He admitted there was.
“Is any thing contrary to this except the ugly?”
“There is not.”
“But what? Is there any thing good?”
“There is.”
“And is any thing contrary to this except evil?”
“There is not.”
“What? is there any thing high in voice?”
He said there is.
“And is any thing contrary to this except the low?”
“There is not,” he said.
“Therefore,” said I, “to each several contrary there is only one
contrary, and not many.”
He granted it.
“Come then,” said I, “let us reckon up our admissions. We have admitted
that one thing only is contrary to one, but not more?”
“We have.”
“And that what is done contrariwise, is done by contraries?”
He assented.
“We admitted also that what is done foolishly is done contrariwise to
that which is done temperately?”
He assented.
“And that what is done temperately is done by temperance, and what
foolishly, by folly?”
He agreed.
“If therefore it is done contrariwise, must it not be done by a
contrary?”
“Yes.”
“And the one is done by temperance, and the other by folly?”
“Yes.”
“Contrariwise?”
“Certainly.”
“Through contraries therefore?”
“It appears so.”
“Folly therefore is contrary to temperance?”
“So it appears.”
“Do you remember, however, that we before admitted that folly is
contrary to wisdom?”
He allowed it.
“And that one thing only is contrary to one?”
“I grant it.”
58. “Which, then, of these positions must we retract, Protagoras? That
which says, that one thing only is contrary to one, or that in which it
was asserted, that wisdom is different from temperance, but that each is
a part of virtue, and that besides being different, both they and their
functions are dissimilar, in the same manner as the parts of the face?
Which of these, then, must we retract? for these two positions taken
together are not set down in a very musical manner; for they neither
accord, nor harmonize with each other. For how can they accord, since it
is necessary that one thing only should be contrary to one, but not to
more, but wisdom and temperance are found to be contrary to folly, which
is one. Is it so, Protagoras,” I asked, “or otherwise?”
He admitted that it was so, though very unwillingly.
“Must not, then, temperance and wisdom be one and the same thing?
Before, moreover, justice and holiness were found to be nearly the same.
59. Come, however,” said I, “Protagoras, let us not be disheartened, but
examine the rest. Does a man who acts unjustly, appear to you to be
prudent[99], because he acts unjustly?”
-----
Footnote 99:
As was before observed, it is now necessary for the thread of the
argument to use the word _prudent_ instead of _temperate_, but the
reader must bear in mind that in the original the two ideas are
expressed by one word.
-----
“I should be ashamed, Socrates,” he said, “to acknowledge this, though
many men do say so.”
“Whether, then, shall I address my argument to them,” I asked, “or to
you?”
“If you please,” said he, “discuss this statement first, the statement
of the many.”
“But it makes no difference to me, if only you will answer, whether
these things appear so to you or not: for I am most anxious to sift the
statement itself, though it may possibly happen, that both I who
question, and you who answer, may ourselves be sifted.”
At first, then, Protagoras began to give himself airs, for he objected
that the subject was difficult; afterwards however, he agreed to answer.
60. “Come then,” said I, “answer me from the beginning. Do persons who
act unjustly, appear to you to be prudent?”
“Be it so,” he replied.
“And by being prudent, do you mean thinking rightly?” He assented.
“And by thinking rightly that they are well advised when they act
unjustly?”
“Be it so,” said he.
“Is this the case,” I asked, “if they fare well in acting unjustly, or
if they fare ill?”
“If they fare well.”
“Do you say then that certain things are good?”
“I do.”
“Are those things good, then,” I asked, “which are advantageous to men?”
“By Jupiter,” said he, “and some things though they are not advantageous
to men I call good.”
61. Protagoras now appeared to me to be ruffled and annoyed, and to be
set against answering any more: when, therefore, I saw him in this
state, I was cautious, and asked him gently: “Whether,” said I,
“Protagoras, do you mean things that are advantageous to no man, or
things that are advantageous in no respect whatever? and do you call
such things good?”
