Then tell me, what do you imagine that he is?
I take him to be one who knows wise things, he replied, as his name
implies.
And might you not, I said, affirm this of the painter and of the
carpenter also: Do not they, too, know wise things? But suppose a person
were to ask us: In what are the painters wise? We should answer: In what
relates to the making of likenesses, and similarly of other things. And
if he were further to ask: What is the wisdom of the Sophist, and what
is the manufacture over which he presides?--how should we answer him?
How should we answer him, Socrates? What other answer could there be but
that he presides over the art which makes men eloquent?
Yes, I replied, that is very likely true, but not enough; for in the
answer a further question is involved: Of what does the Sophist make a
man talk eloquently? The player on the lyre may be supposed to make a
man talk eloquently about that which he makes him understand, that is
about playing the lyre. Is not that true?
Yes.
Then about what does the Sophist make him eloquent? Must not he make him
eloquent in that which he understands?
Yes, that may be assumed.
And what is that which the Sophist knows and makes his disciple know?
Indeed, he said, I cannot tell.
Then I proceeded to say: Well, but are you aware of the danger which you
are incurring? If you were going to commit your body to some one, who
might do good or harm to it, would you not carefully consider and ask
the opinion of your friends and kindred, and deliberate many days as to
whether you should give him the care of your body? But when the soul is
in question, which you hold to be of far more value than the body,
and upon the good or evil of which depends the well-being of your
all,--about this you never consulted either with your father or with
your brother or with any one of us who are your companions. But no
sooner does this foreigner appear, than you instantly commit your soul
to his keeping. In the evening, as you say, you hear of him, and in the
morning you go to him, never deliberating or taking the opinion of any
one as to whether you ought to intrust yourself to him or not;--you
have quite made up your mind that you will at all hazards be a pupil of
Protagoras, and are prepared to expend all the property of yourself
and of your friends in carrying out at any price this determination,
although, as you admit, you do not know him, and have never spoken with
him: and you call him a Sophist, but are manifestly ignorant of what a
Sophist is; and yet you are going to commit yourself to his keeping.
When he heard me say this, he replied: No other inference, Socrates, can
be drawn from your words.
I proceeded: Is not a Sophist, Hippocrates, one who deals wholesale or
retail in the food of the soul? To me that appears to be his nature.
And what, Socrates, is the food of the soul?
Surely, I said, knowledge is the food of the soul; and we must take
care, my friend, that the Sophist does not deceive us when he praises
what he sells, like the dealers wholesale or retail who sell the food
of the body; for they praise indiscriminately all their goods, without
knowing what are really beneficial or hurtful: neither do their
customers know, with the exception of any trainer or physician who may
happen to buy of them. In like manner those who carry about the wares of
knowledge, and make the round of the cities, and sell or retail them
to any customer who is in want of them, praise them all alike; though I
should not wonder, O my friend, if many of them were really ignorant of
their effect upon the soul; and their customers equally ignorant,
unless he who buys of them happens to be a physician of the soul. If,
therefore, you have understanding of what is good and evil, you may
safely buy knowledge of Protagoras or of any one; but if not, then, O
my friend, pause, and do not hazard your dearest interests at a game
of chance. For there is far greater peril in buying knowledge than in
buying meat and drink: the one you purchase of the wholesale or retail
dealer, and carry them away in other vessels, and before you receive
them into the body as food, you may deposit them at home and call in any
experienced friend who knows what is good to be eaten or drunken, and
what not, and how much, and when; and then the danger of purchasing them
is not so great. But you cannot buy the wares of knowledge and carry
them away in another vessel; when you have paid for them you must
receive them into the soul and go your way, either greatly harmed or
greatly benefited; and therefore we should deliberate and take counsel
with our elders; for we are still young--too young to determine such a
matter. And now let us go, as we were intending, and hear Protagoras;
and when we have heard what he has to say, we may take counsel of
others; for not only is Protagoras at the house of Callias, but there
is Hippias of Elis, and, if I am not mistaken, Prodicus of Ceos, and
several other wise men.
