The Portable Plato (6 page)

Polemarchus.
The name means “war-lord” or “general.” Son of Cephalus, pupil of Lysias, the teacher of rhetoric.

Thrasgmachus.
The name means “rash fighter.” A sophist from Thrace.

These three men speaking in character are caricatures of the three classes in the state which is constructed in the fourth book. Their types and others are fully characterized in the eighth book.

Adeimantus.
The name means “singer of oracles” or “sooth-singer.” An older half-brother of Plato, here a young man. His medium is poetry.

Claucon.
The name means “gleaming eyes” or “owl.” He is also a half-brother of Plato, a young man. The suggestion is that he is the owl of Athena, the bird that sees in the gathering twilight.

Socrates.
“Master of life.” In this great comedy Socrates takes all the roles of all the types of comic hero, including that of the playwright himself.

CHRONOLOGY

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Translations
into English:

Benjamin Jowett. The
Dialogues of Plato,
with an introduction to each dialogue. 5 volumes. London: Oxford University Press, 1871

The
Dialogues of Plato.
General introduction by Raphael Demos. 2 volumes. New York: Random House, 1937

Various translators. Plato’s Dialogues in Greek and English. 11 volumes. The Loeb Classical Library. Cambridge: Harvard University Press

Francis M. Cornford.
The Republic of Plato,
with introduction and notes. New York: Oxford University Press, 1942

I. A. Richards.
The Republic of Plato.
Condensed with the help of Basic English. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., 1942

Commentaries and references:

A. E. Taylor.
Plato, the Man and his Work.
New York: The Dial Press, 1926

John Burnet.
Greek Philosophy, Part I. Thales
to Plato. New York: The Macmillan Co., 1914
Early Greek Philosophy.
New York: The Macmillan Co., 1920

Paul Shorey.
What Plato Said.
Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1933

Gilbert Murray.
History of Ancient Greek Literature.
New York: Appleton, 1927

R. L. Nettleship.
Lectures on the Republic of Plato.
New York: The Macmillan Co., 1936

J. A. Stewart.
The Myths of Plato.
New York: The Macmillan Co., 1905
Plato’s Doctrine of Ideas.
New York: Oxford University Press, 1909

Robert S. Brumbaugh.
Plato
for the
Modern
Age. New York: Crowell Collier, 1962.

Harold Cherniss, Riddle
of
the Early Academy. New York: Russell, 1945.

Francis M. Cornford. Before and
after Socrates.
Cambridge: Cambridge U. P., 1960.

Raphael Demos.
Philosophy of Plato.
New York: Octagon, 1966.

Jacob Klein.
Commentary
on
Plato’s Meno.
Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina, 1965.

Karl R. Popper.
Spell
of
Plato (Open Society
and Its Enemies, Vol. I). Princeton: Princeton U. P., 1963.

Leo Strauss. City and
Man.
Chicago: Rand McNally, 1964.

Eric Voegelin. Plato. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State U. P., 1957.

John Wild.
Plato’s Modern
Enemies and the
Theory
of
Natural
Law. Chicago: University of Chicago. 1953.

PROTAGORAS

PERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE

SOCRATES,
who is the narrator of the Dialogue to his Companion
HIPPOCRATES ALCIBIADES CRITIAS PROTAGORAS, to HIPPIAS, PRODICUS, CALLIAS, a
wealthy
Athenian
Sophists

SCENE:
The House of Callias

C
OM. Where do you come from, Socrates? And yet I need hardly ask the question, for I know that you have been in chase of the fair Alcibiades. I saw him the day before yesterday; and he had got a beard like a man,—and he is a man, as I may tell you in your ear. But I thought that he was still very charming.

Soc. What of his beard? Are you not of Homer’s opinion, who says
²

“Youth is most charming when the beard first appears”? And that is now the charm of Alcibiades.

Com.
Well, and how do matters proceed? Have you been visiting him, and was he gracious to you?

Soc. Yes, I thought that he was very gracious; and especially to-day, for I have just come from him, and he has been helping me in an argument. But shall I tell you a strange thing? I paid no attention to him, and several times I quite forgot that he was present.

Com.
What is the meaning of this? Has anything happened between you and him? For surely you cannot have discovered a fairer love than he is; certainly not in this city of Athens.

Soc. Yes, much fairer.

Com. What do you mean—a citizen or a foreigner?

Soc. A foreigner.

Com.
Of what country?

Soc. Of Abdera.

Com.
And is this stranger really in your opinion a fairer love than the son of Cleinias?

Soc.
And is not the wiser always the fairer, sweet friend?

Com.
But have you really met, Socrates, with some wise one?

Soc.
Say rather, with the wisest of all living men, if you are willing to accord that title to Protagoras.

Com.
What! Is Protagoras in Athens?

Soc.
Yes; he has been here two days.

Com.
And do you just come from an interview with him?

Soc.
Yes; and I have heard and said many things.

Com.
Then, if you have no engagement, suppose that you sit down and tell me what passed, and my attendant here shall give up his place to you.

Soc.
To be sure; and I shall be grateful to you for listening.

Com.
Thank you, too, for telling us.

Soc.
That is thank you twice over. Listen then:—

Last night, or rather very early this morning, Hippocrates, the son of Apollodorus and the brother of Phason, gave a tremendous thump with his staff at my door; some one opened to him, and he came rushing in and bawled out: Socrates, are you awake or asleep?

