the word \"truly,\" construing the saying of Pittacus thus\n(and let us imagine Pittacus to be speaking and Simonides answering\nhim): \"O my friends,\" says Pittacus, \"hard is it to be good,\" and\nSimonides answers, \"In that, Pittacus, you are mistaken; the\ndifficulty is not to be good, but on the one hand, to become good,\nfour-square in hands and feet and mind, without a flaw-that is hard\ntruly.\" This way of reading the passage accounts for the insertion\nof (men) \"on the one hand,\" and for the position at the end of the\nclause of the word \"truly,\" and all that follows shows this to be\nthe meaning. A great deal might be said in praise of the details of\nthe poem, which is a charming piece of workmanship, and very finished,\nbut such minutiae would be tedious. I should like, however, to point\nout the general intention of the poem, which is certainly designed\nin every part to be a refutation of the saying of Pittacus. For he\nspeaks in what follows a little further on as if he meant to argue\nthat although there is a difficulty in becoming good, yet this is\npossible for a time, and only for a time. But having become good, to\nremain in a good state and be good, as you, Pittacus, affirm, is not\npossible, and is not granted to man; God only has this blessing;\n\"but man cannot help being bad when the force of circumstances\noverpowers him.\" Now whom does the force of circumstance overpower\nin the command of a vessel?-not the private individual, for he is\nalways overpowered; and as one who is already prostrate cannot be\noverthrown, and only he who is standing upright but not he who is\nprostrate can be laid prostrate, so the force of circumstances can\nonly overpower him who, at some time or other, has resources, and\nnot him who is at all times helpless. The descent of a great storm may\nmake the pilot helpless, or the severity of the season the\nhusbandman or the physician; for the good may become bad, as another\npoet witnesses:\n\nThe good are sometimes good and sometimes bad.\n\nBut the bad does not become bad; he is always bad. So that when the\nforce of circumstances overpowers the man of resources and skill and\nvirtue, then he cannot help being bad. And you, Pittacus, are\nsaying, \"Hard is it to be good.\" Now there is a difficulty in becoming\ngood; and yet this is possible: but to be good is an impossibility-\n\nFor he who does well is the good man, and he who does ill is the\nbad.\n\nBut what sort of doing is good in letters? and what sort of doing\nmakes a man good in letters? Clearly the knowing of them. And what\nsort of well-doing makes a man a good physician? Clearly the knowledge\nof the art of healing the sick. \"But he who does ill is the bad.\"\nNow who becomes a bad physician? Clearly he who is in the first\nplace a physician, and in the second place a good physician; for he\nmay become a bad one also: but none of us unskilled individuals can by\nany amount of doing ill become physicians, any more than we can become\ncarpenters or anything of that sort; and he who by doing ill cannot\nbecome a physician at all, clearly cannot become a bad physician. In\nlike manner the good may become deteriorated by time, or toil, or\ndisease, or other accident (the only real doing ill is to be\ndeprived of knowledge), but the bad man will never become bad, for\nhe is always bad; and if he were to become bad, he must previously\nhave been good. Thus the words of the poem tend to show that on the\none hand a man cannot be continuously good, but that he may become\ngood and may also become bad; and again that\n\nThey are the best for the longest time whom the gods love.\n\nAll this relates to Pittacus, as is further proved by the sequel.\nFor he adds:\n\nTherefore I will not throw away my span of life to no purpose in\nsearching after the impossible, hoping in vain to find a perfectly\nfaultless man among those who partake of the fruit of the\nbroad-bosomed earth: if I find him, I will send you word.\n\n(this is the vehement way in which he pursues his attack upon Pittacus\nthroughout the whole poem):\n\nBut him who does no evil, voluntarily I praise and love;-not even\nthe gods war against necessity.\n\nAll this has a similar drift, for Simonides was not so ignorant as\nto say that he praised those who did no evil voluntarily, as though\nthere were some who did evil voluntarily. For no wise man, as I\nbelieve, will allow that any human being errs voluntarily, or\nvoluntarily does evil and dishonourable actions; but they are very\nwell aware that all who do evil and dishonourable things do them\nagainst their will. And Simonides never says that he praises him who\ndoes no evil voluntarily; the word \"voluntarily\" applies to himself.\nFor he was under the impression that a good man might often compel\nhimself to love and praise another, and to be the friend and\napprover of another; and that there might be an involuntary love, such\nas a man might feel to an unnatural father or mother, or country, or\nthe like. Now bad men, when their parents or country have any defects,\nlook on them with malignant joy, and find fault with them and expose\nand denounce them to others, under the idea that the rest of mankind\nwill be less likely to take themselves to task and accuse them of\nneglect; and they blame their defects far more than they deserve, in\norder that the odium which is necessarily incurred by them may be\nincreased: but the good man dissembles his feelings, and constrains\nhimself to praise them; and if they have wronged him and he is\nangry, he pacifies his anger and is reconciled, and compels himself to\nlove and praise his own flesh and blood. And Simonides, as is\nprobable, considered that he himself had often had to praise and\nmagnify a tyrant or the like, much against his will, and he also\nwishes to imply to Pittacus that he does not censure him because he is\ncensorious.