To this we agreed, and proceeded on our way until we reached the
vestibule of the house; and there we stopped in order to conclude a
discussion which had arisen between us as we were going along; and we
stood talking in the vestibule until we had finished and come to an
understanding. And I think that the door-keeper, who was a eunuch, and
who was probably annoyed at the great inroad of the Sophists, must
have heard us talking. At any rate, when we knocked at the door, and he
opened and saw us, he grumbled: They are Sophists--he is not at home;
and instantly gave the door a hearty bang with both his hands. Again we
knocked, and he answered without opening: Did you not hear me say that
he is not at home, fellows? But, my friend, I said, you need not be
alarmed; for we are not Sophists, and we are not come to see Callias,
but we want to see Protagoras; and I must request you to announce us. At
last, after a good deal of difficulty, the man was persuaded to open the
door.
When we entered, we found Protagoras taking a walk in the cloister; and
next to him, on one side, were walking Callias, the son of Hipponicus,
and Paralus, the son of Pericles, who, by the mother's side, is his
half-brother, and Charmides, the son of Glaucon. On the other side of
him were Xanthippus, the other son of Pericles, Philippides, the son
of Philomelus; also Antimoerus of Mende, who of all the disciples
of Protagoras is the most famous, and intends to make sophistry his
profession. A train of listeners followed him; the greater part of them
appeared to be foreigners, whom Protagoras had brought with him out of
the various cities visited by him in his journeys, he, like Orpheus,
attracting them his voice, and they following (Compare Rep.). I should
mention also that there were some Athenians in the company. Nothing
delighted me more than the precision of their movements: they never
got into his way at all; but when he and those who were with him turned
back, then the band of listeners parted regularly on either side; he was
always in front, and they wheeled round and took their places behind him
in perfect order.
After him, as Homer says (Od.), 'I lifted up my eyes and saw' Hippias
the Elean sitting in the opposite cloister on a chair of state, and
around him were seated on benches Eryximachus, the son of Acumenus, and
Phaedrus the Myrrhinusian, and Andron the son of Androtion, and there
were strangers whom he had brought with him from his native city of
Elis, and some others: they were putting to Hippias certain physical
and astronomical questions, and he, ex cathedra, was determining their
several questions to them, and discoursing of them.
Also, 'my eyes beheld Tantalus (Od.);' for Prodicus the Cean was at
Athens: he had been lodged in a room which, in the days of Hipponicus,
was a storehouse; but, as the house was full, Callias had cleared this
out and made the room into a guest-chamber. Now Prodicus was still in
bed, wrapped up in sheepskins and bedclothes, of which there seemed
to be a great heap; and there was sitting by him on the couches near,
Pausanias of the deme of Cerameis, and with Pausanias was a youth quite
young, who is certainly remarkable for his good looks, and, if I am not
mistaken, is also of a fair and gentle nature. I thought that I heard
him called Agathon, and my suspicion is that he is the beloved
of Pausanias. There was this youth, and also there were the two
Adeimantuses, one the son of Cepis, and the other of Leucolophides, and
some others. I was very anxious to hear what Prodicus was saying, for
he seems to me to be an all-wise and inspired man; but I was not able to
get into the inner circle, and his fine deep voice made an echo in the
room which rendered his words inaudible.
No sooner had we entered than there followed us Alcibiades the
beautiful, as you say, and I believe you; and also Critias the son of
Callaeschrus.
On entering we stopped a little, in order to look about us, and then
walked up to Protagoras, and I said: Protagoras, my friend Hippocrates
and I have come to see you.
Do you wish, he said, to speak with me alone, or in the presence of the
company?
Whichever you please, I said; you shall determine when you have heard
the purpose of our visit.
And what is your purpose? he said.
I must explain, I said, that my friend Hippocrates is a native Athenian;
he is the son of Apollodorus, and of a great and prosperous house, and
he is himself in natural ability quite a match for anybody of his own
age. I believe that he aspires to political eminence; and this he thinks
that conversation with you is most likely to procure for him. And
now you can determine whether you would wish to speak to him of your
teaching alone or in the presence of the company.