I knew his voice, and said: Hippocrates, is that you? and do you bring any news?

Good news, he said; nothing but good.

Delightful, I said; but what is the news? and why have you come hither at this unearthly hour?

He drew nearer to me and said: Protagoras is come.

Yes, I replied; he came two days ago: have you only just heard of his arrival?

Yes, by the gods, he said; but not until yesterday evening.

At the same time he felt for the truckle-bed, and sat down at my feet, and then he said: Yesterday quite late in the evening, on my return from Oenoe whither I had gone in pursuit of my runaway slave Satyrus, as I meant to have told you, if some other matter had not come in the way;—on my return, when we had done supper and were about to retire to rest, my brotner said to me: Protagoras is come. I was going to you at once, and then I thought that the night was far spent. But the moment sleep left me after my fatigue, I got up and came hither direct.

I, who knew the very courageous madness of the man, said: What is the matter? Has Protagoras robbed you of anything?

He replied, laughing: Yes, indeed he has, Socrates, of the wisdom which he keeps from me.

But, surely, I said, if you give him money, and make friends with him, he will make you as wise as he is himself.

Would to heaven, he replied, that this were the case! He might take all that I have, and all that my friends, have, if he pleased. But that is why I have come to you now, in order that you may speak to him on my behalf; for I am young, and also I have never seen nor heard him (when he visited Athens before I was but a child); and all men praise him, Socrates; he is reputed to be the most accomplished of speakers. There is no reason why we should not go to him at once, and then we shall find him at home. He lodges, as I hear, with Callias the son of Hipponicus: let us start.

I replied: Not yet, my good friend; the hour is too early. But let us rise and take a turn in the court and wait about there until daybreak; when the day breaks, then we will go. For Protagoras is generally at home, and we shall be sure to find him; never fear.

Upon this we got up and walked about in the court, and I thought that I would make trial of the strength of his resolution. So I examined him and put questions to him. Tell me, Hippocrates, I said, as you are going to Protagoras, and will be paying your money to him, what is he to whom you are going? and what will he make of you? If, for example, you had thought of going to Hippocrates of Cos, the Asclepiad, and were about to give him your money, and some one had said to you: You are paying money to your namesake Hippocrates, O Hippocrates; tell me, what is he that you give him money? how would you have answered?

I should say, he replied, that I gave money to him as a physician.

And what will he make of you?

A physician, he said.

And if you were resolved to go to Polycleitus the Argive, or Pheidias the Athenian, and were intending to give them money, and some one had asked you: What are Polycleitus and Pheidias? and why do you give them this money?—how would you have answered?

I should have answered, that they were statuaries.

And what will they make of you?

A statuary, of course.

Well now, I said, you and I are going to Protagoras, and we are ready to pay him money on your behalf. If our own means are sufficient, and we can gain him with these, we shall be only too glad; but if not, then we are to spend the money of your friends as well. Now suppose, that while we are thus enthusiastically pursuing our object some one were to say to us: Tell me, Socrates, and you, Hippocrates, what is Protagoras, and why are you going to pay him money,—how should we answer? I know that Pheidias is a sculptor, and that Homer is a poet; but what appellation is given to Protagoras? how is he designated?

They call him a Sophist, Socrates, he replied.

Then we are going to pay our money to him in the character of a Sophist?

Certainly.

But suppose a person were to ask this further question: And how about yourself? What will Protagoras make of you, if you go to see him?

He answered, with a blush upon his face (for the day was just beginning to dawn, so that I could see him) : Unless this differs in some way from the former instances, I suppose that he will make a Sophist of me.

By the gods, I said, and are you not ashamed at having to appear before the Hellenes in the character of a Sophist?

Indeed, Socrates, to confess the truth, I am.

But you should not assume, Hippocrates, that the instruction of Protagoras is of this nature: may you not learn of him in the same way that you learned the arts of the grammarian, or musician, or trainer, not with the view of making any of them a profession, but only as a part of education, and because a private gentleman and freeman ought to know them?

Just so, he said; and that, in my opinion, is a far truer account of the teaching of Protagoras.

I said: I wonder whether you know what you are doing?

And what am I doing?

You are going to commit your soul to the care of a man whom you call a Sophist. And yet I hardly think that you know what a Sophist is; and if not, then you do not even know to whom you are committing your soul and whether the thing to which you commit yourself be good or evil.

I certainly think that I do know, he replied.

Then tell me, what do you imagine that he is?

I take him to be one who knows wise things, he replied, as his name implies.

And might you not, I said, affirm this of the painter and of the carpenter also: Do not they, too, know wise things? But suppose a person were to ask us: In what are the painters wise? We should answer: In what relates to the making of likenesses, and similarly of other things. And if he were further to ask: What is the wisdom of the Sophist, and what is the manufacture over which he presides?—how should we answer him?

How should we answer him, Socrates? What other answer could there be but that he presides over the art which makes men eloquent?

Yes, I replied, that is very likely true, but not enough; for in the answer a further question is involved: Of what does the Sophist make a man talk eloquently? The player on the lyre may be supposed to make a man talk eloquently about that which he makes him understand, that is about playing the lyre. Is not that true?

Yes.

Then about what does the Sophist make him eloquent? Must not he make him eloquent in that which he understands?