good fathers should turn out bad, or of bad fathers, good, since even the sons of Polycletus, who are of the same age with Paralus and Xanthippus here, are nothing compared with their father, and so with respect to the sons of other artists; these youths, however, do not yet deserve to be blamed in this respect; for we have still hopes in them, as they are young.”
49. Protagoras having made such and so long a display, ceased speaking; and I, having continued for a long time enchanted, still looked at him, expecting that he would say something more, and desiring to hear him.
But when I perceived that he had in reality ceased, I with difficulty collected myself, and looking towards Hippocrates, said, “O son of Apollodorus, how thankful I am to you for having urged me to come hither; for I esteem it a great privilege to have heard what I have heard from Protagoras; for before this, I thought it was no human care by which good men become good, but now I am persuaded that it is.
However, I feel a slight difficulty, which, doubtless, Protagoras will easily explain, since he has explained so much. For if any one should converse with any one of the popular orators on these subjects, he would perhaps hear similar arguments, as from Pericles, for instance, or some other able speaker; but if he should ask them any further questions, like books they are unable either to give an answer or to ask any question themselves. And if one should put any trifling question to them respecting what has been said, as brass when struck sounds for a long time, and prolongs its sound, unless some one lays hold of it, so these orators, when asked some trifling question, answer in a speech drawn out to a great length. 50. But Protagoras here is able to make long and beautiful speeches, as the fact proves, and is also able, when asked a question, to answer briefly, and when questioning, to wait and receive the answer, which are qualities possessed but by a few. Now then, Protagoras, I need a trifle only, so that I shall have all I want if you will answer me this. You say that virtue may be taught; and I, if I could be persuaded by any man, should be persuaded by you. But, what I wondered at your saying, satisfy my mind as to that. For you said that Jupiter sent justice and shame to men; and afterwards, in many parts of your discourse, justice, temperance, holiness, and all qualities of that kind, were spoken of by you, as if they were collectively one thing, virtue. Therefore explain this accurately to me, whether virtue is one thing, and justice, temperance, and holiness, parts of it; or whether these that I have now mentioned are all names of one and the same thing.
This is what I still want to know.”
51. “But it is easy,” said he, “Socrates, to answer this question, that the qualities about which you ask are parts of virtue, which is one thing.”
“Whether,” said I, “are they parts like the parts of a face, the mouth, nose, eyes, and ears; or like the parts of gold, which in no respect differ from each other and from the whole, except in magnitude and littleness?”
“Like the former, it appears to me Socrates, as the parts of the face are to the whole face.”
“Whether, then,” said I, “do men possess these parts of virtue, some one and others another part? or is it necessary that he who has received one should have all?”
“By no means,” he replied, “since many men are brave, but unjust, and again just, but not wise.”
“Are these, then, parts of virtue,” said I, “wisdom and courage?”
“Most assuredly,” he replied, “and wisdom is chief of all the parts.”
“And is every one of them,” said I, “different from every other?”
“Yes.”
“And has each of them its proper function, like the parts of the face?
For instance, an eye is not like the ears, nor is its function the same; nor is any one of the others like any other, either as to its function, or in any other respect. Thus, then, with the parts of virtue, is not any one like any other, either in itself, or in its function? Is it not clear that such is the case, since it resembles our example?”
“Such is the case, Socrates,” he replied.
52. Then I said, “Therefore none of the other parts of virtue are like science, or like justice, or like courage, or like temperance, or like holiness.”
“No,” he said.
“Come then,” said I, “let us examine together what the character of each of them is. And first of all, thus; is justice a thing, or not a thing?
to me it appears to be a thing; but what does it appear to you to be?”
“To me also it appears to be a thing,” he replied.
“What then? If some one were to ask you and me, ‘Protagoras and Socrates, tell me with respect to this very thing which you have just now named, justice, whether is it in itself just or unjust?’ I should answer him that it is just: but what decision would you give? the same as mine, or different?”
“The same,” he replied.
“‘Justice, then, is precisely similar to being just,’ I should say in answer to one who asked the question. And would not you, too?”
“Yes,” he said.
“If, then, after this, he should ask us, ‘Do you not also say that holiness is something?’ we should reply, I think that we do?”
“Yes,” he said.
“‘Do you not say that this too is a thing?’ should we say it is, or not?”
He allowed that we should say it is.
“‘But whether do you say that this very thing is of such a nature as to be unholy, or holy?’ I for my part,” I said, “should be indignant at the question, and should say, ‘Speak properly, my good sir, for scarcely could any thing else be holy, if holiness itself be not holy.’ But what should you say? should not you give the same answer?”
