{"collection":"philosophy-ethics","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_1591/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_1591","id":"gutenberg_1591","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1591","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Classics of Literature","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Classical literature","Protagoras","Socrates, 470 BC-399 BC","Sophists (Greek philosophy)","Virtue -- Early works to 1800"],"text":"Produced by Sue Asscher\n\n\n\n\n\nPROTAGORAS\n\nBy Plato\n\n\nTranslated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nThe Protagoras, like several of the Dialogues of Plato, is put into the\nmouth of Socrates, who describes a conversation which had taken place\nbetween himself and the great Sophist at the house of Callias--'the\nman who had spent more upon the Sophists than all the rest of the\nworld'--and in which the learned Hippias and the grammarian Prodicus had\nalso shared, as well as Alcibiades and Critias, both of whom said a\nfew words--in the presence of a distinguished company consisting of\ndisciples of Protagoras and of leading Athenians belonging to the\nSocratic circle. The dialogue commences with a request on the part of\nHippocrates that Socrates would introduce him to the celebrated teacher.\nHe has come before the dawn had risen--so fervid is his zeal. Socrates\nmoderates his excitement and advises him to find out 'what Protagoras\nwill make of him,' before he becomes his pupil.\n\nThey go together to the house of Callias; and Socrates, after explaining\nthe purpose of their visit to Protagoras, asks the question, 'What he\nwill make of Hippocrates.' Protagoras answers, 'That he will make him\na better and a wiser man.' 'But in what will he be better?'--Socrates\ndesires to have a more precise answer. Protagoras replies, 'That he will\nteach him prudence in affairs private and public; in short, the science\nor knowledge of human life.'\n\nThis, as Socrates admits, is a noble profession; but he is or rather\nwould have been doubtful, whether such knowledge can be taught, if\nProtagoras had not assured him of the fact, for two reasons: (1) Because\nthe Athenian people, who recognize in their assemblies the distinction\nbetween the skilled and the unskilled in the arts, do not distinguish\nbetween the trained politician and the untrained; (2) Because the wisest\nand best Athenian citizens do not teach their sons political virtue.\nWill Protagoras answer these objections?\n\nProtagoras explains his views in the form of an apologue, in which,\nafter Prometheus had given men the arts, Zeus is represented as sending\nHermes to them, bearing with him Justice and Reverence. These are not,\nlike the arts, to be imparted to a few only, but all men are to\nbe partakers of them. Therefore the Athenian people are right in\ndistinguishing between the skilled and unskilled in the arts, and not\nbetween skilled and unskilled politicians. (1) For all men have the\npolitical virtues to a certain degree, and are obliged to say that\nthey have them, whether they have them or not. A man would be thought\na madman who professed an art which he did not know; but he would be\nequally thought a madman if he did not profess a virtue which he had\nnot. (2) And that the political virtues can be taught and acquired, in\nthe opinion of the Athenians, is proved by the fact that they punish\nevil-doers, with a view to prevention, of course--mere retribution is\nfor beasts, and not for men. (3) Again, would parents who teach her sons\nlesser matters leave them ignorant of the common duty of citizens? To\nthe doubt of Socrates the best answer is the fact, that the education\nof youth in virtue begins almost as soon as they can speak, and is\ncontinued by the state when they pass out of the parental control. (4)\nNor need we wonder that wise and good fathers sometimes have foolish and\nworthless sons. Virtue, as we were saying, is not the private possession\nof any man, but is shared by all, only however to the extent of which\neach individual is by nature capable. And, as a matter of fact, even the\nworst of civilized mankind will appear virtuous and just, if we compare\nthem with savages. (5) The error of Socrates lies in supposing that\nthere are no teachers of virtue, whereas all men are teachers in a\ndegree. Some, like Protagoras, are better than others, and with this\nresult we ought to be satisfied.\n\nSocrates is highly delighted with the explanation of Protagoras. But he\nhas still a doubt lingering in his mind. Protagoras has spoken of the\nvirtues: are they many, or one? are they parts of a whole, or different\nnames of the same thing? Protagoras replies that they are parts, like\nthe parts of a face, which have their several functions, and no one part\nis like any other part. This admission, which has been somewhat hastily\nmade, is now taken up and cross-examined by Socrates:--\n\n'Is justice just, and is holiness holy? And are justice and holiness\nopposed to one another?'--'Then justice is unholy.' Protagoras would\nrather say that justice is different from holiness, and yet in a certain\npoint of view nearly the same. He does not, however, escape in this way\nfrom the cunning of Socrates, who inveigles him into an admission that\neverything has but one opposite. Folly, for example, is opposed\nto wisdom; and folly is also opposed to temperance; and therefore\ntemperance and wisdom are the same. And holiness has been already\nadmitted to be nearly the same as justice. Temperance, therefore, has\nnow to be compared with justice.\n\nProtagoras, whose temper begins to get a little ruffled at the process\nto which he has been subjected, is aware that he will soon be compelled\nby the dialectics of Socrates to admit that the temperate is the just.\nHe therefore defends himself with his favourite weapon; that is to say,\nhe makes a long speech not much to the point, which elicits the applause\nof the audience.\n\nHere occurs a sort of interlude, which commences with a declaration on\nthe part of Socrates that he cannot follow a long speech, and therefore\nhe must beg Protagoras to speak shorter. As Protagoras declines to\naccommodate him, he rises to depart, but is detained by Callias, who\nthinks him unreasonable in not allowing Protagoras the liberty which he\ntakes himself of speaking as he likes. But Alcibiades answers that the\ntwo cases are not parallel. For Socrates admits his inability to speak\nlong; will Protagoras in like manner acknowledge his inability to speak\nshort?\n\nCounsels of moderation are urged first in a few words by Critias, and\nthen by Prodicus in balanced and sententious language: and Hippias\nproposes an umpire. But who is to be the umpire? rejoins Socrates; he\nwould rather suggest as a compromise that Protagoras shall ask and he\nwill answer, and that when Protagoras is tired of asking he himself will\nask and Protagoras shall answer. To this the latter yields a reluctant\nassent.\n\nProtagoras selects as his thesis a poem of Simonides of Ceos, in which\nhe professes to find a contradiction. First the poet says,\n\n     'Hard is it to become good,'\n\nand then reproaches Pittacus for having said, 'Hard is it to be good.'\nHow is this to be reconciled? Socrates, who is familiar with the poem,\nis embarrassed at first, and invokes the aid of Prodicus, the countryman\nof Simonides, but apparently only with the intention of flattering him\ninto absurdities. First a distinction is drawn between (Greek) to be,\nand (Greek) to become: to become good is difficult; to be good is easy.\nThen the word difficult or hard is explained to mean 'evil' in the Cean\ndialect. To all this Prodicus assents; but when Protagoras reclaims,\nSocrates slily withdraws Prodicus from the fray, under the pretence that\nhis assent was only intended to test the wits of his adversary. He then\nproceeds to give another and more elaborate explanation of the whole\npassage. The explanation is as follows:--\n\nThe Lacedaemonians are great philosophers (although this is a fact which\nis not generally known); and the soul of their philosophy is brevity,\nwhich was also the style of primitive antiquity and of the seven sages.\nNow Pittacus had a saying, 'Hard is it to be good:' and Simonides, who\nwas jealous of the fame of this saying, wrote a poem which was designed\nto controvert it. No, says he, Pittacus; not 'hard to be good,' but\n'hard to become good.' Socrates proceeds to argue in a highly impressive\nmanner that the whole composition is intended as an attack upon\nPittacus. This, though manifestly absurd, is accepted by the company,\nand meets with the special approval of Hippias, who has however a\nfavourite interpretation of his own, which he is requested by Alcibiades\nto defer.\n\nThe argument is now resumed, not without some disdainful remarks of\nSocrates on the practice of introducing the poets, who ought not to be\nallowed, any more than flute-girls, to come into good society. Men's\nown thoughts should supply them with the materials for discussion. A few\nsoothing flatteries are addressed to Protagoras by Callias and Socrates,\nand then the old question is repeated, 'Whether the virtues are one or\nmany?' To which Protagoras is now disposed to reply, that four out of\nthe five virtues are in some degree similar; but he still contends that\nthe fifth, courage, is unlike the rest. Socrates proceeds to undermine\nthe last stronghold of the adversary, first obtaining from him the\nadmission that all virtue is in the highest degree good:--\n\nThe courageous are the confident; and the confident are those who know\ntheir business or profession: those who have no such knowledge and\nare still confident are madmen. This is admitted. Then, says Socrates,\ncourage is knowledge--an inference which Protagoras evades by drawing a\nfutile distinction between the courageous and the confident in a fluent\nspeech.\n\nSocrates renews the attack from another side: he would like to\nknow whether pleasure is not the only good, and pain the only evil?\nProtagoras seems to doubt the morality or propriety of assenting to\nthis; he would rather say that 'some pleasures are good, some pains are\nevil,' which is also the opinion of the generality of mankind. What\ndoes he think of knowledge? Does he agree with the common opinion that\nknowledge is overcome by passion? or does he hold that knowledge is\npower? Protagoras agrees that knowledge is certainly a governing power.\n\nThis, however, is not the doctrine of men in general, who maintain that\nmany who know what is best, act contrary to their knowledge under the\ninfluence of pleasure. But this opposition of good and evil is really\nthe opposition of a greater or lesser amount of pleasure. Pleasures are\nevils because they end in pain, and pains are goods because they end in\npleasures. Thus pleasure is seen to be the only good; and the only evil\nis the preference of the lesser pleasure to the greater. But then comes\nin the illusion of distance. Some art of mensuration is required in\norder to show us pleasures and pains in their true proportion. This art\nof mensuration is a kind of knowledge, and knowledge is thus proved\nonce more to be the governing principle of human life, and ignorance the\norigin of all evil: for no one prefers the less pleasure to the greater,\nor the greater pain to the less, except from ignorance. The argument\nis drawn out in an imaginary 'dialogue within a dialogue,' conducted by\nSocrates and Protagoras on the one part, and the rest of the world\non the other. Hippias and Prodicus, as well as Protagoras, admit the\nsoundness of the conclusion.\n\nSocrates then applies this new conclusion to the case of courage--the\nonly virtue which still holds out against the assaults of the Socratic\ndialectic. No one chooses the evil or refuses the good except through\nignorance. This explains why cowards refuse to go to war:--because they\nform a wrong estimate of good, and honour, and pleasure. And why are the\ncourageous willing to go to war?--because they form a right estimate of\npleasures and pains, of things terrible and not terrible. Courage then\nis knowledge, and cowardice is ignorance. And the five virtues, which\nwere originally maintained to have five different natures, after having\nbeen easily reduced to two only, at last coalesce in one. The assent of\nProtagoras to this last position is extracted with great difficulty.\n\nSocrates concludes by professing his disinterested love of the truth,\nand remarks on the singular manner in which he and his adversary had\nchanged sides. Protagoras began by asserting, and Socrates by denying,\nthe teachableness of virtue, and now the latter ends by affirming that\nvirtue is knowledge, which is the most teachable of all things, while\nProtagoras has been striving to show that virtue is not knowledge, and\nthis is almost equivalent to saying that virtue cannot be taught. He is\nnot satisfied with the result, and would like to renew the enquiry with\nthe help of Protagoras in a different order, asking (1) What virtue is,\nand (2) Whether virtue can be taught. Protagoras declines this offer,\nbut commends Socrates' earnestness and his style of discussion.\n\nThe Protagoras is often supposed to be full of difficulties. These\nare partly imaginary and partly real. The imaginary ones are (1)\nChronological,--which were pointed out in ancient times by Athenaeus,\nand are noticed by Schleiermacher and others, and relate to the\nimpossibility of all the persons in the Dialogue meeting at any one\ntime, whether in the year 425 B.C., or in any other. But Plato, like\nall writers of fiction, aims only at the probable, and shows in many\nDialogues (e.g. the Symposium and Republic, and already in the Laches)\nan extreme disregard of the historical accuracy which is sometimes\ndemanded of him. (2) The exact place of the Protagoras among the\nDialogues, and the date of composition, have also been much disputed.\nBut there are no criteria which afford any real grounds for determining\nthe date of composition; and the affinities of the Dialogues, when they\nare not indicated by Plato himself, must always to a great extent remain\nuncertain. (3) There is another class of difficulties, which may be\nascribed to preconceived notions of commentators, who imagine that\nProtagoras the Sophist ought always to be in the wrong, and his\nadversary Socrates in the right; or that in this or that passage--e.g.\nin the explanation of good as pleasure--Plato is inconsistent with\nhimself; or that the Dialogue fails in unity, and has not a proper\nbeginning, middle, and ending. They seem to forget that Plato is a\ndramatic writer who throws his thoughts into both sides of the argument,\nand certainly does not aim at any unity which is inconsistent with\nfreedom, and with a natural or even wild manner of treating his subject;\nalso that his mode of revealing the truth is by lights and shadows, and\nfar-off and opposing points of view, and not by dogmatic statements or\ndefinite results.\n\nThe real difficulties arise out of the extreme subtlety of the work,\nwhich, as Socrates says of the poem of Simonides, is a most perfect\npiece of art. There are dramatic contrasts and interests, threads of\nphilosophy broken and resumed, satirical reflections on mankind, veils\nthrown over truths which are lightly suggested, and all woven together\nin a single design, and moving towards one end.\n\nIn the introductory scene Plato raises the expectation that a 'great\npersonage' is about to appear on the stage; perhaps with a further view\nof showing that he is destined to be overthrown by a greater still, who\nmakes no pretensions. Before introducing Hippocrates to him, Socrates\nthinks proper to warn the youth against the dangers of 'influence,'\nof which the invidious nature is recognized by Protagoras himself.\nHippocrates readily adopts the suggestion of Socrates that he shall\nlearn of Protagoras only the accomplishments which befit an Athenian\ngentleman, and let alone his 'sophistry.' There is nothing however in\nthe introduction which leads to the inference that Plato intended to\nblacken the character of the Sophists; he only makes a little merry at\ntheir expense.\n\nThe 'great personage' is somewhat ostentatious, but frank and honest.\nHe is introduced on a stage which is worthy of him--at the house of the\nrich Callias, in which are congregated the noblest and wisest of the\nAthenians. He considers openness to be the best policy, and particularly\nmentions his own liberal mode of dealing with his pupils, as if in\nanswer to the favourite accusation of the Sophists that they received\npay. He is remarkable for the good temper which he exhibits throughout\nthe discussion under the trying and often sophistical cross-examination\nof Socrates. Although once or twice ruffled, and reluctant to continue\nthe discussion, he parts company on perfectly good terms, and appears to\nbe, as he says of himself, the 'least jealous of mankind.'