You don't appear to me to know that whoever comes into close contact with Socrates and associates with him in conversation must necessarily, even if he began by conversing about something quite different in the first place, keep on being led about by the man's arguments until he submits to answering questions about himself concerning both his present manner of life and the life he has lived hitherto. And when he does submit to this questioning, you don't realize that Socrates will not let him go before he has well and truly tested every last detail.
(187e–188a)
This is followed by Laches’ comment about being both a lover and a hater of discussion, which was quoted at the end of Chapter 1. When the man discussing wisdom or virtue lives in a way that is in harmony with his words, then Laches says he is delighted to converse with him. “Let Solon grant me this point, that the teacher should himself be good, so that I may not show myself a stupid pupil taking no delight in learning” (189a). Laches is happy to present himself to Socrates as a pupil because he knows, from shared experience on the battlefield, that Socrates is a good man.
The main discussion of the dialogue now begins. The question is “the manner in which virtue might be added to the souls of their [Lysimachus’ and Melesias’] sons to make them better” (190b); but this presupposes that we must begin with the question what virtue is. Since this might be too large a question, however, Socrates proposes that they should begin by examining a part of virtue, the part closest to the technique of fighting in armor, namely, what is courage? Laches, a general, responds as we might expect a general to do: “good heavens, Socrates, there is no difficulty about that: if a man is willing to remain at his post and to defend himself against the enemy without running away, then you may rest assured that he is a man of courage” (190e). (We may be certain that when one of Socrates’ interlocutors remarks that there is no difficulty in answering one of Socrates’ questions that he will soon be embroiled in a host of difficulties.) As in the case of Euthyphro's first answer to Socrates’ question, What is piety? Laches’ answer is too narrow: what about the Scythians, who fight on horseback, Socrates objects, or “those who are brave in dangers at sea, and the ones who show courage in illness and poverty and affairs of state, and … not only those who are brave in the face of pain and fear but also those who are clever at fighting desire and pleasure?” (191d–e)
Laches sees the point. His next suggestion is that courage is “a sort of endurance of the soul” (192c). But courage is a fine thing, and only endurance accompanied by wisdom is fine, objects Socrates; endurance accompanied by folly is harmful. So it is wise endurance that is courage; but what kind of wisdom? Not that involved in spending money, or in medicine; and the man who endures in battle because the odds favor him seems actually to be less courageous than the man who endures against all odds. In general, the less skilled soldier who endures seems braver than the more skilled; but this person also seems more foolish. The argument has reached a point similar to that reached at about the midpoint of the Euthyphro, and Laches expresses a similar frustration, saying that he is annoyed with himself for being unable to say what he thinks he knows.
The Laches: Virtue is Knowledge
At this point Nicias enters the argument. Here Plato introduces a Socratic doctrine into the context of an elenctic dialogue. In the Euthyphro it had been Socrates who advanced the argument by suggesting that piety was a part of justice; now it is Nicias who does so:
NICIAS:
I have been thinking for some time that you are not defining courage in the right way, Socrates. And you are not employing the excellent observation I have heard you make before now.
SOCRATES:
What one was that, Nicias?
NICIAS:
I have often heard you say that every one of us is good with respect to that in which he is wise and bad in respect to that in which he is ignorant.
SOCRATES:
By heaven, you are right, Nicias.
NICIAS:
Therefore, if a man is really courageous, it is clear that he is wise.
SOCRATES:
You hear that, Laches?
LACHES:
I do, but I don't understand exactly what he means.
SOCRATES:
Well, I think I understand him, and the man seems to me to be saying that courage is some kind of wisdom. (194c–d)
Nicias is able to make this suggestion because, as he has previously noted, he is familiar with Socrates. He goes on to say that courage is knowledge of “the fearful and the hopeful in war and in every other situation” (195a; my italics). To Laches, this is nonsense, for him, wisdom and courage are two different things. Are doctors courageous because they know what is to be feared in medicine? Are farmers, because they know what is fearful in farming? The courageous person, replies Nicias, knows for whom it is better to live than to die. This elicits the response from Laches that he must be speaking of seers, which Nicias denies. (Laches’ objections to Nicias’ position, which is really Socrates’ position, are the objections of a man of common sense to a Socratic paradox.)
Socrates takes over the examination of Nicias from Laches (which is somewhat awkward, since it is his own thesis that he is examining). After having elicited from him the claim that animals are not courageous, since they lack understanding, Socrates argues that what Nicias has defined is not courage, but rather “virtue entire,” as he puts it at 199e. Nicias has defined courage as knowledge of future evil, but there is not one kind of knowledge directed toward the past, another toward the present, and another toward the future; knowledge of past, present, and future evil is the same. So courage would be simply knowledge of good and evil; this is not a definition of courage, however, but of virtue in general. This contradicts our initial assumption that we were investigating a part of virtue. So we have not found out what courage is.
Nicias, it seems, has failed to define courage, but he has succeeded in defining virtue as knowledge of good and evil, the first of the Socratic paradoxes. But what does this definition mean? What kind of knowledge is he talking about? How can knowledge be virtue? Virtue is concerned with what I ought to do; how does knowledge of good and evil suffice to tell me that? These are questions that are clarified in the Protagoras.