“By no means,” said he; “but I know many things which are useless to
men, meats and drinks, and drugs, and ten thousand other things, and
some things that are advantageous; and some things that are neither the
one nor the other to men, but are to horses, and some to oxen only, and
others to dogs, others again to neither of these, but to trees, and
others that are good for the roots of trees, but pernicious to their
buds, for instance, dung is good when applied to the roots of all
plants, but if you were to put it on their branches and young shoots, it
destroys the whole. Oil too is very injurious to all plants, and is most
destructive to the hairs of all animals except man, but it is of service
to the hairs of man, and to the rest of his body. 62. So various and
diversified a thing is good, that this very thing is good for the
external parts of the human body, but most pernicious to the inward
parts. And on this account all physicians forbid the sick to use oil,
except only a very small quantity in what they are going to eat, just
sufficient to overcome the disagreeable smell of the food and
seasoning.”
Protagoras having said this, those that were present loudly applauded
him, for that he spoke well. And I said, “Protagoras, I happen to be a
forgetful sort of man, and if any one makes me a long speech, I forget
what the discussion is about. As, therefore, if I happened to be deaf,
you would have thought it necessary, if you were about to converse with
me, to speak louder than you do to others, so now, since you have met
with a forgetful person, curtail your answers for me, and make them
briefer, if I am to follow you.”
“How do you bid me answer briefly? Must I answer you,” said he, “more
briefly than is requisite?”
“By no means,” I replied.
“But at such length as is requisite?” he asked.
“Yes,” said I.
“Whether, then, must I answer at such length as I think requisite, or as
you?”
63. “I have heard,” I replied, “that you are both yourself able, and can
teach others to make a long speech on the same subject if you please, so
as never to be in want of words, and again to speak so briefly, that no
one can express himself in fewer words than you. If, therefore, you mean
to converse with me, use the other method with me, that of brevity.”
“Socrates,” said he, “I have ere this entered into discussion with many
men, and if I had done what you bid me, that is, had conversed as my
antagonist bade me converse, I should not have appeared to excel any
one, nor would the name of Protagoras have been celebrated in Greece.”
64. Then I (for I perceived that he was not pleased with his former
answers, and that he would not willingly carry on the conversation by
answering my questions) thinking that I had no longer any business to be
present at the conference, said, “Protagoras, I am not anxious to
continue our conference contrary to your wish; but whenever you are
willing to converse in such a manner that I can follow you, I will then
converse with you. For you, as is reported of you, and as you admit
yourself, are able to carry on a conference both with prolixity and
brevity; for you are wise; but I am unable to follow these long
speeches; though I wish that I could. But it was fitting, that you, who
are capable of doing both, should yield to me, in order that the
conference might continue: now however, since you are not willing and I
have business to attend to, and am unable to stay while you are
extending your speeches to a great length (for I have somewhere to go
to), I will take my departure; though otherwise perhaps I might have
listened to these things with pleasure.”
65. And as I spoke thus, I rose to depart. And as I was rising, Callias
takes hold of me with his right hand, and with his left seized my cloak,
and said, “We shall not let you go, Socrates; for if you go away, our
conversation will no longer be the same. I beseech you, therefore, stay
with us; for there is no one I would more gladly hear than you and
Protagoras conversing together; therefore oblige us all.”
To this I said—I already stood up ready to go—“Son of Hipponicus, I
always admire your love of wisdom; but I now both praise and love it; so
that I should wish to gratify you, if you asked me what was possible.
But now it is as if you should ask me to keep up with Crison of Himera,
a runner in his prime, or to run a race and keep up with one of the
long-distance runners or day-couriers; I should say to you, that I wish
much more than you do that I could keep pace with these runners, but I
cannot, but if you wish to see me and Crison running together, you must
request him to slacken his pace; for I am not able to run swiftly, but
he is able to run slowly. So if you desire to hear me and Protagoras,
you must request him to continue to answer as he did at first, briefly
and to the question. But if not, what kind of conversation will arise? I
for my part thought that it is one thing to converse together, and
another to harangue.”