Thank you, Socrates, for your consideration of me. For certainly a
stranger finding his way into great cities, and persuading the flower
of the youth in them to leave company of their kinsmen or any other
acquaintances, old or young, and live with him, under the idea that they
will be improved by his conversation, ought to be very cautious; great
jealousies are aroused by his proceedings, and he is the subject of many
enmities and conspiracies. Now the art of the Sophist is, as I believe,
of great antiquity; but in ancient times those who practised it, fearing
this odium, veiled and disguised themselves under various names,
some under that of poets, as Homer, Hesiod, and Simonides, some,
of hierophants and prophets, as Orpheus and Musaeus, and some, as
I observe, even under the name of gymnastic-masters, like Iccus of
Tarentum, or the more recently celebrated Herodicus, now of Selymbria
and formerly of Megara, who is a first-rate Sophist. Your own Agathocles
pretended to be a musician, but was really an eminent Sophist; also
Pythocleides the Cean; and there were many others; and all of them, as
I was saying, adopted these arts as veils or disguises because they were
afraid of the odium which they would incur. But that is not my way, for
I do not believe that they effected their purpose, which was to deceive
the government, who were not blinded by them; and as to the people, they
have no understanding, and only repeat what their rulers are pleased
to tell them. Now to run away, and to be caught in running away, is the
very height of folly, and also greatly increases the exasperation of
mankind; for they regard him who runs away as a rogue, in addition to
any other objections which they have to him; and therefore I take an
entirely opposite course, and acknowledge myself to be a Sophist and
instructor of mankind; such an open acknowledgement appears to me to
be a better sort of caution than concealment. Nor do I neglect other
precautions, and therefore I hope, as I may say, by the favour of heaven
that no harm will come of the acknowledgment that I am a Sophist. And I
have been now many years in the profession--for all my years when added
up are many: there is no one here present of whom I might not be the
father. Wherefore I should much prefer conversing with you, if you want
to speak with me, in the presence of the company.
As I suspected that he would like to have a little display and
glorification in the presence of Prodicus and Hippias, and would gladly
show us to them in the light of his admirers, I said: But why should we
not summon Prodicus and Hippias and their friends to hear us?
Very good, he said.
Suppose, said Callias, that we hold a council in which you may sit
and discuss.--This was agreed upon, and great delight was felt at the
prospect of hearing wise men talk; we ourselves took the chairs and
benches, and arranged them by Hippias, where the other benches had been
already placed. Meanwhile Callias and Alcibiades got Prodicus out of bed
and brought in him and his companions.
When we were all seated, Protagoras said: Now that the company are
assembled, Socrates, tell me about the young man of whom you were just
now speaking.
I replied: I will begin again at the same point, Protagoras, and tell
you once more the purport of my visit: this is my friend Hippocrates,
who is desirous of making your acquaintance; he would like to know what
will happen to him if he associates with you. I have no more to say.
Protagoras answered: Young man, if you associate with me, on the very
first day you will return home a better man than you came, and better on
the second day than on the first, and better every day than you were on
the day before.
When I heard this, I said: Protagoras, I do not at all wonder at hearing
you say this; even at your age, and with all your wisdom, if any one
were to teach you what you did not know before, you would become better
no doubt: but please to answer in a different way--I will explain how
by an example. Let me suppose that Hippocrates, instead of desiring your
acquaintance, wished to become acquainted with the young man Zeuxippus
of Heraclea, who has lately been in Athens, and he had come to him as
he has come to you, and had heard him say, as he has heard you say, that
every day he would grow and become better if he associated with him: and
then suppose that he were to ask him, 'In what shall I become better,
and in what shall I grow?'--Zeuxippus would answer, 'In painting.' And
suppose that he went to Orthagoras the Theban, and heard him say the
same thing, and asked him, 'In what shall I become better day by day?'
he would reply, 'In flute-playing.' Now I want you to make the same sort
of answer to this young man and to me, who am asking questions on his
account. When you say that on the first day on which he associates with
you he will return home a better man, and on every day will grow in like
manner,--in what, Protagoras, will he be better? and about what?
When Protagoras heard me say this, he replied: You ask questions fairly,
and I like to answer a question which is fairly put. If Hippocrates
comes to me he will not experience the sort of drudgery with which other
Sophists are in the habit of insulting their pupils; who, when they have
just escaped from the arts, are taken and driven back into them by these
teachers, and made to learn calculation, and astronomy, and geometry,
and music (he gave a look at Hippias as he said this); but if he comes
to me, he will learn that which he comes to learn. And this is prudence
in affairs private as well as public; he will learn to order his own
house in the best manner, and he will be able to speak and act for the
best in the affairs of the state.
Do I understand you, I said; and is your meaning that you teach the art
of politics, and that you promise to make men good citizens?
That, Socrates, is exactly the profession which I make.