\n\nNor is there anything in the sentiments of Protagoras which impairs this\npleasing impression of the grave and weighty old man. His real defect\nis that he is inferior to Socrates in dialectics. The opposition between\nhim and Socrates is not the opposition of good and bad, true and false,\nbut of the old art of rhetoric and the new science of interrogation and\nargument; also of the irony of Socrates and the self-assertion of the\nSophists. There is quite as much truth on the side of Protagoras as\nof Socrates; but the truth of Protagoras is based on common sense and\ncommon maxims of morality, while that of Socrates is paradoxical\nor transcendental, and though full of meaning and insight, hardly\nintelligible to the rest of mankind. Here as elsewhere is the usual\ncontrast between the Sophists representing average public opinion and\nSocrates seeking for increased clearness and unity of ideas. But to a\ngreat extent Protagoras has the best of the argument and represents the\nbetter mind of man.\n\nFor example: (1) one of the noblest statements to be found in antiquity\nabout the preventive nature of punishment is put into his mouth; (2) he\nis clearly right also in maintaining that virtue can be taught (which\nSocrates himself, at the end of the Dialogue, is disposed to concede);\nand also (3) in his explanation of the phenomenon that good fathers have\nbad sons; (4) he is right also in observing that the virtues are not\nlike the arts, gifts or attainments of special individuals, but the\ncommon property of all: this, which in all ages has been the strength\nand weakness of ethics and politics, is deeply seated in human nature;\n(5) there is a sort of half-truth in the notion that all civilized men\nare teachers of virtue; and more than a half-truth (6) in ascribing\nto man, who in his outward conditions is more helpless than the other\nanimals, the power of self-improvement; (7) the religious allegory\nshould be noticed, in which the arts are said to be given by Prometheus\n(who stole them), whereas justice and reverence and the political\nvirtues could only be imparted by Zeus; (8) in the latter part of the\nDialogue, when Socrates is arguing that 'pleasure is the only good,'\nProtagoras deems it more in accordance with his character to maintain\nthat 'some pleasures only are good;' and admits that 'he, above all\nother men, is bound to say \"that wisdom and knowledge are the highest of\nhuman things.\"'\n\nThere is no reason to suppose that in all this Plato is depicting an\nimaginary Protagoras; he seems to be showing us the teaching of the\nSophists under the milder aspect under which he once regarded them.\nNor is there any reason to doubt that Socrates is equally an historical\ncharacter, paradoxical, ironical, tiresome, but seeking for the unity\nof virtue and knowledge as for a precious treasure; willing to rest this\neven on a calculation of pleasure, and irresistible here, as everywhere\nin Plato, in his intellectual superiority.\n\nThe aim of Socrates, and of the Dialogue, is to show the unity of\nvirtue. In the determination of this question the identity of virtue and\nknowledge is found to be involved. But if virtue and knowledge are\none, then virtue can be taught; the end of the Dialogue returns to the\nbeginning. Had Protagoras been allowed by Plato to make the Aristotelian\ndistinction, and say that virtue is not knowledge, but is accompanied\nwith knowledge; or to point out with Aristotle that the same quality may\nhave more than one opposite; or with Plato himself in the Phaedo to deny\nthat good is a mere exchange of a greater pleasure for a less--the unity\nof virtue and the identity of virtue and knowledge would have required\nto be proved by other arguments.\n\nThe victory of Socrates over Protagoras is in every way complete when\ntheir minds are fairly brought together. Protagoras falls before him\nafter two or three blows. Socrates partially gains his object in the\nfirst part of the Dialogue, and completely in the second. Nor does\nhe appear at any disadvantage when subjected to 'the question' by\nProtagoras. He succeeds in making his two 'friends,' Prodicus and\nHippias, ludicrous by the way; he also makes a long speech in defence\nof the poem of Simonides, after the manner of the Sophists, showing, as\nAlcibiades says, that he is only pretending to have a bad memory, and\nthat he and not Protagoras is really a master in the two styles of\nspeaking; and that he can undertake, not one side of the argument only,\nbut both, when Protagoras begins to break down. Against the authority of\nthe poets with whom Protagoras has ingeniously identified himself at\nthe commencement of the Dialogue, Socrates sets up the proverbial\nphilosophers and those masters of brevity the Lacedaemonians. The poets,\nthe Laconizers, and Protagoras are satirized at the same time.\n\nNot having the whole of this poem before us, it is impossible for us\nto answer certainly the question of Protagoras, how the two passages of\nSimonides are to be reconciled. We can only follow the indications given\nby Plato himself. But it seems likely that the reconcilement offered\nby Socrates is a caricature of the methods of interpretation which\nwere practised by the Sophists--for the following reasons: (1) The\ntransparent irony of the previous interpretations given by Socrates.\n(2) The ludicrous opening of the speech in which the Lacedaemonians are\ndescribed as the true philosophers, and Laconic brevity as the true form\nof philosophy, evidently with an allusion to Protagoras' long speeches.\n(3) The manifest futility and absurdity of the explanation of (Greek),\nwhich is hardly consistent with the rational interpretation of the rest\nof the poem. The opposition of (Greek) and (Greek) seems also intended\nto express the rival doctrines of Socrates and Protagoras, and is a\nfacetious commentary on their differences. (4) The general treatment in\nPlato both of the Poets and the Sophists, who are their interpreters,\nand whom he delights to identify with them. (5) The depreciating\nspirit in which Socrates speaks of the introduction of the poets as a\nsubstitute for original conversation, which is intended to contrast\nwith Protagoras' exaltation of the study of them--this again is hardly\nconsistent with the serious defence of Simonides. (6) the marked\napproval of Hippias, who is supposed at once to catch the familiar\nsound, just as in the previous conversation Prodicus is represented as\nready to accept any distinctions of language however absurd. At the same\ntime Hippias is desirous of substituting a new interpretation of his\nown; as if the words might really be made to mean anything, and were\nonly to be regarded as affording a field for the ingenuity of the\ninterpreter.\n\nThis curious passage is, therefore, to be regarded as Plato's satire on\nthe tedious and hypercritical arts of interpretation which prevailed in\nhis own day, and may be compared with his condemnation of the same arts\nwhen applied to mythology in the Phaedrus, and with his other parodies,\ne.g. with the two first speeches in the Phaedrus and with the Menexenus.\nSeveral lesser touches of satire may be observed, such as the claim of\nphilosophy advanced for the Lacedaemonians, which is a parody of\nthe claims advanced for the Poets by Protagoras; the mistake of the\nLaconizing set in supposing that the Lacedaemonians are a great nation\nbecause they bruise their ears; the far-fetched notion, which is 'really\ntoo bad,' that Simonides uses the Lesbian (?) word, (Greek), because he\nis addressing a Lesbian. The whole may also be considered as a satire on\nthose who spin pompous theories out of nothing. As in the arguments\nof the Euthydemus and of the Cratylus, the veil of irony is\nnever withdrawn; and we are left in doubt at last how far in this\ninterpretation of Simonides Socrates is 'fooling,' how far he is in\nearnest.\n\nAll the interests and contrasts of character in a great dramatic work\nlike the Protagoras are not easily exhausted. The impressiveness of\nthe scene should not be lost upon us, or the gradual substitution of\nSocrates in the second part for Protagoras in the first. The characters\nto whom we are introduced at the beginning of the Dialogue all play a\npart more or less conspicuous towards the end. There is Alcibiades, who\nis compelled by the necessity of his nature to be a partisan, lending\neffectual aid to Socrates; there is Critias assuming the tone of\nimpartiality; Callias, here as always inclining to the Sophists, but\neager for any intellectual repast; Prodicus, who finds an opportunity\nfor displaying his distinctions of language, which are valueless and\npedantic, because they are not based on dialectic; Hippias, who has\npreviously exhibited his superficial knowledge of natural philosophy,\nto which, as in both the Dialogues called by his name, he now adds the\nprofession of an interpreter of the Poets. The two latter personages\nhave been already damaged by the mock heroic description of them in\nthe introduction. It may be remarked that Protagoras is consistently\npresented to us throughout as the teacher of moral and political virtue;\nthere is no allusion to the theories of sensation which are attributed\nto him in the Theaetetus and elsewhere, or to his denial of the\nexistence of the gods in a well-known fragment ascribed to him; he is\nthe religious rather than the irreligious teacher in this Dialogue.\nAlso it may be observed that Socrates shows him as much respect as is\nconsistent with his own ironical character; he admits that the\ndialectic which has overthrown Protagoras has carried himself round to\na conclusion opposed to his first thesis. The force of argument,\ntherefore, and not Socrates or Protagoras, has won the day.\n\nBut is Socrates serious in maintaining (1) that virtue cannot be taught;\n(2) that the virtues are one; (3) that virtue is the knowledge of\npleasures and pains present and future? These propositions to us have an\nappearance of paradox--they are really moments or aspects of the truth\nby the help of which we pass from the old conventional morality to a\nhigher conception of virtue and knowledge. That virtue cannot be taught\nis a paradox of the same sort as the profession of Socrates that he knew\nnothing. Plato means to say that virtue is not brought to a man, but\nmust be drawn out of him; and cannot be taught by rhetorical discourses\nor citations from the poets. The second question, whether the virtues\nare one or many, though at first sight distinct, is really a part of\nthe same subject; for if the virtues are to be taught, they must be\nreducible to a common principle; and this common principle is found to\nbe knowledge. Here, as Aristotle remarks, Socrates and Plato outstep the\ntruth--they make a part of virtue into the whole. Further, the nature\nof this knowledge, which is assumed to be a knowledge of pleasures and\npains, appears to us too superficial and at variance with the spirit\nof Plato himself. Yet, in this, Plato is only following the historical\nSocrates as he is depicted to us in Xenophon's Memorabilia. Like\nSocrates, he finds on the surface of human life one common bond by which\nthe virtues are united,--their tendency to produce happiness,--though\nsuch a principle is afterwards repudiated by him.\n\nIt remains to be considered in what relation the Protagoras stands to\nthe other Dialogues of Plato. That it is one of the earlier or purely\nSocratic works--perhaps the last, as it is certainly the greatest of\nthem--is indicated by the absence of any allusion to the doctrine of\nreminiscence; and also by the different attitude assumed towards the\nteaching and persons of the Sophists in some of the later Dialogues. The\nCharmides, Laches, Lysis, all touch on the question of the relation of\nknowledge to virtue, and may be regarded, if not as preliminary studies\nor sketches of the more important work, at any rate as closely connected\nwith it. The Io and the lesser Hippias contain discussions of the Poets,\nwhich offer a parallel to the ironical criticism of Simonides, and are\nconceived in a similar spirit. The affinity of the Protagoras to\nthe Meno is more doubtful. For there, although the same question is\ndiscussed, 'whether virtue can be taught,' and the relation of Meno to\nthe Sophists is much the same as that of Hippocrates, the answer to the\nquestion is supplied out of the doctrine of ideas; the real Socrates is\nalready passing into the Platonic one. At a later stage of the Platonic\nphilosophy we shall find that both the paradox and the solution of it\nappear to have been retracted. The Phaedo, the Gorgias, and the Philebus\noffer further corrections of the teaching of the Protagoras; in all of\nthem the doctrine that virtue is pleasure, or that pleasure is the chief\nor only good, is distinctly renounced.\n\nThus after many preparations and oppositions, both of the characters\nof men and aspects of the truth, especially of the popular and\nphilosophical aspect; and after many interruptions and detentions by the\nway, which, as Theodorus says in the Theaetetus, are quite as agreeable\nas the argument, we arrive at the great Socratic thesis that virtue is\nknowledge. This is an aspect of the truth which was lost almost as soon\nas it was found; and yet has to be recovered by every one for himself\nwho would pass the limits of proverbial and popular philosophy. The\nmoral and intellectual are always dividing, yet they must be reunited,\nand in the highest conception of them are inseparable. The thesis of\nSocrates is not merely a hasty assumption, but may be also deemed an\nanticipation of some 'metaphysic of the future,' in which the divided\nelements of human nature are reconciled.\n\n\n\n\nPROTAGORAS\n\n\nPERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates, who is the narrator of the Dialogue\nto his Companion. Hippocrates, Alcibiades and Critias. Protagoras,\nHippias and Prodicus (Sophists). Callias, a wealthy Athenian.\n\nSCENE: The House of Callias.\n\n\nCOMPANION: Where do you come from, Socrates? And yet I need hardly\nask the question, for I know that you have been in chase of the fair\nAlcibiades. I saw him 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\nSOCRATES: What of his beard? Are you not of Homer's opinion, who says\n\n     'Youth is most charming when the beard first appears'?\n\nAnd that is now the charm of Alcibiades.\n\nCOMPANION: Well, and how do matters proceed? Have you been visiting him,\nand was he gracious to you?\n\nSOCRATES: 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 an\nargument. But shall I tell you a strange thing? I paid no attention to\nhim, and several times I quite forgot that he was present.\n\nCOMPANION: What is the meaning of this? Has anything happened between\nyou and him? For surely you cannot have discovered a fairer love than he\nis; certainly not in this city of Athens.\n\nSOCRATES: Yes, much fairer.\n\nCOMPANION: What do you mean--a citizen or a foreigner?\n\nSOCRATES: A foreigner.\n\nCOMPANION: Of what country?\n\nSOCRATES: Of Abdera.\n\nCOMPANION: And is this stranger really in your opinion a fairer love\nthan the son of Cleinias?\n\nSOCRATES: And is not the wiser always the fairer, sweet friend?\n\nCOMPANION: But have you really met, Socrates, with some wise one?\n\nSOCRATES: Say rather, with the wisest of all living men, if you are\nwilling to accord that title to Protagoras.\n\nCOMPANION: What! Is Protagoras in Athens?\n\nSOCRATES: Yes; he has been here two days.\n\nCOMPANION: And do you just come from an interview with him?\n\nSOCRATES: Yes; and I have heard and said many things.\n\nCOMPANION: Then, if you have no engagement, suppose that you sit down\nand tell me what passed, and my attendant here shall give up his place\nto you.\n\nSOCRATES: To be sure; and I shall be grateful to you for listening.\n\nCOMPANION: Thank you, too, for telling us.\n\nSOCRATES: That is thank you twice over. Listen then:--\n\nLast night, or rather very early this morning, Hippocrates, the son of\nApollodorus and the brother of Phason, gave a tremendous thump with his\nstaff at my door; some one opened to him, and he came rushing in and\nbawled out: Socrates, are you awake or asleep?\n\nI knew his voice, and said: Hippocrates, is that you? and do you bring\nany news?