PROTAGORAS, OR THE SOPHISTS. (continued 2)

87. “All these things therefore are said against Pittacus, and the following parts of the ode shew this still more clearly. For he says, ‘Wherefore I shall never, searching for that which cannot be, throw away a portion of my life on an empty impracticable 276hope, searching for an all-blameless man among us who feed on the fruits of the wide earth. When I have found one, I will inform you;’ he adds. So vehemently, and through the whole of the ode, does he attack the saying of Pittacus. ‘But I praise and willingly love all who do nothing base; but with necessity not even gods contend.’ And this is spoken against that same saying. For Simonides was not so ill informed as to say that he praised those who did no evil willingly, as if there were some who did evil willingly. For I am pretty much of this opinion, that no wise man thinks that any man errs willingly, nor willingly commits base and evil actions, but they well know that all those who do base and evil things, do them unwillingly. 88. Moreover Simonides does not say, that he praises those who do not willingly do evil, but he uses this word ‘willingly’ of himself. For he thought that a good and upright man is frequently compelled to love and praise a certain person; for instance, it often happens to a man to have a perverse mother or father, or country, or something else of the kind. Now depraved men, when any such thing happens to them, are as it were glad to see it, and blaming make known and divulge the depravity of their parents or country, that when they neglect them, men may not accuse or reproach them for their neglect, so that they blame them still more than they deserve, and add voluntary to necessary enmity. But the good conceal the faults and compel themselves to praise, and if they are angry with their parents or country from having been injured by them, they pacify themselves and become reconciled, compelling themselves to love and praise their own connections. And I think Simonides also himself frequently considered it right to praise and extol a tyrant, or some one else of the kind, not willingly, but by compulsion. 89. This, too, he says to Pittacus; I, Pittacus, do not blame you on this account, because I am fond of blaming; for ‘it is enough for me if a man is not evil or too helpless, a sane man, acquainted with justice that benefits the state; I will not censure him, for I am not a lover of censure; for the race of fools is infinite;’ so that he who delights in blaming may satiate himself in censuring them. ‘All things are beautiful with which base things are not mingled.’ His meaning in this, is not as if he had said, all things are white with which black is not mingled, for this would be in many ways ridiculous, but that he himself admits 277of a mean, so as not to blame it. ‘And I do not seek,’ he adds, ‘an all-blameless man, among us who feed on the fruits of the wide earth; when I have found him, I will inform you.’ For this reason, therefore, I shall praise no one, but it is enough for me if a man be moderate, and does no evil, for I ‘love and praise all.’ Here too he uses the language of the Mitylenæans, as speaking to Pittacus, ‘I praise and love all willingly,’ (here it is necessary after ‘willingly’ to distinguish in the pronunciation,) ‘who do nothing base,’ but there are some whom I praise and love unwillingly. Thee therefore, Pittacus, if thou hadst spoken with moderate reason and truth, I should never have blamed, but now, since you lie excessively and in matters of the greatest moment, while you think you are speaking the truth, for this reason I blame you. 90. Such appears to me, Prodicus and Protagoras,” said I, “to have been the design of Simonides in the composition of this ode.”

Upon this Hippias said, “You seem to me, Socrates, to have given a good explanation of this ode, and I too,” he added, “have some pretty good remarks to make on it, which I will communicate to you, if you please.”

“Do so, Hippias,” said Alcibiades, “but at another time; but now it is right to carry out the agreement which Protagoras and Socrates made with each other, and, if Protagoras wishes to ask any more questions, for Socrates to answer, but if he wishes to answer Socrates, then for the latter to ask questions.”

