Complete Works (168 page)

“Yes.”

“And diametrically opposed to it is wisdom?”

“It seems so to me.”

“And when people act correctly and beneficially, do they seem to you to be acting temperately or the opposite?”

“Temperately.”

“Then it is by temperance that they act temperately?”

“It has to be.” [b]

“And those who do not act correctly act foolishly, and those who act this way do not act temperately?”

“I agree.”

”And the opposite of acting foolishly is acting temperately?”

“Yes.”

“And foolish behavior is done with folly, just as temperate behavior is done with temperance?”

“Yes.”

“And if something is done with strength, it is done strongly; if done with weakness, it is done weakly?”

“I agree.”

“If it is done with quickness, it is done quickly, and if with slowness, slowly?”

“Yes.”

“So whatever is done in a certain way is done from a certain quality, [c] and whatever is done in the opposite way is done from its opposite?”

“I agree.”

“Then let’s go. Is there such a thing as beauty?”

“Yes.”

“Is there any opposite to it except ugliness?”

“There is not.”

“Is there such a thing as goodness?”

“There is.”

“Is there any opposite to it except badness?”

“There is not.”

“Is there such a thing as a shrill tone?”

“There is.”

“Is there any opposite to it except a deep tone?”

“No, there is not.”

“So for each thing that can have an opposite, there is only one opposite, [d] not many?”

“I agree.”

“Suppose we now count up our points of agreement. Have we agreed that there is one opposite for one thing, and no more?”

“Yes, we have.”

“And that what is done in an opposite way is done from opposites?”

“Yes.”

“And have we agreed that what is done foolishly is done in a way opposite to what is done temperately?”

“We have.”

“And that what is done temperately is done from temperance, and what is done foolishly is done from folly?”

“Agreed.”

[e] “And it’s true that if it’s done in an opposite way, it is done from an opposite?”

“Yes.”

“And one is done from temperance, the other from folly?”

“Yes.”

“In an opposite way?”

“Yes.”

“From opposites?”

“Yes.”

“Then folly is the opposite of temperance?”

“It seems so.”

“Well, then, do you recall our previous agreement that folly is the opposite of wisdom?”

“Yes, I do.”

“And that one thing has only one opposite?”

“Of course.”

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“Then which of these propositions should we abandon, Protagoras? The proposition that for one thing there is only one opposite, or the one stating that wisdom is different from temperance and that each is a part of virtue, and that in addition to being distinct they are dissimilar, both in themselves and in their powers or functions, just like the parts of a face? Which should we abandon? The two statements are dissonant; they [b] are not in harmony with one another. How could they be, if there is one and only one opposite for each single thing, while folly, which is a single thing, evidently has two opposites, wisdom and temperance? Isn’t this how it stands, Protagoras?”

He assented, although very grudgingly, and I continued:

“Wouldn’t that make wisdom and temperance one thing? And a little while ago it looked like justice and piety were nearly the same thing. Come on, Protagoras, we can’t quit now, not before we’ve tied up these loose ends. So, does someone who acts unjustly seem temperate to you in that he acts unjustly?”

[c] “I would be ashamed to say that is so, Socrates, although many people do say it.”

“Then shall I address myself to them or to you?”

“If you like, why don’t you debate the majority position first?”

“It makes no difference to me, provided you give the answers, whether it is your own opinion or not. I am primarily interested in testing the argument, although it may happen both that the questioner, myself, and my respondent wind up being tested.”

At first Protagoras played it coy, claiming the argument was too hard [d] for him to handle, but after a while he consented to answer.

“Let’s start all over, then,” I said, “with this question. Do you think some people are being sensible
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when they act unjustly?”

“Let us grant it,” he said.

“And by ‘sensible’ you mean having good sense?”

“Yes.”

“And having good sense means having good judgment in acting unjustly?”

“Granted.”

“Whether or not they get good results by acting unjustly?”

“Only if they get good results.”

“Are you saying, then, that there are things that are good?”

“I am.”

“These good things constitute what is advantageous to people?”

“Good God, yes! And even if they are not advantageous to people, I [e] can still call them good.”

I could see that Protagoras was really worked up and struggling by now and that he was dead set against answering any more. Accordingly, I carefully modified the tone of my questions.