\n\nFor I am satisfied [he says] when a man is neither bad nor very\nstupid; and when he knows justice (which is the health of states), and\nis of sound mind, I will find no fault with him, for I am not given to\nfinding fault, and there are innumerable fools\n\n(implying that if he delighted in censure he might have abundant\nopportunity of finding fault).\n\nAll things are good with which evil is unmingled.\n\nIn these latter words he does not mean to say that all things are good\nwhich have no evil in them, as you might say \"All things are white\nwhich have no black in them,\" for that would be ridiculous; but he\nmeans to say that he accepts and finds no fault with the moderate or\nintermediate state. He says:\n\nI do not hope to find a perfectly blameless man among those who\npartake of the fruits of the broad-bosomed earth (if I find him, I\nwill send you word); in this sense I praise no man. But he who is\nmoderately good, and does no evil, is good enough for me, who love and\napprove every one.\n\n(and here observe that he uses a Lesbian word, epainemi [approve],\nbecause he is addressing Pittacus,\n\nWho love and approve every one voluntarily, who does no evil:\n\nand that the stop should be put after \"voluntarily\"); \"but there are\nsome whom I involuntarily praise and love. And you, Pittacus, I\nwould never have blamed, if you had spoken what was moderately good\nand true; but I do blame you because, putting on the appearance of\ntruth, you are speaking falsely about the highest matters. And this, I\nsaid, Prodicus and Protagoras, I take to be the meaning of Simonides\nin this poem.\n\nHippias said: I think, Socrates, that you have given a very good\nexplanation of the poem; but I have also an excellent interpretation\nof my own which I will propound to you, if you will allow me.\n\nNay, Hippias, said Alcibiades; not now, but at some other time. At\npresent we must abide by the compact which was made between Socrates\nand Protagoras, to the effect that as long as Protagoras is willing to\nask, Socrates should answer; or that if he would rather answer, then\nthat Socrates should ask.\n\nI said: I wish Protagoras either to ask or answer as he is inclined;\nbut I would rather have done with poems and odes, if he does not\nobject, and come back to the question about which I was asking you\nat first, Protagoras, and by your help make an end of that. The talk\nabout the poets seems to me like a commonplace entertainment to\nwhich a vulgar company have recourse; who, because they are not able\nto converse or amuse one another, while they are drinking, with the\nsound of their own voices and conversation, by reason of their\nstupidity, raise the price of flute-girls in the market, hiring for\na great sum the voice of a flute instead of their own breath, to be\nthe medium of intercourse among them: but where the company are real\ngentlemen and men of education, you will see no flute-girls, nor\ndancing-girls, nor harp-girls; and they have no nonsense or games, but\nare contented with one another's conversation, of which their own\nvoices are the medium, and which they carry on by turns and in an\norderly manner, even though they are very liberal in their\npotations. And a company like this of ours, and men such as we profess\nto be, do not require the help of another's voice, or of the poets\nwhom you cannot interrogate about meaning of what they are saying;\npeople who cite them declaring, some that the poet has meaning, and\nothers that he has another, and the point which is in dispute can\nnever be decided. This sort of entertainment they decline, and\nprefer to talk with one another, and put one another to the proof in\nconversation. And these are the models which I desire that you and I\nshould imitate. Leaving the poets, and keeping to ourselves, let us\ntry the mettle of one another and make proof of the truth in\nconversation. If you have a mind to ask, I am ready to answer; or if\nyou would rather, do you answer, and give me the opportunity of\nresuming and completing our unfinished argument.\n\nI made these and some similar observations; but Protagoras would not\ndistinctly say which he would do. Thereupon Alcibiades turned to\nCallias, and said:-Do you think, Callias, that Protagoras is fair in\nrefusing to say whether he will or will not answer? for I certainly\nthink that he is unfair; he ought either to proceed with the argument,\nor distinctly refuse to proceed, that we may know his intention; and\nthen Socrates will be able to discourse with some one else, and the\nrest of the company will be free to talk with one another.\n\nI think that Protagoras was really made ashamed by these words of\nAlcibiades and when the prayers of Callias and the company were\nsuperadded, he was at last induced to argue, and said that I might ask\nand he would answer.