91. Then I said, “I leave it to Protagoras to choose whichever is more agreeable to him; but if he is willing, let us have done with odes and poems, but I would gladly, Protagoras, examine with you and come to a conclusion on the subject about which I first questioned you. For a discussion about poetry appears to me very like the festivities of mean and uneducated men; for they, through not being able to converse with one another over their cups, with their own voices and their own words, in consequence of deficiency of education, enhance the pay of female flute-players, and hiring at a great price the foreign voices of flutes, converse with each other through their voices. But when worthy, good, and well-educated men meet together at a banquet you will see neither flute-playing women, nor dancing-girls, nor harpists, but you will find that they are able to converse with themselves, without 278these trifles and pastimes, by means of their own voices, both speaking and listening to each other in turn, in good order, even though they have drunk a great deal of wine. 92. In like manner, such meetings as the present, when they are composed of such men as most of us profess ourselves to be, have no need of foreign voices, or of poets, of whom it is not possible to ask the meaning of what they say, and most of those who introduce them in their arguments say that the poet means some one thing and some another, disputing about a matter which they can never determine. But they dismiss such topics of conversation as these, and converse with each other through their own resources, and in their discussions receive and give proof of each other’s capacity. It appears to me, that you and I ought rather to imitate such persons as these, and setting aside the poets should discourse with each other, from our own resources, and receive proof of the truth and of ourselves. And if you still wish to question me, I am ready to offer myself to answer you; but if you do not wish it, do you offer yourself to me, so that we may bring to a conclusion the subject that we broke off in the middle.”

93. On my saying these and other things of the same kind, Protagoras did not distinctly declare which of the two he would do. Alcibiades, therefore, looking to Callias, said, “Callias, does Protagoras appear to you to act rightly now, in not being willing to declare whether he will answer or not? For to me he does not. But let him either continue the conversation, or say that he is not willing to continue it, that we may know this from him, and that Socrates may converse with some one else, or whoever else wishes to do so with some other.”

And Protagoras, being ashamed, as it seemed to me, when Alcibiades spoke thus and Callias and nearly all who were present entreated him, was with great difficulty prevailed on to renew the conversation and bade me question him, for that he would answer.

94. I then said to him, “Protagoras, think not that I converse with you with any other design, than to examine thoroughly into things about which I am continually in doubt. For I think that Homer^[103] speaks very much to the purpose, when he says, ‘When two come together, one apprehends 279before the other.’ For all of us men are thus more prompt in every deed, and word, and thought, but when any one apprehends alone^[104], he immediately goes about and searches for some one to whom he may communicate it, and with whom he may establish it, until he finds him. So I too, for this reason, am better pleased to converse with you than with any one else, thinking that you are best able to investigate both other subjects which a good man is likely to examine into, and especially virtue. For who else can do it but you? Since you not only think yourself to be a good and worthy man, as some others also are virtuous, but are not able to make others so; you however are both good yourself, and are able to make others good, and you have such confidence in yourself, that while others conceal this art, you openly proclaim yourself to all the Greeks designating yourself a sophist, publishing yourself as a professor of erudition and virtue, and you are the first that has thought fit to receive pay for this. 95. How then, is it not right to call upon you to the examination of these matters, and to question and communicate with you respecting them? It cannot be otherwise. Now therefore I am desirous that the questions which I first asked you on these subjects, should, from the commencement, be partly called to mind by you, and partly to consider them with you. The question, I think, was this; whether these, wisdom, temperance, courage, justice, and holiness, which are five names, belong to one thing, or whether a certain peculiar essence is attached to each of these names, and each thing has its own function, and no one of them is the same as any other? You said, then, that these were not names belonging to one thing, but that each of these names was applied to a distinct thing, and that all these are parts of virtue, not in the same manner as the parts of gold are similar to each other, and to the whole of which they are parts, but just as the parts of the face are dissimilar to the whole of which they are parts, and to each other, each possessing its peculiar function. If these things still appear to you as they did then, say so; if otherwise, explain the difference, since I shall not think you in any way accountable, if you happen to speak differently; for I should not wonder if you said these things before for the purpose of trying me.”

96. “But I,” he said, “tell you, Socrates, that all these are 280parts of virtue, and four of them are very like each other, but courage is very different from all these. And thus you will know that I speak the truth; for you will find many men who are most unjust, most unholy, most intemperate, and most ignorant, yet eminently courageous.”

“Hold,” said I, “for what you say is worth examining. Do you mean that courageous men are daring, or some thing else?”

“I do,” he replied, “and bold to rush headlong on dangers which most men are afraid to encounter.”

“Come then; do you say, that virtue is something beautiful? and as being a beautiful thing do you offer to teach it?”

“Most beautiful,” he replied, “unless I am out of my senses.”

97. “Whether then,” said I, “is one part of it base, and another beautiful, or, is it all beautiful?”