66. “But you see, Socrates,” said he, “Protagoras appears to ask what is
just, in requiring that he may be allowed to converse as he pleases, and
you as you please.”
Alcibiades, thereupon, taking up the discourse, said, “You do not speak
fairly, Callias; for Socrates here admits that he has not the faculty of
making long speeches, and yields to Protagoras, but in the power of
conversing, and knowing how to give and receive a reason, I should
wonder if he yielded to any man. If then, Protagoras confesses that he
is inferior to Socrates in conversing, that is enough for Socrates; but
if he pretends to rival him, let him carry on the conversation by
question and answer, not making a long speech in answer to each
question, evading the argument and not choosing to give a reason, but
prolonging his speech until most of the hearers forget what the question
was about. For as for Socrates, I will be his surety that he will not
forget, notwithstanding he jests and says he is forgetful. To me,
therefore, Socrates appears to make the fairer proposition; for it is
right that every one should declare his own opinion.”
67. After Alcibiades, it was Critias, I think, who said, “Prodicus and
Hippias, Callias appears to me to be very much on the side of
Protagoras; but Alcibiades is always fond of contention, to whatever he
applies himself. We, however, ought not to contend with each other,
either for Socrates or Protagoras, but we should join in requesting them
both not to break up the conference in the middle.”
When he had spoken thus, Prodicus[100] said, “You seem to me to say
well, Critias: for it is right that those who are present at discussions
of this kind should be common, but not equal hearers of both speakers.
For it is not the same thing: for it is requisite to hear both in
common, but not to give equal attention to each of them, but to the
wiser more, and to the less learned less. 68. I too, Protagoras and
Socrates, beg of you to make concessions to each other, and to argue
with one another, but not to wrangle; for friends argue with friends out
of good will, but adversaries and enemies wrangle with one another. And
thus the conference will be most admirably conducted. For you, the
speakers, will thus be highly approved, not praised, by us the hearers;
for approbation is felt in the mind of the hearers, and is without
deception; but praise is bestowed in words, by persons often who speak
untruly, contrary to their real opinion; again, we, the hearers, shall
thus be highly delighted, not pleased, for delight takes place when one
learns something and acquires wisdom in one’s mind, but pleasure when
one eats something, or experiences some other agreeable sensation in
one’s body.”
-----
Footnote 100:
It will be observed that Prodicus’s method, of drawing nice
distinctions between words nearly resembling each other in meaning, is
here ridiculed.
-----
69. When Prodicus had thus spoken, many of those that were present
approved of what he said. But after Prodicus, Hippias the wise spoke:
“My friends who are here present,” said he, “I regard you all as
kinsmen, relatives, and fellow-citizens by nature, though not by law;
for like is by nature akin to like, but law being a tyrant over men,
compels many things to be done contrary to nature. It were disgraceful,
then, for us to know the nature of things, to be the wisest of the
Greeks, and in this very character to have met together in the city of
Greece, which is the very prytaneum of wisdom, and in the noblest and
wealthiest house in this city, and then to exhibit nothing worthy of
this high rank, but like the lowest of men to disagree with each other.
70. I therefore both entreat and advise you, Protagoras and Socrates, to
come to terms under our authority, who as arbitrators will bring you to
an agreement; and neither do you, Socrates, require that exact form of
dialogue, which is so very concise, unless it is agreeable to
Protagoras, but relax somewhat and give the reins to your discourse,
that it may appear to us with more majesty and grace; nor on the other
hand, do you, Protagoras, stretching every rope, and carrying all sail,
scud to an ocean of words out of sight of land, but both of you keep a
middle course. Do thus then, and be persuaded by me to choose a
moderator, president, and prytanis, who will oblige you to keep within
moderate bounds on either side.”
This pleased those that were present, and all approved, and Callias said
that he would not let me go, and they urged me to choose a president.
