Hostname: page-component-74656f9884-8r8nv Total loading time: 0 Render date: 2026-11-07T04:23:40.477Z Has data issue: false hasContentIssue false
  • English
  • Français

PROTAGORAS’ GREAT SPEECH

Published online by Cambridge University Press:  24 July 2017

A.R. Nathan
A.R. Nathan*
Affiliation:
The University of Sydney
*
anat5136@uni.sydney.edu.au
Rights & Permissions [Opens in a new window]

Extract

This article seeks to present a detailed textual analysis of Protagoras’ Great Speech in Plato's Protagoras (320c–328d). I will argue that the concept of ἀρετή (‘excellence’ or ‘virtue’) as it appears in the Great Speech is whittled down to a vague notion of civic duty. In this respect, Protagoras is bringing himself in line with the democracy, but in doing so the ἀρετή he claims to teach loses much of its initial appeal, particularly in the eyes of his aristocratic clientele. Nevertheless, if the content of Protagoras’ Great Speech overlooks the abilities required to rise to political prominence, the form most assuredly does not. As one would expect from Plato's Protagoras, his speech is replete with just that oratorical prowess his students might expect to acquire from him. This, in turn, has a number of interesting and important implications in the broader context of the Protagoras, in particular regarding the contrast or conflict between long speeches and short-answer dialectic. Moreover, although it has long been noticed that Protagoras neglects rhetoric and personal pre-eminence in his account, as far as I know there has not been any serious attempt to analyse the stylistic aspects of this masterful speech. Accordingly, both this and (to a large extent) my attempt to interpret it within the economy of the dialogue are original.

Information

Type
Research Article
Information
The Classical Quarterly , Volume 67 , Issue 2 , December 2017 , pp. 380 - 399
Check for updates
Copyright
Copyright © The Classical Association 2017 

INTRODUCTION

This article seeks to present a detailed textual analysis of Protagoras’ Great Speech in Plato's Protagoras (320c–328d).Footnote 1 I will argue that the concept of ἀρετή (‘excellence’ or ‘virtue’) as it appears in the Great Speech is whittled down to a vague notion of civic duty. In this respect, Protagoras is bringing himself in line with the democracy, but in doing so the ἀρετή he claims to teach loses much of its initial appeal, particularly in the eyes of his aristocratic clientele. Nevertheless, if the content of Protagoras’ Great Speech overlooks the abilities required to rise to political prominence, the form most assuredly does not. As one would expect from Plato's Protagoras, his speech is replete with just that oratorical prowess his students might expect to acquire from him. This, in turn, has a number of interesting and important implications in the broader context of the Protagoras, in particular regarding the contrast or conflict between long speeches and short-answer dialectic. Moreover, although it has long been noticed that Protagoras neglects rhetoric and personal pre-eminence in his account, as far as I know there has not been any serious attempt to analyse the stylistic aspects of this masterful speech. Accordingly, both this and (to a large extent) my attempt to interpret it within the economy of the dialogue are original.

By and large scholarly discussion of this speech is dominated by the question of how coherent Protagoras’ account of ἀρετή is (as is Socrates’ subsequent dialectic with Protagoras in a sense; see, for example, 329d). Often these scholarly discussions take their leave from a close reading of the text, paying minute attention to the way in which Protagoras seems to shift his concept of ἀρετή throughout the speech. This is then understood against the socio-political background. Adkins is exemplary in this regard. He argues that Protagoras equivocates between the traditional concept of ‘competitive virtue’ we find in Homer and the ‘cooperative virtue’ that became relevant in Athenian democracy.Footnote 2 Zappen also explores a tension between the traditional aristocratic and Homeric concept of ἀρετή and the notion of common good that emerged in the fifth and fourth centuries.Footnote 3 Weingartner, on the other hand, emphasizes the tension between the uncritical acceptance of contemporary Athenian practice and Protagoras’ professional and philosophical commitment to ‘push beneath the professions of the many to the beliefs underlying their actions’.Footnote 4 Along similar lines, Vlastos stresses the tension between popular belief and Protagoras’ professional commitment to the power of reason.Footnote 5

Stokes is interesting in this connection. He claims (contra Adkins) that Protagoras should not be faulted for treating public duty as if it were the same thing as (private) pre-eminence, since these qualities were often associated or considered identical in democratic Athens,Footnote 6 but he goes on to stress the tension in the Great Speech between a specialist skill (say, rhetoric) and commonplace moral education.Footnote 7 In particular, he notes that the concept of ἀρετή in the speech seems to leave out wisdom and courage.Footnote 8

Beyond this, there is the question of using the Great Speech as a source for the historical Protagoras.Footnote 9 The present work will not address this issue. But even if I do not make the inference from Plato to the historical Protagoras, this should not prevent me from making the opposite inference, from the historical background to an understanding of what is going on in Plato's dialogue.

These issues of historical context are both important and difficult. Indeed, (the already difficult) questions of popular morality are especially opaque in the changing and often turbulent political and intellectual world of classical Athens. Thus, some scholars (for example, Adkins and Zappen above) have noted a shift from Homeric ἀρετή to a more democratic model. Further, the sophists played no minor role in the changing culture of this period. Schiappa, for example, sees them as part of a ‘democratization of ἀρετή’ away from the aristocratic conception found in Homer.Footnote 10 Others pit the sophists against the many and argue that they were mainly patronized by the upper echelons of society, and thus became an object of suspicion for those who could not afford these skills.Footnote 11 Wallace is instructive here. He argues that, while the sophists were initially in line with democratic values, after around 430 b.c. (when Pericles died) they fell out of favour with the many and became more involved with the elite.Footnote 12 This would put the dramatic date of the Protagoras shortly before the shift, but the (presumably more important) date of composition well after.Footnote 13 Certainly Hippocrates and Protagoras acknowledge the odium associated with the sophists (312a and 316c–d, on which more below). Nor can we doubt that Plato failed to perceive some connection between the sophists and contempt for democracy: thus, Callicles and Thrasymachus in the Gorgias and the Republic 1.

In coming to terms with the nature of ἀρετή in Protagoras’ Great Speech I have found the following basic distinction useful. On the one hand, (i) ἀρετή can be understood as an amoral specialist skill possessed by a specialist in his field. This has both a conceptual element in that it designates a τέχνη and a more socio-political element in that it resonates with the idea of an elite class having a monopoly on ἀρετή. On the other hand, (ii) ἀρετή can be understood as the ubiquitous moral duty to law and custom. The first is the ability to pursue one's ends and distinguish oneself from the common man; the second is less focussed on success and is ultimately moral. Moreover, the second is distinctively democratic: of course, a democrat could appreciate the virtue of a Pericles, but an oligarch would be unsympathetic towards the diluted model of virtue (cf. Anytus in Meno 92e).

1. THE INITIAL EXCHANGE

A number of the preceding issues are raised by Protagoras and Socrates themselves in the brief exchange that comes before Protagoras’ Great Speech. This begins at 316b, where Socrates, with the young Hippocrates in tow, approaches Protagoras and explains that they have come to see him. Protagoras’ immediate response is to ask whether he wishes to talk in private or with others present. This seems an innocent enough question at first glance, and Socrates is happy to leave the decision up to Protagoras. He goes on to explain that Hippocrates is ‘not only from a great and prosperous family, but seems a match for any of his peers in natural ability [τὴν φύσιν] as well’, and that Hippocrates wishes to study under Protagoras so that he can distinguish himself in politics (316b8–c4).Footnote 14 Socrates, we may say, is dangling an ambitious young aristocrat before Protagoras’ eyes (cf. Euthyd. 272d); and he most certainly takes the bait. That is, Protagoras immediately launches into a marvellous oratorical display (316c5–317c5).