“All beautiful, surely, in the highest degree.”

“Do you know, then, who boldly dive into wells?”

“I do, divers.”

“Whether because they know how to do it, or for some other reason?”

“Because they know how to do it.”

“But who are they that fight boldly on horseback? whether good riders or bad?”

“Good riders.”

“And who with targets? those that are targeteers, or those that are not?”

“Those that are targeteers. And in every thing else,” said he, “if this is what you are enquiring about, you will find that those who are skilled, are bolder than the unskilled, and the same men, after they have learnt are bolder than they were before they learnt.”

98. “But did you ever see any,” said I, “who, though unskilled in all these things, were yet bold with respect to each of them?”

“I have,” he replied, “and very bold.”

“Are those bold persons, then, courageous also?”

“If they were,” he replied, “courage would be a base thing; for these men are mad.”

“How then,” I asked, “do you describe the courageous? did you not say that they are the bold?”

281“And I say so now,” he replied.

“Do not those then,” I said, “who are thus bold appear to be not courageous, but mad? And again, in the former instances, the wise are the boldest, and being the boldest, are most courageous? And according to this reasoning, will not wisdom be courage?”

99. “You do not rightly remember, Socrates,” said he, “what I said, and what answer I gave you? For when asked by you if the courageous were bold, I admitted that they were; but I was not asked, whether the bold also were courageous; for if you had asked me this, I should have said not all. But that the courageous are bold, which was my admission, you have no where shewn that I made that admission improperly. In the next place, you shew that men, who have skill, surpass themselves in boldness, and others who are unskilled, and from this, you conclude that courage and wisdom are the same. By proceeding in this way, you might also come to the conclusion that strength is wisdom. For, first of all, if proceeding thus you should ask me, whether the strong are powerful, I should say they are; and in the next place, whether those who are skilled in wrestling are more powerful than those who are unskilled, and they than themselves, after they have learnt, than before they learnt, I should say they are; 100. and on my admitting this, by using the same argument, you might allege, that according to my own admission, wisdom is strength; I however, do not here or any where admit that the powerful are strong, but I do that the strong are powerful, for power and strength are not the same; but the one arises from skill, and from madness too, and passion, but strength from nature, and good nurture of the body. In like manner, boldness and courage are not the same; so that it happens that the courageous are bold, but the bold are not all courageous. For boldness, like power, arises in men from skill, and from passion too and madness, but courage arises from nature, and the good culture of the soul.”

101. “Do you allow, Protagoras,” said I, “that some men live well, and others ill?”

He said he did.

“Does a man, then, appear to you to live well, if he lives in grief and pain?”

He said not.

282“But what, if he should die after having passed his life pleasantly, would he not in that case appear to you to have lived well?”

“To me he would,” said he.

“To live pleasantly, then, is a good, but unpleasantly an evil thing.”

“Yes,” he said, “if he has lived taking pleasure in honest things.”

“What then, Protagoras, do you, like the multitude, call some pleasant things evil, and some painful things good? I mean, as far as they are pleasant are they not so far good, unless something else results from them? And again, in the same way with regard to things painful; are they not evil so far as they are painful?”

“I know not, Socrates,” he replied, “whether I should answer you as absolutely as you ask me, that pleasant things are all good, and painful things all evil; but it appears to me, not only with reference to the present answer, but also with reference to all the rest of my life, to be more safe to answer, that there are some pleasant things which are not good, and again, that there are some painful things which are not evil, and there are some which are a third sort, and which are neither the one nor the other, neither good or evil.”

102. “But do you not call those things pleasant,” I said, “which partake of pleasure, or occasion pleasure?”

“Certainly,” said he.

“I ask this, then, whether they are not good, so far as they are pleasant, meaning to ask whether pleasure itself is not a good thing.”

“As you frequently say, Socrates,” he replied, “we must examine this, and if the examination shall appear to be connected with our subject, and the same thing shall appear to be both pleasant and good, we must grant it; but if not, we must controvert it.”

“Whether, then,” said I, “do you wish to take the lead in the examination, or shall I?”

“You ought to take the lead,” he replied, “for you began the discussion.”