71. I said therefore, “that it would be a shame to choose an umpire for
our arguments; for if the person chosen should be our inferior, it would
not be right that the inferior should preside over his superiors, nor if
he should be equal, would this be right; for one that is equal will act
the same as we do, so that the choice will be superfluous. But you will
choose some one better than we are; in reality I think it impossible for
you to choose any one wiser than Protagoras here: but if you should
choose one in no respect superior, though you shall affirm that he is,
this also will be a disgrace to him, to have a president chosen for him,
as if he were a common person: for as to myself it makes no difference.
I am willing, then, to act as follows, that our conference and
conversation may continue, which you so earnestly desire: if Protagoras
is not willing to answer, let him ask questions, and I will answer; and
at the same time I will endeavour to shew him, how I say one who answers
ought to answer. But when I have answered all the questions that he
chooses to ask, let him in his turn, in like manner, reply to me. If,
however, he should not appear disposed to answer the exact question put
to him, both you and I will join in intreating of him, as you now do of
me, not to destroy the conversation. And for this purpose there is no
occasion for one president to be appointed, but you will all be
presidents in common.”
72. It appeared to all that this was what ought to be done. And though
Protagoras was not very willing to comply, yet he was compelled to
consent to ask questions, and when he had asked enough in his turn to
reply to my questions with brevity. He began therefore pretty nearly as
follows:
“I think,” said he, “Socrates, that the most important part of a man’s
education consists in being skilled in poetical composition; that is, to
be able to understand what has been said by the poets, both what has
been correctly composed and what incorrectly, and to know how to
distinguish and to give a reason when asked about them. And now the
question shall be on the very subject about which you and I have been
conversing, virtue, but it shall be transferred to poetry. For Simonides
somewhere says to Scopas, son of Creon the Thessalian, ‘That to become a
good man is truly difficult, square as to his hands and feet and mind,
fashioned without fault.’ Do you know the ode, or shall I repeat the
whole to you?”
73. I said, “There is no necessity, for I know it, and have studied the
ode with great attention.”
“You say well,” he then observed, “Whether, does it appear to you to
have been composed beautifully and correctly or not?”
“Certainly,” said I, “both beautifully and correctly.”
“But does it appear to you to have been composed beautifully if the poet
contradicts himself?”
“Not beautifully,” I replied.
“Consider it, then, more attentively,” said he.
“But my good friend, I have examined it sufficiently.”
“You know, then,” said he, “that in the course of the ode he says
somewhere, ‘That saying of Pittacus does not please me, though uttered
by a wise man, wherein he says, it is difficult to continue to be good.’
Do you observe, that the same person makes both this and the former
remark?”
“I know it,” I replied.
“Does it appear to you then,” said he, “that the one agrees with the
other?”
“It appears so to me.” And at the same time I was afraid lest there
should be something in what he said. “But,” said I, “does not it appear
so to you?”
“How can he who made both these assertions agree with himself, who first
of all laid it down in his own person, that it is truly difficult to
become a good man, and a little further on this person forgets himself
and blames Pittacus for saying the same thing that he had said himself,
‘that it is difficult to be good,’ and asserts that he cannot approve of
his saying the very same thing as himself. Surely in blaming a man who
says the same things as himself, it is clear that he blames himself, so
that in the former or the latter place he does not speak correctly.”
74. In saying this he elicited applause and praise from many of the
hearers. And I, at first, as if I had been hit by a skilful boxer, was
blinded, and made giddy, by his saying this, and by the applause of the
others; but afterwards, to tell you the truth, that I might have time to
consider what the poet meant, I turned to Prodicus, and calling out to
him, said, “Prodicus, Simonides was your fellow-citizen; you are bound
to assist the man. I seem then, to call upon you, in the same manner as
Homer[101] says Scamander, when assailed by Achilles, called upon
Simois, saying, ‘Dear brother, let us unite to repel the prowess of this
man.’ So I call upon you, let not Protagoras overthrow Simonides. For
the defence of Simonides requires that exquisite skill of yours, by
which you distinguish between to will and to desire, as not being the
same, and by which you just now established many and beautiful
distinctions. And now consider, whether your opinion agrees with mine:
for Simonides does not appear to me to contradict himself. But do you,
Prodicus, first declare your opinion. Does it appear to you that to
become and to be are the same or different?”