\n\nSo I said: Do not imagine, Protagoras, that I have any other\ninterest in asking questions of you but that of clearing up my own\ndifficulties. For I think that Homer was very right in saying that\n\nWhen two go together, one sees before the other,\n\nfor all men who have a companion are readier in deed, word, or\nthought; but if a man\n\nSees a thing when he is alone,\n\nhe goes about straightway seeking until he finds some one to whom he\nmay show his discoveries, and who may confirm him in them. And I would\nrather hold discourse with you than with any one, because I think that\nno man has a better understanding of most things which a good man\nmay be expected to understand, and in particular of virtue. For who is\nthere, but you?-who not only claim to be a good man and a gentleman,\nfor many are this, and yet have not the power of making others good\nwhereas you are not only good yourself, but also the cause of goodness\nin others. Moreover such confidence have you in yourself, that\nalthough other Sophists conceal their profession, you proclaim in\nthe face of Hellas that you are a Sophist or teacher of virtue and\neducation, and are the first who demanded pay in return. How then\ncan I do otherwise than invite you to the examination of these\nsubjects, and ask questions and consult with you? I must, indeed.\nAnd I should like once more to have my memory refreshed by you about\nthe questions which I was asking you at first, and also to have your\nhelp in considering them. If I am not mistaken the question was\nthis: Are wisdom and temperance and courage and justice and holiness\nfive names of the same thing? or has each of the names a separate\nunderlying essence and corresponding thing having a peculiar function,\nno one of them being like any other of them? And you replied that\nthe five names were not the names of the same thing, but that each\nof them had a separate object, and that all these objects were parts\nof virtue, not in the same way that the parts of gold are like each\nother and the whole of which they are parts, but as the parts of the\nface are unlike the whole of which they are parts and one another, and\nhave each of them a distinct function. I should like to know whether\nthis is still your opinion; or if not, I will ask you to define your\nmeaning, and I shall not take you to task if you now make a\ndifferent statement. For I dare say that you may have said what you\ndid only in order to make trial of me.\n\nI answer, Socrates, he said, that all these qualities are parts of\nvirtue, and that four out of the five are to some extent similar,\nand that the fifth of them, which is courage, is very different from\nthe other four, as I prove in this way: You may observe that many\nmen are utterly unrighteous, unholy, intemperate, ignorant, who are\nnevertheless remarkable for their courage.\n\nStop, I said; I should like to think about that. When you speak of\nbrave men, do you mean the confident, or another sort of nature?\n\nYes, he said; I mean the impetuous, ready to go at that which others\nare afraid to approach.\n\nIn the next place, you would affirm virtue to be a good thing, of\nwhich good thing you assert yourself to be a teacher.\n\nYes, he said; I should say the best of all things, if I am in my\nright mind.\n\nAnd is it partly good and partly bad, I said, or wholly good?\n\nWholly good, and in the highest degree.\n\nTell me then; who are they who have confidence when diving into a\nwell?\n\nI should say, the divers.\n\nAnd the reason of this is that they have knowledge?\n\nYes, that is the reason.\n\nAnd who have confidence when fighting on horseback-the skilled\nhorseman or the unskilled?\n\nThe skilled.\n\nAnd who when fighting with light shields-the peltasts or the\nnonpeltasts?\n\nThe peltasts. And that is true of all other things, he said, if that\nis your point: those who have knowledge are more confident than\nthose who have no knowledge, and they are more confident after they\nhave learned than before.\n\nAnd have you not seen persons utterly ignorant, I said, of these\nthings, and yet confident about them?\n\nYes, he said, I have seen such persons far too confident.\n\nAnd are not these confident persons also courageous?\n\nIn that case, he replied, courage would be a base thing, for the men\nof whom we are speaking are surely madmen.\n\nThen who are the courageous? Are they not the confident?\n\nYes, he said; to that statement I adhere.\n\nAnd those, I said, who are thus confident without knowledge are\nreally not courageous, but mad; and in that case the wisest are also\nthe most confident, and being the most confident are also the bravest,\nand upon that view again wisdom will be courage.\n\nNay, Socrates, he replied, you are mistaken in your remembrance of\nwhat was said by me. When you asked me, I certainly did say that the\ncourageous are the confident; but I was never asked whether the\nconfident are the courageous; if you had asked me, I should have\nanswered \"Not all of them\": and what I did answer you have not\nproved to be false, although you proceeded to show that those who have\nknowledge are more courageous than they were before they had\nknowledge, and more courageous than others who have no knowledge,\nand were then led on to think that courage is the same as wisdom.