Via the apparently thematic question of whether they should talk in public or in private, Protagoras addresses the popular suspicions harboured against sophists. We have already seen that this is an issue in the scholarship. Protagoras’ treatment, however, is highly original. He argues, in brief, that sophists need beware, since they come to foreign cities and take the young men away from their families. He then claims that in fact the sophistic art is an ancient and glorious one, practised by the great poets, Homer and Hesiod, the leaders of mystery cults, distinguished athletes and celebrated musicians—all these, he claims, were ‘closet-sophists’ who practised Protagoras’ art but concealed it with poetry, athletics and so on. Protagoras, however, parts ways with this distinguished company by actually admitting to being a sophist. At this point he offers a rather depreciating view of the masses. For these ‘secret sophists’, he says, do not achieve their end since political leaders see through their ruse, and these are the very men they must deceive, ‘since the masses, as it were, perceive nothing but simply chant along with whatever they are told [ἀλλ᾽ ἅττ᾽ ἂν οὗτοι διαγγέλωσι, ταῦτα ὑμνοῦσιν]’ (317a). Protagoras, on the other hand, does not attempt to hide his art because he considers this a better preventative measure against the many and their leaders. Accordingly, he wishes to conduct the discussion in front of the others. Socrates, for his part, intimates that he thought that Protagoras wanted to show off to Prodicus and Hippias (317c6–7).

This mini epideixis is interesting for a number of reasons. For instance, it registers the popular odium associated with sophist (cf. 312a) as well as Protagoras’ anti-democratic leanings. But it is most interesting in terms of how it characterizes Protagoras, the ēthos of Plato's writing, as it were. The preposterous claim that Homer and others were in fact secret sophists using their poetry, music or athletics as a mere smokescreen is of a piece with, for example, Gorgias’ defence of the disreputable Helen or the ‘Lysias’ speech in the Phaedrus, which claims that it is better to entrust your love to a ‘lover’ who does not love you. Such an impossible moot could be used by a speaker to delight and amuse his audience and especially to display his oratorical prowess. It is this plasticity of rhetoric, this ability to argue either side of a debate, for example, that easily led to the charge of immorality, often under the heading ‘making the weaker argument stronger’ (for example, Ap. 19c). This, we may surmise, is just the stuff that Hippocrates is excited about (thus 312d).Footnote 15

Naturally the speech also betrays a mastery of rhetorical technique. The proemium is exemplary here, as it should be. Protagoras begins in textbook periodic style: the main clause encloses the subordinate elements of the sentence in the manner of ‘ring composition’: ξένον γὰρ ἄνδρα … χρὴ εὐλαβεῖσθαι τὸν ταῦτα πράττοντα (316c5–d2); the ξένος is qualified with increasingly longer cola:

καὶ ἰόντα εἰς πόλεις μεγάλας,

καὶ ἐν ταύταις πείθοντα …

with the participle πείθοντα setting off the subsequent sections of the period. Here too the sense is delayed in a periodic and elevated style (πείθοντα … ἑαυτῷ συνεῖναι …):

… πείθοντα τῶν νέων τοὺς βελτίστους ἀπολείποντας τὰς τῶν ἄλλων συνουσίας, καὶ οἰκείων καὶ ὀθνείων, καὶ πρεσβυτέρων καὶ νεωτέρων, ἑαυτῷ συνεῖναι ὡς βελτίους ἐσομένους διὰ τὴν ἑαυτοῦ συνουσίαν, χρὴ εὐλαβεῖσθαι τὸν ταῦτα πράττοντα·

As before, τὰς τῶν ἄλλων συνουσίας is picked up and qualified. Here we get a little list of proverbial and jingling pairings in polysyndeton; thus the ὡς clause is separated off and emphasized as befits its important content. The list of συνουσίαι functions as the centre-point of the period: it is enclosed or ‘ringed in’ by συνουσίας … συνουσίαν and sits in the midst of the two dominating constructions: ξένον γὰρ ἄνδρα … χρὴ εὐλαβεῖσθαι and πείθοντα … ἑαυτῷ συνεῖναι.

Finally, he rounds out this lofty introduction with a pointed and stylized sentence: note the quasi-metaphorical use of abstract nouns: οὐ γὰρ σμικροὶ περὶ αὐτὰ φθόνοι τε γίγνονται καὶ ἄλλαι δυσμένειαί τε καὶ ἐπιβουλαί. Thus we approach the public discussion between Socrates and Protagoras with sophistic oratorical wizardry fresh in our minds, not least in its connection with the well-to-do.

2. SOCRATES’ QUESTION (319A–320C)

One of the questions voiced in the Protagoras is ‘What does Protagoras actually teach?’. Socrates asks the eager young Hippocrates this question (311b–314c). He suggests that it might be the art of clever speaking (312d) but is at a loss to specify which topic the sophist will teach people to speak well on (312e8). By the end of the dialogue it will turn out that Protagoras too cannot clearly and consistently define the subject matter of his teaching—namely ἀρετή.Footnote 16

Before this happens Socrates repeats his question, this time in front of the assembled crowd: ‘What would Hippocrates gain if he were to associate with you?’ (318a). In reply Protagoras makes some claims about what he teaches: he is an improver of people—not in astronomy or mathematics—in teaching εὐβουλία. That is (318e5–319a2),

in coming to me he will learn nothing else but what he came to learn. Namely sound judgement [εὐβουλία] in domestic affairs so that he can best manage his house, and in politics so that he may wield as much power as possible [δυνατώτατος] in both his words and his deeds.

This is apt to make us think of leadership skills and the ability to achieve one's goals. In a word then, Protagoras seems to teach students how to become pre-eminent.Footnote 17 It is then surprising that in the immediate sequel (319a) Socrates paraphrases this εὐβουλία as political τέχνη (the art of running a city) and being a good citizen. This suggests that the duty of a citizen and the skill of a politician, though possibly distinct, are not contrary. Does Protagoras perhaps think that obedience to the laws is sufficient for political expertise?Footnote 18 This hardly squares with the implication that he teaches men to be pre-eminent; certainly Hippocrates does not come banging on Socrates’ door at the crack of dawn because he is excited about learning basic morality (310b–d).

Socrates now explains that he always thought virtue was not teachable and he cites two reasons for this (319b–320c).Footnote 19 To begin with, he articulates the general principle that the Athenians are wise. On the strength of this he argues that in the assembly, while experts are consulted about their expertise (for example, shipbuilding), all and sundry are consulted in regard to state policy. Thus, he claims, the former are technical skills (τέχναι) which, by definition, can be taught, while the latter is common knowledge which is neither taught nor learnt (319d). This argument purports to show that in public affairs the necessary skills are not (thought to be) taught. The second argument shifts to the private sphere.Footnote 20 This argument claims that the most accomplished citizens (οἱ σοφώτατοι καὶ ἄριστοι τῶν πολιτῶν) are unable to pass on their ἀρετή (319e). By way of example Socrates cites the Athenian hero Pericles and his undistinguished sons.

