Protagoras and Meno

by Plato

  ‘Those are the kind of people I think you and I should try to be more like; I think we should shelve the poets and make our claims to one another on our own, through our own ideas, investigating the real world and examining ourselves. So if you want to ask some more questions, I'm prepared to go along with that and do the answering; or, if you like, you could go along with my idea of finishing off the things we were in the middle of talking about when we broke off.’

  Now, when I said that and other things along those lines, [b] Protagoras wouldn't give a straight answer as to which he'd do. At which point Alcibiades looked over at Callias and said, ‘What do you think now, Callias? Do you still think what Protagoras is doing is fine? – refusing to state clearly whether or not he'll let himself be questioned? Because I certainly don't think so. I say he should either carry on with the discussion or state once and for all that he refuses, and that way the rest of us can know just where he stands, and Socrates, or for that matter whoever else wants to, can talk to someone else.’

  Protagoras, because he felt embarrassed (that's the feeling I [c] got, anyway) – embarrassed by Alcibiades' comments, and because Callias and practically everyone there was asking him to – eventually came round to the idea of going on with the talk and told me to ask away; he'd answer my questions.

  So I said, ‘Listen, Protagoras, you mustn't think I'm talking things through with you like this for any reason other than to get to the bottom of certain things I'm constantly feeling baffled about myself. Because I think Homer was exactly right when he said,

  [d]

  If two men go together, side by side,

  one man may spy a thing before his friend…

  ‘The fact is, we've got a much better chance of succeeding that way,* in whatever we're doing, or saying, or thinking about. That's true for all of us.

  And if a man spies something on his own…

  ‘… then he immediately goes around looking for someone to show it to, to get some kind of confirmation, and he keeps on looking until he finds someone. I'm the same; that's why I'm here talking to you, and that's why I'm happier talking about things with you than with anyone else at all; because I think you're likely to be the very best there is at looking into all the various things a decent man ought to think about – but especially [e] the question of what it is to be good. Because let's face it, who could possibly be better at it than you? After all, you don't just think you're a good and decent man yourself… just as various others are pretty decent people themselves; but they can't make other people good, whereas in your case you're a good person yourself, and you can make other people good, and you've got so much belief in yourself that even though [349 a] everyone else in this profession keeps it a secret, you've come out and officially announced yourself to the whole of Greece, styled yourself a “sophist”, promoted yourself as someone who teaches people about being good – the first person ever to feel he had the right to charge money for that sort of thing. So obviously I was bound to call on your help in looking into these things, and ask you questions, and seek your advice. How could I possibly not have?

  ‘And in this case I'd like to go back to my original questions. I want to start again from the beginning – get you to refresh my memory on one or two points, and then join you in looking into a couple more.

  ‘I think the question went like this: “knowledge”, “good [b] sense”, “bravery”, “respect for what's right” and “religiousness” – are these five terms all just different names for the same thing, or is there some separate entity underlying each of the terms, a thing with its own particular role, without any of them being like any other? Now you said that they weren't just different terms for one and the same thing, but that each of the terms had its own particular thing that it applied to, and that [c] they were all parts of being a good person – not in the same way as parts of gold, which are the same as one another, and the same as the whole chunk that they're the parts of, but in the same way as the parts of the face, which are different from the whole face that they're the parts of, and different from one another, and which all have their own special role. If that's what you still believe – the same as you did then – just say so. Or if you now think something slightly different, then just set out precisely what that is – I certainly won't hold it against you if you do say something different now. The fact is, I wouldn't be surprised if you were only saying that stuff earlier on because you wanted to see if I'd fall for it.’ [d]

  ‘No, listen, Socrates,’ he said, ‘what I'm saying is that these are all parts of being a good person, and that four of them are pretty closely related to one another, but that bravery is something very different from all the rest. And here's how you'll see that what I'm saying is right – you'll come across plenty of people who have no concern at all for what's right, are utterly disrespectful of religion, not remotely sensible and completely ignorant, and yet extremely and exceptionally brave.’

  ‘Hold it there,’ I said. ‘What you're saying is well worth [e] looking into. When you say “brave people”, do you mean people who aren't afraid of things? Or something else?’

  ‘Yes, and people with guts; people who keep on going in the face of things most of us find frightening.’

  ‘All right, next question: Do you think of being a good person as something honourable? Is it precisely because it's an honourable thing that you've set yourself up as someone who teaches it?’

  ‘Well, of course!’ he said. ‘It's the most honourable thing there is – unless I'm losing my mind!’

  ‘So is it that one or two elements of it are shameful and the rest honourable, or is every single bit of it honourable – the whole thing?’

  ‘Every bit of it. The whole thing is about as honourable as anything gets.’

  ‘All right, fine. So, do you know what sort of people aren't [350 a] afraid to dive down into wells?’

  ‘Yes. Divers.’73

  ‘And is that because they know what they're doing, or is there some other reason?’

