You know, Socrates, how everyone praises the man and tells of his mastery of speech: let us step over to him at once, to make sure of finding him in; he is staying, so I was told, with Callias, son of Hipponicus. Now, let us be going. To this I replied: We had better not go there yet, my good friend, it is so very early: let us rise and turn into the court here, and spend the time strolling there till daylight comes; after that we can go. Protagoras, you see, spends most of his time indoors, so have no fear, we shall find him in all right, most likely. So then we got up and strolled in the court; and I, to test Hippocrates’ grit, began examining him with a few questions. Tell me, Hippocrates, I said, in your present design of going to Protagoras and paying him money as a fee for his services to yourself, to whom do you consider you are resorting, and what is it that you are to become? Suppose, for example, you had taken it into your head to call on your namesake Hippocrates of Cos, the Asclepiad, and pay him money as your personal fee, and suppose someone asked you—Tell me, Hippocrates, in purposing to pay a fee to Hippocrates, what do you consider him to be? How would you answer that? A doctor, I would say. And what would you intend to become? A doctor, he replied. And suppose you had a mind to approach Polycleitus the Argive or Pheidias the Athenian and pay them a personal fee, and somebody asked you—What is it that you consider Polycleitus or Pheidias to be, that you are minded to pay them this money? What would your answer be to that? Sculptors, I would reply. And what would you intend to become? Obviously, a sculptor. Very well then, I said; you and I will go now to Protagoras, prepared to pay him money as your fee, from our own means if they are adequate for the purpose of prevailing on him, but if not, then drawing on our friends’ resources to make up the sum. Now if anyone, observing our extreme earnestness in the matter, should ask us,—Pray, Socrates and Hippocrates, what is it that you take Protagoras to be, when you purpose to pay him money? What should we reply to him? What is the other name that we commonly hear attached to Protagoras? They call Pheidias a sculptor and Homer a poet: what title do they give Protagoras? A sophist, to be sure, Socrates, is what they call him. Then we go to him and pay him the money as a sophist? Certainly.

Now suppose someone asked you this further question: And what is it that you yourself hope to become when you go to Protagoras? To this he replied with a blush—for by then there was a glimmer of daylight by which I could see him quite clearly—If it is like the previous cases, obviously, to become a sophist. In Heaven’s name, I said, would you not be ashamed to present yourself before the Greeks as a sophist? Yes, on my soul I should, Socrates, if I am to speak my real thoughts. Yet after all, Hippocrates, perhaps it is not this sort of learning that you expect to get from Protagoras, but rather the sort you had from your language-master, your harp-teacher, and your sports-instructor; for when you took your lessons from each of these it was not in the technical way, with a view to becoming a professional, but for education, as befits a private gentleman. I quite agree, he said; it is rather this kind of learning that one gets from Protagoras. Then are you aware what you are now about to do, or is it not clear to you? I asked. To what do you refer? I mean your intention of submitting your soul to the treatment of a man who, as you say, is a sophist; and as to what a sophist really is, I shall be surprised if you can tell me. And yet, if you are ignorant of this, you cannot know to whom you are entrusting your soul,—whether it is to something good or to something evil. I really think, he said, that I know. Then tell me, please, what you consider a sophist to be. I should say, he replied, from what the name implies, that he is one who has knowledge of wise matters. Well, I went on, we are able to say this of painters also, and of carpenters,—that they are the persons who have knowledge of wise matters; and if someone asked us for what those matters are wise, of which painters have knowledge, I suppose we should tell him that they are wise for the production of likenesses, and similarly with the rest. But if he should ask for what the matters of the sophist are wise, how should we answer him? What sort of workmanship is he master of? How should we describe him, Socrates,—as a master of making one a clever speaker? Perhaps, I replied, we should be speaking the truth, but yet not all the truth; for our answer still calls for a question, as to the subject on which the sophist makes one a clever speaker: just as the harp player makes one clever, I presume, at speaking on the matter of which he gives one knowledge, namely harp-playing,—you agree to that? Yes. Well, about what does the sophist make one a clever speaker? Clearly it must be the same thing as that of which he gives one knowledge. So it would seem: now what is this thing, of which the sophist himself has knowledge and gives knowledge to his pupil? Ah, there, in good faith, he said, I fail to find you an answer.