103. “Do you think, then,” said I, “that it will become clear to us in the following manner? just as if any one, examining a man from his form either with reference to his health, or any other 283operations of his body, on beholding his face and hands, should say, Come, strip, and shew me your breast and back, that I may examine you more closely; so I require something of the kind in reference to the present enquiry; perceiving that you are so affected as you say you are, with reference to the good and the pleasant, I have need to say some such thing as this, Come, Protagoras, lay your mind open to me on this point, how are you affected with respect to knowledge? Does it appear to you as it does to most men, or otherwise? Most men think of knowledge in some such way as this; that it is not a strong, nor a guiding, nor a governing thing; nor do they conceive of it as being any thing of the kind; but though knowledge is often found in a man, they do not think that knowledge governs him, but something else, at one time passion, at another pleasure, at another pain, sometimes love, and frequently fear, absolutely forming their conceptions of knowledge, as of a slave dragged about by all the rest. Is such your opinion of it, or do you think that knowledge is a noble thing, and able to govern man, and that if a man knows good and evil he can never be overcome by any thing, so as to do any thing else than what knowledge bids him, and that wisdom is sufficient to protect mankind?”

104. “It appears to me,” he replied, “as you say, Socrates: and moreover, if for any man, it would be disgraceful for me not to assert that wisdom and knowledge are the most powerful of all human things.”

“You say well and with truth,” I replied. “You are aware, however, that most men do not believe you and me, but say that many who know what is best are unwilling to do it, when it is in their power, but do other things. And all of whom I have asked what is the cause of this, have replied, that being overcome by pleasure, or mastered by pain, or some one of the things which I have just now mentioned, those who do these things are led to do them.”

“I think, Socrates,” he remarked, “that men say many other things incorrectly.”

“Come then, join me in endeavouring to persuade men, and to teach them what that affection of theirs is which they call being overcome by pleasures, and on that account not doing what is best, though they know it. For, perhaps, on our saying, ‘You do not speak correctly, my friends, but are deceived,’ 284they would ask us, ‘Protagoras and Socrates, if this affection is not the being overcome by pleasure, what is it then, and what do you say it is, tell us?’”

“But why, Socrates, need we consider the opinion of the generality of men, who say any thing that occurs to them?”

105. “I think,” said I, “that this will be of some service to us towards discovering with respect to courage how it is related to the other parts of virtue. If, therefore, you are willing to abide by what we just now agreed on, that I should take the lead, follow me where I think the matter will become exceedingly clear; but if you had rather not, I will dismiss it, if you please.”

“You say rightly,” he replied; “finish then, as you have begun.”

“Again, then,” said I, “if they were to ask us, ‘What do you say this is, which we call being overcome by pleasures?’ I, for my part, should answer them as follows: ‘Hear then, for Protagoras and I will endeavour to tell you. Do you not say, friends, that this happens to you under the following circumstances? for instance, being often mastered by meats and drinks, and the delights of love, which are pleasant things, though you know that they are baneful, yet do you not indulge in them?’ They would say that such is the case. 106. You and I should then ask them again, ‘In what respect do you say that they are baneful? Is it because they afford pleasure, and each of them is pleasant, for the moment? or because they occasion diseases for the future, and make way for poverty, and many other things of the kind? or if they make way for none of these things for the future, but only occasion a man to rejoice, are they nevertheless evil, because they make a man rejoice in any way whatever?’ Can we suppose, Protagoras, that they will give any other answer than that they are not evil from the momentary pleasure which they produce, but on account of the after results, diseases and other things?”

“I think,” said Protagoras, “that the many would answer thus.”

“‘Do they not, then, by occasioning diseases, occasion pain, and by occasioning poverty, occasion pain?’ They would admit this, I think.”

Protagoras assented.

107. “‘Does it not appear to you then, my friends, as Protagoras and I say, that these things are evil, for no other reason 285than because they end in pain, and deprive you of other pleasures?’ Would they admit this?”

We both assented.

“If, again, we should reverse the question, ‘In saying, friends, that good things are painful, do you not mean such things as gymnastic exercises, military service, and treatment of diseases by physicians, by cautery, the knife, physic, and starving, that these things are good, but painful?’ They would say they did.”

He assented.

“‘Whether, then, do you call them good, because, at the moment, they give extreme pain and torture; or because afterwards health results from them, and a good habit of body, and the safety of cities, and dominion over others, and wealth?’ They would say, I think, because of the latter.”

