The Debate Between Socrates and Protagoras

The salvation of human life has been found to consist in the right choice of pleasures and pains,—in the choice of the more and the fewer, and the greater and the less, and the nearer and remoter.

This measuring is a consideration of their excess and defect and equality in relation to each other.

This, as possessing measure, is undeniably also an art and science.

The nature of that art or science will be a matter of future consideration. But the existence of such a science furnishes a demonstrative answer to the question which you asked of me and Protagoras.

At the time when you asked the question, both of us agreed that:

• there was nothing mightier than knowledge, and
• knowledge has the advantage over pleasure and all other things

Then you said that pleasure often got the advantage even over a man who has knowledge.

We refused to allow this, and you rejoined:

O Protagoras and Socrates, what is the meaning of being overcome by pleasure if not this?—tell us what you call such a state:

if we had immediately and at the time answered ‘Ignorance,’ you would have laughed at us. But now, in laughing at us, you will be laughing at yourselves:

for you also admitted that men err in their choice of pleasures and pains; that is, in their choice of good and evil, from defect of knowledge; and you admitted further, that they err, not only from defect of knowledge in general, but of that particular knowledge which is called measuring. And you are also aware that the erring act which is done without knowledge is done in ignorance.

This, therefore, is the meaning of being overcome by pleasure.

Ignorance, and that the greatest.

Protagoras, Prodicus, and Hippias declare that they are the physicians of ignorance.

But you, who are under the mistaken impression that ignorance is not the cause, and that the art of which I am speaking cannot be taught, neither go yourselves, nor send your children, to the Sophists, who are the teachers of these things—you take care of your money and give them none.

The result is, that you are the worse off both in public and private life.

Hippias, Prodicus, Protagoras, am I speaking the truth or not?

Then you agree that the pleasant is the good, and the painful evil.

Here I would beg my friend Prodicus not to introduce his distinction of names, whether he is disposed to say pleasurable, delightful, joyful.

However, by whatever name he prefers to call them, I will ask you, most excellent Prodicus, to answer in my sense of the words.

Then, my friends, all actions are honourable and useful if they tend to make life painless and pleasant. The honourable work is also useful and good.

If the pleasant is the good, nobody does anything under the idea or conviction that some other thing would be better and is also attainable, when he might do the better.

This inferiority of a man to himself is merely ignorance, as the superiority of a man to himself is wisdom.

Ignorance is the having of a false opinion and being deceived about important matters.

Then, no man voluntarily pursues evil, or that which he thinks to be evil.

To prefer evil to good is not in human nature; and when a man is compelled to choose one of two evils, no one will choose the greater when he may have the less.

There is a certain thing called fear or terror. Here, Prodicus, I should particularly like to know whether you would agree with me in defining this fear or terror as expectation of evil.

Never mind, Prodicus.

If our former assertions are true, then a man will pursue that which he fears even if he is not compelled.

This would flatly contradict the admission we already made, that he thinks the things which he fears to be evil. No one will pursue or voluntarily accept that which he thinks to be evil.

Then these, Hippias and Prodicus, are our premisses. Protagoras, please to explain to us how he can be right in what he said at first.

I do not mean in what he said quite at first, for his first statement, as you may remember, was that whereas there were five parts of virtue none of them was like any other of them; each of them had a separate function.

To this, however, I am not referring, but to the assertion which he afterwards made that of the five virtues four were nearly akin to each other, but that the fifth, which was courage, differed greatly from the others.

My only object in continuing the discussion has been the desire to ascertain the nature and relations of virtue; for if this were clear, I am very sure that the other controversy which has been carried on at great length by both of us—you affirming and I denying that virtue can be taught—would also become clear. The result of our discussion appears to me to be singular.

For if the argument had a human voice, that voice would be heard laughing at us and saying: ‘Protagoras and Socrates, you are strange beings; there are you, Socrates, who were saying that virtue cannot be taught, contradicting yourself now by your attempt to prove that all things are knowledge, including justice, and temperance, and courage,—which tends to show that virtue can certainly be taught; for if virtue were other than knowledge, as Protagoras attempted to prove, then clearly virtue cannot be taught; but if virtue is entirely knowledge, as you are seeking to show, then I cannot but suppose that virtue is capable of being taught.

I perceive this terrible confusion of our ideas which I want to be cleared up. I will carry on the discussion until we ascertain what virtue is, whether capable of being taught or not, lest haply Epimetheus should trip us up and deceive us in the argument, as he forgot us in the story.

I prefer your Prometheus to your Epimetheus, for of him I make use, whenever I am busy about these questions, in Promethean care of my own life. And if you have no objection, as I said at first, I should like to have your help in the enquiry.