\nBut in this way of arguing you might come to imagine that strength\nis wisdom. You might begin by asking whether the strong are able,\nand I should say \"Yes\"; and then whether those who know how to wrestle\nare not more able to wrestle than those who do not know how to\nwrestle, and more able after than before they had learned, and I\nshould assent. And when I had admitted this, you might use my\nadmissions in such a way as to prove that upon my view wisdom is\nstrength; whereas in that case I should not have admitted, any more\nthan in the other, that the able are strong, although I have\nadmitted that the strong are able. For there is a difference between\nability and strength; the former is given by knowledge as well as by\nmadness or rage, but strength comes from nature and a healthy state of\nthe body. And in like manner I say of confidence and courage, that\nthey are not the same; and I argue that the courageous are\nconfident, but not all the confident courageous. For confidence may be\ngiven to men by art, and also, like ability, by madness and rage;\nbut courage comes to them from nature and the healthy state of the\nsoul.\n\nI said: You would admit, Protagoras, that some men live well and\nothers ill?\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd do you think that a man lives well who lives in pain and grief?\n\nHe does not.\n\nBut if he lives pleasantly to the end of his life, will he not in\nthat case have lived well?\n\nHe will.\n\nThen to live pleasantly is a good, and to live unpleasantly an evil?\n\nYes, he said, if the pleasure be good and honourable.\n\nAnd do you, Protagoras, like the rest of the world, call some\npleasant things evil and some painful things good?-for I am rather\ndisposed to say that things are good in as far as they are pleasant,\nif they have no consequences of another sort, and in as far as they\nare painful they are bad.\n\nI do not know, Socrates, he said, whether I can venture to assert in\nthat unqualified manner that the pleasant is the good and the\npainful the evil. Having regard not only to my present answer, but\nalso to the whole of my life, I shall be safer, if I am not\nmistaken, in saying that there are some pleasant things which are\nnot good, and that there are some painful things which are good, and\nsome which are not good, and that there are some which are neither\ngood nor evil.\n\nAnd you would call pleasant, I said, the things which participate in\npleasure or create pleasure?\n\nCertainly, he said.\n\nThen my meaning is, that in as far as they are pleasant they are\ngood; and my question would imply that pleasure is a good in itself.\n\nAccording to your favourite mode of speech, Socrates, \"Let us\nreflect about this,\" he said; and if the reflection is to the point,\nand the result proves that pleasure and good are really the same, then\nwe will agree; but if not, then we will argue.\n\nAnd would you wish to begin the enquiry?\n\nI said; or shall I begin?\n\nYou ought to take the lead, he said; for you are the author of the\ndiscussion.\n\nMay I employ an illustration? I said. Suppose some one who is\nenquiring into the health or some other bodily quality of\nanother:-he looks at his face and at the tips of his fingers, and then\nhe says, Uncover your chest and back to me that I may have a better\nview:-that is the sort of thing which I desire in this speculation.\nHaving seen what your opinion is about good and pleasure, I am\nminded to say to you: Uncover your mind to me, Protagoras, and\nreveal your opinion about knowledge, that I may know whether you agree\nwith the rest of the world. Now the rest of the world are of opinion\nthat knowledge is a principle not of strength, or of rule, or of\ncommand: their notion is that a man may have knowledge, and yet that\nthe knowledge which is in him may be overmastered by anger, or\npleasure, or pain, or love, or perhaps by fear,-just as if knowledge\nwere a slave, and might be dragged about anyhow. Now is that your\nview? or do you think that knowledge is a noble and commanding\nthing, which cannot be overcome, and will not allow a man, if he\nonly knows the difference of good and evil, to do anything which is\ncontrary to knowledge, but that wisdom will have strength to help him?\n\nI agree with you, Socrates, said Protagoras; and not only so, but I,\nabove all other men, am bound to say that wisdom and knowledge are the\nhighest of human things.\n\nGood, I said, and true. But are you aware that the majority of the\nworld are of another mind; and that men are commonly supposed to\nknow the things which are best, and not to do them when they might?\nAnd most persons whom I have asked the reason of this have said that\nwhen men act contrary to knowledge they are overcome by pain, or\npleasure, or some of those affections which I was just now mentioning.\n\nYes, Socrates, he replied; and that is not the only point about\nwhich mankind are in error.\n\nSuppose, then, that you and I endeavour to instruct and inform\nthem what is the nature of this affection which they call \"being\novercome by pleasure,\" and which they affirm to be the reason why they\ndo not always do what is best. When we say to them: Friends, you are\nmistaken, and are saying what is not true, they would probably\nreply: Socrates and Protagoras, if this affection of the soul is not\nto be called \"being overcome by pleasure,\" pray, what is it, and by\nwhat name would you describe it?\n\nBut why, Socrates, should we trouble ourselves about the opinion\nof the many, who just say anything that happens to occur to them?\n\nI believe, I said, that they may be of use in helping us to discover\nhow courage is related to the other parts of virtue. If you are\ndisposed to abide by our agreement, that I should show the way in\nwhich, as I think, our recent difficulty is most likely to be\ncleared up, do you follow; but if not, never mind.