He assented.

108. “‘But are these things good for any other reason than because they end in pleasures, and deliverance from and prevention of pains? or can you mention any other end, to which you look when you call them good, except pleasures and pains?’ They would say not, I think.”

“I think so too,” said Protagoras.

“‘Do you not, then, pursue pleasure as being good, and avoid pain as evil?’”

He assented.

“‘This, then, you esteem to be evil, pain, and pleasure, good, since you say that enjoyment itself is then evil when it deprives of greater pleasures than those it brings with it, or when it makes way for pains greater than the pleasures contained in it: for if you call enjoyment itself evil on any other account, and looking to any other end, you would be able to tell us; but you cannot.’”

“Nor do I think they can,” said Protagoras.

109. “Again, is not the case precisely the same with respect to pain itself? do you not then call pain itself a good, when it delivers from greater pains than those contained in it, or makes way for pleasures greater than the pains? for if you look to any other end than to that which I mention, when you call pain itself a good, you can tell us; but you cannot.”

“You speak truly,” said Protagoras.

“Again, therefore,” said I, “if you should ask me, my 286friends, ‘Why in the world do you speak so much and so frequently about this,’ ‘Pardon me,’ I should say. For, in the first place, it is not easy to prove what this is which you call being overcome by pleasures; and, in the next place, the whole proof depends on this. But even now you are at liberty to retract, if you are able to say that good is any thing else than pleasure, or evil any thing else than pain; or is it enough for you to pass your life pleasantly without pain? If it is enough, and you cannot mention any thing else that is good or evil, which does not end in these, hear what follows: 110. for I say to you, that if this be the case, the assertion is ridiculous, when you say that frequently, a man who knows that evil things are evil, nevertheless does them, when it is in his power not to do them, in consequence of being led away and overpowered by pleasures; and again, when you say that a man who knows what is good, is not willing to do it in consequence of immediate pleasures, by which he is overcome. For it will be manifest that these things are ridiculous, if we do not make use of many names, such as pleasant and painful, good and evil, but, since these things appear to be two, call them also by two names, first, good and evil, next, pleasant and painful. Having settled this, let us say, that a man knowing evil to be evil, nevertheless does it. If, then, any one should ask us, ‘why?’ we shall answer, ‘because he is overcome.’ ‘By what?’ he will ask us. But we are no longer at liberty to say, ‘by pleasure;’ for it has assumed another name instead of pleasure, namely, good. We must, however, answer him, and say, ‘because he is overcome.’ ‘By what?’ he will ask. ‘By good,’ we shall answer, by Jupiter. 111. Now if he who questions should happen to be somewhat insolent, he will laugh at us and say, ‘A ridiculous thing is this you mention, if a man does evil, knowing that it is evil, when he ought not to do it, because he is overcome by good.’ ‘Is it,’ he will ask, ‘because the good is not worthy to overcome the evil in you, or because it is worthy?’ We shall clearly say in answer, that it is because it is not worthy; for otherwise he would not err whom we say is overcome by pleasures. But perhaps he will ask, ‘in what respect are good things unworthy to overcome the evil, or evil to overcome the good? Is it in any other respect than that the one is greater and the other less? or that the one is more, and the other fewer in number?’ We shall 287not be able to say any thing else than this. ‘It is clear then,’ he will say, ‘that by being overcome you mean to receive greater evil instead of less good.’ And thus much for this part of the question.

“Let us now change the names, and again apply the words pleasant and painful to these same things, and let us say, that a man does things, we before called them evil, but let us now call them painful, knowing that they are painful, being overcome by pleasant things, clearly such as are unworthy to prevail. And what other value is there of pleasure in comparison with pain, except that of excess or defect in one or the other? that is, of their being greater or less, more or fewer in number, stronger or weaker than one another. 112. For if any one should say, ‘But Socrates, immediate pleasure is very different from future pleasure or pain,’ ‘Is it,’ I should ask, ‘in any thing else than in pleasure and pain?’ for it cannot differ in any thing else. But like a man expert at weighing, having put together the pleasant things, and having put together the painful, and having placed those which are near, and those which are remote, in the scales, say which are the more numerous. For if you weigh pleasures with pleasures, the greater and more numerous are always to be chosen, and if pains with pains, the less and the fewer in number. But if you weigh pleasures with pains, if the pains are exceeded by the pleasures, whether those that are near by those that are remote, or those that are remote by those that are near, the same course must be pursued, in whichever the excess is; but if the pleasures are exceeded by the pains, it must not be pursued. ‘Can these things be settled in any other way, my friends,’ I should ask? 113. I know that they could not mention any other.”

