Part 101

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

He nodded assent.

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

He said it was.

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

And here he still nodded assent.

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

He, here, with great difficulty, nodded assent.

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

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

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

“Do you conclude the subject,” he said.

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

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

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

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

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

Having said and heard these things, we departed.

INTRODUCTION TO THE PHÆDRUS.

Phædrus, whom we have already met with among the followers of the sophist Hippias, happening to meet with Socrates, tells him that he has just left the orator Lysias, who had written and recited a speech on the subject of love, in which he argued that a youth ought rather to shew favour to one who is not in love than to one who is. Socrates, who pretends to be very anxious to hear the speech, begs Phædrus to repeat it from memory as well as he is able, for he cannot doubt but that he has learnt it by heart, so great is his admiration for its author. Phædrus affects shyness, though in reality desirous of practising himself on Socrates: at length, however, Socrates discovers that he has a copy of it under his cloak, so they proceed on their walk, talking by the way, till they reach a plane-tree on the banks of the Ilissus, outside the walls of Athens, under whose ample shade they lie down.

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Footnote 105:

See the Protagoras, § 17.

Footnote 106:

§ 1-10.

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Phædrus reads the speech, which in addition to the faults of obscurity, inconclusiveness, and tautology, takes a very low and sensual view of the passion of love. When it is ended, Phædrus asks Socrates what he thinks of it, and whether it is not a wonderful composition, especially as to the language. Socrates at first praises it ironically, but on being pressed by Phædrus points out some of its faults, and says that even Lysias himself could not be satisfied with it, and that many others have both spoken and written finer things on the same subject, with which at that very instant his breast is full. Phædrus catches at this, and insists on Socrates repeating these fine things, promising that if he says any thing that excels the speech of Lysias he will erect his statue in gold in Olympia.

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