“Do you mean things that are advantageous to no human being, Protagoras,
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or things that are of no advantage whatsoever? Do you call things like that good?”

“Of course not,” he said. “But I know of many things that are disadvantageous to humans, foods and drinks and drugs and many other things, and some that are advantageous; some that are neither to humans but one or the other to horses; some that are advantageous only to cattle; some only to dogs; some that are advantageous to none of these but are so to trees; some that are good for the roots of a tree, but bad for its shoots, such as [b] manure, which is good spread on the roots of any plant but absolutely ruinous if applied to the new stems and branches. Or take olive oil, which is extremely bad for all plants and is the worst enemy of the hair of all animals except humans, for whose hair it is beneficial, as it is for the rest of their bodies. But the good is such a multifaceted and variable thing that, in the case of oil, it is good for the external parts of the human body [c] but very bad for the internal parts, which is why doctors universally forbid their sick patients to use oil in their diets except for the least bit, just enough to dispel a prepared meal’s unappetizing aroma.”

When the applause for this speech of Protagoras had died down, I said, “Protagoras, I tend to be a forgetful sort of person, and if someone speaks [d] to me at length I tend to forget the subject of the speech. Now, if I happened to be hard of hearing and you were going to converse with me, you would think you had better speak louder to me than to others. In the same way, now that you have fallen in with a forgetful person, you will have to cut your answers short if I am going to follow you.”

“How short are you ordering me to make my answers? Shorter than necessary?”

“By no means.”

“As long as necessary?”

[e] “Yes.”

“Then should I answer at the length I think necessary or the length you think necessary?”

“Well, I have heard, anyway, that when you are instructing someone
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in a certain subject, you are able to speak at length, if you choose, and never get off the subject, or to speak so briefly that no one could be briefer. So if you are going to converse with me, please use the latter form of expression, brevity.”

“Socrates, I have had verbal contests with many people, and if I were to accede to your request and do as my opponent demanded, I would not be thought superior to anyone, nor would Protagoras be a name to be reckoned with among the Greeks.”

[b] I could see he was uncomfortable with his previous answers and that he would no longer be willing to go on answering in a dialectical discussion, so I considered my work with him to be finished, and I said so: “You know, Protagoras, I’m not exactly pleased myself that our session has not gone the way you think it should. But if you are ever willing to hold a discussion in such a way that I can follow, I will participate in it with you. People say of you—and you say yourself—that you are able to discuss [c] things speaking either at length or briefly. You are a wise man, after all. But I don’t have the ability to make those long speeches: I only wish I did. It was up to you, who have the ability to do both, to make this concession, so that the discussion could have had a chance. But since you’re not willing, and I’m somewhat busy and unable to stay for your extended speeches—there’s somewhere I have to go—I’ll be leaving now. Although I’m sure it would be rather nice to hear them.”

[d] Having had my say, I stood up to go, but as I was getting up, Callias took hold of my wrist with his right hand and grasped this cloak I’m wearing with his left. “We won’t let you go, Socrates,” he said. “Our discussions wouldn’t be the same without you, so please stay here with us, I beg you. There’s nothing I would rather hear than you and Protagoras in debate. Please do us all a favor.”

[e] By now I was on my feet and really making as if to leave. I said, “Son of Hipponicus, I have always admired your love of wisdom, and I especially honor and hold it dear now. I would be more than willing to gratify you, if you would ask me something that is possible for me. As it is, you might as well be asking me to keep up with Crison of Himera, the champion sprinter, or to compete with the distance runners, or match strides with the couriers who run all day long. What could I say, except that I want it
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for myself more than you want it for me, but I simply cannot match these runners’ pace, and if you want to watch me running in the same race with Crison, you must ask him to slow down to my speed, since I am not able to run fast, but he is able to run slowly. So if you have your heart set on hearing me and Protagoras, you must ask him to answer my questions now as he did at the outset—briefly. If he doesn’t, what turn will our [b] dialogue take? To me, the mutual exchange of a dialogue is something quite distinct from a public address.”

“But you see, Socrates, Protagoras has a point when he says that he ought to be allowed, no less than you, to conduct the discussion as he sees fit.”