\n\nYou are quite right, he said; and I would have you proceed as you\nhave begun.\n\nWell then, I said, let me suppose that they repeat their question,\nWhat account do you give of that which, in our way of speaking, is\ntermed being overcome by pleasure? I should answer thus: Listen, and\nProtagoras and I will endeavour to show you. When men are overcome\nby eating and drinking and other sensual desires which are pleasant,\nand they, knowing them to be evil, nevertheless indulge in them, would\nyou not say that they were overcome by pleasure? They will not deny\nthis. And suppose that you and I were to go on and ask them again: \"In\nwhat way do you say that they are evil-in that they are pleasant and\ngive pleasure at the moment, or because they cause disease and poverty\nand other like evils in the future? Would they still be evil, if\nthey had no attendant evil consequences, simply because they give\nthe consciousness of pleasure of whatever nature?\"-Would they not\nanswer that they are not evil on account of the pleasure which is\nimmediately given by them, but on account of the after\nconsequences-diseases and the like?\n\nI believe, said Protagoras, that the world in general would answer\nas you do.\n\nAnd in causing diseases do they not cause pain? and in causing\npoverty do they not cause pain;-they would agree to that also, if I am\nnot mistaken?\n\nProtagoras assented.\n\nThen I should say to them, in my name and yours: Do you think them\nevil for any other reason, except because they end in pain and rob\nus of other pleasures:-there again they would agree?\n\nWe both of us thought that they would.\n\nAnd then I should take the question from the opposite point of view,\nand say: \"Friends, when you speak of goods being painful, do you not\nmean remedial goods, such as gymnastic exercises, and military\nservice, and the physician's use of burning, cutting, drugging, and\nstarving? Are these the things which are good but painful?\"-they would\nassent to me?\n\nHe agreed.\n\n\"And do you call them good because they occasion the greatest\nimmediate suffering and pain; or because, afterwards, they bring\nhealth and improvement of the bodily condition and the salvation of\nstates and power over others and wealth?\"-they would agree to the\nlatter alternative, if I am not mistaken?\n\nHe assented.\n\n\"Are these things good for any other reason except that they end\nin pleasure, and get rid of and avert pain? Are you looking to any\nother standard but pleasure and pain when you call them good?\"-they\nwould acknowledge that they were not?\n\nI think so, said Protagoras.\n\n\"And do you not pursue after pleasure as a good, and avoid pain as\nan evil?\"\n\nHe assented.\n\n\"Then you think that pain is an evil and pleasure is a good: and\neven pleasure you deem an evil, when it robs you of greater\npleasures than it gives, or causes pains greater than the pleasure.\nIf, however, you call pleasure an evil in relation to some other end\nor standard, you will be able to show us that standard. But you have\nnone to show.\"\n\nI do not think that they have, said Protagoras.\n\n\"And have you not a similar way of speaking about pain? You call\npain a good when it takes away greater pains than those which it\nhas, or gives pleasures greater than the pains: then if you have\nsome standard other than pleasure and pain to which you refer when you\ncall actual pain a good, you can show what that is. But you cannot.\"\n\nTrue, said Protagoras.\n\nSuppose again, I said, that the world says to me: \"Why do you\nspend many words and speak in many ways on this subject?\" Excuse me,\nfriends, I should reply; but in the first place there is a\ndifficulty in explaining the meaning of the expression \"overcome by\npleasure\"; and the whole argument turns upon this. And even now, if\nyou see any possible way in which evil can be explained as other\nthan pain, or good as other than pleasure, you may still retract.\nAre you satisfied, then, at having a life of pleasure which is without\npain? If you are, and if you are unable to show any good or evil which\ndoes not end in pleasure and pain, hear the consequences:-If what\nyou say is true, then the argument is absurd which affirms that a\nman often does evil knowingly, when he might abstain, because he is\nseduced and overpowered by pleasure; or again, when you say that a man\nknowingly refuses to do what is good because he is overcome at the\nmoment by pleasure. And that this is ridiculous will be evident if\nonly we give up the use of various names, such as pleasant and\npainful, and good and evil. As there are two things, let us call\nthem by two names-first, good and evil, and then pleasant and painful.\nAssuming this, let us go on to say that a man does evil knowing that\nhe does evil. But some one will ask, Why? Because he is overcome, is\nthe first answer. And by what is he overcome? the enquirer will\nproceed to ask. And we shall not be able to reply \"By pleasure,\" for\nthe name of pleasure has been exchanged for that of good. In our\nanswer, then, we shall only say that he is overcome. \"By what?\" he\nwill reiterate. By the good, we shall have to reply; indeed we\nshall. Nay, but our questioner will rejoin with a laugh, if he be\none of the swaggering sort, \"That is too ridiculous, that a man should\ndo what he knows to be evil when he ought not, because he is\novercome by good. Is that, he will ask, because the good was worthy or\nnot worthy of conquering the evil?