“Certainly,” he said.
“If, then, after this, he should ask us, and say, ‘What then did you mean a little while ago? Or did I not hear you aright? For you appeared to me to say that the parts of virtue are so disposed to each other, that no one of them resembles any other;’ I, for my part should reply, ‘In other respects you heard aright, but in thinking that I too said this, you were mistaken; for Protagoras gave this answer, and I put the question.’ If then he should say, ‘Does he speak the truth, Protagoras; do you say that no one part of virtue is like any other of its parts? Is this your assertion?’ what answer would you give him?”
“I must needs admit it, Socrates,” he replied.
“After admitting this, Protagoras, what answer should we give him, if he further asked us, ‘Is not holiness then of such a nature as to be a just thing, nor justice such as to be a holy thing, but such as to be not holy; and holiness such as to be not just, but unjust, and the former unholy? What answer should we give him? I, for myself, should say both that justice is holy, and holiness just. And for you, if you would permit me, I should make the very same answer, that justice is the same with holiness, or very like it, and that justice bears the nearest possible resemblance to holiness, and holiness to justice. But consider whether you would forbid me to give this answer, or does it seem so to you also?”
“It does not altogether appear to me, Socrates,” he said, “to be so absolutely true, that I can grant that justice is holy, and holiness just; but there appears to me to be a difference between them. However what matters that?” he continued: “if you wish it, let it be admitted between us that justice is holy, and holiness just.”
55. “Not so,” I replied, “for I do not require to examine into an ‘If you wish it,’ and ‘If you think so,’ but into what I think and what you think; but in saying ‘what I think and what you think,’ I mean this, I am of opinion that our argument will be best discussed if we put it out of the question altogether.”
“Well then,” he said, “justice has some resemblance to holiness, for every thing resembles every other thing in some respect, for white in some sort resembles black, and hard, soft, and so with respect to other things which appear to be most contrary to each other; and the things which we just now said have different functions, and are not the one like the other, as the parts of the face do in a certain respect resemble each other; so that in this way you could prove this, if you pleased, that all things are similar to each other; yet it is not right to call things that have a certain similarity, similar, nor things that have a certain dissimilarity, dissimilar, though the similarity is very trifling.”
56. And I, wondering, said to him, “Do you think then that the just and the holy are so related to each other, that they have but a trifling similarity to one another?”
“Not quite so,” he said, “nor on the other hand do I consider them in the same way as you appear to me to do.”
“However,” said I, “since you appear to me to be vexed at this, we will dismiss it, and consider this of the other things that you said. Do you call folly any thing?”
He admitted he did.
“And is not wisdom the direct contrary to this thing?”
“It appears so to me,” he replied.
“But when men act rightly and profitably, do they then appear to you to act temperately[97], in so acting, or the contrary[98]?”
----- Footnote 97: Cousin has well remarked that σωφροσύνη, which Socrates opposes to ἀφροσύνη, means both _temperance_ and _prudence_. We, as well as the French, have no single word that expresses both ideas at once. I have therefore, in imitation of Cousin, adopted the word _temperance_ throughout this part of the dialogue, for otherwise the dilemma to which Socrates brings his antagonist would be lost sight of, for he now compels him to admit that _temperance_ and _wisdom_ which he before distinguished from each other, are identical. Mr. Wright, in his scholar-like version of this dialogue, has used the word _discretion_ throughout, but it appears to me scarce worthy to be exalted into a virtue that is the twin-sister of wisdom. Further on, as will be noticed, I have also followed Cousin in translating σωφροσύνη prudence.
Footnote 98: I have followed Stallbaum’s reading, who omits εἰ and ἔπραττον.
----- “To act temperately,” he replied.
“And are they not temperate by temperance?”
“Necessarily so.”
“Do not they, then, who act wrongly, act foolishly, and are they not intemperate in so acting?”
“I agree with you,” he said.
“Acting foolishly, then, is the contrary to acting temperately.”
He said it was.
“Are not, therefore, things which are done foolishly, done through folly, and things done temperately through temperance?”
He agreed.
“If then any thing is done through strength, is it not done strongly, and if through weakness, weakly?”
“It appears so.”
“And if any thing is done with swiftness, swiftly, and if with slowness, slowly?”
He said it was.
“And if any thing is done in the same manner, is it not done by the same means, and if in a contrary manner by the contrary means?”
He granted it.
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.”
“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?”
“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?”
“But does it appear to you to have been composed beautifully if the poet contradicts himself?”
“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?”
“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.’”
----- 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