Yet again Socrates seems to treat public duty and private skill in one breath, either of which can be signalled by the Greek word ἀρετή (‘skill’ or ‘virtue’).Footnote 21 The first argument seems to tend towards public duty, while the second argument focusses on that special quality that great statesmen possess, which seems more a matter of pre-eminent skill that goes beyond civic duty.Footnote 22 More importantly, Socrates is showing how Athenian democracy is at odds with what Protagoras claims to teach.Footnote 23 This tension has already been identified by Protagoras himself; here Socrates pits the sophist against democracy by claiming that the many do not think ἀρετή is teachable and thus they let people who are uneducated in ἀρετή offer their opinions in matters of state policy. Further, as Socrates’ second argument would have it, Protagoras seems to think that Pericles could easily have taught his sons to be like him, and thus that he simply did not; a rather unsavoury suggestion about an acknowledged hero.

3. PROTAGORAS’ GREAT SPEECH I: THE MYTH (320C–323B)

Protagoras is ready and willing to answer Socrates’ question—How can virtue be taught?—and, at least to begin with, he proffers a myth. Protagoras considers the mythical format favourable for two reasons: it is suitable for an older man to offer a story to his juniors; and it is more pleasant (320c). In a qualified sense, I concur with the latter here: the myth is wonderful. Moreover, this suggests what is probably quite obvious, that Protagoras wishes to impress his audience by gratifying them.Footnote 24 Indeed, that the myth is recognized as such and even chosen where a logos might have taken its place indicates that it is a creative and allegorical enterprise, not to be taken literally.Footnote 25

The myth begins ‘Once upon a time’ when only gods existed: ἦν γάρ ποτε χρόνος ὅτε θεοὶ μὲν ἦσαν, θνητὰ δὲ γένη οὐκ ἦν (320c8–d1: note the parallelism and the delayed οὐκ). When (ἐπειδὴ δέ) the appointed time for beasts came, the gods formed them beneath the earth, and when (ἐπειδὴ δέ) it was time for them to be led into the light, Prometheus and Epimetheus were charged with arranging and allotting (κοσμῆσαι τε καὶ νεῖμαι) their abilities (320d). In addition to Protagoras’ ‘enlightened’ approach to myth, we may notice that the mention of mixing earth and fire beneath the earth is apt to recall ‘scientific’ theories of the day.Footnote 26 More pertinent still is how Protagoras uses temporal distinctions to distinguish between gods and mortals. It is through this mechanism that he will present the important distinctions he wants to make in the myth. For convenience we may render these distinctions as so many phases. Thus, in phase 1 there were gods, and in phase 2 mortals were moulded within the earth.

Phase 3 runs from 320d to 321b and is decidedly charming. In this phase Protagoras explains the origins of the animal kingdom. Epimetheus assumes the responsibility of dealing out abilities and, strikingly, conducts the distribution in a rational and teleological manner: the animal kingdom is arranged in an orderly fashion to ensure the survival of each species.Footnote 27 This third phase is clearly a focal point and is thus divided into three further sub-phases: Epimetheus first equips animals to (i) defend against predators, then (ii) survive the elements, and lastly (iii) get food. Throughout these parallel sub-phases Protagoras makes ample use of antithesis with the ὁ μέν / ὁ δέ construction, truly revelling in his ability to render clear and precise Greek without falling into rigid repetitive patterns.

First (i), defence against predators (320e–321a): ‘To some he granted strength without speed, while the weak he furnished with speed.’ To some claws, to others other means of preservation. To the small he gave wings or underground dwellings, to the big their size was a boon. He balanced out all the species, similarly, being ‘on his guard lest some species became extinct’ (321a).

Thus we move into (ii), defence against the elements. Here it is more of the same, though with less detail: Epimetheus deals out fur, tough skin and hooves to suit (321a2–b1). We can note how Protagoras varies the sentence structure here. Up to this sub-phase the clauses and cola have been quite self-contained and internally balanced,Footnote 28 linked to other cola in a clearly structured ‘strung-together’ style by subordination and coordination rather than long-winded periods. But the discussion of shelter from the elements is dealt with in a single sentence, not quite in a periodic style but still more extended and elaborate in structure.

This phase is rounded off with (iii) getting food (321b2–6: starting with τοὐντεῦθεν). Some live on pasture, some on fruit and so on. Some eat other animals, and in this case the carnivores are made less numerous, while those species who are eaten produce more offspring and in this way ensure their continued existence.

We can note that, again, Protagoras uses temporal distinctions (first this … then that) to affect his meaning. Further, while self-preservation informs the abilities of each individual species, an overall sense of order and design (aimed at continuation of the various species) underlies Protagoras’ naturalistic picture.Footnote 29 So too the account itself is well ordered and designed.

In Phase 4 (321c–322a) we leave these lists of abilities and switch into a narrative: forgetful Epimetheus has used up all the abilities on the non-rational creatures (τὰ ἄλογα, 321c1) and is at a loss for what to do in regard to humans. Here we move into the subject matter proper of Protagoras’ myth (which, it is easy to forget, is part of an attempt to explain how ἀρετή can be taught), and accordingly the prose becomes more lively and varied with a number of digressions and anacolutha. Prometheus comes in to save the day in his traditional role as provider for mankind.Footnote 30 He steals from Athena and Hephaestus respectively technical skill and fire, that is, practical skill as opposed to political skill (321d). Political τέχνη was guarded by Zeus and thus impossible to steal. In this way man still lacks the ability to live in a city. The skill given to man in this phase leads to language, shelter, clothes and agriculture. While the animals were equipped with food, shelter and defence against predators, the humans are still exposed to predators (322b).

The ensuing distinction between phases 4 and 5 is essential to what Protagoras will argue in the rest of his Great Speech, so we must be on our guard. Here Protagoras interrupts the narrative to build up to phase 5. The digression (322a3–322c—beginning with ἐπειδὴ δέ, here ‘since’) moves from man's connection to the gods to his ability to tend to his own basic needs to his inability to live in cities. As often, the third item is the important one: men live scattered about and do not know how to live in common; what is needed is a concept of common good so they can band together and defend against common enemies.

In phase 5 (322c–323a) Zeus, ‘fearing our race would be entirely wiped out, sent Hermes to deliver respect [αἰδῶ] and justice [δίκην] to the humans’ (322c), that is, πολιτικὴ τέχνη. In contrast to the previous phase this ability is not given to particular specialists (like doctors) but to all in common. Protagoras emphasizes and explains this distinction via a rare exchange of direct speech between Hermes and Zeus (322c3–d5). This is the crucial distinction that Protagoras uses the myth to establish, namely that, unlike τέχναι, ἀρετή is held in common. It is thus limited to basic morality rather than to skill in ruling others. Αἰδώς and δίκη are distributed ‘to all’ by Zeus’ decree, ‘for cities could not exist, if only a few people were party to them, as with the other arts’ (322d). This then, Protagoras explains, is why the Athenians listen to all and sundry in public matters; because they all have a share in (what he now refers to as) δικαιοσύνη and σωφροσύνη (322d5–323a4).Footnote 31

If we cast our minds back to Protagoras’ claim to give his pupils εὐβουλία, we might begin to wonder—Hippocrates may begin to wonderFootnote 32 —how any of this will help us become pre-eminent politicians. On the contrary, Protagoras appears to be on track to single out civic duty as his area of expertise. Surely this is not unimportant, but it seems that students might hope for a bit more for their money from the famous Protagoras.

Before rounding off the myth, however, Protagoras adds a little supplementary argument to alleviate any lingering doubts as to whether all have a share in political ἀρετή (323a).Footnote 33 The argument that follows runs from 323a5 to 323c2. In brief, it says that someone would be mad to lay claim to a technical skill if he did not actually have it; but in the case of ἀρετή he would be mad not to lie if he did not have it, that is, he would lie if he were unjust. ‘For people think it impossible that anyone could fail to possess this in some manner, or else not be human’ (323b7–323c1).