\n\nGood news, he said; nothing but good.\n\nDelightful, I said; but what is the news? and why have you come hither\nat 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 his\narrival?\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 feet,\nand then he said: Yesterday quite late in the evening, on my return from\nOenoe whither I had gone in pursuit of my runaway slave Satyrus, as\nI meant to have told you, if some other matter had not come in the\nway;--on my return, when we had done supper and were about to retire to\nrest, my brother said to me: Protagoras is come. I was going to you at\nonce, and then I thought that the night was far spent. But the moment\nsleep left me after my fatigue, I got up and came hither direct.\n\nI, who knew the very courageous madness of the man, said: What is the\nmatter? Has Protagoras robbed you of anything?\n\nHe replied, laughing: Yes, indeed he has, Socrates, of the wisdom which\nhe keeps from me.\n\nBut, surely, I said, if you give him money, and make friends with him,\nhe will make you as wise as he is himself.\n\nWould to heaven, he replied, that this were the case! He might take all\nthat I have, and all that my friends have, if he pleased. But that is\nwhy I have come to you now, in order that you may speak to him on my\nbehalf; for I am young, and also I have never seen nor heard him; (when\nhe visited Athens before I was but a child;) and all men praise him,\nSocrates; he is reputed to be the most accomplished of speakers. There\nis no reason why we should not go to him at once, and then we shall find\nhim at home. He lodges, as I hear, with Callias the son of Hipponicus:\nlet us start.\n\nI replied: Not yet, my good friend; the hour is too early. But let us\nrise and take a turn in the court and wait about there until day-break;\nwhen the day breaks, then we will go. For Protagoras is generally at\nhome, 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 that\nI would make trial of the strength of his resolution. So I examined him\nand put questions to him. Tell me, Hippocrates, I said, as you are going\nto Protagoras, and will be paying your money to him, what is he to whom\nyou are going? and what will he make of you? If, for example, you had\nthought of going to Hippocrates of Cos, the Asclepiad, and were about to\ngive him your money, and some one had said to you: You are paying money\nto your namesake Hippocrates, O Hippocrates; tell me, what is he that\nyou give him money? how would you 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 Pheidias\nthe Athenian, and were intending to give them money, and some one had\nasked you: What are Polycleitus and Pheidias? and why do you give them\nthis 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 ready\nto pay him money on your behalf. If our own means are sufficient, and we\ncan gain him with these, we shall be only too glad; but if not, then we\nare to spend the money of your friends as well. Now suppose, that while\nwe are thus enthusiastically pursuing our object some one were to say to\nus: Tell me, Socrates, and you Hippocrates, what is Protagoras, and\nwhy are you going to pay him money,--how should we answer? I know that\nPheidias is a sculptor, and that Homer is a poet; but what appellation\nis given to Protagoras? how is 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 Sophist?\n\nCertainly.\n\nBut suppose a person were to ask this further question: And how about\nyourself? What will Protagoras make of you, if you go to see him?\n\nHe answered, with a blush upon his face (for the day was just beginning\nto dawn, so that I could see him): Unless this differs in some way from\nthe former instances, I suppose that he will make a Sophist of me.\n\nBy the gods, I said, and are you not ashamed at having to appear before\nthe 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, or musician, or trainer,\nnot with 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 know\nthem?\n\nJust so, he said; and that, in my opinion, is a far truer account of the\nteaching 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 a\nSophist. And yet I hardly think that you know what a Sophist is; and if\nnot, then you do not even know to whom you are committing your soul and\nwhether 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 name\nimplies.\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 person\nwere to ask us: In what are the painters wise? We should answer: In what\nrelates to the making of likenesses, and similarly of other things. And\nif he were further to ask: What is the wisdom of the Sophist, and what\nis the manufacture over which he presides?--how should we answer him?\n\nHow should we answer him, Socrates? What other answer could there be but\nthat 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 a\nman talk eloquently about that which he makes him understand, that is\nabout playing the lyre. Is not that true?\n\nYes.\n\nThen about what does the Sophist make him eloquent? Must not he make him\neloquent in that which he understands?\n\nYes, that may be assumed.\n\nAnd what is that which the Sophist knows and makes his disciple know?\n\nIndeed, he said, I cannot tell.\n\nThen I proceeded to say: Well, but are you aware of the danger which you\nare incurring? If you were going to commit your body to some one, who\nmight do good or harm to it, would you not carefully consider and ask\nthe opinion of your friends and kindred, and deliberate many days as to\nwhether you should give him the care of your body? But when the soul is\nin question, which you hold to be of far more value than the body,\nand upon the good or evil of which depends the well-being of your\nall,--about this you 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 the\nmorning you go to him, never deliberating or taking the opinion of any\none 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 of\nProtagoras, 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 with\nhim: and you call him a Sophist, but are manifestly ignorant of what a\nSophist is; and yet you are going to commit yourself to his keeping.\n\nWhen he heard me say this, he replied: No other inference, Socrates, can\nbe drawn from your words.\n\nI proceeded: Is not a Sophist, Hippocrates, one who deals wholesale or\nretail in the food of the soul? To me that appears to be 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 take\ncare, my friend, that the Sophist does not deceive us when he praises\nwhat he sells, like the dealers wholesale or retail who sell the food\nof the body; for they praise indiscriminately all their goods, without\nknowing what are really beneficial or hurtful: neither do their\ncustomers know, with the exception of any trainer or physician who may\nhappen to buy of them. In like manner those who carry about the wares of\nknowledge, and make the round of the cities, and sell or retail them\nto any customer who is in want of them, praise them all alike; though I\nshould not wonder, O my friend, if many of them were really ignorant of\ntheir effect upon the soul; and their customers equally ignorant,\nunless he who buys of them happens to be a physician of the soul. If,\ntherefore, you have understanding of what is good and evil, you may\nsafely buy knowledge of Protagoras or of any one; but if not, then, O\nmy friend, pause, and do not hazard your dearest interests at a game\nof chance. For there is far greater peril in buying knowledge than in\nbuying meat and drink: the one you purchase of the wholesale or retail\ndealer, and carry them away in other vessels, and before you receive\nthem into the body as food, you may deposit them at home and call in any\nexperienced friend who knows what is good to be eaten or drunken, and\nwhat not, and how much, and when; and then the danger of purchasing them\nis not so great. But you cannot buy the wares of knowledge and carry\nthem away in another vessel; when you have paid for them you must\nreceive them into the soul and go your way, either greatly harmed or\ngreatly benefited; and therefore we should deliberate and take counsel\nwith our elders; for we are still young--too young to determine such a\nmatter. And now let us go, as we were intending, and hear Protagoras;\nand when we have heard what he has to say, we may take counsel of\nothers; for not only is Protagoras at the house of Callias, but there\nis Hippias of Elis, and, if I am not mistaken, Prodicus of Ceos, and\nseveral 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 we\nstood talking in the vestibule until we had finished and come to an\nunderstanding. And I think that the door-keeper, who was a eunuch, and\nwho 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 he\nopened and saw us, he grumbled: They are Sophists--he is not at home;\nand instantly gave the door a hearty bang with both his hands. Again we\nknocked, and he answered without opening: Did you not hear me say that\nhe is not at home, fellows? But, my friend, I said, you need not be\nalarmed; for we are not Sophists, and we are not come to see Callias,\nbut we want to see Protagoras; and I must request you to announce us. At\nlast, after a good deal of difficulty, the man was persuaded to open the\ndoor.\n\nWhen we entered, we found Protagoras taking a walk in the cloister; and\nnext to him, on one side, were walking Callias, the son of Hipponicus,\nand Paralus, the son of Pericles, who, by the mother's side, is his\nhalf-brother, and Charmides, the son of Glaucon. On the other side of\nhim were Xanthippus, the other son of Pericles, Philippides, the son\nof Philomelus; also Antimoerus of Mende, who of all the disciples\nof Protagoras is the most famous, and intends to make sophistry his\nprofession. A train of listeners followed him; the greater part of them\nappeared to be foreigners, whom Protagoras had brought with him out of\nthe various cities visited by him in his journeys, he, like Orpheus,\nattracting them his voice, and they following (Compare Rep.). I should\nmention also that there were some Athenians in the company. Nothing\ndelighted me more than the precision of their movements: they never\ngot into his way at all; but when he and those who were with him turned\nback, then the band of listeners parted regularly on either side; he was\nalways in front, and they wheeled round and took their places behind him\nin perfect order.\n\nAfter him, as Homer says (Od.), '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, and\nPhaedrus the Myrrhinusian, and Andron the son of Androtion, and there\nwere strangers whom he had brought with him from his native city of\nElis, and some others: they were putting to Hippias certain physical\nand astronomical questions, and he, ex cathedra, was determining their\nseveral questions to them, and discoursing of them.\n\nAlso, 'my eyes beheld Tantalus (Od.);' 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 in\nbed, wrapped up in sheepskins and bedclothes, of which there seemed\nto be a great heap; and there was sitting by him on the couches near,\nPausanias of the deme of Cerameis, and with Pausanias was a youth quite\nyoung, who is certainly remarkable for his good looks, and, if I am not\nmistaken, is also of a fair and gentle nature. I thought that I heard\nhim called Agathon, and my suspicion is that he is the beloved\nof Pausanias. There was this youth, and also there were the two\nAdeimantuses, one the son of Cepis, and the other of Leucolophides, and\nsome others. I was very anxious to hear what Prodicus was saying, for\nhe seems to me to be an all-wise and inspired man; but I was not able to\nget into the inner circle, and his fine deep voice made an echo in the\nroom which rendered his words inaudible.\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 of\nCallaeschrus.\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 of the\ncompany?\n\nWhichever you please, I said; you shall determine when you have heard\nthe 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 Athenian;\nhe is the son of Apollodorus, and of a great and prosperous house, and\nhe is himself in natural ability quite a match for anybody of his own\nage. I believe that he aspires to political eminence; and this he thinks\nthat conversation with you is most likely to procure for him. And\nnow you can determine whether you would wish to speak to him of your\nteaching alone or in the presence of the company.\n\nThank you, Socrates, for your consideration of me. For certainly a\nstranger finding his way into great cities, and persuading the flower\nof the youth in them to leave company of their kinsmen or any other\nacquaintances, old or young, and live with him, under the idea that they\nwill be improved by his conversation, ought to be very cautious; great\njealousies are aroused by his proceedings, and he is the subject of many\nenmities and conspiracies. Now the art of the Sophist is, as I believe,\nof great antiquity; but in ancient times those who practised it, fearing\nthis odium, veiled and disguised themselves under various names,\nsome under that of poets, as Homer, Hesiod, and Simonides, some,\nof hierophants and prophets, as Orpheus and Musaeus, and some, as\nI observe, even under the name of gymnastic-masters, like Iccus of\nTarentum, or the more recently celebrated Herodicus, now of Selymbria\nand formerly of Megara, who is a first-rate Sophist. Your own Agathocles\npretended to be a musician, but was really an eminent Sophist; also\nPythocleides the Cean; and there were many others; and all of them, as\nI was saying, adopted these arts as veils or disguises because they were\nafraid of the odium which they would incur. But that is not my way, for\nI do not believe that they effected their purpose, which was to deceive\nthe government, 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 the\nvery height of folly, and also greatly increases the exasperation of\nmankind; for they regard him who runs away as a rogue, in addition to\nany other objections which they have to him; and therefore I take an\nentirely opposite course, and acknowledge myself to be a Sophist and\ninstructor of mankind; such an open acknowledgement appears to me to\nbe a better sort of caution than concealment. Nor do I neglect other\nprecautions, and therefore I hope, as I may say, by the favour of heaven\nthat no harm will come of the acknowledgment that I am a Sophist. And I\nhave been now many years in the profession--for all my years when added\nup are many: there is no one here present of whom I might not be the\nfather. Wherefore I should much prefer conversing with you, if you want\nto speak with me, in the 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 gladly\nshow us to them in the light of his admirers, I said: But why should we\nnot summon Prodicus and Hippias and their friends to hear us?\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 been\nalready placed. Meanwhile Callias and Alcibiades got Prodicus out of bed\nand 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 young man of whom you were just\nnow speaking.\n\nI replied: I will begin again at the same point, Protagoras, and tell\nyou once more the purport of my visit: this is my friend Hippocrates,\nwho is desirous of making your acquaintance; he would like to know what\nwill happen to him if he associates with you. I have no more to say.\n\nProtagoras answered: Young man, if you associate with me, on the very\nfirst day you will return home a better man than you came, and better on\nthe second day than on the first, and better every day than you were on\nthe day before.\n\nWhen I heard this, I said: Protagoras, I do not at all wonder at hearing\nyou say this; even at your age, and with all your wisdom, if any one\nwere to teach you what you did not know before, you would become better\nno doubt: but please to answer in a different way--I will explain how\nby an example. Let me suppose that Hippocrates, instead of desiring your\nacquaintance, wished to become acquainted with the young man Zeuxippus\nof Heraclea, who has lately been in Athens, and he had come to him as\nhe has come to you, and had heard him say, as he has heard you say, that\nevery day he would grow and become better if he associated with him: and\nthen suppose that he were to ask him, 'In what shall I become better,\nand in what shall I grow?'--Zeuxippus would answer, 'In painting.' And\nsuppose that he went to Orthagoras the Theban, and heard him say the\nsame thing, and asked him, 'In what shall I become better day by day?'\nhe would reply, 'In flute-playing.' Now I want you to make the same sort\nof answer to this young man and to me, who am asking questions on his\naccount. When you say that on the first day on which he associates with\nyou he will return home a better man, and on every day will grow in like\nmanner,--in what, Protagoras, will he be better? and about what?