-----
Footnote 101:
Iliad xxi. 308.
-----
“Different by Jupiter,” said Prodicus.
75. “Has not Simonides himself then,” said I, “in the first passage,
declared his own opinion, that it is in truth difficult to become a good
man?”
“You say truly,” replied Prodicus.
“But he blames Pittacus,” I continued, “not as Protagoras thinks, for
saying the same thing that he had said, but something different. For
Pittacus does not say that this is the difficulty, to become a good man,
as Simonides does, but this, to be so; but Protagoras, as Prodicus here
says, to be and to become are not the same; and if to be and to become
are not the same, Simonides does not contradict himself. And perhaps
Prodicus here, and many others, may say with Hesiod,[102] ‘that it is
difficult to become good; for that the gods have placed sweat before
virtue; but when any one has reached its summit, it is then easy to
acquire, though before it was difficult.’”
-----
Footnote 102:
Opp. et Dier. v. 287 &c.
-----
76. Prodicus, on hearing this, commended me; but Protagoras said, “Your
defence, Socrates, is more erroneous than the passage which you defend.”
And I said, “Then I have done ill, as it seems, Protagoras, and I am an
absurd physician; in attempting to cure, I make the disease worse.”
“So it is however,” he said.
“But how?” I asked.
“Great must have been the poet’s ignorance,” he replied, “if he asserts
that virtue is so easy a thing to be acquired, whereas it is the most
difficult of all, as all men think.”
77. And I said, “By Jupiter, Prodicus here is very opportunely present
at our discussion. For the wisdom of Prodicus appears, O Protagoras, to
have been of old divine, whether it began with Simonides, or is even
still more ancient. But you, who are skilled in many other things,
appear to be unskilled in this, and not skilled in it as I am, from
being the disciple of this Prodicus. And now you appear to me not to be
aware that Simonides probably did not understand this word ‘difficult,’
in the same sense as you understand it; but as with the word δεινὸς,
(terrible and clever,) Prodicus here is continually taking me to task,
when in praising you, or any one else, I say, that Protagoras is a wise
and terrible man, he asks if I am not ashamed of calling good things
terrible, for what is terrible, he says, is evil; hence no one ever
speaks of terrible riches, or terrible peace, or terrible health, but
every one says terrible disease, and terrible war, and terrible poverty,
since whatever is terrible is evil. Perhaps, therefore, the Ceans and
Simonides understand by the word difficult either that which is bad, or
something else that you are not aware of. 78. Let us then ask Prodicus;
for it is right to enquire of him the meaning of words used by
Simonides; what, Prodicus, does Simonides mean by the word difficult?”
“Evil,” he replied.
“For this reason, then,” I continued, “Prodicus, he blames Pittacus for
saying that it is difficult to be good, as if he had heard him say that
it is evil to be good.”
“But what else but this, Socrates,” he asked, “do you think Simonides
meant and found fault with in Pittacus, that he did not know how to
distinguish terms rightly, as being a Lesbian, and educated in a
barbarous dialect?”
“Do you hear Prodicus,” said I, “Protagoras? And have you any objection
to make to this?”
Thereupon Protagoras said, 79. “This is far from being the case,
Prodicus; for I am very sure that Simonides meant by the word difficult
the same that we all do, not what is evil, but that which is not easy,
but is accomplished by much toil.”
