And have they not been shown to be cowards through their ignorance of
dangers?
Assuredly, he said.
And because of that ignorance they are cowards?
He assented.
And the reason why they are cowards is admitted by you to be cowardice?
He again assented.
Then the ignorance of what is and is not dangerous is cowardice?
He nodded assent.
But surely courage, I said, is opposed to cowardice?
Yes.
Then the wisdom which knows what are and are not dangers is opposed to
the ignorance of them?
To that again he nodded assent.
And the ignorance of them is cowardice?
To that he very reluctantly nodded assent.
And the knowledge of that which is and is not dangerous is courage, and
is opposed to the ignorance of these things?
At this point he would no longer nod assent, but was silent.
And why, I said, do you neither assent nor dissent, Protagoras?
Finish the argument by yourself, he said.
I only want to ask one more question, I said. I want to know whether
you still think that there are men who are most ignorant and yet most
courageous?
You seem to have a great ambition to make me answer, Socrates, and
therefore I will gratify you, and say, that this appears to me to be
impossible consistently with the argument.
My only object, I said, in continuing the discussion, has been the
desire to ascertain the nature and relations of virtue; for if this were
clear, I am very sure that the other controversy which has been carried
on at great length by both of us--you affirming and I denying that
virtue can be taught--would also become clear. The result of our
discussion appears to me to be singular. For if the argument had a human
voice, that voice would be heard laughing at us and saying: 'Protagoras
and Socrates, you are strange beings; there are you, Socrates, who were
saying that virtue cannot be taught, contradicting yourself now by your
attempt to prove that all things are knowledge, including justice, and
temperance, and courage,--which tends to show that virtue can certainly
be taught; for if virtue were other than knowledge, as Protagoras
attempted to prove, then clearly virtue cannot be taught; but if virtue
is entirely knowledge, as you are seeking to show, then I cannot but
suppose that virtue is capable of being taught. Protagoras, on the other
hand, who started by saying that it might be taught, is now eager to
prove it to be anything rather than knowledge; and if this is true, it
must be quite incapable of being taught.' Now I, Protagoras, perceiving
this terrible confusion of our ideas, have a great desire that they
should be cleared up. And I should like to carry on the discussion until
we ascertain what virtue is, whether capable of being taught or not,
lest haply Epimetheus should trip us up and deceive us in the argument,
as he forgot us in the story; I prefer your Prometheus to your
Epimetheus, for of him I make use, whenever I am busy about these
questions, in Promethean care of my own life. And if you have no
objection, as I said at first, I should like to have your help in the
enquiry.
Protagoras replied: Socrates, I am not of a base nature, and I am the
last man in the world to be envious. I cannot but applaud your energy
and your conduct of an argument. As I have often said, I admire you
above all men whom I know, and far above all men of your age; and I
believe that you will become very eminent in philosophy. Let us come
back to the subject at some future time; at present we had better turn
to something else.
By all means, I said, if that is your wish; for I too ought long since
to have kept the engagement of which I spoke before, and only tarried
because I could not refuse the request of the noble Callias. So the
conversation ended, and we went our way.