\n\nWhen Protagoras heard me say this, he replied: You ask questions fairly,\nand I like to answer a question which is fairly put. If Hippocrates\ncomes to me he will not experience the sort of drudgery with which other\nSophists are in the habit of insulting their pupils; who, when they have\njust escaped from the arts, are taken and driven back into them by these\nteachers, and made to learn calculation, and astronomy, and geometry,\nand music (he gave a look at Hippias as he said this); but if he comes\nto me, he will learn that which he comes to learn. And this is prudence\nin affairs private as well as public; he will learn to order his own\nhouse in the best manner, and he will be able to speak and act for the\nbest in the affairs of the state.\n\nDo I understand you, I said; and is your meaning that you teach the art\nof 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 mistake\nabout this; for I will freely confess to you, Protagoras, that I have\na doubt whether this art is capable of being taught, and yet I know not\nhow to disbelieve your assertion. And I ought to tell you why I am of\nopinion that this art cannot be taught or communicated by man to man. I\nsay that the Athenians are an understanding people, and indeed they are\nesteemed to be such by the other Hellenes. Now I observe that when we\nare met together in the assembly, and the matter in hand relates to\nbuilding, the builders are summoned as advisers; when the question is\none of ship-building, then the ship-wrights; and the like of other arts\nwhich they think capable of being taught and learned. And if some person\noffers to give them advice who is not supposed by them to have any skill\nin the art, even though he be good-looking, and rich, and noble, they\nwill not listen to him, but laugh and hoot at him, until either he is\nclamoured down and retires of himself; or if he persist, he is dragged\naway or put out by the constables at the command of the prytanes. This\nis their 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 yet\ngiving advice; evidently because they are under the impression that this\nsort of knowledge cannot be taught. And not only is this true of the\nstate, but of individuals; the best and wisest of our citizens are\nunable to impart their political wisdom to others: as for example,\nPericles, the father of these young men, who gave them excellent\ninstruction in all that could be learned from masters, in his own\ndepartment of politics neither taught them, nor gave them teachers; but\nthey were allowed to wander at their own free will in a sort of hope\nthat they would light upon virtue of their own accord. Or take\nanother example: there was Cleinias the younger brother of our friend\nAlcibiades, of whom this very same Pericles was the guardian; and he\nbeing in fact under the apprehension that Cleinias would be corrupted by\nAlcibiades, took him away, and placed him in the house of Ariphron to be\neducated; but before six months had elapsed, Ariphron sent him back,\nnot knowing what to do with him. And I could mention numberless other\ninstances of persons who were good themselves, and never yet made any\none else good, whether friend or stranger. Now I, Protagoras, having\nthese examples before me, am inclined to think that virtue cannot be\ntaught. But then again, when I listen to your words, I waver; and am\ndisposed to think that there must be something in what you say, because\nI know that you have great experience, and learning, and invention. And\nI wish that you would, if possible, show me a little more clearly that\nvirtue can be taught. Will you be so good?\n\nThat I will, Socrates, and gladly. But what would you like? Shall I, as\nan elder, speak to you as younger men in an apologue or myth, or shall I\nargue 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. But when\nthe time came that these also should be created, the gods fashioned\nthem out of earth and fire and various mixtures of both elements in the\ninterior of the earth; and when they were about to bring them into the\nlight of day, they ordered Prometheus and Epimetheus to equip them, and\nto distribute to them severally their proper qualities. Epimetheus said\nto Prometheus: 'Let me distribute, and do you inspect.' This was agreed,\nand Epimetheus made the distribution. There were some to whom he gave\nstrength without swiftness, while he equipped the weaker with swiftness;\nsome he armed, and others he left unarmed; and devised for the latter\nsome other means of preservation, making some large, and having their\nsize as a protection, and others small, whose nature was to fly in the\nair or burrow in the ground; this was to be their way of escape.\nThus did he compensate them with the view of preventing any race from\nbecoming extinct. And when he had provided against their destruction by\none 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 when\nthey wanted to rest; also he furnished them with hoofs and hair and\nhard and callous skins under their feet. Then he gave them varieties\nof food,--herb of the soil to some, to others fruits of trees, and to\nothers roots, and to some again he gave other animals as food. And some\nhe made to have few young ones, while those who were their prey were\nvery prolific; and in this manner the race was preserved. Thus did\nEpimetheus, who, not being very wise, forgot that he had distributed\namong the brute animals all the qualities which he had to give,--and\nwhen he came to man, who was still unprovided, he was terribly\nperplexed. Now while he was in this perplexity, Prometheus came to\ninspect the distribution, and he found that the other animals were\nsuitably furnished, but that man alone was naked and shoeless, and had\nneither bed nor arms of defence. The appointed hour was approaching when\nman in his turn was to go forth into the light of day; and Prometheus,\nnot knowing how he could devise his salvation, stole the mechanical arts\nof Hephaestus and Athene, and fire with them (they could neither have\nbeen acquired nor used without fire), and gave them to man. Thus man had\nthe wisdom necessary to the support of life, but political wisdom he had\nnot; for that was in the keeping of Zeus, and the power of Prometheus\ndid not extend to entering into the citadel of heaven, where Zeus dwelt,\nwho moreover had terrible sentinels; but he did enter by stealth into\nthe common workshop of Athene and Hephaestus, in which they used to\npractise their favourite arts, and carried off Hephaestus' art of\nworking by fire, and also the art of Athene, and gave them to man. And\nin this way man was supplied with the means of life. But Prometheus is\nsaid to have been afterwards prosecuted for theft, owing to the blunder\nof 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 their\nkindred; and he would raise altars and images of them. He was not long\nin inventing articulate speech and names; and he also constructed houses\nand clothes and shoes and beds, and drew sustenance from the earth. Thus\nprovided, mankind at first lived dispersed, and there were no cities.\nBut the consequence was that they were destroyed by the wild beasts,\nfor they were utterly weak in comparison of them, and their art was only\nsufficient to provide them with the means of life, and did not enable\nthem to carry on war against the animals: food they had, but not as yet\nthe art of government, of which the art of war is a part. After a while\nthe desire of self-preservation gathered them into cities; but when they\nwere gathered together, having no art of government, they evil intreated\none another, and were again in process of dispersion and destruction.\nZeus feared that the entire race would be exterminated, and so he\nsent Hermes to them, bearing reverence and justice to be the ordering\nprinciples of cities and the bonds of friendship and conciliation.\nHermes asked Zeus how he should impart justice and reverence among\nmen:--Should he distribute them as the arts are distributed; that is\nto say, to a favoured few only, one skilled individual having enough of\nmedicine or of any other art for many unskilled ones? 'Shall this be the\nmanner in which I am to distribute justice and reverence among men, or\nshall I give them to all?' 'To all,' said Zeus; 'I should like them all\nto have a share; for cities cannot exist, if a few only share in the\nvirtues, as in the arts. And further, make a law by my order, that he\nwho has no part in reverence and justice shall be put to death, for he\nis a plague of the state.'\n\nAnd this is the reason, Socrates, why the Athenians and mankind\nin general, 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 be\nnot of the favoured few; which, as I reply, is very natural. But when\nthey meet to deliberate about political virtue, which proceeds only by\nway of justice and wisdom, they are patient enough of any man who speaks\nof them, as is also natural, because they think that every man ought to\nshare in this sort of virtue, and that states could not exist if this\nwere otherwise. I have explained to you, Socrates, the reason of this\nphenomenon.\n\nAnd that you may not suppose yourself to be deceived in thinking that\nall men regard every man as having a share of justice or honesty and of\nevery other political virtue, let me give you a further proof, which is\nthis. In other cases, as you are aware, if a man says that he is a good\nflute-player, or skilful in any other art in which he has no skill,\npeople either laugh at him or are angry with him, and his relations\nthink that he is mad and go and admonish him; but when honesty is in\nquestion, or some other political virtue, even if they know that he is\ndishonest, yet, if the man comes publicly forward and tells the truth\nabout his dishonesty, then, what in the other case was held by them to\nbe good sense, they now deem to be madness. They say that all men ought\nto profess honesty whether they are honest or not, and that a man is\nout of his mind who says anything else. Their notion is, that a man must\nhave some degree of honesty; and that if he has none at all he ought not\nto be in the world.\n\nI have been showing that they are right in admitting every man as a\ncounsellor about this sort of virtue, as they are of opinion that every\nman is a partaker of it. And I will now endeavour to show further that\nthey do not conceive this virtue to be given by nature, or to grow\nspontaneously, but to be a thing which may be taught; and which comes to\na man by taking pains. No one would instruct, no one would rebuke, or\nbe angry with those whose calamities they suppose to be due to nature\nor chance; they do not try to punish or to prevent them from being what\nthey are; they do but pity them. Who is so foolish as to chastise\nor instruct the ugly, or the diminutive, or the feeble? And for this\nreason. Because he knows that good and evil of this kind is the work\nof nature and of chance; whereas if a man is wanting in those good\nqualities which are attained by study and exercise and teaching, and\nhas only the contrary evil qualities, other men are angry with him, and\npunish and reprove him--of these evil qualities one is impiety, another\ninjustice, and they may be described generally as the very opposite of\npolitical virtue. In such cases any man will be angry with another, and\nreprimand him,--clearly because he thinks that by study and learning,\nthe virtue in which the other is deficient may be acquired. If you will\nthink, Socrates, of the nature of punishment, you will see at once that\nin the opinion of mankind virtue may be acquired; no one punishes\nthe evil-doer under the notion, or for the reason, that he has done\nwrong,--only the unreasonable fury of a beast acts in that manner. But\nhe who desires to inflict rational punishment does not retaliate for a\npast wrong which cannot be undone; he has regard to the future, and is\ndesirous that the man who is punished, and he who sees him punished,\nmay be deterred 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 have\nshown you clearly enough, if I am not mistaken, that your countrymen are\nright in admitting the tinker and the cobbler to advise about politics,\nand also that they deem virtue to be capable of being taught and\nacquired.\n\nThere yet remains one difficulty which has been raised by you about the\nsons of good men. What is the reason why good men teach their sons the\nknowledge which is gained from teachers, and make them wise in that,\nbut do nothing towards improving them in the virtues which distinguish\nthemselves? And here, Socrates, I will leave the apologue and resume the\nargument. Please to consider: Is there or is there not some one quality\nof which all the citizens must be partakers, if there is to be a city\nat all? In the answer to this question is contained the only solution\nof your difficulty; there is no other. For if there be any such quality,\nand this quality or unity is not the art of the carpenter, or the smith,\nor the potter, but justice and temperance and holiness and, in a word,\nmanly virtue--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 or a\ngrown-up man or woman, must be taught and punished, until by punishment\nhe becomes better, and he who rebels against instruction and punishment\nis either exiled or condemned to death under the idea that he is\nincurable--if what I am saying be true, good men have their sons taught\nother things and not this, do consider how extraordinary their conduct\nwould appear to be. For we have shown that they think virtue capable\nof being taught and cultivated both in private and public; and,\nnotwithstanding, they have their sons taught lesser matters, ignorance\nof which does not involve the punishment of death: but greater things,\nof which the ignorance may cause death and exile to those who have no\ntraining or knowledge of them--aye, and confiscation as well as death,\nand, in a word, may be the ruin of families--those things, I say, they\nare supposed not to teach them,--not to take the utmost care that they\nshould learn. How improbable is this, Socrates!\n\nEducation and admonition commence in the first years of childhood, and\nlast to the very end of life. Mother and nurse and father and tutor are\nvying with one another about the improvement of the child as soon as\never he is able to understand what is being said to him: he cannot say\nor do anything without their setting forth to him that this is just and\nthat is unjust; this is honourable, that is dishonourable; this is holy,\nthat is unholy; do this and abstain from that. And if he obeys, well and\ngood; if not, he is straightened by threats and blows, like a piece of\nbent or warped wood. At a later stage they send him to teachers, and\nenjoin them to see to his manners even more than to his reading and\nmusic; and the teachers do as they are desired. And when the boy has\nlearned his letters and is beginning to understand what is written, as\nbefore he understood only what was spoken, they put into his hands the\nworks of great poets, which he reads sitting on a bench at school; in\nthese are contained many admonitions, and many tales, and praises, and\nencomia of ancient famous men, which he is required to learn by heart,\nin order that he may imitate or emulate them and desire to become like\nthem. Then, again, the teachers of the lyre take similar care that their\nyoung disciple is temperate and gets into no mischief; and when they\nhave taught him the use of the lyre, they introduce him to the poems of\nother excellent poets, who are the lyric poets; and these they set\nto music, and make their harmonies and rhythms quite familiar to the\nchildren's souls, in order that they may learn to be more gentle, and\nharmonious, and rhythmical, and so more fitted for speech and action;\nfor the life of man in every part has need of harmony and rhythm. Then\nthey send them to the master of gymnastic, in order that their bodies\nmay better minister to the virtuous mind, and that they may not be\ncompelled through bodily weakness to play the coward in war or on any\nother occasion. This is what is done by those who have the means, and\nthose who have the means are the rich; their children begin to go to\nschool soonest and leave off latest. When they have done with masters,\nthe state again compels them to learn the laws, and live after the\npattern which they furnish, and not after their own fancies; and just as\nin learning to write, the writing-master first draws lines with a style\nfor the use of the young beginner, and gives him the tablet and makes\nhim follow the lines, so the city draws the laws, which were the\ninvention of good lawgivers living in the olden time; these are given\nto the young man, in order to guide him in his conduct whether he is\ncommanding or obeying; and he who transgresses them is to be corrected,\nor, in other words, called to account, which is a term used not only in\nyour country, but also in many others, seeing that justice calls men\nto account. Now when there is all this care about virtue private and\npublic, why, Socrates, do you still wonder and doubt whether virtue\ncan be taught? Cease to wonder, for the opposite would be far more\nsurprising.