At this point Alcibiades jumped in and said: “You’re not making sense, Callias. Socrates admits that long speeches are beyond him and concedes [c] to Protagoras on that score. But when it comes to dialectical discussion and understanding the give and take of argument, I would be surprised if he yields to anyone. Now, if Protagoras admits that he is Socrates’ inferior in dialectic, that should be enough for Socrates. But if he contests the point, let him engage in a question-and-answer dialogue and not spin out a long speech every time he answers, fending off the issues because he doesn’t want to be accountable, and going on and on until most of the listeners [d] have forgotten what the question was about, although I guarantee you Socrates won’t forget, no matter how he jokes about his memory. So I think that Socrates has a stronger case. Each of us ought to make clear his own opinion.”

After Alcibiades it was Critias, I think, who spoke next: “Well, Prodicus and Hippias, it seems to be that Callias is very much on Protagoras’ side, [e] while Alcibiades as usual wants to be on the winning side of a good fight. But there’s no need for any of us to lend partisan support to either Socrates or Protagoras. We should instead join in requesting them both not to break up our meeting prematurely.”

Prodicus spoke up next: “That’s well said, Critias. Those who attend
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discussions such as this ought to listen impartially, but not equally, to both interlocutors. There is a distinction here. We ought to listen impartially but not divide our attention equally: More should go to the wiser speaker and less to the more unlearned. For my part, I think that the two of you [b] ought to debate the issues, but dispense with eristics. Friends debate each other on good terms; eristics are for enemies at odds. In this way our meeting would take a most attractive turn, for you, the speakers, would then most surely earn the good opinion, rather than the praise, of those of us listening to you. For a good opinion is guilelessly inherent in the souls of the listeners, but praise is all too often merely a deceitful verbal expression. And then, too, we, your audience, would be most cheered, but [c] not pleased, for to be cheered is to learn something, to participate in some intellectual activity, and is a mental state; but to be pleased has to do with eating or experiencing some other pleasure in one’s body.”

Prodicus’ remarks were enthusiastically received by the majority of us, and then the wise Hippias spoke: “Gentlemen, I regard all of you here [d] present as kinsmen, intimates, and fellow citizens by nature, not by convention. For like is akin to like by nature, but convention, which tyrannizes the human race, often constrains us contrary to nature. Therefore it would be disgraceful for us to understand the nature of things and not—being as we are the wisest of the Greeks and gathered here together in this veritable hall of wisdom, in this greatest and most august house of the [e] city itself—not, I say, produce anything worthy of all this dignity, but bicker with each other as if we were the dregs of society. I therefore implore and counsel you, Protagoras and Socrates, to be reconciled and to compromise, under our arbitration, as it were, on some middle course.
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You, Socrates, must not insist on that precise, excessively brief form of discussion if it does not suit Protagoras, but rather allow free rein to the speeches, so that they might communicate to us more impressively and elegantly. And you, Protagoras, must not let out full sail in the wind and leave the land behind to disappear into the Sea of Rhetoric. Both of you [b] must steer a middle course. So that’s what you shall do, and take my advice and choose a referee or moderator or supervisor who will monitor for you the length of your speeches.”

Everyone there thought this was a fine idea and gave it their approval. Callias said he wouldn’t let me go, and they requested me to choose a moderator. I said it would be unseemly to choose someone to umpire our speeches. “If the person chosen is going to be our inferior, it is not right for an inferior to supervise his superiors. If he’s our peer that’s no good [c] either, because he will do the same as we would and be superfluous. Choose someone who’s our superior? I honestly think it’s impossible for you to choose someone wiser than Protagoras. And if you choose someone who is not his superior but claim that he is, then you’re insulting him. Protagoras is just not the insignificant sort of person for whom you appoint a supervisor. For myself, I don’t care one way or another. But you have your heart set on this conference and these discussions proceeding, and [d] if that’s going to happen, this is what I want to do. If Protagoras is not willing to answer questions, let him ask them, and I will answer, and at the same time I will try to show him how I think the answerer ought to answer. When I’ve answered all the questions he wishes to ask, then it’s his turn to be accountable to me in the same way. So if he doesn’t seem ready and willing to answer the actual question asked, you and I will unite in urgently requesting him, as you have requested me, not to ruin [e] our conference. This will not require any one supervisor, since you will all supervise together.”