The Protagoras: Protagoras’ Conception of Virtue
The Protagoras is a confrontation between Socrates and the greatest of the Sophists. I mentioned in Chapter 1 that Plato had a rather low opinion of the Sophists in general. He seems to have had a higher opinion of Protagoras. In this dialogue Protagoras presents a theory of virtue that is an alternative to the conception of virtue that Socrates holds, that virtue is expert knowledge. Though he is ultimately defeated in argument, throughout most of the dialogue he defends his view ably, and his alternative conception of virtue is never really refuted. I discussed the opening of the Protagoras in Chapter 1. Socrates accompanies young Hippocrates, who wants to study with Protagoras, to Callias’ house, where Protagoras is staying. Socrates asks Protagoras what Hippocrates will learn if he studies with him, and Protagoras responds, “sound deliberation, both in domestic matters – how best to manage one's household, and in public affairs – how to realize one's maximum potential for success in political debate and action” (319a); in Socrates’ words, the art of citizenship. Socrates objects that he did not think that this could be taught. When the Athenians debate in the assembly some question involving expert knowledge, they only allow experts to speak, but when it comes to city management, they allow anyone to offer advice. This is evidence that they do not think there is an art of civic management that can be taught. Then he mentions the problem that Lysimachus and Melesias faced in the Laches: virtuous parents do not produce virtuous children. This too indicates that virtue cannot be taught. Socrates concludes:
Looking at these things, Protagoras, I just don't think that virtue can be taught. But when I hear what you have to say, I waver; I think there must be something in what you are talking about. I consider you to be a
person of enormous experience who has learned much from others and thought through a great many things for himself. So if you can clarify for us how virtue is teachable, please don't begrudge us your explanation.
(320b)
Socrates has subtly modified the subject: we are not just talking about the art of civic management, but virtue. (Incidentally, I think that, for once, Socrates’ praise of Protagoras is not ironic. Protagoras’ account of virtue is one that is based on experience and Protagoras has thought matters through.)
Protagoras responds to Socrates’ challenge in his “Great Speech,” one of the longest speeches in the elenctic dialogues. The gist of his speech is that the political art, in the form of justice and a sense of shame, was given by Zeus to human beings so that they could live together in society. It is an art that all must possess, to some degree, if social life is to be possible. It is an art, but it is not an expert art, such as medicine, where one expert suffices for many persons. The political art is not expert knowledge, but common knowledge, like knowledge of Greek, which is taught by everyone. It is taught beginning at home, then in school, and finally in society at large, which teaches individuals to obey the law and punishes those who don't. “If there is someone who is the least bit more advanced in virtue than ourselves, he is to be cherished,” says Protagoras, and he concludes, “I consider myself to be just such a person, uniquely qualified to assist others in becoming noble and good” (328a–b).
Socrates professes that he is persuaded by Protagoras, except for “one small obstacle” (328e). This small obstacle turns out to be the focus of most of the rest of the dialogue. Protagoras claimed in his speech that justice, temperance, and piety “were somehow collectively one thing: virtue” (329c). But how are they related to each other? “Is virtue a single thing, with justice and temperance its parts, or are the things I have just listed all names for a single entity?” Protagoras replies, “This is an easy question to answer, Socrates … Virtue is a single entity, and the things you are asking about are its parts” (329d). When Socrates asks whether they are parts like the parts of a face, each with its own nature and function, or like the parts of gold, differing only in size, Protagoras answers that they are like the parts of a face. It is possible to have one of these parts and not others, as “many are courageous but unjust, and many again are just but not wise” (329e). This leads Socrates to ask whether courage and wisdom are also parts of virtue, along with justice, temperance, and piety, to which Protagoras responds, “absolutely, and wisdom is the greatest part” (330a). Protagoras’ conception of virtue is rooted in ordinary understanding, which is just what we would expect from the Great Speech. Ordinarily, we think of the virtues as different from each other, and as separable, such that someone can have one of the virtues and lack others. When Protagoras says that wisdom is the greatest part of virtue, he may be expressing his own view as a Sophist and not the view of the ordinary person, but for the most part his conception of virtue is a common, popular one.
Socrates’ Conception of Virtue: Virtue is Knowledge
Socrates does not reveal at this point what his conception of virtue is. He is playing the role of questioner in the elenchus, not that of defender of a view. Very late in the dialogue, however, he gives an indication of the viewpoint behind his interrogation of Protagoras. He imagines the previous discussion criticizing him, saying that he had originally said that virtue could not be taught, but now he was arguing “the very opposite and [has] attempted to show that everything is knowledge – justice, temperance, courage – in which case, virtue would appear to be eminently teachable” (361b). What gives unity to the virtues is that all the parts of it have the same nature: they are all knowledge.