For I tell you there is far more serious risk in the purchase of doctrines than in that of eatables. When you buy victuals and liquors you can carry them off from the dealer or merchant in separate vessels, and before you take them into your body by drinking or eating you can lay them in your house and take the advice of an expert whom you can call in, as to what is fit to eat or drink and what is not, and how much you should take and when; so that in this purchase the risk is not serious. But you cannot carry away doctrines in a separate vessel: you are compelled, when you have handed over the price, to take the doctrine in your very soul by learning it, and so to depart either an injured or a benefited man. These, then, are questions which we have to consider with the aid of our elders, since we ourselves are still rather young to unravel so great a matter. For the moment, however, let us pursue our design and go and hear this person; and when we have heard him we shall proceed to consult others: for Protagoras is not the only one there; we shall find Hippias of Elis and, I believe, Prodicus of Ceos, and numerous other men of wisdom besides. This we resolved on, and set forth; and when we arrived at the doorway, we stood discussing some question or other that had occurred to us by the way: so, not to leave it unfinished, but to get it settled before we went in, we stood there and discussed in front of the door, until we had come to an agreement with each other. Now, I fancy the doorkeeper, who was a eunuch, overheard us; very likely the great number of sophists has made him annoyed with callers at the house: at any rate, when we had knocked on the door, he opened it and, on seeing us,—Hullo, he said, sophists there! Master is engaged. So saying, he seized the door with both hands and very smartly clapped it to with all his might. We tried knocking again, and then he spoke in answer through the closed door,—Sirs, have you not heard, he is engaged? But, my good fellow, I said, we have not come to see Callias, nor are we sophists. Have no fear: I tell you, we have come to ask if we may see Protagoras; so go and announce us. Then with much hesitation the fellow opened the door to us;

and when we had entered, we came upon Protagoras as he was walking round in the cloister,The passage from the front door led into a cloister which surrounded an open court and gave access to the various rooms of the house: and close behind him two companies were walking round also; on the one side Callias, son of Hipponicus and his brother on the mother’s side, Paralus, son of Pericles, and Charmides, son of Glaucon, while the other troop consisted of Pericles’ other son Xanthippus, Philippides, son of Philomelus, and Antimoerus of Mende, who is the most highly reputed of Protagoras’ disciples and is taking the course professionally with a view to becoming a sophist. The persons who followed in their rear, listening to what they could of the talk, seemed to be mostly strangers, brought by the great Protagoras from the several cities which he traverses, enchanting them with his voice like Orpheus, while they follow where the voice sounds, enchanted; and some of our own inhabitants were also dancing attendance. As for me, when I saw their evolutions I was delighted with the admirable care they took not to hinder Protagoras at any moment by getting in front; but whenever the master turned about and those with him, it was fine to see the orderly manner in which his train of listeners split up into two parties on this side and on that, and wheeling round formed up again each time in his rear most admirably. And next did I mark, Hom. Od. 11.601 as Homer says, Hippias of Elis, seated high on a chair in the doorway opposite; and sitting around him on benches were Eryximachus, son of Acumenus, Phaedrus of Myrrhinous, Andron son of Androtion and a number of strangers,—fellow-citizens of Hippias and some others. They seemed to be asking him a series of astronomical questions on nature and the heavenly bodies, while he, seated in his chair, was distinguishing and expounding to each in turn the subjects of their questions. Nay more, Tantalus also did I there behold. Hom. Od. 11.582 A touch of epic dignity is humorously given to the mention of the two famous sophists, Hippias and Prodicus.—for you know Prodicus of Ceos is in Athens too: he was in a certain apartment formerly used by Hipponieus as a strong-room, but now cleared out by Callias to make more space for his numerous visitors, and turned into a guest-chamber. Well, Prodicus was still abed, wrapped up in sundry fleeces and rugs, and plenty of them too, it seemed; and near him on the beds hard by lay Pausanias from Cerames, and with Pausanias a lad who was still quite young, of good birth and breeding, I should say, and at all events a very good-looking person. I fancied I heard his name was Agathon, and I should not be surprised to find he is Pausanias’ favorite.