\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\nyou to 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 other\narts, but imparting them--for all of us have a mutual interest in the\njustice and virtue of one another, and this is the reason why every one\nis so ready to teach justice and the laws;--suppose, I say, that there\nwere the same readiness and liberality among us in teaching one\nanother flute-playing, do you imagine, Socrates, that the sons of good\nflute-players would be more likely to be good than the sons of bad\nones? I think not. Would not their sons grow up to be distinguished\nor undistinguished according to their own natural capacities as\nflute-players, and the son of a good player would often turn out to be a\nbad one, and the son of a bad player to be a good one, all flute-players\nwould be good enough in comparison of those who were ignorant and\nunacquainted with the art of flute-playing? In like manner I would have\nyou consider that he who appears to you to be the worst of those who\nhave been brought up in laws and humanities, would appear to be a just\nman and a master of justice if he were to be compared with men who had\nno education, or courts of justice, or laws, or any restraints upon them\nwhich compelled 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 man-haters\nin his Chorus, you would be only too glad to meet with Eurybates and\nPhrynondas, and you would sorrowfully long to revisit the rascality\nof this part of the world. You, Socrates, are discontented, and why?\nBecause all men are teachers of virtue, each one according to his\nability; and you say Where are the teachers? You might as well ask, Who\nteaches Greek? For of that too there will not be any teachers found. Or\nyou might ask, Who is to teach the sons of our artisans this same art\nwhich they have learned of their fathers? He and his fellow-workmen\nhave taught them to the best of their ability,--but who will carry\nthem further in their arts? And you would certainly have a difficulty,\nSocrates, in finding a teacher of them; but there would be no difficulty\nin finding a teacher of those who are wholly ignorant. And this is true\nof virtue or of anything else; if a man is better able than we are to\npromote virtue ever so little, we must be content with the result. A\nteacher of this sort I believe myself to be, and above all other men\nto have the knowledge which makes a man noble and good; and I give my\npupils their money's-worth, and even more, as they themselves confess.\nAnd therefore I have introduced the following mode of payment:--When\na man 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 and\ntake an oath of the value of the instructions, and he pays no more than\nhe 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 are\nnot to wonder at good fathers having bad sons, or at good sons having\nbad fathers, of which the sons of Polycleitus afford an example, who\nare the companions of our friends here, Paralus and Xanthippus, but are\nnothing in comparison with their father; and this is true of the sons\nof many other artists. As yet I ought not to say the same of Paralus\nand Xanthippus themselves, for they are young and there is still hope of\nthem.\n\nProtagoras ended, and in my ear\n\n'So charming left his voice, that I the while Thought him still\nspeaking; still stood fixed to hear (Borrowed by Milton, \"Paradise\nLost\".).'\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 grateful\nI am to you for having brought me hither; I would not have missed the\nspeech of Protagoras for a great deal. For I used to imagine that no\nhuman care could make men good; but I know better now. Yet I have still\none very small difficulty which I am sure that Protagoras will easily\nexplain, as he has already explained so much. If a man were to go and\nconsult Pericles or any of our great speakers about these matters, he\nmight perhaps hear as fine a discourse; but then when one has a question\nto ask of any of them, like books, they can neither answer nor ask;\nand if any one challenges the least particular of their speech, they\ngo ringing on in a long harangue, like brazen pots, which when they\nare struck continue to sound unless some one puts his hand upon them;\nwhereas our friend Protagoras can not only make a good speech, as he has\nalready shown, but when he is asked a question he can answer briefly;\nand when he asks he will wait and hear the answer; and this is a very\nrare gift. Now I, Protagoras, want to ask of you a little question,\nwhich if you will only answer, I shall be quite satisfied. You were\nsaying that virtue can be taught;--that I will take upon your authority,\nand there 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 several\ntimes while you were speaking, justice, and temperance, and holiness,\nand all these qualities, were described by you as if together they made\nup virtue. Now I want you to tell me truly whether virtue is one whole,\nof which justice and temperance and holiness are parts; or whether all\nthese are only the names of one and the same thing: that is the doubt\nwhich 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, nose, and\neyes, and ears, are the parts of a face; or are they like the parts of\ngold, which differ from the whole and from one another only in being\nlarger or smaller?\n\nI should say that they differed, Socrates, in the first way; they are\nrelated to one another as the parts of a face are related to the whole\nface.\n\nAnd do men have some one part and some another part of virtue? Or if a\nman 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 just and\nnot wise.\n\nYou would not deny, then, that courage and wisdom are also parts of\nvirtue?\n\nMost undoubtedly they are, he answered; and wisdom is the noblest of the\nparts.\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 same\nfunctions; and the other parts are none of them like one another, either\nin their functions, or in any other way? I want to know whether the\ncomparison holds concerning the parts of virtue. Do they also differ\nfrom one another in themselves and in their functions? For that is\nclearly 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 natures.\nAnd first, you would agree with me that justice is of the nature of a\nthing, would you not? That is my opinion: would it not be 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, is\nit just or unjust?'--and I were to answer, just: would you vote with me\nor against me?\n\nWith you, he said.\n\nThereupon I should answer to him who asked me, that justice is of the\nnature 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 a\nthing 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, or\nof the nature of the unholy?' I should be angry at his putting such a\nquestion, and should say, 'Peace, man; nothing can be holy if holiness\nis not holy.' What would you say? Would you not answer in the same way?\n\nCertainly, he said.\n\nAnd then after this suppose that he came and asked us, 'What were you\nsaying 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 as\none another.' I should reply, 'You certainly heard that said, but not,\nas you imagine, by me; for I only asked the question; Protagoras gave\nthe answer.' And suppose that he turned to you and said, 'Is this\ntrue, Protagoras? and do you maintain that one part of virtue is unlike\nanother, and is this your position?'--how would you answer 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 therefore\nof the unjust, and the unjust is the unholy': how shall we answer him?\nI should certainly answer him on my own behalf that justice is holy,\nand that holiness is just; and I would say in like manner on your\nbehalf also, if you would allow me, that justice is either the same with\nholiness, or very nearly the same; and above all I would assert that\njustice is like holiness and holiness is like justice; and I wish that\nyou would tell me whether I may be permitted to give this answer on your\nbehalf, and whether you would agree 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 to be\na difference between them. But what matter? if you please I please; and\nlet us assume, if you will I, that justice is holy, and that holiness is\njust.\n\nPardon me, I replied; I do not want this 'if you wish' or 'if you will'\nsort of conclusion to be proven, but I want you and me to be proven: I\nmean to say that the conclusion will be best proven if there be 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 every\nother thing; white is in a certain way like black, and hard is like\nsoft, and the most extreme opposites have some qualities in common; even\nthe parts of the face which, as we were saying before, are distinct and\nhave different functions, are still in a certain point of view similar,\nand one of them is like another of them. And you may prove that they\nare like one another on the same principle that all things are like one\nanother; and yet things which are like in some particular ought not to\nbe called alike, nor things which are unlike in some particular, however\nslight, 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 your\nview.\n\nWell, I said, as you appear to have a difficulty about this, let us take\nanother of the examples which you mentioned instead. Do you admit the\nexistence 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 are\nnot 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 which is\nweakly done, by weakness?\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd that which is done with swiftness is done swiftly, and that which is\ndone with slowness, slowly?\n\nHe assented again.\n\nAnd that which is done in the same manner, is done by the same; and that\nwhich 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 we\nadmitted 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 done in\nthe 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 folly?\n\nYes.\n\nAnd in opposite ways?\n\nCertainly.\n\nAnd therefore by opposites:--then folly is the opposite of temperance?\n\nClearly.\n\nAnd do you remember that folly has already been acknowledged by us to be\nthe 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; and\nthat they are not only distinct, but dissimilar, both in themselves\nand in their functions, like the parts of a face. Which of these two\nassertions shall we renounce? For both of them together are certainly\nnot in harmony; they do not accord or agree: for how can they be said\nto agree if everything is assumed to have only one opposite and not\nmore than one, and yet folly, which is one, has clearly the two\nopposites--wisdom and temperance? Is not that true, Protagoras? What\nelse would you say?\n\nHe assented, but with great reluctance.\n\nThen temperance and wisdom are the same, as before justice and holiness\nappeared to us to be nearly the same. And now, Protagoras, I said, we\nmust finish the enquiry, and not faint. Do you think that an unjust man\ncan 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 first, if\nyou 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 the\nargument; and yet the result may be that I who ask and you who answer\nmay 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 that\nsome 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 my\nbusiness, and gently said:--\n\nWhen you say, Protagoras, that things inexpedient are good, do you mean\ninexpedient for man only, or inexpedient altogether? and do you call the\nlatter good?\n\nCertainly not the last, he replied; for I know of many things--meats,\ndrinks, medicines, and ten thousand other things, which are inexpedient\nfor man, and some which are expedient; and some which are neither\nexpedient nor inexpedient for man, but only for horses; and some for\noxen only, and some for dogs; and some for no animals, but only for\ntrees; and some for the roots of trees and not for their branches, as\nfor example, manure, which is a good thing when laid about the roots\nof a tree, but utterly destructive if thrown upon the shoots and young\nbranches; or I may instance olive oil, which is mischievous to all\nplants, and generally most injurious to the hair of every animal with\nthe exception of man, but beneficial to human hair and to the human body\ngenerally; and even in this application (so various and changeable\nis the nature of the benefit), that which is the greatest good to the\noutward parts of a man, is a very great evil to his inward parts: and\nfor this reason physicians always forbid their patients the use of\noil in their food, except in very small quantities, just enough to\nextinguish the disagreeable sensation of smell in meats and sauces.\n\nWhen he had given this answer, the company cheered him. And I said:\nProtagoras, I have a wretched memory, and when any one makes a long\nspeech to me I never remember what he is talking about. As then, if I\nhad been deaf, and you were going to converse with me, you would have\nhad to raise your voice; so now, having such a bad memory, I will ask\nyou to cut your answers shorter, if you would take me with you.\n\nWhat do you mean? he said: how am I to shorten my answers? shall I make\nthem 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 appears to\nyou to be short enough?\n\nI have heard, I said, that you can speak and teach others to speak about\nthe same things at such length that words never seemed to fail, or with\nsuch brevity that no one could use fewer of them. Please therefore, if\nyou talk with me, to adopt the latter or more compendious method.\n\nSocrates, he replied, many a battle of words have I fought, and if I had\nfollowed the method of disputation which my adversaries desired, as you\nwant me to do, I should have been no better than another, and the name\nof Protagoras would have been nowhere.\n\nI saw that he was not satisfied with his previous answers, and that he\nwould not play the part of answerer any more if he could help; and I\nconsidered that there was no call upon me to continue the conversation;\nso I said: Protagoras, I do not wish to force the conversation upon you\nif you had rather not, but when you are willing to argue with me in such\na way that I can follow you, then I will argue with you. Now you, as\nis said of you by others and as you say of yourself, are able to have\ndiscussions in shorter forms of speech as well as in longer, for you are\na master of wisdom; but I cannot manage these long speeches: I only wish\nthat I could. You, on the other hand, who are capable of either, ought\nto speak shorter as I beg you, and then we might converse. But I see\nthat you are disinclined, and as I have an engagement which will prevent\nmy staying to hear you at greater length (for I have to be in another\nplace), I will 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 the\nright hand, and in his left hand caught hold of this old cloak of mine.\nHe said: We cannot let you go, Socrates, for if you leave us there will\nbe an end of our discussions: I must therefore beg you to remain, as\nthere is nothing in the world that I should like better than to hear you\nand Protagoras discourse. Do not deny the company this pleasure.\n\nNow I had got up, and was in the act of departure. Son of Hipponicus,\nI replied, I have always admired, and do now heartily applaud and love\nyour philosophical spirit, and I would gladly comply with your request,\nif I could. But the truth is that I cannot. And what you ask is as great\nan impossibility to me, as if you bade me run a race with Crison of\nHimera, when in his prime, or with some one of the long or day course\nrunners. To such a request I should reply that I would fain ask the same\nof my own legs; but they refuse to comply. And therefore if you want\nto see Crison and me in the same stadium, you must bid him slacken his\nspeed to mine, for I cannot run quickly, and he can run slowly. And in\nlike manner if you want to hear me and Protagoras discoursing, you must\nask him to shorten his answers, and keep to the point, as he did at\nfirst; if not, how can there be any discussion? For discussion is one\nthing, and making an oration is quite another, in my humble opinion.