In the myth Protagoras simply stipulated that ἀρετή was held in common by all; now he is arguing from what everybody thinks. Socrates did this to pit him against democracy. Protagoras is attempting to align himself with popular opinion.Footnote 34 In the present argument he tries to show that, since we all look down on the unjust, we must think that all (civilized) people should have a share of justice. But the wording of the argument cannot help but suggest that some not only lack ἀρετή but also readily lie about it.Footnote 35 Indeed, the one who openly confesses his lack of ἀρετή is thought to be a madman (323b2–7).

At any rate, Protagoras rounds off this section and signals a shift to defend the thesis that ἀρετή—which is held in common—is teachable (323c3–8). We can note that the picture of ἀρετή Protagoras is appealing to is the moral duty of a citizen. Nothing has been said to suggest a specialist craft or the skill at achieving one's (private) ends. Instead, the myth endorses democratic values.

A somewhat different aspect is at least implicit, however, when we look to the form of what Protagoras has said so far. Stylistically Protagoras is clearly a polished and indeed sophisticated speaker. This is evident from his use of rhetorical techniques and his careful signposting and logical organization. I have endeavoured to indicate some of these features as I went through the text; however, Protagoras’ rhetorical techniques go well beyond what I have mentioned. Some of the omissions include his use of the historic present (for example, τυποῦσιν at 320d2, νέμει at 320d8 and ἐρωτᾷ at 322c3), pleonastic synonyms (for example, at 321c5–6 and 322b6), polysyndeton (for example, 322a6–7) and poetic elements (for example, σμικρότητι ἤμπισχειν, ‘clothed in smallness’ at 320e3, τὰς ἐκ Διὸς ὥρας at 321a3–4 and ἀπορίᾳ … σχόμενος at 321c7–8). Hyperbaton is ever-present: some examples are 320e2 and 321c1–2. And he makes good use of anastrophe (also called ‘epanastrophe’: starting a new clause with the last word of the preceding clause); see, for example, νέμω, occurring four times in 320d, and again at 322c6, and ἀπορέω in 321c2–3. Of course, to simply list such rhetorical techniques does no justice to Protagoras’ usage. More to our purpose, it is practically impossible to deny the presence of ‘what Hippocrates hopes to learn’ in the speech so far, but this makes it all the more conspicuous that Protagoras is yet to make explicit mention of it. Additionally, many indications of Protagoras’ prowess as a speaker are surreptitiously worked into the content of the speech as well; most notably, the ‘learned’ use of myth to present an intelligent and engaging view of nature as an ordered whole.

4. PROTAGORAS’ GREAT SPEECH II: PUNISHMENT (323C–324D)

Protagoras has claimed that ἀρετή, in contradistinction to specialist skills, is held in common. Socrates, of course, had used the same distinction to show that it is not teachable (319b–c). Protagoras, on the other hand, immediately applies himself to showing that people do indeed consider ἀρετή to be teachable. In fact, it only comes by training, he maintains (323c).

Protagoras introduces this section with an antithesis in μέν / δέ that signposts the new topic by surmising the preceding and by announcing what is to follow (323c):

ὅτι μὲν οὖν πάντ᾽ ἂνδρα εἰκότως ἀποδέχονται περὶ ταύτης τῆς ἀρετῆς

σύμβουλον διὰ τὸ ἡγεῖσθαι παντὶ μετεῖναι αὐτῆς, ταῦτα λέγω·

ὅτι δὲ αὐτὴν οὐ φύσει ἡγοῦνται εἶναι οὐδ᾽ ἀπὸ τοῦ αὐτομάτου, ἀλλὰ διδακτόν

τε καὶ ἐξ ἐπιμελείας παραγίγνεσθαι ᾧ ἄν παραγίγνηται, τοῦτό σοι μετὰ

τοῦτο πειράσομαι ἀποδεῖξαι.Footnote 36

The antithesis is clearly evident from the anaphoric ὅτι that opens each colon as well as the delayed main clauses (upon which the ὅτι clauses depend): ταῦτα λέγω and τοῦτό σοι μετὰ τοῦτο πειράσομαι ἀποδεῖξαι. As often, the second colon (after δέ) is longer, more fulsome and more important. This colon builds tension and anticipation with the οὐ … οὐδὲ … ἀλλά formula in an ascending tricolon and the emphatic use of near synonyms (διδακτόν τε καὶ ἐξ ἐπιμελείας). Furthermore, the word order is both clear and stylized without becoming overly rigid or flashy. In the first colon the placement of εἰκότως, while emphatic, still maintains the connection with ἀποδέχονται; πάντ᾽ ἂνδρα is naturally pushed forward into the prominent position, while the hyperbaton of σύμβουλον helps identify the latter as a predicate and rings in the main unit of the ὅτι clause. In this way the infinitive clause after διά disrupts the otherwise chiastic orientation of the colon. The following colon, as we have seen, becomes slightly more periodic; but note the central placement of ἡγοῦνται: it hints at a symmetrical (or chiastic) word-patterning within the clause, as before, and adds variety to the colon, again, as before. Moreover, this term not only corresponds to ἀποδέχονται in the previous colon but also forges a link with τὸ ἡγεῖσθαι. Through the latter connection we have a chiasmus at the fulcrum of the antithesis, which tastefully disrupts the parallelism and yokes the two arms of the antithesis together. The verb is in fact thematic: ‘they [sc. the Athenians] believe’ is the keynote of this section.

Protagoras’ argument proceeds by establishing a distinction within undesirable characteristics between (i) those that come by nature or chance and (ii) those that are acquired by teaching (323c–324a). Protagoras argues that no one tries to punish or correct people who are ugly or weak because these characteristics come (i) by nature or chance and cannot be helped. But in the case of injustice and impiety they do punish wrongdoers, and this shows that whatever is opposite to ἀρετή is (ii) acquired deliberately (324a). This argument is introduced, again, with an antithesis. Each half of the antithesis is introduced (in anaphora) with a dependant clause: ὅσα … / ὅσα …, though the parallelism largely ends here. Again, the fulcrum of the antithesis is bridged: ταῦτα μέν … ὅσα δέ …, which hints at a more symmetrical word–patterning (d4–6). This blending of techniques is apparent throughout the lengthy antithesis and is used to isolate logical units of a sentence in an elegant and unobtrusive way. To take but one example: ὅσα γὰρ ἠγοῦνται ἀλλήλους κακὰ ἔχειν ἄνθρωποι φύσει ἢ τύχῃ … (323c7–d). Here, ἠγοῦνται … ἄνθρωποι forms a bracket, which in turn isolates and thus emphasizes φύσει ἢ τύχῃ. Protagoras then launches into an emphatic list: οὐδεὶς θυμοῦται οὐδὲ νουθετεῖ, etc. This sentence structure aims to be variated, clear and elegant. To some extent, the prose becomes more disjointed and impassioned, as Protagoras closes in on his central claim regarding punishment (from 323a–c), but he regains composure as he brings the section to a close, echoing his opening remarks in ring-composition (324c5–324d1, compare 323c3–8, quoted above):

ὡς μὲν οὖν ε ἰ κότως ἀ ποδέχονται οἱ σοὶ πολῖται καὶ χαλκέως καὶ σκυτοτόμου συμβουλεύοντος τὰ πολιτικά, καὶ ὅτι διδακτὸν καὶ παρασκευαστὸν ἡγοῦνται ἀρετήν, ἀ ποδέδεικταί σοι, ὦ Σώκρατες, ἱκανῶς, ὥς γέ μοι φαίνεται.