  ‘It's because they know what they're doing.’

  ‘And what kind of people aren't afraid when it comes to fighting battles on horseback? Trained horsemen or people who can't ride?’

  ‘Trained horsemen.’

  ‘And what about when it comes to fighting with light arms? Trained light-armed fighters or people who aren't trained?’

  ‘The trained fighters, and it's the same with everything else as well – if that's the general point you're after,’ he said. ‘People who know what they're doing feel less afraid than people who don't know what they're doing, and become less afraid than [b] they were before when they gain the relevant knowledge.’

  ‘But have you ever noticed people with no knowledge of any of these things who'll have a go at any one of them – without being afraid?’

  ‘I certainly have – and they should be a lot more afraid than they are!’

  ‘So people who are unafraid in that way – are they being brave?’

  ‘No!’ he said. ‘That would make bravery something shameful. People like that are crazy!’74

  ‘All right. So what is it you mean when you say “brave people”?’ I said. ‘Didn't you say they're people who aren't afraid?’

  ‘Yes, and that's what I'm still saying,’ he said.

  ‘So, those people, the people who are unafraid in the way we [c] just mentioned, aren't brave; it turns out they're just crazy. Right? And then in the other cases it's people with the most knowledge that are also the least afraid. And if they're the least afraid, that means they're the bravest. Yes? So by that line of reasoning it looks as if bravery is knowledge.’

  ‘No, Socrates,’ he said. ‘No. You're not quite remembering what I said in my replies. You asked me if being brave means not being afraid; and that's what I agreed to. You didn't ask me if it's also the case that not being afraid means being brave. Because if you had asked me that at the time, I'd have said, “No, not in every case.” As for the claim I did agree to, [d]
that brave people are people who aren't afraid of things – you haven't shown me at any stage that I wasn't perfectly correct. Then you go and point out that people with knowledge feel less afraid than they did without their knowledge, and less afraid than other people who don't have that knowledge, and you think that shows that bravery and knowledge are the same thing. But by that line of reasoning you could even persuade yourself that physical strength was knowledge! Look – following exactly the same method, you could start off by asking me if being physically strong means having ability; and I'd say “Yes, it does.” Then you'd ask if people who know how to [e] wrestle have more ability at it than people who don't know how to wrestle, and more ability when they learn how to do it than they had before, and I'd say, “Yes, they do.” And once you'd got me to agree to that, you'd be in a position to use exactly the same line of inference and claim that according to my own admission physical strength is knowledge! But I'm at no stage agreeing, here either, that people with any ability must be physically strong – just that being strong gives people a certain ability. The point is, ability and physical strength aren't [351a] the same thing: one of them – ability – can also just be a result of knowledge, or even arise from madness, or anger, while strength comes from our nature, and from the proper conditioning of our bodies. It's the same in the other case. My point is, a lack of fear is not the same thing as bravery. That's how it comes about that, yes, being brave means not being afraid, but merely not being afraid doesn't always amount to being brave – because a lack of fear can also just be a result of know-how, [b] or anger, or madness – rather like ability – while bravery is something that comes from our nature, and from the proper conditioning of our souls.’

  ‘Would you say, Protagoras,’ I said, ‘that some people's lives go well, and some people's lives go badly?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So do you think a person's life could be said to be going well if they were living a life of pain and suffering?’

  ‘No,’ he said.

  ‘What if they lived a pleasant life, right to the very end? Do you think in that case their life would have gone well?’

  ‘Yes.’

  [c] ‘So in other words, to live a pleasant life is good, and to live an unpleasant life is bad?’

  ‘Provided you live your life taking pleasure in the things that are honourable75 – yes.’

  ‘Oh? What do you mean by that, Protagoras? Not you too! Don't tell me you think the way most people do – that there are some pleasurable things that are bad and some painful things that are good? I mean, what I'm saying is, aren't things that are pleasurable good, just in so far as they're pleasurable, leaving aside whatever else might come out of them? And with things that are painful, likewise, aren't they bad to the extent that they're painful?’

  ‘I don't know, Socrates; I don't know if I can give you an [d] answer that's as simple as the way you frame the question, and just say that all pleasurable things are good and all painful things are bad. It seems to me that it would be safer for me to say – not just with a view to getting the answer right, but also if I look back over the whole of my life – that there are some pleasurable things that aren't good and some painful things that aren't bad; and there are some that are; and there's a third class that aren't either good or bad.’

  ‘By “pleasurable things”,’ I said, ‘do you mean things that involve or bring about pleasure?’

  [e] ‘Absolutely,’ he said.

  ‘Well, look; here's what I'm saying: aren't they good at least in so far as they're pleasurable? In effect, I'm asking if pleasure just considered on its own is a good thing.’

  ‘Well, as you're so fond of saying, Socrates,’ he said, ‘let's look into it, and if the idea seems to make sense when we look into it, and “pleasurable” turns out to be the same thing as “good”, we'll agree; and if not, that'll be the time to disagree.’