“And I too think, Protagoras,” I said, “that Simonides meant this, and
that Prodicus here knows he did, but he is jesting, and is willing to
try whether you are able to maintain your own assertion. For that
Simonides does not by the word difficult mean evil, is strongly
confirmed by the expression immediately after this; for he says, that
‘God alone possesses this privilege,’ not surely meaning that it is evil
to be good; then he adds that God alone possesses this, and he
attributes this privilege to God alone; for in that case Prodicus would
call Simonides a profligate, and by no means a Cean. But I am willing to
tell you what appears to me to have been the design of Simonides in this
ode, if you think proper to make trial of my poetical skill, as you call
it; or if you prefer it, I will listen to you.”
80. Protagoras, therefore, hearing me speak thus, said, “If you please,
Socrates;” but Prodicus, Hippias, and the rest, urged me very much.
“I will endeavour, then,” said I, “to explain to you what I think of
this ode. Philosophy is most ancient and most prevalent in Crete and
Lacedæmon of all Greece, and sophists are more numerous there than any
where else. They deny it, however, and pretend to be ignorant, in order
that they may not be discovered to surpass the rest of the Greeks in
wisdom, like those sophists whom Protagoras mentioned, but that they may
appear to excel in fighting and courage, thinking that, if it were known
in what they excel, all men would engage in the same pursuit. But now,
concealing this, they deceive those who affect Spartan manners in other
cities, for some, in imitation of them, have their ears bruised, and
bind their arms with the thongs of the cestus, and devote themselves to
gymnastic exercises, and wear short garments, as if in these things the
Lacedæmonians excelled the other Greeks. But the Lacedæmonians, now that
they wish to converse without restraint with the sophists among them,
and are wearied with conversing with them in secret, expelling these
imitators of Spartan manners, and any other stranger that is living in
their country, converse with the sophists unknown to all strangers; and
they do not suffer any of their young men to go out to other cities, as
neither do the Cretans, lest they should unlearn what they have taught
them. 81. And in these cities there are not only men that pride
themselves on their learning, but women also. And you may know, that in
this I speak truly, and that the Lacedæmonians are admirably instructed
in philosophy and the art of speaking, from the following circumstance:
for if any one wishes to converse with the meanest of the Lacedæmonians,
he will find him, for the most part, apparently an ordinary person in
conversation, but afterwards, when a proper opportunity presents itself,
he sends forth, like a skilful lancer, a notable saying, brief and
pointed, so that he who converses with him will appear to be nothing
better than a boy. Accordingly some persons, both of the present day and
of former times, have observed this very thing, that to imitate Spartan
manners consists much more in studying philosophy, than devoting
one’s-self to gymnastic exercises, since they know that to be able to
utter such sayings is a proof of a highly educated man. 82. Among these
were Thales of Miletus, Pittacus of Mitylene, Bias of Priene, our own
Solon, Cleobulus of Lindus, Myson of Chene, and the seventh among them
was reckoned the Lacedæmonian Chilo. These all were emulators, lovers,
and disciples of the Lacedæmonian education, and any one may discover
that their wisdom was of this kind, brief and memorable sayings uttered
by each of them. These men also, having met together, consecrated the
first-fruits of their wisdom to Apollo in the temple at Delphi,
inscribing those sentences which all men have in their mouths: ‘Know
thyself,’ and ‘Nothing in extremes.’
“But why do I mention these things? To shew that this was the mode of
philosophy among the ancients, a certain laconic brevity of diction.
Amongst the rest this particular saying of Pittacus was noised abroad,
being extolled by the wise men: ‘It is difficult to be good.’ Simonides,
therefore, as being ambitious of a reputation for wisdom, knew that if
he could overthrow this saying, as if it were a famous wrestler, and
could master it, he himself would become famous amongst the men of his
own time. In opposition to this sentence, therefore, and with this
object, designing to put it down, he composed the whole of this ode, as
it appears to me.