We can note that Protagoras is still arguing from contemporary practice in this section—still bringing his profession back in line with democracy—but beyond this he offers an insightful account of how punishment ought to work. As with the intelligent design of the myth, Protagoras presents some ‘enlightened’ arguments in support of his apparently democratic view (324a6–324b6):

For no one punishes criminals thinking and reasoning that someone has committed a crime, unless he's an irrational beast out for revenge. To effect rational punishment one does not exact revenge for past misdeed—for that wouldn't undo what is already done—but for the sake of the future, so that he won't commit crimes again himself, nor any other who sees him being punished. In light of such motives, one supposes that virtue is taught; in the very least one punishes so as to deter.Footnote 37

This is Protagoras’ response to Socrates’ first argument. Socrates argued that democratic practices in the assembly betrayed the conviction that ἀρετή was not teachable; Protagoras finds reason to link popular practice with the idea that ἀρετή is taught. That is, one is liable to punishment if one lacks it, and (reasonable) people only punish on account of things that can be acquired by teaching. Nevertheless, it remains to be seen that Protagoras is in fact articulating a popular opinion, as he claims. Indeed, he would seem to be directly contradicted by the commonplace Greek maxim to help one's friends and harm one's enemies.Footnote 38

Notice that Protagoras is clearly talking about ἀρετή not as a specialized τέχνη but as a civic duty; not the attribute of an outstanding individual but the quality of a good citizen. For no one would be punished for lacking leadership skills or for failing to have a decorated political career. Similarly, in this section Protagoras makes mention of δίκη and εὐσέβεια at 234a1, even though he draws his conclusions in reference to ἀρετή in general.

Lastly, we can observe how the theory of punishment resonates with the myth. Punishment is an orderly and rational affair, as nature was in the myth. In each case there is something decidedly ‘enlightened’ about Protagoras’ approach. The myth presented a broadly benign view of Nature that wishes to maintain balance between the various kinds of animals so that each can avoid extinction. The theory of punishment explicitly builds on the claim that justice should be meted out exclusively with a view to improving individuals and ultimately the state, unlike the savages who punish for vengeance.

5. PROTAGORAS’ GREAT SPEECH III: GOOD FATHERS WITH BAD SONS (324D–328C)

Protagoras registers having dealt with Socrates’ first objection; now he moves on to the second.Footnote 39 He repeats Socrates’ objection that good or virtuous men (ἀγαθοί) do not improve their sons in respect of their virtue (342d). We observed that Socrates’ second objection shifted from the public to the private sphere and I raised the question as to whether this might invite a confusion between ἀρετή as an amoral means of success and ἀρετή as civic virtue. Here too, Protagoras will be seen to slip from moral ἀρετή to the leadership skills of a pre-eminent politician. Now, it may well be the case that political expertise is but the completion of civic duty, but as yet Protagoras has not given us any reason to believe that the ἀρετή he teaches is any more than a rudimentary adherence to the laws. What, we might ask, of wisdom or courage? We shall have to wait and see.

In his opening move he persists with the diluted concept of ἀρετή by insisting that there is but one quality necessary for the existence of a city and that this special quality holds the solution to Socrates’ conundrum (324e). Protagoras distinguishes this ‘one quality’ from specialized skills. He calls it ‘human ἀρετή’ and identifies it with δικαιοσύνη, σωφροσύνη and τὸ ὅσιον. He also extends it to women and children (325a)—clearly then not the skills specific to a decorated career in politics. Further, it seems that this ‘one quality’ is the sum of ‘human ἀρετή’ as Protagoras teaches it. If so, wisdom and courage make for conspicuous omissions.Footnote 40

First, Protagoras claims (325b–c) that, since the punishments for lacking this ‘one quality’ are so severe, parents should never hesitate to educate their children in this respect. Next (325c–326e) he goes through existing educational practices and explains how, at every turn, moral development is stressed. No mention is made of leadership skills. As soon as a child can understand Greek, he is admonished and advised—Don't do this! Do that! (325d). Protagoras speaks of what is δίκαιον, καλόν and ὅσιον, and we get the impression of children being taught how to conform to the laws and customs whereby the ‘bent’ and ‘crooked’ children are ‘straightened out’ (ibid.). When a child is sent to school (325d–326a), the teachers are told to focus on his behaviour, and he is given the good poets to read; their texts are full of good men to imitate.Footnote 41 Even in musical education (326b), Protagoras suggests, the child is acquiring a sense of ‘grace and poise’ (326b).Footnote 42

Protagoras turns to physical education at 326b–c and claims that this instils courage in the child. Now this is interesting. Protagoras’ claim that courage is distinct from the other ἀρεταί plays an important part in the dialectic that follows (see 349d and 359a–360d). Here at least Protagoras seems to take a step towards (or tries to incorporate an aspect of) individual prowess. At any rate, he rounds off this stretch of argument with the claim that education is largely concerned with making children moral, just as the laws are concerned with making adults moral: as a teacher makes his student trace letters on a page to learn how to write, the city lays down laws that show people how to rule and be ruled (ἄρχειν καὶ ἄρχεσθαι, 326d). Leadership skill seems to sneak in here at the end, but clearly the thrust of the argument equates virtue with being law-abiding and moral.

So, Protagoras argues that traditional practices betray the importance and thus the possibility of educating children in ἀρετή. Pace Socrates, parents are concerned to teach this to their children; Protagoras never loses sight of the rift between popular practice and his profession that Socrates tried to expose. But why, the question remains, do bad sons come from good fathers? Protagoras’ argument (327a–b) is that ἀρετή, the ‘one quality’ necessary for the existence of a city, is in fact taught constantly and by everyone to everyone else. This, as it were, levels the playing field: if everyone were taught how to play the flute, then only those with natural ability would rise to the top. But if the son of a renowned flautist was not particularly gifted, he would ‘remain unknown [ἀκλεής]’ in spite of his pedigree (327b7–c).

In this way Protagoras hopes to explain how good fathers produced ‘undistinguished’ sons in terms of natural ability. Since all and sundry teach and learn ἀρετή, the sons of good men have no special advantage. But it is almost alarming that Protagoras relies on a τέχνη analogy here. He has recently applied himself to distinguishing the technical from the political: Zeus ordered political ἀρετή to be sent to all in common, not to specialists. But now the technical is used to explain the common.Footnote 43 More exactly, he seems to have shifted from civic duty and from following laws to private skill and personal pre-eminence. Note that by the flute analogy the bad son is not morally corrupt but unknown or without glory: he fails to acquire the special skills or pre-eminence of his father. Moreover, as Ferrarin (n. 26), 315 notes, it may be hard to reconcile the claim that virtue comes in degrees (which it seems to do if Protagoras is a superior teacher of it) with the claim that it is held in common, as the ‘one thing’ a city needs to exist.

At any rate, Protagoras has argued that ἀρετή is not only teachable but also constantly taught. The next question must be what use a sophist is. What use is a professional teacher of ἀρετή? His answer is that, although all teach ἀρετή, he is simply better at it and, thus, worth the fee (328b). Here, then, Protagoras presents himself not as a revolutionary intellectual but as an expert at doing what parents, teachers, poets and the like are already doing. Protagoras is apparently in perfect accord with contemporary custom—he is just better at it. The argumentation here is most ingenious.

Lastly, we can notice that he claims (328b) to make people καλοί and ἀγαθοί.Footnote 44 He mentions the sons of Polyclitus as well as those of Pericles (who are present and whom Socrates had mentioned at 319e3), saying that it is too soon to write them off as failing to live up to their father. In this way, after all the pro-democratic posturing, Protagoras seems to leave us with an allusion to the special leadership skills that we might expect to learn from the sophist, but which have been conspicuously lacking in his Great Speech.