Then, I said, you do indeed possess a noble art, if there is no mistake
about this; for I will freely confess to you, Protagoras, that I have
a doubt whether this art is capable of being taught, and yet I know not
how to disbelieve your assertion. And I ought to tell you why I am of
opinion that this art cannot be taught or communicated by man to man. I
say that the Athenians are an understanding people, and indeed they are
esteemed to be such by the other Hellenes. Now I observe that when we
are met together in the assembly, and the matter in hand relates to
building, the builders are summoned as advisers; when the question is
one of ship-building, then the ship-wrights; and the like of other arts
which they think capable of being taught and learned. And if some person
offers to give them advice who is not supposed by them to have any skill
in the art, even though he be good-looking, and rich, and noble, they
will not listen to him, but laugh and hoot at him, until either he is
clamoured down and retires of himself; or if he persist, he is dragged
away or put out by the constables at the command of the prytanes. This
is their way of behaving about professors of the arts. But when the
question is an affair of state, then everybody is free to have a
say--carpenter, tinker, cobbler, sailor, passenger; rich and poor, high
and low--any one who likes gets up, and no one reproaches him, as in
the former case, with not having learned, and having no teacher, and yet
giving advice; evidently because they are under the impression that this
sort of knowledge cannot be taught. And not only is this true of the
state, but of individuals; the best and wisest of our citizens are
unable to impart their political wisdom to others: as for example,
Pericles, the father of these young men, who gave them excellent
instruction in all that could be learned from masters, in his own
department of politics neither taught them, nor gave them teachers; but
they were allowed to wander at their own free will in a sort of hope
that they would light upon virtue of their own accord. Or take
another example: there was Cleinias the younger brother of our friend
Alcibiades, of whom this very same Pericles was the guardian; and he
being in fact under the apprehension that Cleinias would be corrupted by
Alcibiades, took him away, and placed him in the house of Ariphron to be
educated; but before six months had elapsed, Ariphron sent him back,
not knowing what to do with him. And I could mention numberless other
instances of persons who were good themselves, and never yet made any
one else good, whether friend or stranger. Now I, Protagoras, having
these examples before me, am inclined to think that virtue cannot be
taught. But then again, when I listen to your words, I waver; and am
disposed to think that there must be something in what you say, because
I know that you have great experience, and learning, and invention. And
I wish that you would, if possible, show me a little more clearly that
virtue can be taught. Will you be so good?
That I will, Socrates, and gladly. But what would you like? Shall I, as
an elder, speak to you as younger men in an apologue or myth, or shall I
argue out the question?
To this several of the company answered that he should choose for
himself.
Well, then, he said, I think that the myth will be more interesting.
Once upon a time there were gods only, and no mortal creatures. But when
the time came that these also should be created, the gods fashioned
them out of earth and fire and various mixtures of both elements in the
interior of the earth; and when they were about to bring them into the
light of day, they ordered Prometheus and Epimetheus to equip them, and
to distribute to them severally their proper qualities. Epimetheus said
to Prometheus: 'Let me distribute, and do you inspect.' This was agreed,
and Epimetheus made the distribution. There were some to whom he gave
strength without swiftness, while he equipped the weaker with swiftness;
some he armed, and others he left unarmed; and devised for the latter
some other means of preservation, making some large, and having their
size as a protection, and others small, whose nature was to fly in the
air or burrow in the ground; this was to be their way of escape.
Thus did he compensate them with the view of preventing any race from
becoming extinct. And when he had provided against their destruction by
one another, he contrived also a means of protecting them against
the seasons of heaven; clothing them with close hair and thick skins
sufficient to defend them against the winter cold and able to resist
the summer heat, so that they might have a natural bed of their own when
they wanted to rest; also he furnished them with hoofs and hair and
hard and callous skins under their feet. Then he gave them varieties
of food,--herb of the soil to some, to others fruits of trees, and to
others roots, and to some again he gave other animals as food. And some
he made to have few young ones, while those who were their prey were
very prolific; and in this manner the race was preserved. Thus did
Epimetheus, who, not being very wise, forgot that he had distributed
among the brute animals all the qualities which he had to give,--and
when he came to man, who was still unprovided, he was terribly
perplexed. Now while he was in this perplexity, Prometheus came to
inspect the distribution, and he found that the other animals were
suitably furnished, but that man alone was naked and shoeless, and had
neither bed nor arms of defence. The appointed hour was approaching when
man in his turn was to go forth into the light of day; and Prometheus,
not knowing how he could devise his salvation, stole the mechanical arts
of Hephaestus and Athene, and fire with them (they could neither have
been acquired nor used without fire), and gave them to man. Thus man had
the wisdom necessary to the support of life, but political wisdom he had
not; for that was in the keeping of Zeus, and the power of Prometheus
did not extend to entering into the citadel of heaven, where Zeus dwelt,
who moreover had terrible sentinels; but he did enter by stealth into
the common workshop of Athene and Hephaestus, in which they used to
practise their favourite arts, and carried off Hephaestus' art of
working by fire, and also the art of Athene, and gave them to man. And
in this way man was supplied with the means of life. But Prometheus is
said to have been afterwards prosecuted for theft, owing to the blunder
of Epimetheus.
