Now what is good faring in letters—the thing that makes a man good at them? Clearly, the study of letters. What welfare makes a good doctor? Clearly, the study of the cure of the ailing. Bad, if ill: who could become a bad doctor? Clearly, he who in the first place is a doctor, and in the second, a good doctor; for he could become a bad one also: whereas we, who are laymen in respect of medicine, could never by faring ill become either doctors or joiners or anything else of that sort; and if one cannot become a doctor by faring ill, clearly one cannot become a bad one either. In the same way the good man may one day become bad through the effect either of time or work or illness or some other accident; for there is only one sort of ill fare—the deprivation of knowledge. But the bad man can never become bad: he is that always. If he is to become bad, he must previously become good. Hence the upshot of this part of the poem is that it is impossible to be a good man, continuing to be good, but possible to become good, and bad also, in the case of the same person. And then—Best also for the longest space are they whom the gods love. ¹

All this has been said with reference to Pittacus, as is made still plainer by the ensuing verses, in which he says— Therefore never shall I, in quest of what cannot come to pass, vainly cast my life’s lot upon a hope impracticable—of finding a man wholly blameless amongst us who partake of the fruit of the broad-based earth. If I light upon him, be sure I will report it— ² says he; and in this vehement tone he pursues the saying of Pittacus all through the poem: But I praise and love everyone willingly committing no baseness; for against necessity not even the gods make war. ³ This also is spoken with the same intent. For Simonides was not so ill-educated as to say that he praised a person who willingly did no evil, as though there were some who did evil willingly. I am fairly sure of this—that none of the wise men considers that anybody ever willingly errs or willingly does base and evil deeds; they are well aware that all who do base and evil things do them unwillingly; and so Simonides does not say he gives his praise to the person who willingly does no evil, but uses the word “willingly” of himself.

For he considered that a man of sense and honor often constrains himself to become a friend and approver of some person, as when a man chances to have an uncongenial mother or father or country or other such connexion. Now when this sort of thing befalls the wicked, they seem glad to see their parents’ or country’s faults, and complainingly point them out and inveigh against them, in order that their own neglect of them may not be denounced by their neighbors, who might otherwise reproach them for being so neglectful; and hence they multiply their complaints and add voluntary to unavoidable feuds. But good men, he knew, conceal the trouble and constrain themselves to praise, and if they have any reason to be angered against their parents or country for some wrong done to them they pacify and conciliate their feelings, compelling themselves to love and praise their own people. And many a time, I think, Simonides was conscious that he had praised and eulogized some tyrant or other such person, not willingly, but under compulsion. So he proceeds to tell Pittacus—I, Pittacus, do not reproach you merely because I am apt to reproach, since—For my part I am content with whosoever is not evil or too intractable. He who knows Right, the support of a city, is a healthy man; him I shall never blame, for to blame I am not apt. Infinite is the race of fools. ⁴ So that whoever delights in reproaching would have his fill of blaming them: Verily, all things are fair that have in them no admixture of base. By this he does not mean to say, as it were, that all things are white that have no admixture of black; that would be ridiculous in many ways; but that he himself accepts the average sort without reproaching them. I do not seek, said he, a man wholly blameless amongst us who partake of the fruit of the broad-based earth: if I light upon him, be sure I will report it—meaning, “If I wait for that, I shall never find anyone to praise. No, I am content if a man be average and do nothing evil, since I love and praise all”—and there he has used a Mytilenaean word,⁵ for his “I praise and love all willingly” is addressed to Pittacus (here at “willingly” one should make a pause);—“all who commit nothing base, but some there are whom I praise and love unwillingly.”

“Hence I should never reproach you, Pittacus, if you would only speak what is moderately reasonable and true. But as it is, since you lie so grievously about the greatest matters with an air of speaking the truth, on this score I reproach you.”

Such is my view, Prodicus and Protagoras, I said, of Simonides’ intention in composing this ode.

Then Hippias remarked: It certainly seems to me, Socrates, that you have given a good exposition of the poem: but I also have an elegant discourse upon it, which I will perform for you if you wish.

Alcibiades Yes, Hippias, said Alcibiades, but some other time: for the moment the proper thing, according to the agreement which Protagoras and Socrates made between them, will be for Socrates to answer any questions that Protagoras may still wish to put to him, but if he prefers to answer Socrates, then it will be for Socrates to ask.

On this I remarked: For my part I place it in Protagoras’s hands to do whichever he likes best. But if he does not mind, let us talk no more of poems and verses, but consider the points on which I questioned you at first, Protagoras, and on which I should be glad to reach, with your help, a conclusion. For it seems to me that arguing about poetry is comparable to the wine-parties of common market-folk. These people, owing to their inability to carry on a familiar conversation over their wine by means of their own voices and discussions— such is their lack of education—put a premium on flute-girls by hiring the extraneous voice of the flute at a high price, and carry on their intercourse by means of its utterance. But where the party consists of thorough gentlemen who have had a proper education, you will see neither flute-girls nor dancing-girls nor harp-girls, but only the company contenting themselves with their own conversation, and none of these fooleries and frolics—each speaking and listening decently in his turn, even though they may drink a great deal of wine. And so a gathering like this of ours, when it includes such men as most of us claim to be, requires no extraneous voices, not even of the poets, whom one cannot question on the sense of what they say; when they are adduced in discussion we are generally told by some that the poet thought so and so, and by others, something different, and they go on arguing about a matter which they are powerless to determine.

No, this sort of meeting is avoided by men of culture, who prefer to converse directly with each other, and to use their own way of speech in putting one another by turns to the test. It is this sort of person that I think you and I ought rather to imitate; putting the poets aside, let us hold our discussion together in our own persons, making trial of the truth and of ourselves. So if you wish to question me further, I am at your service as answerer; but if you like, put yourself at my service, so that we may clear up the several points of the inquiry in which we stopped half-way.

On my saying this and something more of the sort, Protagoras gave no indication as to which course he would take. So Alcibiades, looking at Callias, said: Do you consider, Callias, that Protagoras is behaving properly now in refusing to signify whether he will or will not answer? I do not think he is. Let him either debate or say that he does not want to debate, so that we may have this understanding with him; then Socrates can debate with someone else, or another of us with some other, as may be agreed.

Then Protagoras was ashamed, as it seemed to me, at these words of Alcibiades, and the more so when Callias requested him, together with almost the whole of the company; and so he reluctantly prevailed on himself to take up the debate, and asked to have questions put to him, since he was ready to answer.

So I proceeded to say—Protagoras, do not suppose that I have any other desire in debating with you than to examine the difficulties which occur to myself at each point. For I hold that there is a good deal in what Homer says— When two go together, one observes before the other; ⁶ for somehow it makes all of us human beings more resourceful in every deed or word or thought; but if one observes something alone, forthwith one has to go about searching until one discovers somebody to whom one can show it off and who can corroborate it. And I also have my reason for being glad to debate with you rather than with anyone else; it is that I regard you as the best person to investigate in general any matters that a sensible man may be expected to examine, and virtue in particular. Whom else should I choose but you? Not only do you consider yourself a worthy gentleman, like sundry other people, who are sensible enough themselves, but cannot make others so;