Socrates asks Protagoras a series of questions designed to show that the virtues are one and the same, or at least very similar. First he asks about justice and piety (recall his claim in the Euthyphro that piety was a part of justice), then about wisdom and temperance, then about temperance and justice. His aim is, by setting up a series of equivalences, to establish that piety=justice=temperance=wisdom. This would establish that all of the virtues that Protagoras has mentioned, except courage, are one and the same. Protagoras, however, resists Socrates’ arguments at every stage. The argument breaks down completely at 334c, after Protagoras gives a short speech on the diversity of goodness. Socrates objects that he can't follow such speeches, because of his poor memory,1 and threatens to leave. None of the spectators wants to see the discussion end, so it is finally agreed that Socrates and Protagoras will take turns examining each other. Protagoras examines Socrates on a poem of Simonides, of which Socrates gives a rather fanciful interpretation, after which Socrates recommends returning to the previous argument. Protagoras eventually agrees, reluctantly, to answer Socrates’ questions.
Protagoras now modifies his previous position: he says that four of the five parts of virtue “are reasonably close to each other,” but that “courage is completely different from all the rest. The proof that what I am saying is true is that you will find many people who are extremely unjust, impious, intemperate, and ignorant, and yet exceptionally courageous” (349d). It is a puzzle why Protagoras accepts the similarity of the other virtues when he had resisted Socrates’ conclusions earlier in the dialogue, but now he stakes his entire position on the nature of courage, the one virtue that Socrates had not previously discussed. Once again, Protagoras is relying on a popular, common sense view of virtue. In this view courage is understood as a kind of intrepidity or daring in the face of danger, rather than as a kind of wisdom. Socrates makes two attempts to refute Protagoras’ position. In the first argument Socrates tries to show that courage is wisdom by showing that the courageous are confident and that the more wisdom one has the more confident one is. Protagoras objects to the argument, and Socrates appears to drop it, but in the course of the argument Protagoras makes an admission that is fatal to his claim that one can be courageous and ignorant. Socrates asks Protagoras whether there are people who are confident without wisdom and Protagoras admits that there are. Are these people courageous, Socrates asks, to which Protagoras replies, “no … These men are out of their minds” (350b). In other words, courage requires wisdom.
Hedonism and the Strength of Knowledge
The final argument is lengthy and complex. It involves two controversial premises, one of which Protagoras initially rejects. The premise he rejects is that the good for human beings is pleasure. This view is known as hedonism. Protagoras says that one must take pleasure in “honorable” (kalois, admirable) things. This is a view that Socrates accepts elsewhere, and it is surprising to see him arguing in the Protagoras that pleasure itself is the criterion of a good life. The second premise is one that Protagoras accepts enthusiastically, however, and it is crucial to Socrates’ argument. Socrates contrasts this second premise with the view of the many:
What do you think about knowledge? Do you go along with the majority or not? Most people think this way about it, that it is not a powerful thing, neither a leader nor a ruler. They do not think of it in that way at all; but rather in this way: while knowledge is often present in a man, what rules him is not knowledge but rather anything else – sometimes anger, sometimes pleasure, sometimes pain, at other times love, often fear; they think of his knowledge as being utterly dragged around by these other things as if it were a slave. Now, does the matter seem like that to you, or does it seem to you that knowledge is a fine thing capable of ruling a person, and if someone were to know what is good and bad, then he would not be forced by anything to act otherwise than knowledge dictates, and intelligence would be sufficient to save a person?
(352b–c; my italics)
This italicized principle states that, in a conflict between knowledge and other human psychological states, including pleasure, pain, anger, love and fear, knowledge of good and evil will always prevail. The previous argument had shown that knowledge was necessary for courage. This principle says that knowledge is sufficient for c
ourage. Consider Laches’ example of a soldier remaining at his post in battle. The view of the many is that, even if the soldier knows that it is best for him to remain, fear might overcome this knowledge and lead him to run away. If Socrates is correct, however, the knowledge that it is best to remain will always prevail: either it will prove stronger than fear, or it will banish fear completely. Given his acceptance of the strength of knowledge principle, Protagoras should accept that wisdom is sufficient for courage. When combined with his earlier acceptance of the claim that wisdom is necessary for courage, this should lead him to the conclusion that wisdom is practically equivalent to courage.
This strength of knowledge principle is at the heart of the Socratic view that virtue is knowledge. If knowledge were not sufficient for virtue, one would need something more to act correctly; will power, for instance. The strength of knowledge principle denies that this is the case. As mentioned above, Protagoras accepts this principle enthusiastically: “Not only does it seem just as you say, Socrates, but further, it would be shameful indeed for me above all people to say that wisdom and knowledge are anything but the most powerful forces in human activity” (352c–d). Socrates agrees, but notes that “most people are not going to be convinced by us. They maintain that most people are unwilling to do what is best, even though they know what it is and are able to do it. And when I have asked them the reason for this, they say that those who act that way do so because they are overcome by pleasure or pain or are being ruled by one of the things I referred to just now” (352d–e). In other words, most people believe in the existence of moral weakness, akrasia. Moral weakness is precisely acting in the face of knowledge that what one is doing is wrong, because one is overcome by pleasure or emotion. If the strength of knowledge principle is correct, moral weakness cannot exist.
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