Now man, having a share of the divine attributes, was at first the
only one of the animals who had any gods, because he alone was of their
kindred; and he would raise altars and images of them. He was not long
in inventing articulate speech and names; and he also constructed houses
and clothes and shoes and beds, and drew sustenance from the earth. Thus
provided, mankind at first lived dispersed, and there were no cities.
But the consequence was that they were destroyed by the wild beasts,
for they were utterly weak in comparison of them, and their art was only
sufficient to provide them with the means of life, and did not enable
them to carry on war against the animals: food they had, but not as yet
the art of government, of which the art of war is a part. After a while
the desire of self-preservation gathered them into cities; but when they
were gathered together, having no art of government, they evil intreated
one another, and were again in process of dispersion and destruction.
Zeus feared that the entire race would be exterminated, and so he
sent Hermes to them, bearing reverence and justice to be the ordering
principles of cities and the bonds of friendship and conciliation.
Hermes asked Zeus how he should impart justice and reverence among
men:--Should he distribute them as the arts are distributed; that is
to say, to a favoured few only, one skilled individual having enough of
medicine or of any other art for many unskilled ones? 'Shall this be the
manner in which I am to distribute justice and reverence among men, or
shall I give them to all?' 'To all,' said Zeus; 'I should like them all
to have a share; for cities cannot exist, if a few only share in the
virtues, as in the arts. And further, make a law by my order, that he
who has no part in reverence and justice shall be put to death, for he
is a plague of the state.'
And this is the reason, Socrates, why the Athenians and mankind
in general, when the question relates to carpentering or any other
mechanical art, allow but a few to share in their deliberations; and
when any one else interferes, then, as you say, they object, if he be
not of the favoured few; which, as I reply, is very natural. But when
they meet to deliberate about political virtue, which proceeds only by
way of justice and wisdom, they are patient enough of any man who speaks
of them, as is also natural, because they think that every man ought to
share in this sort of virtue, and that states could not exist if this
were otherwise. I have explained to you, Socrates, the reason of this
phenomenon.
And that you may not suppose yourself to be deceived in thinking that
all men regard every man as having a share of justice or honesty and of
every other political virtue, let me give you a further proof, which is
this. In other cases, as you are aware, if a man says that he is a good
flute-player, or skilful in any other art in which he has no skill,
people either laugh at him or are angry with him, and his relations
think that he is mad and go and admonish him; but when honesty is in
question, or some other political virtue, even if they know that he is
dishonest, yet, if the man comes publicly forward and tells the truth
about his dishonesty, then, what in the other case was held by them to
be good sense, they now deem to be madness. They say that all men ought
to profess honesty whether they are honest or not, and that a man is
out of his mind who says anything else. Their notion is, that a man must
have some degree of honesty; and that if he has none at all he ought not
to be in the world.