Besides this youth there were the two Adeimantuses, sons of Cepis and Leucolophidas, and there seemed to be some others. The subjects of their conversation I was unable to gather from outside, despite my longing to hear Prodicus; for I regard the man as all-wise and divine: but owing to the depth of his voice the room was filled with a booming sound which made the talk indistinct. We had only just come in, when close on our heels entered Alcibiades the good-looking, as you call him and I agree that he is, and Critias, son of Callaeschrus. So, when we had entered, after some more little delays over certain points we had to examine, we went up to Protagoras, and I said: Protagoras, you see we have come to you, Hippocrates and I. Is it your wish, he asked, to converse with me alone, or in company with others? It is all the same to us, I replied: let me first tell you our object in coming, and then you must decide. Well, what is your object? he asked. My friend Hippocrates is a native of the city, a son of Apollodorus and one of a great and prosperous family, while his own natural powers seem to make him a match for anyone of his age. I fancy he is anxious to gain consideration in our city, and he believes he can best gain it by consorting with you. So now it is for you to judge whether it will be fittest for you to converse on this matter privately with us alone, or in company with others. You do right, Socrates, he said, to be so thoughtful on my behalf. For when one goes as a stranger into great cities, and there tries to persuade the best of the young men to drop their other connexions, either with their own folk or with foreigners, both old and young, and to join one’s own circle, with the promise of improving them by this connexion with oneself, such a proceeding requires great caution; since very considerable jealousies are apt to ensue, and numerous enmities and intrigues. Now I tell you that sophistry is an ancient art, and those men of ancient times who practised it, fearing the odium it involved, disguised it in a decent dress, sometimes of poetry, as in the case of Homer, Hesiod, and Simonides sometimes of mystic rites and soothsayings, as did Orpheus, Musaeus and their sects; and sometimes too, I have observed, of athletics, as with IccusA famous athlete and trainer. of Tarentum and another still living—as great a sophist as any—HerodicusA trainer who also practised medicine of Selymbria, originally of Megara; and music was the disguise employed by your own Agathocles,A music-teacher a great sophist, PythocleidesA music-teacher of Ceos, and many more. All these, as I say, from fear of ill-will made use of these arts as outer coverings.

But I do not conform to the method of all these persons, since I believe they did not accomplish any of their designs: for the purpose of all this disguise could not escape the able men of affairs in each city; the multitude, of course, perceive practically nothing, but merely echo this or that pronouncement of their leaders. Now to try to run away, and to fail through being caught in the act, shows sad folly in the mere attempt, and must needs make people far more hostile; for they regard such an one, whatever else he may be, as a rogue. Hence the road I have taken is one entirely opposite to theirs: I admit that I am a sophist and that I educate men; and I consider this precaution, of admitting rather than denying, the better of the two. There are others besides that I have meditated, so as to avoid, under Heaven, any harm that may come of admitting that I am a sophist. And yet many long years have I now been in the profession, for many in total number are those that I have lived: not one of you all, but in age I might be his father.In the Plat. Meno 91e we are told that Protagoras lived nearly seventy years, forty of which he spent in teaching. Hence it suits me by far the best, in meeting your wishes, to make my discourse on these matters in the presence of all who are in the house.On this, as I suspected that he wished to make a display before Prodicus and Hippias, and give himself airs on the personal attachment shown by our coming to him, I remarked: Then surely we must call Prodicus and Hippias and their followers to come and listen to us By all means, said Protagoras. Then do you agree, said Callias, to our making a session of it, so that we may sit at ease for our conversation? The proposal was accepted; and all of us, delighted at the prospect of listening to wise men, took hold of the benches and couches ourselves and arranged them where Hippias was, since the benches were there already. Meanwhile Callias and Alcibiades came, bringing with them Prodicus, whom they had induced to rise from his couch, and Prodicus’ circle also. When we had all taken our seats,—So now, Socrates, said Protagoras, since these gentlemen are also present, be so good as to tell what you were mentioning to me a little while before on the young man’s behalf.

To which I replied: The same point, Protagoras, will serve me for a beginning as a moment ago, in regard to the object of my visit. My friend Hippocrates finds himself desirous of joining your classes; and therefore he says he would be glad to know what result he will get from joining them. That is all the speech we have to make. Then Protagoras answered at once, saying: Young man, you will gain this by coming to my classes, that on the day when you join them you will go home a better man, and on the day after it will be the same; every day you will constantly improve more and more. When I heard this I said: Protagoras, what you say is not at all surprising, but quite likely, since even you, though so old and so wise, would be made better if someone taught you what you happen not to know. But let me put it another way: suppose Hippocrates here should change his desire all at once, and become desirous of this young fellow’s lessons who has just recently come to town, Zeuxippus of Heraclea, and should approach him, as he now does you, and should hear the very same thing from him as from you,—how on each day that he spent with him he would be better and make constant progress; and suppose he were to question him on this and ask: In what shall I become better as you say, and to what will my progress be? Zeuxippus’s reply would be, to painting. Then suppose he came to the lessons of Orthagoras the Theban, and heard the same thing from him as from you, and then inquired of him for what he would be better each day through attending his classes, the answer would be, for fluting. In the same way you also must satisfy this youth and me on this point, and tell us for what, Protagoras, and in what connexion my friend Hippocrates, on any day of attendance at the classes of Protagoras, will go away a better man, and on each of the succeeding days will make a like advance. When Protagoras heard my words,—You do right, he said, to ask that, while I am only too glad to answer those who ask the right question. For Hippocrates, if he comes to me, will not be treated as he would have been if he had joined the classes of an ordinary sophist. The generality of them maltreat the young; for when they have escaped from the arts they bring them back against their will and force them into arts, teaching them arithmetic and astronomy and geometry and music (and here he glanced at Hippias); whereas, if he applies to me, he will learn precisely and solely that for which he has come. That learning consists of good judgement in his own affairs, showing how best to order his own home; and in the affairs of his city, showing how he may have most influence on public affairs both in speech and in action.