  ‘So would you like to lead the inquiry,’ I said, ‘or do you want me to?’

  ‘You should take the lead,’ he said. ‘You're the one introducing the idea.’

  ‘In that case,’ I said, ‘I wonder if this might be a way for us [352 a] to get to the bottom of things: imagine you were giving someone a check-up, trying to get some idea of their health, or some bodily function, just from their appearance, and you'd had a look at their face and their hands, and then said, “Come on then, take off your shirt and show me your chest and your back as well, so I can get a better look at you.” I need to do something a bit like that as well, for the purposes of our investigation. I've had a look and seen that your attitude to what's good and what's pleasurable is as you say, and now I feel like saying something like this: All right then, Protagoras, time to uncover another aspect of your way of thinking… what's your attitude [b] to knowledge? Do you feel the same way as most people about that as well, or do you take a different view? Now what most people think about knowledge is something like this: that it isn't something powerful, or something that governs us or controls us – they don't think of it as being that sort of thing at all. They think that often, even though there's knowledge in a person, it isn't their knowledge that controls them but something else – sometimes anger, sometimes pleasure or pain; sometimes love and often fear – as if knowledge were a slave – that's exactly how they think of it – being pushed and shoved around [c] by everything else. So do you think something like that as well? Or do you think knowledge is something noble, and that it's in its nature to govern us, and that if someone knows what's good and what's bad, nothing can overpower them and force them into doing something other than what their knowledge is telling them to do – that a man's wisdom always has the power to save him?’

  ‘Yes, Socrates; not only is that what I believe,’ he said, ‘but [d] what's more, considering who I am, it would be disgraceful if I didn't think of knowledge and wisdom as the most powerful and important forces in the whole sphere of human life.’

  ‘Well, I'm pleased to hear you say that,’ I said, ‘and you're right. So you realize most people don't agree with you and me on this one? They think often people know what's best for them and still don't want to do it, even though they could – they do something else instead. Now I've asked lots of people what on earth could be the explanation for this, and they all tell me that people who behave that way do it because they “can't resist the [e] pleasure”, or “can't stand the pain”, or are “overpowered” by one of those other things I was talking about a second ago.’

  ‘Well, presumably people say lots of other things that are wrong as well, Socrates.’

  ‘Well, come on then, help me try and persuade these people, explain to them what's really happening to them when they say, “We can't resist the pleasure, and that's why we're not [353 a] doing what's best for us; because we certainly know what's best.” Because if we said to them, “No, that's not right, you people; you've got it all wrong,” they'd probably say, “All right, Protagoras and Socrates, if what's happening here isn't a matter of not being able to resist pleasures, then what on earth is it? What do you say it is? Go on, tell us!”

  ‘But why do we have to look at what ordinary people think, Socrates? Most people just say the first thing that comes into their heads.’

  [b] ‘I think this may be of some use to us for finding out about bravery – how it relates to the other parts of being a good person. So if you're prepared to stick to what we decided just a moment ago – i.e. that I should take the lead in the way I think is going to be the best at making things clear, then follow along. Of course, if you don't want to – if it's what you'd prefer, we can just forget it.’

  ‘No, no, you're right,’ he said. ‘Carry on as you started.’

  ‘All right,’ I said, ‘start again. Suppose they asked us: “So [c] what do you say this is – the thing we call not being able to resist pleasures?” I'd say something like this to them: “All right, listen. Protagoras and I are going to try to explain.

  ‘“Now I take it you people are saying
this is something that happens to you in situations like these: often, say, you find you ‘can't resist' certain kinds of food, or drink, or sex – things that are pleasurable – and even though you know they're bad for you, you go and do them anyway. Right?” They'd say yes; at which point you and I would come back at them with this: “But what exactly is it about these things that makes you say they're bad for you? Is it the fact that they give you that pleasure [d] at that moment; the fact that each of them is pleasurable? Or is it the fact that, in the long term, they make you ill, or make you poor, or bring about lots of other things like that? Or is the idea that even if they didn't bring about any of those things later on, even if their only effect was pure enjoyment, they'd still be bad for you – entirely regardless of the way they cause that enjoyment, whatever the details?” We can be pretty sure, can't we, Protagoras, that their reply would have to be that these things aren't bad for them because of the pleasure itself, just because they produce pleasure at that moment, but because of the things that happen later – being ill and so on?’ [e]

  ‘Yes, I think that's what most people would say,’ said Protagoras.

  ‘“And isn't the point that by making you ill, they're causing pain; and by making you poor, they're causing pain?” I think they'd agree.’

  Protagoras thought so too.

  ‘“So isn't it clear to you people – and this is what Protagoras and I are saying – that the only reason these things are bad for you is because they end up causing pain or make you miss out on other pleasures?” Would they agree?’ [354 a]

  We both thought they would.