I have been showing that they are right in admitting every man as a
counsellor about this sort of virtue, as they are of opinion that every
man is a partaker of it. And I will now endeavour to show further that
they do not conceive this virtue to be given by nature, or to grow
spontaneously, but to be a thing which may be taught; and which comes to
a man by taking pains. No one would instruct, no one would rebuke, or
be angry with those whose calamities they suppose to be due to nature
or chance; they do not try to punish or to prevent them from being what
they are; they do but pity them. Who is so foolish as to chastise
or instruct the ugly, or the diminutive, or the feeble? And for this
reason. Because he knows that good and evil of this kind is the work
of nature and of chance; whereas if a man is wanting in those good
qualities which are attained by study and exercise and teaching, and
has only the contrary evil qualities, other men are angry with him, and
punish and reprove him--of these evil qualities one is impiety, another
injustice, and they may be described generally as the very opposite of
political virtue. In such cases any man will be angry with another, and
reprimand him,--clearly because he thinks that by study and learning,
the virtue in which the other is deficient may be acquired. If you will
think, Socrates, of the nature of punishment, you will see at once that
in the opinion of mankind virtue may be acquired; no one punishes
the evil-doer under the notion, or for the reason, that he has done
wrong,--only the unreasonable fury of a beast acts in that manner. But
he who desires to inflict rational punishment does not retaliate for a
past wrong which cannot be undone; he has regard to the future, and is
desirous that the man who is punished, and he who sees him punished,
may be deterred from doing wrong again. He punishes for the sake of
prevention, thereby clearly implying that virtue is capable of being
taught. This is the notion of all who retaliate upon others either
privately or publicly. And the Athenians, too, your own citizens, like
other men, punish and take vengeance on all whom they regard as evil
doers; and hence, we may infer them to be of the number of those who
think that virtue may be acquired and taught. Thus far, Socrates, I have
shown you clearly enough, if I am not mistaken, that your countrymen are
right in admitting the tinker and the cobbler to advise about politics,
and also that they deem virtue to be capable of being taught and
acquired.
There yet remains one difficulty which has been raised by you about the
sons of good men. What is the reason why good men teach their sons the
knowledge which is gained from teachers, and make them wise in that,
but do nothing towards improving them in the virtues which distinguish
themselves? And here, Socrates, I will leave the apologue and resume the
argument. Please to consider: Is there or is there not some one quality
of which all the citizens must be partakers, if there is to be a city
at all? In the answer to this question is contained the only solution
of your difficulty; there is no other. For if there be any such quality,
and this quality or unity is not the art of the carpenter, or the smith,
or the potter, but justice and temperance and holiness and, in a word,
manly virtue--if this is the quality of which all men must be partakers,
and which is the very condition of their learning or doing anything
else, and if he who is wanting in this, whether he be a child only or a
grown-up man or woman, must be taught and punished, until by punishment
he becomes better, and he who rebels against instruction and punishment
is either exiled or condemned to death under the idea that he is
incurable--if what I am saying be true, good men have their sons taught
other things and not this, do consider how extraordinary their conduct
would appear to be. For we have shown that they think virtue capable
of being taught and cultivated both in private and public; and,
notwithstanding, they have their sons taught lesser matters, ignorance
of which does not involve the punishment of death: but greater things,
of which the ignorance may cause death and exile to those who have no
training or knowledge of them--aye, and confiscation as well as death,
and, in a word, may be the ruin of families--those things, I say, they
are supposed not to teach them,--not to take the utmost care that they
should learn. How improbable is this, Socrates!
Education and admonition commence in the first years of childhood, and
last to the very end of life. Mother and nurse and father and tutor are
vying with one another about the improvement of the child as soon as
ever he is able to understand what is being said to him: he cannot say
or do anything without their setting forth to him that this is just and
that is unjust; this is honourable, that is dishonourable; this is holy,
that is unholy; do this and abstain from that. And if he obeys, well and
good; if not, he is straightened by threats and blows, like a piece of
bent or warped wood. At a later stage they send him to teachers, and
enjoin them to see to his manners even more than to his reading and
music; and the teachers do as they are desired. And when the boy has
learned his letters and is beginning to understand what is written, as
before he understood only what was spoken, they put into his hands the
works of great poets, which he reads sitting on a bench at school; in
these are contained many admonitions, and many tales, and praises, and
encomia of ancient famous men, which he is required to learn by heart,
in order that he may imitate or emulate them and desire to become like
them. Then, again, the teachers of the lyre take similar care that their
young disciple is temperate and gets into no mischief; and when they
have taught him the use of the lyre, they introduce him to the poems of
other excellent poets, who are the lyric poets; and these they set
to music, and make their harmonies and rhythms quite familiar to the
children's souls, in order that they may learn to be more gentle, and
harmonious, and rhythmical, and so more fitted for speech and action;
for the life of man in every part has need of harmony and rhythm. Then
they send them to the master of gymnastic, in order that their bodies
may better minister to the virtuous mind, and that they may not be
compelled through bodily weakness to play the coward in war or on any
other occasion. This is what is done by those who have the means, and
those who have the means are the rich; their children begin to go to
school soonest and leave off latest. When they have done with masters,
the state again compels them to learn the laws, and live after the
pattern which they furnish, and not after their own fancies; and just as
in learning to write, the writing-master first draws lines with a style
for the use of the young beginner, and gives him the tablet and makes
him follow the lines, so the city draws the laws, which were the
invention of good lawgivers living in the olden time; these are given
to the young man, in order to guide him in his conduct whether he is
commanding or obeying; and he who transgresses them is to be corrected,
or, in other words, called to account, which is a term used not only in
your country, but also in many others, seeing that justice calls men
to account. Now when there is all this care about virtue private and
public, why, Socrates, do you still wonder and doubt whether virtue
can be taught? Cease to wonder, for the opposite would be far more
surprising.