By and large, Protagoras has continued to treat virtue in its diluted ethical sense. Similarly, he has continued to display his own oratorical virtue. Here we see something more of Protagoras’ range: the first section (the myth) possessed ingenuity, charm and grace in a manner comparable to an epideictic display piece; the second (on punishment) tended more towards a forensic speech with its well-gauged logical argumentation; the third section, however, seems to rely largely on sheer emphasis. It is something of a ‘table-thumping’ deliberative speech. However that may be, there can be no question that Plato's Protagoras is at pains to display the range of his specialist skill.

Let us then glance over the stylistic features here. Naturally this new section is meticulously signposted (see 324d2–7). Note the thematic emphasis given to Socrates’ ἀπορία (the ‘problem’ he presented) via anastrophe: ἔτι δὴ λοιπὴ ἀ πορία ἐστίν, ἣ ἀ πορε ῖ ς περὶ τῶν ἀνδρῶν τῶν ἀγαθῶν … (324d2–3). This will be echoed both at 324e1–2 and at 326e3. The first echo rounds off the introduction of the problem (namely that bad sons come from good fathers), the second signals the completion of his lengthy exposition of the problem and is followed by his proposed solution.

As usual, the ‘proem’ of this section is spectacular, employing both subtle and bold techniques and displaying charm, grace and clarity. Continuing on from the line just quoted, (324d3–6)

… τί δήποτε

οἱ ἄνδρες οἱ ἀγαθοὶ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα τοὺς αὑτῶν ὑεῖς διδάσκουσιν ἃ διδασκάλων

ἔχεται καὶ σοφοὺς ποιοῦσιν,

ἣν δὲ αὐτοὶ ἀρετὴν ἀγαθοὶ οὐδενὸς βελτίους ποιοῦσιν.

The parallelism here, although reasonably obvious (μέν / δέ, ποιοῦσιν), is not without subtlety. We will return to this presently. First, notice the ‘interleaved’ word order (a pattern of the A, B, C, B variety). For example, the separation of τὰ … ἄλλα from ἃ διδασκάλων ἔχεται. While such (albeit mild) hyperbaton has an emphasizing effect, it can also be used to make the language, in a sense, unexpected and interesting. Thus, similarly, ἣν δὲ α ὐ το ὶ ἀρετὴν ἀ γαθοί. The cyclic rhythm of interleaving is also evident in Protagoras’ use of anastrophe: the case of ἀπορία has been discussed above and then we have περὶ τῶν ἀνδρῶν τῶν ἀγαθῶν with οἱ ἄνδρες οἱ ἀγαθοί (and cf. διδάσκουσιν ἃ διδασκάλων …). This staccato-like repetition serves to make the language more interesting and lively and thus adds to the texture of the prose. In a similar vein, note the zeugma. τὰ … ἄλλα … ἃ διδασκάλων ἔχεται is ‘used’ by both the verbs διδάσκουσιν and ποιοῦσιν. With the first we have an internal object: ‘they teach (their children) all those things that can be taught’; with the second we have an accusative of respect: ‘… in respect of which they make them wise’. Thus in the next colon we find ἣν δὲ αὐτοὶ ἀρετὴν ἀγαθοί, which also contains an accusative of respect.

Now let us turn to the parallelism. Clearly σοφοὺς ποιοῦσιν and οὐδενὸς βελτίους ποιοῦσιν resonate with one another at the ends of their respective clauses. More interesting still are the beginnings. Let us see them side by side:

οἱ ἄνδρες οἱ ἀγαθοὶ τὰ μὲν ἄλλα τοὺς αὑτῶν ὑεῖς διδάσκουσιν ἃ διδασκάλων

ἔχεται …

ἣν δὲ αὐτοὶ ἀρετὴν ἀγαθοὶ …

οἱ ἄνδρες οἱ ἀγαθοί is met by αὐτοί … ἀγαθοί and ἣν δέ correspondes to both τὰ μέν and ἃ (διδασκάλων ἔχεται). Protagoras thus artfully inverts the law of increased cola and adds punch and an element of surprise to his opening period. This is then supplemented by a personal appeal to Socrates (324d6–7); the first of many.Footnote 45

From 324e2 the language becomes less ornate and delicate, and increasingly emphatic. Here techniques such as repetition, synonym, listing and anacolutha come to the fore. Indeed, from 324e2 all the way to 325b4 we have in effect a single conditional, one with an ever-increasing protasis. The basic claim is, if virtue is the essential quality a city needs to exist and if the virtuous do not teach it to their children, then witness how absurd the virtuous become. The basic technique involves swelling to a climax, like a wave. The tension then recedes and steadily starts to build again. The next ‘wave’ (325b5–c4) is an extended question (ἄρα), to the effect of, ‘How could they not teach their children this of all things?’. The third ‘wave’ begins at 325c6, after a personal appeal to Socrates which serves as a punctuation mark of sorts. Here we turn to a discussion of current educational practices. This ‘wave’, on early childhood, is shorter, peaking in 325d and ending at 325d7. The next ‘wave’, on schoolchildren, stretches to 326c3. From 326c3 to 326e5, the bombast is toned down, and Protagoras draws these arguments to a conclusion.

A new start is signalled at 326e6. Though still broadly within the ‘bad sons, good fathers’ section, Protagoras is now making his way towards the denouement of his whole oration. The language, while becoming more ornate than the immediately preceding, is not overly wrought. It is clear and effective and, while the sentences can be lengthy, the periodic style is usually avoided in favour of the ‘strung-together’ style (but see 327e1–328b1).

6. GENERAL IMPORT OF THE SPEECH

I have attempted to bring out the way in which Protagoras uses the Great Speech to align himself with democracy in response to Socrates’ suggestions to the contrary. In the myth Protagoras distinguished specialist skills from the ἀρετή needed for a city to exist; in the section on punishment he contrasted ἀρετή with injustice, and argued that, since we punish injustice so as to deter it, ἀρετή must be an acquired quality; in the final section on how good fathers can have bad sons he emphasized the myriad ways children are educated in ἀρετή. In sum, Protagoras does what everybody else is already doing, teaching basic morality, but he does it better. It seems that in his eagerness to align his profession with democracy Protagoras has forgotten (not unlike his Epimetheus) to equip his students with the means to become successful politicians.Footnote 46

Even if we accept hypothetically the idea that Protagoras was at liberty to treat political pre-eminence as the completion of civic duty, he should have said as much rather than completely ignoring leadership skills, and we may still wonder if he has really earned his reputation (and wealth) from teaching civic duty and nothing besides. The crowd of ambitious aristocrats assembled at Callias’ house would suggest otherwise (see 314e–316b).Footnote 47 Plato brings these political ambitions to the fore in the figure of Hippocrates (see, for example, 316c). And Protagoras courts these ambitions in his claim to teach εὐβουλία and to maximize political power (319a). All of this has a decidedly different emphasis from what follows in the content of the Great Speech—after Socrates alludes to democracy.Footnote 48

Moreover, Protagoras does seem to have a peculiarly insightful take on these contemporary democratic practices.Footnote 49 We can observe this in his use of myth and in the ordered balance of nature in the myth; in the careful way he tries to distinguish ἀρετή as the key ingredient to the formation of a city; and in the enlightened utilitarianism of his theory of punishment. Few would deny, I think, that the speech offers a lot that is intelligent and insightful. Consider also Socrates’ (feigned?) awe at the end of Protagoras’ speech, how he hungered to hear more (328d).Footnote 50 This is surely an allusion to Protagoras’ bewitching skills (see 315a–b).