It seemed so to him likewise.

“Since then, this is the case, I shall say ‘Answer me this, do the same magnitudes appear to your sight greater when near, and less when at a distance, or not?’ They will say they do. ‘And things bulky, and things numerous, in like manner? and are not equal sounds greater when near, but less when at a distance?’ They would say they are. If then, our well-being consisted in this, in making and choosing great masses, but in avoiding and not making little ones, what means of safety should we seem to have in life? Would it be the art of mensuration, or the faculty of judging by appearances? or 288would the latter lead us into error, and often cause us to vary in our choice of the same thing, now choosing one and now another, and to repent both in our actions and our selections of things great and little, but would the art of mensuration do away with this outward show, and making manifest the truth, cause the soul to be at ease, abiding in the truth, and preserve our life?’life?’ Would the men upon this admit that the art of mensuration preserves us, or some other art?”

114. “The art of mensuration,” he admitted.

“‘But what, if the safety of our life consisted in the choice of even and odd, when more ought properly to be chosen, and when less, each with reference to itself, or one with reference to the other, whether they might be near or distant, what, in this case, would preserve our life? Would it not be a science? and would it not be one of mensuration, since it is an art of excess and defect? But since it has relation to even and odd, can it be any other than arithmetic?’ Would the men grant us this, or not?”

It appeared also to Protagoras that they would.

“‘Be it so, my friends; but since the safety of our life has appeared to consist in the right choice of pleasure and pain, and of more and fewer, greater and smaller, more distant and nearer; does it not first of all appear to be an art of mensuration, since it is a consideration of excess and defect and equality of these with respect to each other?’ ‘Necessarily so.’ ‘But since it has to do with mensuration, it must of necessity be an art and a science.’ 115. They will assent to this. What then this art and science may be, we will consider hereafter; but that it is a science is sufficient for the proof of that which Protagoras and I had to make good in answer to the question you asked us. You asked, if you remember, when we agreed with each other that nothing is more powerful than knowledge, but that it always gets the mastery, wherever it may be, both of pleasure and every thing else; but you said that pleasure often gets the mastery, even of a man possessed of knowledge, and when we did not agree with you, you thereupon asked us, ‘Protagoras‘Protagoras and Socrates, if this affection is not the being overcome by pleasure, what is it then, and what do you say it is? tell us.’ 116. If, then, we had immediately said to you, that it is ignorance, you would have laughed at us. But now if you laugh at us, you will also laugh at yourselves. For you have admitted 289that they err through want of knowledge, who err in the choice of pleasures and pains; but these are things good and evil; and not only through want of knowledge, but as you afterwards further admitted, a knowledge of mensuration. Now an erroneous action done without knowledge, as you must yourselves know, is done through ignorance: so that to be overcome by pleasure is the greatest ignorance; of which Protagoras here says he is a physician, and so do Prodicus and Hippias. But you, because you think it is something else than ignorance, neither go yourselves, nor send your children to the teachers of these things, the sophists, as if this knowledge could not be taught, but by saving your money, and not giving it to these men, you fare badly, both in private and public. 117. Such is the answer we should give to the many. But I ask you, Hippias and Prodicus, as well as Protagoras, for let the conversation be common to you all, whether I appear to you to speak the truth, or to speak falsely?”

What had been said appeared to all to be eminently true.

“You admit, then,” said I, “that the pleasant is good, but the painful evil. But I deprecate Prodicus’s verbal distinctions: for whether you call it pleasant, or delightful, or enjoyable, or from whatever derivation or in whatever way you please to denominate such things, most excellent Prodicus, use your own word and answer what I wish.”

118. Prodicus, therefore, laughing, agreed with me, as did the others.

“But what, my friends,” I continued, “do you say to this? All actions that tend to this, that we may live without pain and pleasantly, are they not beautiful? and is not a beautiful action good and profitable?”.