I wonder, I said, whether I follow what you are saying; for you appear to be speaking of the civic science, and undertaking to make men good citizens. That, Socrates, he replied, is exactly the purport of what I profess. Then it is a goodly accomplishment that you have acquired, to be sure, I remarked, if indeed you have acquired it—to such a man as you I may say sincerely what I think. For this is a thing, Protagoras, that I did not suppose to be teachable; but when you say it is, I do not see how I am to disbelieve it. How I came to think that it cannot be taught, or provided by men for men, I may be allowed to explain. I say, in common with the rest of the Greeks, that the Athenians are wise. Now I observe, when we are collected for the Assembly, and the city has to deal with an affair of building, we send for builders to advise us on what is proposed to be built; and when it is a case of laying down a ship, we send for shipwrights; and so in all other matters which are considered learnable and teachable: but if anyone else, whom the people do not regard as a craftsman, attempts to advise them, no matter how handsome and wealthy and well-born he may be, not one of these things induces them to accept him; they merely laugh him to scorn and shout him down, until either the speaker retires from his attempt, overborne by the clamor, or the tipstaves pull him from his place or turn him out altogether by order of the chair. Such is their procedure in matters which they consider professional. But when they have to deliberate on something connected with the administration of the State, the man who rises to advise them on this may equally well be a smith, a shoemaker, a merchant, a sea-captain, a rich man, a poor man, of good family or of none, and nobody thinks of casting in his teeth, as one would in the former case, that his attempt to give advice is justified by no instruction obtained in any quarter, no guidance of any master; and obviously it is because they hold that here the thing cannot be taught. Nay further, it is not only so with the service of the State, but in private life our best and wisest citizens are unable to transmit this excellence of theirs to others;

for Pericles, the father of these young fellows here, gave them a first-rate training in the subjects for which he found teachers, but in those of which he is himself a master he neither trains them personally nor commits them to another’s guidance, and so they go about grazing at will like sacred oxen, on the chance of their picking up excellence here or there for themselves. Or, if you like, there is Cleinias, the younger brother of Alcibiades here, whom this same Pericles, acting as his guardian, and fearing lie might be corrupted, I suppose, by Alcibiades, carried off from his brother and placed in Ariphron’s family to be educated: but before six months had passed he handed him back to Alcibiades, at a loss what to do with him. And there are a great many others whom I could mention to you as having never succeeded, though virtuous themselves, in making anyone else better, either of their own or of other families. I therefore, Protagoras, in view of these facts, believe that virtue is not teachable: but when I hear you speak thus, I am swayed over, and suppose there is something in what you say, because I consider you to have gained experience in many things and to have learnt many, besides finding out some for yourself. So if you can demonstrate to us more explicitly that virtue is teachable, do not grudge us your demonstration. No, Socrates, I will not grudge it you; but shall I, as an old man speaking to his juniors, put my demonstration in the form of a fable, or of a regular exposition? Many of the company sitting by him instantly bade him treat his subject whichever way he pleased. Well then, he said, I fancy the more agreeable way is for me to tell you a fable. There was once a time when there were gods, but no mortal creatures. And when to these also came their destined time to be created, the gods moulded their forms within the earth, of a mixture made of earth and fire and all substances that are compounded with fire and earth. When they were about to bring these creatures to light, they charged Prometheus and Epimetheus to deal to each the equipment of his proper faculty. Epimetheus besought Prometheus that he might do the dealing himself; And when I have dealt, he said, you shall examine. Having thus persuaded him he dealt; and in dealing he attached strength without speed; to some, while the weaker he equipped with speed; and some he armed, while devising for others, along with an unarmed condition, some different faculty for preservation.