\" And in answer to that we shall\nclearly reply, Because it was not worthy; for if it had been worthy,\nthen he who, as we say, was overcome by pleasure, would not have\nbeen wrong. \"But how,\" he will reply, \"can the good be unworthy of the\nevil, or the evil of the good?\" Is not the real explanation that\nthey are out of proportion to one another, either as greater and\nsmaller, or more and fewer? This we cannot deny. And when you speak of\nbeing overcome-\"what do you mean,\" he will say, \"but that you choose\nthe greater evil in exchange for the lesser good?\" Admitted. And now\nsubstitute the names of pleasure and pain for good and evil, and\nsay, not as before, that a man does what is evil knowingly, but that\nhe does what is painful knowingly, and because he is overcome by\npleasure, which is unworthy to overcome. What measure is there of\nthe relations of pleasure to pain other than excess and defect,\nwhich means that they become greater and smaller, and more and\nfewer, and differ in degree? For if any one says: \"Yes, Socrates,\nbut immediate pleasure differs widely from future pleasure and\npain\"-To that I should reply: And do they differ in anything but in\npleasure and pain? There can be no other measure of them. And do\nyou, like a skilful weigher, put into the balance the pleasures and\nthe pains, and their nearness and distance, and weigh them, and then\nsay which outweighs the other. If you weigh pleasures against\npleasures, you of course take the more and greater; or if you weigh\npains against pains, you take the fewer and the less; or if\npleasures against pains, then you choose that course of action in\nwhich the painful is exceeded by the pleasant, whether the distant\nby the near or the near by the distant; and you avoid that course of\naction in which the pleasant is exceeded by the painful. Would you not\nadmit, my friends, that this is true? I am confident that they\ncannot deny this.\n\nHe agreed with me.\n\nWell then, I shall say, if you agree so far, be so good as to answer\nme a question: Do not the same magnitudes appear larger to your\nsight when near, and smaller when at a distance? They will acknowledge\nthat. And the same holds of thickness and number; also sounds, which\nare in themselves equal, are greater when near, and lesser when at a\ndistance. They will grant that also. Now suppose happiness to\nconsist in doing or choosing the greater, and in not doing or in\navoiding the less, what would be the saving principle of human life?\nWould not the art of measuring be the saving principle; or would the\npower of appearance? Is not the latter that deceiving art which\nmakes us wander up and down and take the things at one time of which\nwe repent at another, both in our actions and in our choice of\nthings great and small? But the art of measurement would do away\nwith the effect of appearances, and, showing the truth, would fain\nteach the soul at last to find rest in the truth, and would thus\nsave our life. Would not mankind generally acknowledge that the art\nwhich accomplishes this result is the art of measurement?\n\nYes, he said, the art of measurement.\n\nSuppose, again, the salvation of human life to depend on the\nchoice of odd and even, and on the knowledge of when a man ought to\nchoose the greater or less, either in reference to themselves or to\neach other, and whether near or at a distance; what would be the\nsaving principle of our lives? Would not knowledge?-a knowledge of\nmeasuring, when the question is one of excess and defect, and a\nknowledge of number, when the question is of odd and even? The world\nwill assent, will they not?\n\nProtagoras himself thought that they would.\n\nWell then, my friends, I say to them; seeing that the salvation of\nhuman life has been found to consist in the right choice of\npleasures and pains,-in the choice of the more and the fewer, and\nthe greater and the less, and the nearer and remoter, must not this\nmeasuring be a consideration of their excess and defect and equality\nin relation to each other?\n\nThis is undeniably true.\n\nAnd this, as possessing measure, must undeniably also be an art\nand science?\n\nThey will agree, he said.\n\nThe nature of that art or science will be a matter of future\nconsideration; but the existence of such a science furnishes a\ndemonstrative answer to the question which you asked of me and\nProtagoras. At the time when you asked the question, if you\nremember, both of us were agreeing that there was nothing mightier\nthan knowledge, and that knowledge, in whatever existing, must have\nthe advantage over pleasure and all other things; and then you said\nthat pleasure often got the advantage even over a man who has\nknowledge; and we refused to allow this, and you rejoined: O\nProtagoras and Socrates, what is the meaning of being overcome by\npleasure if not this?