Indeed, we are left to wonder how a specialist at educating can leave something like wisdom out of his account. Thus at 352d he will agree with Socrates that ‘to him, if anyone, it is shameful if wisdom and knowledge are not seen to be the greatest of human endeavours’. Presumably, he means that qua sophist, that is, educational specialist, he must place value in intelligence. This does not accord with what we found in the speech. What is more, he maintains this in spite of popular opinion to the contrary (352e).Footnote 51 Nor is it the first time we have remarked Protagoras’ anti-democratic leanings. Again, Protagoras had claimed at 326a that poetry was much more useful for its ethical content, the moral example of great heroes, and the grace and balance it lends one's character. But at 339a he goes on to claim that the greatest part of a man's education is learning poetry so that one may apprehend the poets’ thought and assess the merits of the poetry. This is then followed by a highly sophistic (mal)treatment of a poem by Simonides.

Further, the only limited mention of courage in his speech opens up the whole question of private good vs public good. Later in the dialogue Protagoras will insist—this time with popular opinion—that courage is altogether different from the other ἀρεταί, because it is easy to find someone who is totally unjust and irreligious but still brave (349d). Here the contrast between the moral and the amoral ἀρεταί is apparent; here Protagoras makes plain that civic duty or following the laws is simply not enough.Footnote 52

Thus the whittled-down model of ἀρετή Protagoras offers is most certainly a compromise. It does not accord with the other views he expresses on wisdom, poetry or courage. Nor can we take his democratic posturing seriously.Footnote 53 Protagoras is pandering to the masses.Footnote 54 But he does this in such a way as to fully display his ‘wares’ (if you will) to the aristocratic audience; he gives them what they expect and desire. We might say that Socrates brings this two-faced response out of Protagoras. Socrates pits democratic views against Protagoras—in front of a crowd of distinguished persons and potential students.Footnote 55 To ask if Socrates actually planned for this to happen is perhaps beyond our ken. Plato, on the other hand, most assuredly contrived the outcome. To this we now turn.

Once Protagoras has finally finished his Great Speech, Socrates predictably enough applies himself to bringing Protagoras under examination. It does not take long before the dialectic starts to break down with Protagoras becoming more and more agitated and reticent (see, for example, 331c and 333b–d). Thus at 333e he interrupts his account and explains that, since Protagoras had become extremely flustered he carefully softened the tone of his following question. In response to this ‘gentle [ἠρέμα]’ question Protagoras launches into a mini oration, which earns him a round of applause from the onlookers (334a–c). This reminder that there is in fact a crowd of onlookers is timely, and their applause should also be remarked. Even more significant is Socrates’ rejoinder. He laments his poor memory and entreats Protagoras to leave off the long speeches; for he can never remember the subject of the speech when people talk at length (334d). He is of course insisting that Protagoras sit down and endure his elenctic examination. Here the dialectic breaks down, Protagoras refuses to limit himself to short answers alone, and Socrates makes to leave. This is followed by a discussion about the format of the debate between Socrates and Protagoras: short answer or long speeches. This is an important theme of the Protagoras.Footnote 56

It is Alcibiades who correctly, I think, apprehends the situation, when he says that Protagoras is unwilling to stop and be held accountable for his answers, and that most tend to forget what is under discussion in long speeches—though, Socrates, he maintains, has an impeccable memory despite what he says. The lesson we need to take away from this clash over the format of the discussion is that magnificent sophistic speeches—precisely in contradistinction to Socratic dialectic—do not encourage critical reflection on the speaker's pronouncements.

Scholarly discussion on this point is quite illuminating and deserves more attention than I can give it here. At a glance: Burnyeat remarks the preponderance of the verb διαλέγεσθαι by which the mode of philosophical discussion is thematized,Footnote 57 and, paying careful attention to the way in which Plato uses the aspect of Greek verbs, argues that Socrates wishes to discuss things through to their conclusions, while Protagoras does not; Griswold argues that it is not the length of the speech as such that is at issue but the end to which it aims: Socrates is committed to questioning and discovering the good via reason and thus dialectic, while Protagoras’ ends are more self-serving;Footnote 58 Benitez brings Protagoras’ relativism into the discussion and similarly connects the competing modes of discussion with certain methodological assumptions: Protagoras seeks only to be persuasive and discourages critical examination, while Socrates’ commitment to a moral order lends itself to cooperation;Footnote 59 lastly, Cohen identifies philosophical discussion as a political activity such that, while sophistic teaching is authoritarian, dialectic is cooperative.Footnote 60

Applying this basic idea to the Great Speech we can surmise that Protagoras does not expect to be held accountable, and thus the audience could hardly be faulted for failing to remark the absence of leadership skills and rhetoric. While rhetoric was of course ever-present, its absence in Protagoras’ curriculum was obscured not in spite of the ever-present rhetoric but because of it. Here both the grandiose tone of the speech and its mundane subject matter—apparent opposites—are at once explained (and I would put the ‘enlightened’ undercurrent of Protagoras’ speech along with the rhetorical form and in contradistinction to the otherwise traditional democratic orientation of the content). Protagoras could afford to exclude the most important aspect of his teaching because most of the listeners would be too absorbed experiencing that very thing to notice.

It will be readily acknowledged that sophists enjoy speaking at length and generally showing off. So much is apparent in Protagoras and some other examples can be found at 337 and 347a–b. But there is more than a vain indulgence in lofty speeches at play here. Protagoras is an educator. At the beginning of the dialogue Socrates had cautioned Hippocrates about putting his soul into the hands of a bad teacher, lest he suffer irreparable damage (313d–e). The danger is expressed through a metaphor: one must guard against those who hawk their wares in the markets without any thought as to the quality of their products, but only hoping to turn a profit.Footnote 61

Protagoras, I maintain, is not only self-indulgent but also concerned to indulge or to gratify his potential customersFootnote 62 —without considering the harm or benefit he might cause them, without being held accountable. Particularly, if we keep in mind his association with homo mensura and the dissoi logoi, he can simply apply himself to saying whatever the situation demands of him without a backward glance.Footnote 63 Here he must pacify Socrates’ democratic objection but amidst a most distinguished and affluent crowd. Here the elegance of his rhetoric serves a double duty: it distracts from the obvious omission in his curriculum and it satisfies in and of itself his immediate audience. Protagoras relies on the charm and beauty of his words rather than on his fidelity to the truth.

Plato's depiction is no straw-man. Protagoras is indeed masterful, not least in the cunning solution he finds to satisfy the demands of both the masses and the well-to-do. However, this should give us serious cause for concern given that he takes up the task of educating the future generation. Presumably he teaches his students an unreflective ability to pontificate at will on whatever they fancy, perhaps both for and against the same moot. If this claim is contradicted by the claims made in his speech, so what? Who is going to hold him accountable? Who, indeed. It appears that, not unlike Epimetheus, Protagoras cannot equip his students with the necessary tools for life, but perhaps the Promethean Socrates (cf. 361d) can make good this oversight.

References

1 References are to the OCT.

2 Adkins, A.W.H., ‘ἀρετή, τέχνη, democracy and sophists: Protagoras 316b−328d’, JHS 93 (1973), 3−12 CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 6−9; see also Rutherford, R.B., The Art of Plato (London, 1995), 128−30Google Scholar and Maguire, J.P., ‘Protagoras … or Plato? II The Protagoras ’, Phronesis 22 (1977), 103−22CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 105, who presents the following convenient schema of equivalences that Protagoras seems to make: ‘good judgement = political expertise = good citizenship = virtue = political wisdom = political expertise = political virtue = justice and self-control = justice and the rest of political virtue = justice, self-control and piety = human virtue’. But see n. 6 below.

