And why, I said, do you neither assent nor dissent, Protagoras?
Finish the argument by yourself, he said.
I only want to ask one more question, I said. I want to know whether you
still think that there are men who are most ignorant and yet most
courageous?
You seem to have a great ambition to make me answer, Socrates, and
therefore I will gratify you, and say, that this appears to me to be
impossible consistently with the argument.
My only object, I said, in continuing the discussion, has been the desire
to ascertain the nature and relations of virtue; for if this were clear, I
am very sure that the other controversy which has been carried on at great
length by both of us--you affirming and I denying that virtue can be
taught--would also become clear. The result of our discussion appears to
me to be singular. For if the argument had a human voice, that voice would
be heard laughing at us and saying: 'Protagoras and Socrates, you are
strange beings; there are you, Socrates, who were saying that virtue cannot
be taught, contradicting yourself now by your attempt to prove that all
things are knowledge, including justice, and temperance, and courage,--
which tends to show that virtue can certainly be taught; for if virtue were
other than knowledge, as Protagoras attempted to prove, then clearly virtue
cannot be taught; but if virtue is entirely knowledge, as you are seeking
to show, then I cannot but suppose that virtue is capable of being taught.
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