But why then do the sons of good fathers often turn out ill? There
is nothing very wonderful in this; for, as I have been saying, the
existence of a state implies that virtue is not any man's private
possession. If so--and nothing can be truer--then I will further ask
you to imagine, as an illustration, some other pursuit or branch of
knowledge which may be assumed equally to be the condition of the
existence of a state. Suppose that there could be no state unless we
were all flute-players, as far as each had the capacity, and everybody
was freely teaching everybody the art, both in private and public, and
reproving the bad player as freely and openly as every man now teaches
justice and the laws, not concealing them as he would conceal the other
arts, but imparting them--for all of us have a mutual interest in the
justice and virtue of one another, and this is the reason why every one
is so ready to teach justice and the laws;--suppose, I say, that there
were the same readiness and liberality among us in teaching one
another flute-playing, do you imagine, Socrates, that the sons of good
flute-players would be more likely to be good than the sons of bad
ones? I think not. Would not their sons grow up to be distinguished
or undistinguished according to their own natural capacities as
flute-players, and the son of a good player would often turn out to be a
bad one, and the son of a bad player to be a good one, all flute-players
would be good enough in comparison of those who were ignorant and
unacquainted with the art of flute-playing? In like manner I would have
you consider that he who appears to you to be the worst of those who
have been brought up in laws and humanities, would appear to be a just
man and a master of justice if he were to be compared with men who had
no education, or courts of justice, or laws, or any restraints upon them
which compelled them to practise virtue--with the savages, for example,
whom the poet Pherecrates exhibited on the stage at the last year's
Lenaean festival. If you were living among men such as the man-haters
in his Chorus, you would be only too glad to meet with Eurybates and
Phrynondas, and you would sorrowfully long to revisit the rascality
of this part of the world. You, Socrates, are discontented, and why?
Because all men are teachers of virtue, each one according to his
ability; and you say Where are the teachers? You might as well ask, Who
teaches Greek? For of that too there will not be any teachers found. Or
you might ask, Who is to teach the sons of our artisans this same art
which they have learned of their fathers? He and his fellow-workmen
have taught them to the best of their ability,--but who will carry
them further in their arts? And you would certainly have a difficulty,
Socrates, in finding a teacher of them; but there would be no difficulty
in finding a teacher of those who are wholly ignorant. And this is true
of virtue or of anything else; if a man is better able than we are to
promote virtue ever so little, we must be content with the result. A
teacher of this sort I believe myself to be, and above all other men
to have the knowledge which makes a man noble and good; and I give my
pupils their money's-worth, and even more, as they themselves confess.
And therefore I have introduced the following mode of payment:--When
a man has been my pupil, if he likes he pays my price, but there is no
compulsion; and if he does not like, he has only to go into a temple and
take an oath of the value of the instructions, and he pays no more than
he declares to be their value.
Such is my Apologue, Socrates, and such is the argument by which I
endeavour to show that virtue may be taught, and that this is the
opinion of the Athenians. And I have also attempted to show that you are
not to wonder at good fathers having bad sons, or at good sons having
bad fathers, of which the sons of Polycleitus afford an example, who
are the companions of our friends here, Paralus and Xanthippus, but are
nothing in comparison with their father; and this is true of the sons
of many other artists. As yet I ought not to say the same of Paralus
and Xanthippus themselves, for they are young and there is still hope of
them.