\n\nBut you see, Socrates, said Callias, that Protagoras may fairly claim to\nspeak 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\na similar 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\na question 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 forget--I\nwill be bound for that, although he may pretend in fun that he has a\nbad memory). And Socrates appears to me to be more in the right than\nProtagoras; that is my view, and every man ought to say what he thinks.\n\nWhen Alcibiades had done speaking, some one--Critias, I believe--went on\nto say: O Prodicus and Hippias, Callias appears to me to be a partisan\nof Protagoras: and this led Alcibiades, who loves opposition, to take\nthe other side. But we should not be partisans either of Socrates or of\nProtagoras; let us rather unite in entreating both of them not to break\nup the discussion.\n\nProdicus added: That, Critias, seems to me to be well said, for those\nwho are present at such discussions ought to be impartial hearers of\nboth the speakers; remembering, however, that impartiality is not the\nsame as equality, for both sides should be impartially heard, and yet\nan equal meed should not be assigned to both of them; but to the wiser a\nhigher meed should be given, and a lower to the less wise. And I as well\nas Critias would beg you, Protagoras and Socrates, to grant our request,\nwhich is, that you will argue with one another and not wrangle; for\nfriends argue with friends out of good-will, but only adversaries and\nenemies wrangle. And then our meeting will be delightful; for in this\nway you, who are the speakers, will be most likely to win esteem, and\nnot praise only, among us who are your audience; for esteem is a sincere\nconviction of the hearers' souls, but praise is often an insincere\nexpression of men uttering falsehoods contrary to their conviction.\nAnd thus we who are the hearers will be gratified and not pleased; for\ngratification is of the mind when receiving wisdom and knowledge, but\npleasure is of the body when eating or experiencing some other bodily\ndelight. Thus spoke Prodicus, and many of the company applauded his\nwords.\n\nHippias the sage spoke next. He said: All of you who are here present I\nreckon to be kinsmen and friends and fellow-citizens, by nature and not\nby law; for by nature like is akin to like, whereas law is the tyrant\nof mankind, and often compels us to do many things which are against\nnature. How great would be the disgrace then, if we, who know the nature\nof things, and are the wisest of the Hellenes, and as such are met\ntogether in this city, which is the metropolis of wisdom, and in the\ngreatest and most glorious house of this city, should have nothing to\nshow worthy of this height of dignity, but should only quarrel with\none another like the meanest of mankind! I do pray and advise you,\nProtagoras, and you, Socrates, to agree upon a compromise. Let us be\nyour peacemakers. And do not you, Socrates, aim at this precise and\nextreme brevity in discourse, if Protagoras objects, but loosen and let\ngo the reins of speech, that your words may be grander and more becoming\nto you. Neither do you, Protagoras, go forth on the gale with every sail\nset out of sight of land into an ocean of words, but let there be a mean\nobserved by both of you. Do as I say. And let me also persuade you to\nchoose an arbiter or overseer or president; he will keep watch over your\nwords and will prescribe 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 choose\nan arbiter. But I said that to choose an umpire of discourse would be\nunseemly; for if the person chosen was inferior, then the inferior or\nworse ought not to preside over the better; or if he was equal, neither\nwould that be well; for he who is our equal will do as we do, and what\nwill be the use of choosing him? And if you say, 'Let us have a better\nthen,'--to that I answer that you cannot have any one who is wiser than\nProtagoras. And if you choose another who is not really better, and whom\nyou only say is better, to put another over him as though he were an\ninferior person would be an unworthy reflection on him; not that, as far\nas I am concerned, any reflection is of much consequence to me. Let\nme tell you then what I will do in order that the conversation and\ndiscussion may go on as you desire. If Protagoras is not disposed to\nanswer, let him ask and I will answer; and I will endeavour to show at\nthe same time how, as I maintain, he ought to answer: and when I have\nanswered as many questions as he likes to ask, let him in like manner\nanswer me; and if he seems to be not very ready at answering the precise\nquestion asked of him, you and I will unite in entreating him, as you\nentreated me, not to spoil the discussion. And this will require no\nspecial arbiter--all of you shall be arbiters.\n\nThis was generally approved, and Protagoras, though very much against\nhis will, was obliged to agree that he would ask questions; and when he\nhad put a sufficient number of them, that he would answer in his turn\nthose which he was asked in short replies. He began to put his questions\nas 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 not,\nand how they are to be distinguished, and of explaining when asked the\nreason of the difference. And I propose to transfer the question which\nyou and I have been discussing to the domain of poetry; we will speak as\nbefore of virtue, but in reference to a passage of a poet. Now Simonides\nsays to Scopas the son of Creon the Thessalian:\n\n'Hardly on the one hand can a man become truly good, built four-square\nin 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 the\node,--I have made a careful study of it.\n\nVery well, he said. And do you think that the ode is a good composition,\nand true?\n\nYes, I said, both good and true.\n\nBut if there is a contradiction, can the composition be good or true?\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 word of\nPittacus, albeit the utterance of a wise man: Hardly can a man be good'?\nNow 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 that\nthere might be something in what he said). And you think otherwise?\n\nWhy, he said, how can he be consistent in both? First of all, premising\nas his own thought, 'Hardly can a man become truly good'; and then a\nlittle further on in the poem, forgetting, and blaming Pittacus and\nrefusing to agree with him, when he says, 'Hardly can a man be good,'\nwhich is the very same thing. And yet when he blames him who says the\nsame with himself, he blames himself; so that he must be wrong either in\nhis 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 expert\nboxer, when I heard his words and the sound of the cheering; and to\nconfess the truth, I wanted to get time to think what the meaning of\nthe poet really was. So I turned to Prodicus and called him. Prodicus,\nI said, Simonides is a countryman of yours, and you ought to come to his\naid. I must appeal to you, like the river Scamander in Homer, who, when\nbeleaguered by Achilles, summons the Simois to aid him, saying:\n\n'Brother dear, let us both together stay the force of the hero (Il.).'\n\nAnd I summon you, for I am afraid that Protagoras will make an end of\nSimonides. Now is the time to rehabilitate Simonides, by the application\nof your philosophy of synonyms, which enables you to distinguish 'will'\nand 'wish,' and make other charming distinctions like those which you\ndrew just now. And I should like to know whether you would agree with\nme; for I am of opinion that there is no contradiction in the words of\nSimonides. And first of all I wish that you would say whether, in your\nopinion, Prodicus, 'being' is the same as 'becoming.'\n\nNot the same, certainly, replied Prodicus.\n\nDid not Simonides first set forth, as his own view, that 'Hardly can a\nman become truly good'?\n\nQuite right, said Prodicus.\n\nAnd then he blames Pittacus, not, as Protagoras imagines, for repeating\nthat which he says himself, but for saying something different from\nhimself. Pittacus does not say as Simonides says, that hardly can a man\nbecome good, but hardly can a man be good: and our friend Prodicus would\nmaintain that being, Protagoras, is not the same as becoming; and if\nthey are not the same, then Simonides is not inconsistent with himself.\nI dare say that Prodicus and many others would say, as Hesiod says,\n\n     'On the one hand, hardly can a man become good,\n     For the gods have made virtue the reward of toil,\n     But on the other hand, when you have climbed the height,\n     Then, to retain virtue, however difficult the acquisition, is easy\n     --(Works and Days).'\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 us, at\nthe right moment; for he has a wisdom, Protagoras, which, as I imagine,\nis more than human and of very ancient date, and may be as old as\nSimonides or even older. Learned as you are in many things, you appear\nto know nothing of this; but I know, for I am a disciple of his.\nAnd now, if I am not mistaken, you do not understand the word 'hard'\n(chalepon) in the sense which Simonides intended; and I must correct\nyou, as Prodicus corrects me when I use the word 'awful' (deinon) as a\nterm of praise. If I say that Protagoras or any one else is an 'awfully'\nwise man, he asks me if I am not ashamed of calling that which is good\n'awful'; and then he explains to me that the term 'awful' is always\ntaken in a bad sense, and that no one speaks of being 'awfully' healthy\nor wealthy, or of 'awful' peace, but of 'awful' disease, 'awful' war,\n'awful' poverty, meaning by the term 'awful,' evil. And I think that\nSimonides and his countrymen the Ceans, when they spoke of 'hard' meant\n'evil,' or something which you do not understand. Let us ask Prodicus,\nfor he ought to be able to answer questions about the dialect of\nSimonides. What did he mean, Prodicus, by the term 'hard'?\n\nEvil, said Prodicus.\n\nAnd therefore, I said, Prodicus, he blames Pittacus for saying, 'Hard is\nthe good,' just as if that were equivalent to saying, Evil is the 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 has\nbeen accustomed to speak a barbarous language, is natural.\n\nDo you hear, Protagoras, I asked, what our friend Prodicus is saying?\nAnd have you an answer for him?\n\nYou are entirely mistaken, Prodicus, said Protagoras; and I know very\nwell that Simonides in using the word 'hard' meant what all of us mean,\nnot evil, but that which is not easy--that which takes a great deal of\ntrouble: of this I am positive.\n\nI said: I also incline to believe, Protagoras, that this was the meaning\nof Simonides, of which our friend Prodicus was very well aware, but\nhe thought that he would make fun, and try if you could maintain your\nthesis; for that Simonides could never have meant the other is clearly\nproved by the context, in which he says that God only has this gift. Now\nhe cannot surely mean to say that to be good is evil, when he afterwards\nproceeds to say that God only has this gift, and that this is the\nattribute of him and of no other. For if this be his meaning, Prodicus\nwould impute to Simonides a character of recklessness which is very\nunlike his countrymen. And I should like to tell you, I said, what I\nimagine to be the real meaning of Simonides in this poem, if you will\ntest what, in your way of speaking, would be called my skill in poetry;\nor if you would rather, I will be the listener.\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 about\nthis poem of Simonides. There is a very ancient philosophy which is more\ncultivated in Crete and Lacedaemon than in any other part of Hellas, and\nthere are more philosophers in those countries than anywhere else in\nthe world. This, however, is a secret which the Lacedaemonians deny; and\nthey pretend to be ignorant, just because they do not wish to have it\nthought that they rule the world by wisdom, like the Sophists of whom\nProtagoras was speaking, and not by valour of arms; considering that\nif the reason of their superiority were disclosed, all men would be\npractising their wisdom. And this secret of theirs has never been\ndiscovered by the imitators of Lacedaemonian fashions in other cities,\nwho go about with their ears bruised in imitation of them, and have the\ncaestus bound on their arms, and are always in training, and wear short\ncloaks; for they imagine that these are the practices which have\nenabled the Lacedaemonians 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, they\ndrive out all these laconizers, and any other foreigners who may happen\nto be in their country, and they hold a philosophical seance unknown\nto strangers; and they themselves forbid their young men to go out into\nother cities--in this they are like the Cretans--in order that they may\nnot unlearn the lessons which they have taught them. And in Lacedaemon\nand Crete not only men but also women have a pride in their high\ncultivation. And hereby you may know that I am right in attributing to\nthe Lacedaemonians this excellence in philosophy and speculation: If\na man converses with the most ordinary Lacedaemonian, he will find him\nseldom good for much in general conversation, but at any point in the\ndiscourse he will be darting out some notable saying, terse and full of\nmeaning, with unerring aim; and the person with whom he is talking seems\nto be like 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 the\nlove of philosophy even stronger than the love of gymnastics; they are\nconscious that only a perfectly educated man is capable of uttering such\nexpressions. Such were Thales of Miletus, and Pittacus of Mitylene, and\nBias of Priene, and our own Solon, and Cleobulus the Lindian, and\nMyson the Chenian; and seventh in the catalogue of wise men was the\nLacedaemonian Chilo. All these were lovers and emulators and disciples\nof the culture of the Lacedaemonians, and any one may perceive that\ntheir wisdom was of this character; consisting of short memorable\nsentences, which they severally uttered. And they met together and\ndedicated in the temple of Apollo at Delphi, as the first-fruits\nof their wisdom, the far-famed inscriptions, which are in all men's\nmouths--'Know thyself,' and 'Nothing too much.'\n\nWhy do I say all this? I am explaining that this Lacedaemonian brevity\nwas the style of primitive philosophy. Now there was a saying of\nPittacus which was privately circulated and received the approbation of\nthe wise, 'Hard is it to be good.' And Simonides, who was ambitious of\nthe fame of wisdom, was aware that if he could overthrow this saying,\nthen, as if he had won a victory over some famous athlete, he would\ncarry off the palm among his contemporaries. And if I am not mistaken,\nhe composed the entire poem with the secret intention of damaging\nPittacus and his saying.\n\nLet us all unite in examining his words, and see whether I am speaking\nthe truth. Simonides must have been a lunatic, if, in the very first\nwords of the poem, wanting to say only that to become good is hard, he\ninserted (Greek) 'on the one hand' ('on the one hand to become good is\nhard'); there would be no reason for the introduction of (Greek),\nunless you suppose him to speak with a hostile reference to the words\nof Pittacus. Pittacus is saying 'Hard is it to be good,' and he, in\nrefutation of this thesis, rejoins that the truly hard thing, Pittacus,\nis to become good, not joining 'truly' with 'good,' but with 'hard.'\nNot, that the hard thing is to be truly good, as though there were some\ntruly good men, and there were others who were good but not truly\ngood (this would be a very simple observation, and quite unworthy of\nSimonides); but you must suppose him to make a trajection of the word\n'truly' (Greek), construing the saying of Pittacus thus (and let us\nimagine Pittacus to be speaking and Simonides answering him): 'O my\nfriends,' says Pittacus, 'hard is it to be good,' and Simonides answers,\n'In that, Pittacus, you are mistaken; the difficulty is not to be good,\nbut on the one hand, to become good, four-square in hands and feet\nand mind, without a flaw--that is hard truly.' This way of reading the\npassage accounts for the insertion of (Greek) 'on the one hand,' and for\nthe position at the end of the clause of the word 'truly,' and all that\nfollows shows this to be the meaning. A great deal might be said\nin praise of the details of the poem, which is a charming piece of\nworkmanship, and very finished, but such minutiae would be tedious. I\nshould like, however, to point out the general intention of the poem,\nwhich is certainly designed in every part to be a refutation of the\nsaying of Pittacus. For he speaks in what follows a little further on\nas if he meant to argue that although there is a difficulty in becoming\ngood, yet this is possible for a time, and only for a time. But having\nbecome good, to remain in a good state and be good, as you, Pittacus,\naffirm, is not possible, and is not granted to man; God only has this\nblessing; 'but man cannot help being bad when the force of circumstances\noverpowers him.' Now whom does the force of circumstance overpower in\nthe command of a vessel?