83. “Let all of us, however, examine it together, to see whether what I
say is true. For the very commencement of the ode would appear to be
insane, if, wishing to say that it is difficult to become a good man, he
had afterwards inserted the particle ‘indeed.’ For this appears to have
been inserted for no purpose whatever, unless we suppose that Simonides
is speaking as if he were quarrelling with the saying of Pittacus; and
that when Pittacus says, that ‘it is difficult to be good,’ he,
disputing this, says, ‘Not so,’ but it is indeed difficult, Pittacus, to
become good in very truth; not ‘truly good.’ For he does not use the
word truly in this way, as if some men were truly good, and others good
indeed, but not truly so, for this would have been silly, and not worthy
of Simonides; but it is necessary to transpose the word ‘truly’ in the
ode, understanding the saying of Pittacus somewhat as follows, as if we
were to make Pittacus himself speak, and Simonides answer, saying, ‘O
men, it is difficult to be good,’ but the latter answers, ‘Pittacus,
your assertion is not true: for not to be, but to become indeed a good
man, square as to one’s hands and feet, and mind, fashioned without
blame, is truly difficult.’ Thus it appears that the particle ‘indeed’
is inserted with good reason, and that the word ‘truly’ is rightly
placed at the end. And all that follows bears witness to this, that such
is the meaning. 84. Many things might be said to prove with respect to
each several passage in this ode, that it is well composed; for it is
very elegant and elaborate; but it would be too long to go through the
whole of it in this way. Let us then consider its whole outline and
design, which is nothing else than a refutation of the saying of
Pittacus throughout the ode. For he says shortly after this, proceeding
as if he would say, to become a good man is truly difficult, it is
possible however for a certain time: but having become to continue in
this condition, and to be a good man, as you say, Pittacus, is
impossible and more than human, but God alone possesses this privilege;
‘but it cannot be that a man should be otherwise than evil, whomsoever
irresistible calamity prostrates.’ 85. Whom, then, does irresistible
calamity prostrate in the command of a ship? Clearly not a private
person, for the private person is always prostrate; as therefore no one
can throw down a man who is lying on the ground, but sometimes one may
throw down one who is standing upright, so as to make him lie on the
ground, but not one already lying there, so an irresistible calamity may
sometimes prostrate a skilful man, but never one who is always
unskilful; and a violent storm bursting on a pilot may make his skill of
no avail, and a bad season befalling a farmer may make his skill of no
avail, and the same with a physician: for it befals a good man to become
evil, as is also testified by another poet, who says, ‘A good man is
sometimes evil, and sometimes good:’ but it does not befal the evil to
become so, but he must needs always be so. So that when an irresistible
calamity prostrates a skilful, wise, and good man, it is not possible
for him not to be evil; but you say, Pittacus, that it is difficult to
be good; but the difficulty is to become good, though it is possible,
but impossible to be so. 86. ‘For every man who fares well is good, but
evil if he fares ill.’ What then is faring well with respect to
literature? and what makes a man good in literature? Clearly the being
instructed in it. What faring well makes a good physician? Clearly the
being instructed in the art of curing the sick. ‘And evil if he fares
ill.’ Who then would become an evil physician? Clearly he to whom it
happens first to be a physician, and then a good physician; for he may
become an evil physician. But we who are ignorant of the medical art,
can never by faring ill become either physicians, or builders, or any
thing else of the kind; but whoever cannot become a physician by faring
ill, clearly cannot become an evil physician. Thus also a good man may
sometime or other become evil, either from length of time, or labour, or
disease, or some other accident, for this alone is a faring ill, to be
deprived of knowledge, but the evil man can never become evil, for he is
always so; but if he is to become evil, it is necessary for him first to
become good. So that this part of the ode tends to this, that it is not
possible to be a good man, so as to continue good; but that it is
possible to become good, and for the same person to become evil: ‘and
they are for the longest time best whom the gods love.’
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 hope, 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 of 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 these 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 before 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.”
-----
Footnote 103:
Iliad x. 224.
Footnote 104:
Iliad x. 225.
-----
96. “But I,” he said, “tell you, Socrates, that all these are parts 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?”
“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.
“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 operations 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,’ they 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 than 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 friends, ‘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 not 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 would 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?’ Would the men
upon this admit that the art of mensuration preserves us, or some other
art?”