They agreed.

“If then,” I said, “the pleasant is good, no one who either knows or thinks that other things are better than what he is doing, and that they are possible, still continues to do the same, when it is in his power to do the better; nor is to be overcome by one’s-self any thing else than ignorance, nor to be master of one’s-self any thing else than wisdom.”

All agreed to this.

“What then? Do you say that ignorance is a thing of this kind, to have a false opinion, and to be deceived about matters of great importance?”

290To this, likewise, all agreed.

“Is it not the case then,” I said, “that no one willingly sets about things evil, or things which he thinks are evil, nor is this, as it seems, in the nature of man willingly to engage in things which he thinks are evil, instead of such as are good; and when of two evils he is compelled to choose one, no one will choose the greater, when it is in his power to choose the less.”

119. All these things were assented to by us all.

“What then,” said I, “do you call dread and fear something? and the same that I do, (I address myself to you, Prodicus,) I mean by it a certain expectation of evil, whether you call it fear or dread.”

It appeared to Protagoras and Hippias that dread and fear were of this nature, but to Prodicus that dread was, but fear not.

“But,” said I, “it is of no consequence, Prodicus; but this is; if what we before said is true, will any man deliberately engage in things which he dreads, when it is in his power to engage in things which he does not dread? or is not this impossible from our former admissions? for it has been admitted that what he dreads he considers to be evil; and what he considers to be evil, no one either engages in or willingly receives.”

These things, likewise, were agreed to by all.

120. “These points, then, being established,” I said, “Prodicus and Hippias, let Protagoras here defend himself and shew us how his first answer is correct, no, not quite the first, for he then said, that there being five parts of virtue, no one of them was like any other, but that each had a peculiar function of its own. I do not however mean this, but what he said afterwards. For afterwards he said, that four of them very much resembled each other, but that one was altogether different from the rest, namely courage. And he said I should know it by the following proof. ‘You will find men, Socrates, who are most unholy, most unjust, most intemperate, and most ignorant, who are yet most courageous; by which you will know that courage differs much from the other parts of virtue.’ And I indeed, at the moment, was very much astonished at the answer, and I have been still more so since I have discussed these things with you. I therefore asked him if he meant that courageous men are bold? He said he did, and ready to rush headlong. 121. Do you remember, Protagoras,” said I, “that you gave this answer?”

291He admitted it.

“Come then,” said I, “tell us on what you say the courageous are ready to rush headlong? Is it on the same things as cowards?”

He said not.

“On different things, therefore.”

“Yes,” he replied.

“But whether do cowards attempt things which they can venture on with confidence, but the courageous on such as are dreadful?”

“It is said so, Socrates, by the generality of men.”

“You say truly,” I replied. “I do not, however, ask this: but on what do you say courageous men are ready to rush headlong, on dreadful things, thinking that they are dreadful, or on such as are not dreadful?”

“But this,” he said, “in the arguments which you just now used, was shewn to be impossible.”

“And in this,” I replied, “you say truly. So that if this point was proved correctly, no one attempts things which he considers to be dreadful, since to be overcome by one’s-self was found to be ignorance.”

He admitted it.

“All men, however, attempt things in which they have confidence, both the cowardly and the courageous, and thus both the cowardly and the courageous attempt the same things.”

122. “But indeed, Socrates,” said he, “the things which the cowardly and the courageous attempt are quite contrary to each other; for instance, the latter are willing to engage in war, but the former are unwilling.”

“Whether,” said I, “is it honourable to engage in it, or base?”

“Honourable,” he replied.

“If, therefore, it is honourable, have we not already admitted that it is good, for we have admitted that all honourable actions are good.”

“You say truly, and I am always of this opinion.”

“Right,” said I. “But which of the two do you say are unwilling to engage in war, though it is honourable and good?”

“Cowards,” he replied.

“If therefore,” said I, “it be honourable and good, is it not also pleasant?”

292“That has been granted,” he said.

“Are the cowardly, then, unwilling to attempt what they know to be more honourable and better, and more pleasant?”

“But,” said he, “if we admitted this, we should destroy our former admissions.”