-tell us what you call such a state:-if we had\nimmediately and at the time answered \"Ignorance,\" you would have\nlaughed at us. But now, in laughing at us, you will be laughing at\nyourselves: for you also admitted that men err in their choice of\npleasures and pains; that is, in their choice of good and evil, from\ndefect of knowledge; and you admitted further, that they err, not only\nfrom defect of knowledge in general, but of that particular\nknowledge which is called measuring. And you are also aware that the\nerring act which is done without knowledge is done in ignorance. This,\ntherefore, is the meaning of being overcome by pleasure;-ignorance,\nand that the greatest. And our friends Protagoras and Prodicus and\nHippias declare that they are the physicians of ignorance; but you,\nwho are under the mistaken impression that ignorance is not the cause,\nand that the art of which I am speaking cannot be taught, neither go\nyourselves, nor send your children, to the Sophists, who are the\nteachers of these things-you take care of your money and give them\nnone; and the result is, that you are the worse off both in public and\nprivate life:-Let us suppose this to be our answer to the world in\ngeneral: And now I should like to ask you, Hippias, and you, Prodicus,\nas well as Protagoras (for the argument is to be yours as well as\nours), whether you think that I am speaking the truth or not?\n\nThey all thought that what I said was entirely true.\n\nThen you agree, I said, that the pleasant is the good, and the\npainful evil. And here I would beg my friend Prodicus not to introduce\nhis distinction of names, whether he is disposed to say pleasurable,\ndelightful, joyful. However, by whatever name he prefers to call them,\nI will ask you, most excellent Prodicus, to answer in my sense of\nthe words.\n\nProdicus laughed and assented, as did the others.\n\nThen, my friends, what do you say to this? Are not all actions\nhonourable and useful, of which the tendency is to make life\npainless and pleasant? The honourable work is also useful and good?\n\nThis was admitted.\n\nThen, I said, if the pleasant is the good, nobody does anything\nunder the idea or conviction that some other thing would be better and\nis also attainable, when he might do the better. And this\ninferiority of a man to himself is merely ignorance, as the\nsuperiority of a man to himself is wisdom.\n\nThey all assented.\n\nAnd is not ignorance the having a false opinion and being deceived\nabout important matters?\n\nTo this also they unanimously assented.\n\nThen, I said, no man voluntarily pursues evil, or that which he\nthinks to be evil. To prefer evil to good is not in human nature;\nand when a man is compelled to choose one of two evils, no one will\nchoose the greater when he may have the less.\n\nAll of us agreed to every word of this.\n\nWell, I said, there is a certain thing called fear or terror; and\nhere, Prodicus, I should particularly like to know whether you would\nagree with me in defining this fear or terror as expectation of evil.\n\nProtagoras and Hippias agreed, but Prodicus said that this was\nfear and not terror.\n\nNever mind, Prodicus, I said; but let me ask whether, if our\nformer assertions are true, a man will pursue that which he fears when\nhe is not compelled? Would not this be in flat contradiction to the\nadmission which has been already made, that he thinks the things which\nhe fears to be evil; and no one will pursue or voluntarily accept that\nwhich he thinks to be evil?\n\nThat also was universally admitted.\n\nThen, I said, these, Hippias and Prodicus, are our premisses; and\nI would beg Protagoras to explain to us how he can be right in what he\nsaid at first. I do not mean in what he said quite at first, for his\nfirst statement, as you may remember, was that whereas there were five\nparts of virtue none of them was like any other of them; each of\nthem had a separate function. To this, however, I am not referring,\nbut to the assertion which he afterwards made that of the five virtues\nfour were nearly akin to each other, but that the fifth, which was\ncourage, differed greatly from the others. And of this he gave me\nthe following proof. He said: You will find, Socrates, that some of\nthe most impious, and unrighteous, and intemperate, and ignorant of\nmen are among the most courageous; which proves that courage is very\ndifferent from the other parts of virtue. I was surprised at his\nsaying this at the time, and I am still more surprised now that I have\ndiscussed the matter with you. So I asked him whether by the brave\nhe meant the confident. Yes, he replied, and the impetuous or goers.\n(You may remember, Protagoras, that this was your answer.)\n\nHe assented.\n\nWell then, I said, tell us against what are the courageous ready\nto go-against the same dangers as the cowards?\n\nNo, he answered.\n\nThen against something different?\n\nYes, he said.\n\nThen do cowards go where there is safety, and the courageous where\nthere is danger?\n\nYes, Socrates, so men say.\n\nVery true, I said. But I want to know against what do you say that\nthe courageous are ready to go-against dangers, believing them to be\ndangers, or not against dangers?\n\nNo, said he; the former case has been proved by you in the\nprevious argument to be impossible.\n\nThat, again, I replied, is quite true. And if this has been\nrightly proven, then no one goes to meet what he thinks to be dangers,\nsince the want of self-control, which makes men rush into dangers, has\nbeen shown to be ignorance.\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd yet the courageous man and the coward alike go to meet that\nabout which they are confident; so that, in this point of view, the\ncowardly and the courageous go to meet the same things.