--not the private individual, for he is always\noverpowered; and as one who is already prostrate cannot be overthrown,\nand only he who is standing upright but not he who is prostrate can be\nlaid prostrate, so the force of circumstances can only overpower him\nwho, at some time or other, has resources, and not him who is at\nall times helpless. The descent of a great storm may make the pilot\nhelpless, or the severity of the season the husbandman or the physician;\nfor the good may become bad, as another poet witnesses:--\n\n'The 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 saying,\n'Hard is it to be good.' Now there is a difficulty in becoming good; and\nyet this is possible: but to be good is an impossibility--\n\n'For he who does well is the good man, and he who does ill is the bad.'\n\nBut what sort of doing is good in letters? and what sort of doing makes\na man good in letters? Clearly the knowing of them. And what sort of\nwell-doing makes a man a good physician? Clearly the knowledge of the\nart of healing the sick. 'But he who does ill is the bad.' Now who\nbecomes a bad physician? Clearly he who is in the first place a\nphysician, and in the second place a good physician; for he may become a\nbad one also: but none of us unskilled individuals can by any amount of\ndoing ill become physicians, any more than we can become carpenters or\nanything of that sort; and he who by doing ill cannot become a physician\nat all, clearly cannot become a bad physician. In like manner the good\nmay become deteriorated by time, or toil, or disease, or other accident\n(the only real doing ill is to be deprived of knowledge), but the bad\nman will never become bad, for he is always bad; and if he were to\nbecome bad, he must previously have been good. Thus the words of the\npoem tend to show that on the one hand a man cannot be continuously\ngood, but that he may become good and may also become bad; and again\nthat\n\n'They are the best for the longest time whom the gods love.'\n\nAll this relates to Pittacus, as is further proved by the sequel. For he\nadds:--\n\n'Therefore 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 broad-bosomed\nearth: 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\n'But him who does no evil, voluntarily I praise and love;--not even the\ngods war against necessity.'\n\nAll this has a similar drift, for Simonides was not so ignorant as to\nsay that he praised those who did no evil voluntarily, as though there\nwere some who did evil voluntarily. For no wise man, as I believe, will\nallow that any human being errs voluntarily, or voluntarily does evil\nand dishonourable actions; but they are very well aware that all who do\nevil and dishonourable things do them against their will. And Simonides\nnever says that he praises him who does no evil voluntarily; the word\n'voluntarily' applies to himself. For he was under the impression that\na good man might often compel himself to love and praise another, and\nto be the friend and approver of another; and that there might be an\ninvoluntary love, such as a man might feel to an unnatural father or\nmother, or country, or the like. Now bad men, when their parents or\ncountry have any defects, look on them with malignant joy, and find\nfault with them and expose and denounce them to others, under the idea\nthat the rest of mankind will be less likely to take themselves to task\nand accuse them of neglect; and they blame their defects far more than\nthey deserve, in order that the odium which is necessarily incurred by\nthem may be increased: but the good man dissembles his feelings, and\nconstrains himself to praise them; and if they have wronged him and he\nis angry, he pacifies his anger and is reconciled, and compels himself\nto love and praise his own flesh and blood. And Simonides, as is\nprobable, considered that he himself had often had to praise and magnify\na tyrant or the like, much against his will, and he also wishes to imply\nto Pittacus that he does not censure him because he is censorious.\n\n'For 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\n'All 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 which\nhave no black in them,' for that would be ridiculous; but he means to\nsay that he accepts and finds no fault with the moderate or intermediate\nstate.\n\n('I do not hope' he says, 'to find a perfectly blameless man among those\nwho partake of the fruits of the broad-bosomed earth (if I find him,\nI will 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\n   'Who 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 would\nnever have blamed, if you had spoken what was moderately good and true;\nbut I do blame you because, putting on the appearance of truth, you are\nspeaking falsely about the highest matters.'--And this, I said, Prodicus\nand Protagoras, I take to be the meaning of Simonides in 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 of\nmy 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 and\nProtagoras, to the effect that as long as Protagoras is willing to ask,\nSocrates should answer; or that if he would rather answer, then that\nSocrates should ask.\n\nI said: I wish Protagoras either to ask or answer as he is inclined; but\nI would rather have done with poems and odes, if he does not object,\nand come back to the question about which I was asking you at first,\nProtagoras, and by your help make an end of that. The talk about the\npoets seems to me like a commonplace entertainment to which a vulgar\ncompany have recourse; who, because they are not able to converse or\namuse one another, while they are drinking, with the sound of their own\nvoices and conversation, by reason of their stupidity, raise the price\nof flute-girls in the market, hiring for a great sum the voice of a\nflute instead of their own breath, to be the medium of intercourse among\nthem: but where the company are real gentlemen and men of education,\nyou will see no flute-girls, nor dancing-girls, nor harp-girls; and\nthey have no nonsense or games, but are contented with one another's\nconversation, of which their own voices are the medium, and which they\ncarry on by turns and in an orderly manner, even though they are very\nliberal in their potations. And a company like this of ours, and men\nsuch as we profess to be, do not require the help of another's voice, or\nof the poets whom you cannot interrogate about the meaning of what they\nare saying; people who cite them declaring, some that the poet has\none meaning, and others that he has another, and the point which is in\ndispute can never be decided. This sort of entertainment they decline,\nand prefer to talk with one another, and put one another to the proof\nin conversation. And these are the models which I desire that you and I\nshould imitate. Leaving the poets, and keeping to ourselves, let us try\nthe mettle of one another and make proof of the truth in conversation.\nIf you have a mind to ask, I am ready to answer; or if you would rather,\ndo you answer, and give me the opportunity of resuming and completing\nour unfinished argument.\n\nI made these and some similar observations; but Protagoras would\nnot distinctly 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 rest\nof 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 interest in\nasking questions of you but that of clearing up my own difficulties. For\nI think that Homer was very right in saying that\n\n     'When two go together, one sees before the other (Il.),'\n\nfor all men who have a companion are readier in deed, word, or thought;\nbut if a man\n\n     'Sees 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 may be\nexpected to understand, and in particular of virtue. For who is there,\nbut you?--who not only claim to be a good man and a gentleman, for many\nare this, and yet have not the power of making others good--whereas you\nare not only good yourself, but also the cause of goodness in others.\nMoreover such confidence have you in yourself, that although other\nSophists conceal their profession, you proclaim in the face of Hellas\nthat you are a Sophist or teacher of virtue and education, and are\nthe first who demanded pay in return. How then can I do otherwise than\ninvite you to the examination of these subjects, and ask questions and\nconsult with you? I must, indeed. And I should like once more to have\nmy memory refreshed by you about the questions which I was asking you\nat first, and also to have your help in considering them. If I am not\nmistaken the question was this: Are wisdom and temperance and courage\nand justice and holiness five names of the same thing? or has each of\nthe names a separate underlying essence and corresponding thing having a\npeculiar function, no one of them being like any other of them? And you\nreplied that the five names were not the names of the same thing, but\nthat each of them had a separate object, and that all these objects were\nparts of virtue, not in the same way that the parts of gold are like\neach other and the whole of which they are parts, but as the parts of\nthe face are unlike the whole of which they are parts and one another,\nand have 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 different\nstatement. For I dare say that you may have said what you did only in\norder 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, and\nthat the fifth of them, which is courage, is very different from the\nother four, as I prove in this way: You may observe that many men are\nutterly unrighteous, unholy, intemperate, ignorant, who are nevertheless\nremarkable for their courage.\n\nStop, I said; I should like to think about that. When you speak of brave\nmen, 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 are\nafraid to approach.\n\nIn the next place, you would affirm virtue to be a good thing, of which\ngood 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 right\nmind.\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 well?\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 horseman\nor 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 is\nyour point: those who have knowledge are more confident than those who\nhave no knowledge, and they are more confident after they have learned\nthan before.\n\nAnd have you not seen persons utterly ignorant, I said, of these things,\nand 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 of\nwhom 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 really\nnot courageous, but mad; and in that case the wisest are also the most\nconfident, and being the most confident are also the bravest, and upon\nthat 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\nthe courageous 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 proved to\nbe false, although you proceeded to show that those who have knowledge\nare more courageous than they were before they had knowledge, and more\ncourageous than others who have no knowledge, and were then led on to\nthink that courage is the same as wisdom. But in this way of arguing you\nmight come to imagine that strength is wisdom. You might begin by asking\nwhether the strong are able, and I should say 'Yes'; and then whether\nthose who know how to wrestle are not more able to wrestle than those\nwho do not know how to wrestle, and more able after than before they had\nlearned, and I should assent. And when I had admitted this, you might\nuse my admissions 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 than\nin the other, that the able are strong, although I have admitted that\nthe strong are able. For there is a difference between ability and\nstrength; the former is given by knowledge as well as by madness or\nrage, but strength comes from nature and a healthy state of the body.\nAnd in like manner I say of confidence and courage, that they are not\nthe same; and I argue that the courageous are confident, but not all\nthe confident courageous. For confidence may be given to men by art, and\nalso, like ability, by madness and rage; but courage comes to them from\nnature and the healthy state of the soul.\n\nI said: You would admit, Protagoras, that some men live well and others\nill?\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 that\ncase 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 pleasant\nthings evil and some painful things good?--for I am rather disposed to\nsay that things are good in as far as they are pleasant, if they have no\nconsequences of another sort, and in as far as they are painful they are\nbad.\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 painful\nthe evil. Having regard not only to my present answer, but also to the\nwhole of my life, I shall be safer, if I am not mistaken, in saying that\nthere are some pleasant things which are not good, and that there are\nsome painful things which are good, and some which are not good, and\nthat there are some which are neither good 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 good;\nand my question would imply that pleasure is a good in itself.\n\nAccording to your favourite mode of speech, Socrates, 'Let us reflect\nabout this,' he said; and if the reflection is to the point, and the\nresult proves that pleasure and good are really the same, then we will\nagree; but if not, then we will argue.\n\nAnd would you wish to begin the enquiry? I 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 enquiring\ninto the health or some other bodily quality of another:--he looks at\nhis face and at the tips of his fingers, and then he says, Uncover your\nchest and back to me that I may have a better view:--that is the sort of\nthing which I desire in this speculation. Having seen what your opinion\nis about good and pleasure, I am minded to say to you: Uncover your mind\nto me, Protagoras, and reveal your opinion about knowledge, that I may\nknow whether you agree with the rest of the world. Now the rest of the\nworld are of opinion that knowledge is a principle not of strength, or\nof rule, or of command: their notion is that a man may have knowledge,\nand yet that the knowledge which is in him may be overmastered by anger,\nor pleasure, 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 view?\nor do you think that knowledge is a noble and commanding thing, which\ncannot be overcome, and will not allow a man, if he only knows the\ndifference of good and evil, to do anything which is contrary to\nknowledge, 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 world\nare of another mind; and that men are commonly supposed to know the\nthings which are best, and not to do them when they might? And most\npersons whom I have asked the reason of this have said that when men act\ncontrary to knowledge they are overcome by pain, or pleasure, or some of\nthose affections which I was just now mentioning.\n\nYes, Socrates, he replied; and that is not the only point about which\nmankind are in error.\n\nSuppose, then, that you and I endeavour to instruct and inform them\nwhat is the nature of this affection which they call 'being overcome by\npleasure,' and which they affirm to be the reason why they do not always\ndo what is best. When we say to them: Friends, you are mistaken, and\nare saying what is not true, they would probably reply: Socrates and\nProtagoras, if this affection of the soul is not to be called 'being\novercome by pleasure,' pray, what is it, and by what name would you\ndescribe it?\n\nBut why, Socrates, should we trouble ourselves about the opinion of the\nmany, 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 how\ncourage is related to the other parts of virtue. If you are disposed to\nabide by our agreement, that I should show the way in which, as I think,\nour recent difficulty is most likely to be cleared up, do you follow;\nbut if not, never mind.\n\nYou are quite right, he said; and I would have you proceed as you have\nbegun.