123. “But what with respect to the brave man? Does he not engage in what is more honourable, better, and more pleasant?”

“It is necessary,” said he, “to admit that he does.”

“On the whole, then, is it not the case, that the courageous, when they are afraid, have no base fear, nor are they inspired with base confidence.”

“True,” said he.

“But if not base, are they not honourable?”

He assented.

“And if honourable, also good?”

“Yes.”

“And are not the cowardly, and the bold, and the mad, on the contrary, influenced by base fears, and inspired with base confidence?”

He admitted that they are.

“And are they bold in what is base and evil, through any thing else than ignorance and want of knowledge?”

“So it is,” he replied.

“What then? Do you call this, through which cowards are cowardly, cowardice or courage?”

“Cowardice,” said he.

“But have not cowards appeared to be what they are, through not knowing what is dreadful?”

“Certainly,” said he.

“They are cowardly then, through this want of knowledge?”

He admitted it.

“But that through which they are cowardly, you have admitted is cowardice?”

He assented.

“Must not, then, the not knowing what is dreadful, and not dreadful, be cowardice?”

He nodded assent.

“However,” said I, “courage is contrary to cowardice.”

He said it was.

293“Is not then the knowledge of what is dreadful, and notnot dreadful, contrary to a want of knowledge of these things?”

And here he still nodded assent.

“But is not the want of knowing these things cowardice?”

He, here, with great difficulty, nodded assent.

“Is not the knowledge therefore, of what is dreadful, and not dreadful, courage, being contrary to a want of knowledge of these things?”

124. Here he would no longer nod assent, but was silent.

So I said, “Why, Protagoras, do you neither admit nor deny what I ask?”

“Do you conclude the subject,” he said.

“I have only one more question to ask you,” said I, “whether some men still appear to you as at first, to be most ignorant, and yet most courageous.”

“You seem to be very anxious, Socrates, that I should be the person to answer. I will therefore indulge you, and I say, that from what has been granted, it appears to me to be impossible.”

“I ask all these questions,” said I, “on no other account, than because I wish to examine how the case stands with respect to things pertaining to virtue, and what virtue itself is. For I know that when this is discovered, that other will be clearly ascertained, about which you and I have both of us held so long a discussion, I maintaining that virtue cannot be taught, but you that it can. 125. And the present issue of our discussion appears to me, as if it were a man, to accuse and laugh at us, and if it had a voice, it would say, Absurd men ye are, Socrates and Protagoras; you, who at the outset maintained that virtue cannot be taught, are now contending in opposition to yourself, and endeavouring to shew that all things are knowledge, as justice, temperance, and courage, according to which method of proceeding it will certainly appear that virtue may be taught. For if virtue were any thing else than knowledge, as Protagoras endeavours to maintain, it clearly could not be taught; but now, if it shall appear to be altogether knowledge, as you contend, Socrates, it will be wonderful if it cannot be taught. Protagoras on the other hand, who at first insisted that it could be taught, now seems to contend for the contrary, that it may appear to be almost any thing else rather than knowledge; and so can on no account be taught. 126. I 294therefore, Protagoras, seeing all these things terribly confused, this way and that, am exceedingly anxious that they should be made clear, and should wish, now we have discussed these things, to proceed to enquire what virtue is, and to examine again respecting it, whether it can be taught, or not, lest by chance that Epimetheus of yours should treacherously deceive us in our enquiry, just as he neglected us in the distribution which he made, as you say. Now in the fable, Prometheus pleased me more than Epimetheus, and making use of him, and looking forward with forethought to my whole life, I diligently attend to all these matters; and if you are willing, as I said at the beginning, I would most gladly join with you in examining them thoroughly.”

To this Protagoras said, “I, Socrates, praise your zeal, and your method of unfolding arguments. For I am not in other respects, I think, a bad man, and least of all men envious: indeed I have often said of you to many, that I admire you more than all whom I am in the habit of meeting, and far above those of your own age: and I add, that I should not wonder if you were to rank among men renowned for wisdom. And these matters we will further discuss hereafter, when you please; but it is now time for me to attend to other business.”

“It is right so to do,” I replied, “if you think fit. For I too ought long since to have gone where I had to go, but I staid to oblige the beautiful Callias.”

Having said and heard these things, we departed.

295