\n\nAnd yet, Socrates, said Protagoras, that to which the coward goes is\nthe opposite of that to which the courageous goes; the one, for\nexample, is ready to go to battle, and the other is not ready.\n\nAnd is going to battle honourable or disgraceful? I said.\n\nHonourable, he replied.\n\nAnd if honourable, then already admitted by us to be good; for all\nhonourable actions we have admitted to be good.\n\nThat is true; and to that opinion I shall always adhere.\n\nTrue, I said. But which of the two are they who, as you say, are\nunwilling to go to war, which is a good and honourable thing?\n\nThe cowards, he replied.\n\nAnd what is good and honourable, I said, is also pleasant?\n\nIt has certainly been acknowledged to be so, he replied.\n\nAnd do the cowards knowingly refuse to go to the nobler, and\npleasanter, and better?\n\nThe admission of that, he replied, would belie our former\nadmissions.\n\nBut does not the courageous man also go to meet the better, and\npleasanter, and nobler?\n\nThat must be admitted.\n\nAnd the courageous man has no base fear or base confidence?\n\nTrue, he replied.\n\nAnd if not base, then honourable?\n\nHe admitted this.\n\nAnd if honourable, then good?\n\nYes.\n\nBut the fear and confidence of the coward or foolhardy or madman, on\nthe contrary, are base?\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd these base fears and confidences originate in ignorance and\nuninstructedness?\n\nTrue, he said.\n\nThen as to the motive from which the cowards act, do you call it\ncowardice or courage?\n\nI should say cowardice, he replied.\n\nAnd have they not been shown to be cowards through their ignorance\nof dangers?\n\nAssuredly, he said.\n\nAnd because of that ignorance they are cowards?\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd the reason why they are cowards is admitted by you to be\ncowardice?\n\nHe again assented.\n\nThen the ignorance of what is and is not dangerous is cowardice?\n\nHe nodded assent.\n\nBut surely courage, I said, is opposed to cowardice?\n\nYes.\n\nThen the wisdom which knows what are and are not dangers is\nopposed to the ignorance of them?\n\nTo that again he nodded assent.\n\nAnd the ignorance of them is cowardice?\n\nTo that he very reluctantly nodded assent.\n\nAnd the knowledge of that which is and is not dangerous is\ncourage, and is opposed to the ignorance of these things?\n\nAt this point he would no longer nod assent, but was silent.\n\nAnd why, I said, do you neither assent nor dissent, Protagoras?\n\nFinish the argument by yourself, he said.\n\nI only want to ask one more question, I said. I want to know whether\nyou still think that there are men who are most ignorant and yet\nmost courageous?\n\nYou seem to have a great ambition to make me answer, Socrates, and\ntherefore I will gratify you, and say, that this appears to me to be\nimpossible consistently with the argument.\n\nMy only object, I said, in continuing the discussion, has been the\ndesire to ascertain the nature and relations of virtue; for if this\nwere clear, I am very sure that the other controversy which has been\ncarried on at great length by both of us-you affirming and I denying\nthat virtue can be taught-would also become clear. The result of our\ndiscussion appears to me to be singular. For if the argument had a\nhuman voice, that voice would be heard laughing at us and saying:\n\"Protagoras and Socrates, you are strange beings; there are you,\nSocrates, who were saying that virtue cannot be taught,\ncontradicting yourself now by your attempt to prove that all things\nare knowledge, including justice, and temperance, and courage,-which\ntends to show that virtue can certainly be taught; for if virtue\nwere other than knowledge, as Protagoras attempted to prove, then\nclearly virtue cannot be taught; but if virtue is entirely\nknowledge, as you are seeking to show, then I cannot but suppose\nthat virtue is capable of being taught. Protagoras, on the other hand,\nwho started by saying that it might be taught, is now eager to prove\nit to be anything rather than knowledge; and if this is true, it\nmust be quite incapable of being taught.\" Now I, Protagoras,\nperceiving this terrible confusion of our ideas, have a great desire\nthat they should be cleared up. And I should like to carry on the\ndiscussion until we ascertain what virtue is, whether capable of being\ntaught or not, lest haply Epimetheus should trip us up and deceive\nus in the argument, as he forgot us in the story; I prefer your\nPrometheus to your Epimetheus, for of him I make use, whenever I am\nbusy about these questions, in Promethean care of my own life. And\nif you have no objection, as I said at first, I should like to have\nyour help in the enquiry.\n\nProtagoras replied: Socrates, I am not of a base nature, and I am\nthe last man in the world to be envious. I cannot but applaud your\nenergy and your conduct of an argument. As I have often said, I admire\nyou above all men whom I know, and far above all men of your age;\nand I believe that you will become very eminent in philosophy. Let\nus come back to the subject at some future time; at present we had\nbetter turn to something else.\n\nBy all means, I said, if that is your wish; for I too ought long\nsince to have kept the engagement of which I spoke before, and only\ntarried because I could not refuse the request of the noble Callias.\nSo the conversation ended, and we went our way.\n\n-THE END-",
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