\n\nWell then, I said, let me suppose that they repeat their question, What\naccount do you give of that which, in our way of speaking, is termed\nbeing overcome by pleasure? I should answer thus: Listen, and Protagoras\nand I will endeavour to show you. When men are overcome by eating and\ndrinking and other sensual desires which are pleasant, and they, knowing\nthem to be evil, nevertheless indulge in them, would you not say that\nthey were overcome by pleasure? They will not deny this. And suppose\nthat you and I were to go on and ask them again: 'In what way do you say\nthat they are evil,--in that they are pleasant and give pleasure at the\nmoment, or because they cause disease and poverty and other like evils\nin the future? Would they still be evil, if they had no attendant evil\nconsequences, simply because they give the consciousness of pleasure\nof whatever nature?'--Would they not answer that they are not evil\non account of the pleasure which is immediately given by them, but on\naccount of the after consequences--diseases and the like?\n\nI believe, said Protagoras, that the world in general would answer as\nyou do.\n\nAnd in causing diseases do they not cause pain? and in causing poverty\ndo they not cause pain;--they would agree to that also, if I am not\nmistaken?\n\nProtagoras assented.\n\nThen I should say to them, in my name and yours: Do you think them evil\nfor any other reason, except because they end in pain and rob us of\nother 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, and\nsay: 'Friends, when you speak of goods being painful, do you not mean\nremedial goods, such as gymnastic exercises, and military service, and\nthe physician's use of burning, cutting, drugging, and starving? Are\nthese the things which are good but painful?'--they would assent to me?\n\nHe agreed.\n\n'And do you call them good because they occasion the greatest immediate\nsuffering and pain; or because, afterwards, they bring health and\nimprovement of the bodily condition and the salvation of states\nand power over others and wealth?'--they would agree to the latter\nalternative, if I am not mistaken?\n\nHe assented.\n\n'Are these things good for any other reason except that they end in\npleasure, and get rid of and avert pain? Are you looking to any other\nstandard but pleasure and pain when you call them good?'--they would\nacknowledge 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 an\nevil?'\n\nHe assented.\n\n'Then you think that pain is an evil and pleasure is a good: and even\npleasure you deem an evil, when it robs you of greater pleasures than it\ngives, or causes pains greater than the pleasure. If, however, you call\npleasure an evil in relation to some other end or standard, you will be\nable to show us that standard. But you have none 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 pain a\ngood when it takes away greater pains than those which it has, or gives\npleasures greater than the pains: then if you have some standard other\nthan pleasure and pain to which you refer when you call actual pain a\ngood, 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 spend many\nwords and speak in many ways on this subject?' Excuse me, friends, I\nshould reply; but in the first place there is a difficulty in explaining\nthe meaning of the expression 'overcome by pleasure'; and the whole\nargument turns upon this. And even now, if you see any possible way in\nwhich evil can be explained as other than pain, or good as other than\npleasure, you may still retract. Are you satisfied, then, at having\na life of pleasure which is without pain? If you are, and if you are\nunable to show any good or evil which does not end in pleasure and pain,\nhear the consequences:--If what you say is true, then the argument is\nabsurd which affirms that a man often does evil knowingly, when he might\nabstain, because he is seduced and overpowered by pleasure; or again,\nwhen you say that a man knowingly refuses to do what is good because he\nis overcome at the moment by pleasure. And that this is ridiculous will\nbe evident if only we give up the use of various names, such as pleasant\nand painful, 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 he\ndoes evil. But some one will ask, Why? Because he is overcome, is the\nfirst answer. And by what is he overcome? the enquirer will proceed to\nask. And we shall not be able to reply 'By pleasure,' for the name of\npleasure has been exchanged for that of good. In our answer, then, we\nshall only say that he is overcome. 'By what?' he will reiterate. By the\ngood, we shall have to reply; indeed we shall. Nay, but our questioner\nwill rejoin with a laugh, if he be one of the swaggering sort, 'That is\ntoo ridiculous, that a man should do what he knows to be evil when he\nought not, because he is overcome by good. Is that, he will ask, because\nthe good was worthy or not worthy of conquering the evil'? And in answer\nto that we shall clearly reply, Because it was not worthy; for if it had\nbeen worthy, then he who, as we say, was overcome by pleasure, would not\nhave been wrong. 'But how,' he will reply, 'can the good be unworthy\nof the evil, or the evil of the good'? Is not the real explanation\nthat they 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 say,\nnot as before, that a man does what is evil knowingly, but that he does\nwhat is painful knowingly, and because he is overcome by pleasure,\nwhich is unworthy to overcome. What measure is there of the relations\nof pleasure to pain other than excess and defect, which means that they\nbecome greater and smaller, and more and fewer, and differ in degree?\nFor if any one says: 'Yes, Socrates, but immediate pleasure differs\nwidely from future pleasure and pain'--To that I should reply: And do\nthey differ in anything but in pleasure and pain? There can be no\nother measure of them. And do you, like a skilful weigher, put into the\nbalance the pleasures and the pains, and their nearness and distance,\nand weigh them, and then say which outweighs the other. If you weigh\npleasures against pleasures, you of course take the more and greater; or\nif you weigh pains against pains, you take the fewer and the less; or if\npleasures against pains, then you choose that course of action in which\nthe painful is exceeded by the pleasant, whether the distant by the near\nor the near by the distant; and you avoid that course of action in\nwhich the pleasant is exceeded by the painful. Would you not admit, my\nfriends, that this is true? I am confident that they cannot deny this.\n\nHe agreed with me.\n\nWell then, I shall say, if you agree so far, be so good as to answer me\na question: Do not the same magnitudes appear larger to your sight when\nnear, and smaller when at a distance? They will acknowledge that.\nAnd the same holds of thickness and number; also sounds, which are in\nthemselves equal, are greater when near, and lesser when at a distance.\nThey will grant that also. Now suppose happiness to consist in doing\nor choosing the greater, and in not doing or in avoiding the less,\nwhat would be the saving principle of human life? Would not the art of\nmeasuring be the saving principle; or would the power of appearance? Is\nnot the latter that deceiving art which makes us wander up and down and\ntake the things at one time of which we repent at another, both in our\nactions and in our choice of things great and small? But the art of\nmeasurement would do away with the effect of appearances, and, showing\nthe truth, would fain teach the soul at last to find rest in the truth,\nand would thus save our life. Would not mankind generally acknowledge\nthat the art which 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 choice of\nodd and even, and on the knowledge of when a man ought to choose the\ngreater or less, either in reference to themselves or to each other, and\nwhether near or at a distance; what would be the saving principle of our\nlives? Would not knowledge?--a knowledge of measuring, when the question\nis one of excess and defect, and a knowledge of number, when the\nquestion is of odd and even? The world will 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 human\nlife has been found to consist in the right choice of pleasures and\npains,--in the choice of the more and the fewer, and the greater and\nthe less, and the nearer and remoter, must not this measuring be a\nconsideration of their excess and defect and equality in relation to\neach other?\n\nThis is undeniably true.\n\nAnd this, as possessing measure, must undeniably also be an art and\nscience?\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 remember,\nboth of us were agreeing that there was nothing mightier than knowledge,\nand that knowledge, in whatever existing, must have the advantage over\npleasure and all other things; and then you said that pleasure often got\nthe advantage even over a man who has knowledge; and we refused to allow\nthis, and you rejoined: O Protagoras and Socrates, what is the meaning\nof being overcome by pleasure if not this?--tell us what you call such a\nstate:--if we had immediately and at the time answered 'Ignorance,'\nyou would have laughed at us. But now, in laughing at us, you will be\nlaughing at yourselves: for you also admitted that men err in their\nchoice of pleasures and pains; that is, in their choice of good and\nevil, from defect of knowledge; and you admitted further, that they err,\nnot only from 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, and\nthat the greatest. And our friends Protagoras and Prodicus and Hippias\ndeclare that they are the physicians of ignorance; but you, who are\nunder the mistaken impression that ignorance is not the cause, and that\nthe art of which I am speaking cannot be taught, neither go yourselves,\nnor send your children, to the Sophists, who are the teachers of these\nthings--you take care of your money and give them none; and the result\nis, that you are the worse off both in public and private life:--Let us\nsuppose this to be our answer to the world in general: And now I should\nlike to ask you, Hippias, and you, Prodicus, as well as Protagoras (for\nthe argument is to be yours as well as ours), whether you think that I\nam 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 painful\nevil. And here I would beg my friend Prodicus not to introduce his\ndistinction 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 the\nwords.\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 painless\nand 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 under\nthe idea or conviction that some other thing would be better and is also\nattainable, when he might do the better. And this inferiority of a man\nto himself is merely ignorance, as the superiority of a man to himself\nis wisdom.\n\nThey all assented.\n\nAnd is not ignorance the having a false opinion and being deceived about\nimportant matters?\n\nTo this also they unanimously assented.\n\nThen, I said, no man voluntarily pursues evil, or that which he thinks\nto be evil. To prefer evil to good is not in human nature; and when\na man is compelled to choose one of two evils, no one will choose the\ngreater 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 here,\nProdicus, I should particularly like to know whether you would agree\nwith me in defining this fear or terror as expectation of evil.\n\nProtagoras and Hippias agreed, but Prodicus said that this was fear and\nnot terror.\n\nNever mind, Prodicus, I said; but let me ask whether, if our former\nassertions are true, a man will pursue that which he fears when he is\nnot compelled? Would not this be in flat contradiction to the admission\nwhich has been already made, that he thinks the things which he fears\nto be evil; and no one will pursue or voluntarily accept that which he\nthinks to be evil?\n\nThat also was universally admitted.\n\nThen, I said, these, Hippias and Prodicus, are our premisses; and I\nwould 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 them\nhad a separate function. To this, however, I am not referring, but to\nthe assertion which he afterwards made that of the five virtues four\nwere nearly akin to each other, but that the fifth, which was courage,\ndiffered greatly from the others. And of this he gave me the following\nproof. He said: You will find, Socrates, that some of the most impious,\nand unrighteous, and intemperate, and ignorant of men are among the most\ncourageous; which proves that courage is very different from the other\nparts of virtue. I was surprised at his saying this at the time, and I\nam still more surprised now that I have discussed the matter with you.\nSo I asked him whether by the brave he meant the confident. Yes, he\nreplied, and the impetuous or goers. (You may remember, Protagoras, that\nthis was your answer.)\n\nHe assented.\n\nWell then, I said, tell us against what are the courageous ready to\ngo--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 there\nis 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 previous\nargument to be impossible.\n\nThat, again, I replied, is quite true. And if this has been rightly\nproven, then no one goes to meet what he thinks to be dangers, since the\nwant of self-control, which makes men rush into dangers, has been shown\nto be ignorance.\n\nHe assented.\n\nAnd yet the courageous man and the coward alike go to meet that about\nwhich they are confident; so that, in this point of view, the cowardly\nand the courageous go to meet the same things.\n\nAnd yet, Socrates, said Protagoras, that to which the coward goes is the\nopposite of that to which the courageous goes; the one, for example, is\nready 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 pleasanter,\nand better?\n\nThe admission of that, he replied, would belie our former admissions.\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 the\ncontrary, 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 of\ndangers?\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 cowardice?\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 opposed to\nthe 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 courage, and\nis 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 most\ncourageous?\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 were\nclear, I am very sure that the other controversy which has been carried\non at great length by both of us--you affirming and I denying that\nvirtue can be taught--would also become clear. The result of our\ndiscussion appears to me to be singular. For if the argument had a human\nvoice, that voice would be heard laughing at us and saying: 'Protagoras\nand Socrates, you are strange beings; there are you, Socrates, who were\nsaying that virtue cannot be taught, contradicting yourself now by your\nattempt to prove that all things are knowledge, including justice, and\ntemperance, and courage,--which tends to show that virtue can certainly\nbe taught; for if virtue were other than knowledge, as Protagoras\nattempted to prove, then clearly virtue cannot be taught; but if virtue\nis entirely knowledge, as you are seeking to show, then I cannot but\nsuppose that virtue is capable of being taught. Protagoras, on the other\nhand, who started by saying that it might be taught, is now eager to\nprove it to be anything rather than knowledge; and if this is true, it\nmust be quite incapable of being taught.' Now I, Protagoras, perceiving\nthis terrible confusion of our ideas, have a great desire that they\nshould be cleared up. And I should like to carry on the discussion until\nwe ascertain what virtue is, whether capable of being taught or not,\nlest haply Epimetheus should trip us up and deceive us in the argument,\nas he forgot us in the story; I prefer your Prometheus to your\nEpimetheus, for of him I make use, whenever I am busy about these\nquestions, in Promethean care of my own life. And if you have no\nobjection, as I said at first, I should like to have your help in the\nenquiry.\n\nProtagoras replied: Socrates, I am not of a base nature, and I am the\nlast man in the world to be envious. I cannot but applaud your energy\nand your conduct of an argument. As I have often said, I admire you\nabove all men whom I know, and far above all men of your age; and I\nbelieve that you will become very eminent in philosophy. Let us come\nback to the subject at some future time; at present we had better turn\nto something else.\n\nBy all means, I said, if that is your wish; for I too ought long since\nto have kept the engagement of which I spoke before, and only tarried\nbecause I could not refuse the request of the noble Callias. So the\nconversation ended, and we went our way.","title":"Protagoras","tradition":"philosophy-ethics","translated_text":null,"word_count":27962}