3 Zappen, J.P., The Rebirth of Dialogue (New York, 2004)Google Scholar, chapters 4 and 5.

4 Weingartner, R.H., The Unity of the Platonic Dialogue (Indianapolis and New York, 1973)Google Scholar, 92; see also 65−7.

5 Vlastos, G., ‘Introduction’ to Jowett, B. and Ostwald, M. (trans.), Plato's Protagoras (Indianapolis and New York, 1956)Google Scholar, liv.

6 Stokes, M.C., Plato's Socratic Conversations (London, 1986), 214−26Google Scholar. Similar claims are made by, for example, Alford, F.C., ‘A note on the institutional context of Plato's Protagoras ’, CW 81 (1988), 167−76Google Scholar, who emphasizes that an average citizen would pick up leadership skills as a matter of course by participating in an ancient democracy, and Kerferd, G.B., ‘Protagoras’ doctrine of justice and virtue in the Protagoras of Plato’, JHS 73 (1953), 42−5CrossRefGoogle Scholar, who is followed by Gagarin, M., ‘The purpose of Plato's Protagoras ’, TAPhA 100 (1969), 133−64Google Scholar, at 142−4. Kerferd (this note), 44 argues that, if there is a confusion between the virtues of a leader and of a citizen, it is due to Socrates, and that it is actually quite a natural assumption for the sophist to make. I agree that Socrates adds to the confusion (see below), but this is all the more reason to see how Protagoras deals with it. In particular, the connection between sophists and amoral rhetorical skills cannot be ignored (even if it is often exaggerated), and it is unconvincing to suggest that the distinction between private good and public good can be overlooked in (of all things) a Platonic dialogue about Protagoras.

7 Stokes (n. 6), 226.

8 Stokes (n. 6), 229−35.

9 For the view that the Great Speech is basically historical, see, for example, Guthrie, W.K.C., The Sophists (Cambridge, 1971)CrossRefGoogle Scholar [= Guthrie, W.K.C., A History of Greek Philosophy, vol. 3.1 (Cambridge, 1969)Google Scholar], 63−4 and 64 n. 1 and Beresford, A., ‘Fangs, feathers and fairness: Protagoras on the origins of right and wrong’, in van Ophuijsen, J., van Raalte, M. and Stork, P. (edd.), Protagoras of Abdera: The Man and his Measure (Leiden and Boston, 2013), 132−62Google Scholar, at 143. For an attempt to separate out the Platonic from the historical see, for example, Maguire (n. 2), Schiappa, E., Protagoras and Logos (Columbia, 2003 2), 180−6Google Scholar and B. Manuwald, ‘Protagoras’ myth in Plato's Protagoras: fiction or testimony’, in van Ophuijsen, van Raalte and Stork (this note), 163−77, at e.g. 163−4. For a more negative assessment, see Stalley, R.F., ‘Punishment in Plato's Protagoras ’, Phronesis 40 (1995), 1−19 CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 3−7, esp. 4−5. For a discussion, see Taylor, C.C.W., Plato: Protagoras, revised edition (Oxford, 1991), 78−9Google Scholar. And lastly note Rutherford (n. 2), 127: ‘I take it for granted that, although no doubt it bears some relation to the historical views of Protagoras, this speech is not straightforwardly lifted out of a published work’; the important question, he urges, is ‘what place does the speech of Protagoras have in the dialogue Protagoras.’

10 Schiappa (n. 9), 168−70. Cf. Loenen, D., Protagoras and the Greek Community (Amsterdam, 1940), 14−15 Google Scholar, who makes a connection between Protagoras’ enlightened approach and the classical Greek idea of equality before the law.

11 See e.g. Adkins (n. 2), 10; Stokes (n. 6), 188−90; and Frede, M., ‘Introduction’ to Lombardo, S. and Bell, K. (trans.), Plato's Protagoras (Indianapolis and Cambridge, 1992), xii−xv Google Scholar.

12 Wallace, R., ‘The sophists in Athens’, in Boedeker, D. and Raaflaub, K.A. (edd.), Democracy, Empire, and the Arts in Fifth-Century Athens (Cambridge and London, 1998), 203−22Google Scholar, at 214−22.

13 Cf. Stokes (n. 6), 213 for further complications: ‘The picture of an upper middle class conscious of its own superiority, exposed by that consciousness to resentful suspicion, but at the same time devoted to the pursuit of political and economic power under the democracy, should not strike one as implausible.’

14 Translations are my own.

15 On the importance of Hippocrates’ perspective, see Benitez, E., ‘Argument, rhetoric and philosophic method: Plato's Protagoras ’, Ph&Rh 25 (1992), 222−52Google Scholar, at 231 and Beck, M.C., Tragedy and the Philosophical Life: A Response to Martha Nussbaum, vol. 1: Protagoras (New York, 2006), 82−3Google Scholar.

16 Friedländer, P., Plato, 3 vols. (London, 1958−1969)Google Scholar, 2.6−7 and Stokes (n. 6), 194 note how the question Socrates asks Protagoras is anticipated by the question he asks Hippocrates.

17 For the connection between εὐβουλία and ‘success-producing skill’, see Adkins (n. 2), 6; Stokes (n. 6), 202; Taylor (n. 9), 71; Zappen (n. 3), 102−3 and cf. Eisenstadt, M., ‘Protagoras’ teaching in Plato's Protagoras’, SO 56 (1981), 47−61 CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 47. Friedländer (n. 16), 2.11 cites other passages in Plato that connect εὐβουλία with skill in ruling, for example, Resp. 428b. Benitez (n. 15), 235 links political ability with the art of persuasion. P. Woodruff, ‘Euboulia as the skill Protagoras taught’, in van Ophuijsen, van Raalte and Stork (n. 9), 179−93, at 180, on the other hand, shows how Protagoras’ answer implies that he teaches skills which benefit the household or the state, not self-serving skills. However, Woodruff ignores the socio-political dimension of the ‘sophistic movement’ and the rhetorical aims of Protagoras’ claims. These omissions seriously limit the usefulness of Woodruff's findings. Thus he reduces good speaking to discovering arguments and ignores rhetoric and presentation (e.g. at 192).

18 See n. 6 above.

19 Does Socrates really think ἀρετή is unteachable? That he argues from the claim that the Athenians are wise is highly suspicious; thus, Stokes (n. 6), 203. Weingartner (n. 4), 56−7 claims that Socrates is being perfectly honest because what Protagoras thinks ἀρετή is cannot be taught; cf. G. van Riel, ‘Religion and morality: elements of Plato's anthropology in the myth of Prometheus (Protagoras, 320d−322d)’, in Collobert, C., Destrée, P. and Gonzalez, F.J. (edd.), Plato and Myth: Studies on the Use and Status of Platonic Myths (Leiden and Boston, 2012), 145−64CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 148. Lastly, Frede (n. 11), xvii seems to suggest that Socrates adopts this position as a dialectical pose. He notes that the teachability of virtue, qua knowledge, is often associated with Socrates (not least in this dialogue I might add, for example, 345b−c, 345e, 352c, 357d−e and 361). I consider it entirely possible to accept and combine all of these views.

20 Cf. Pangle, L.S., Virtue is Knowledge: The Moral Foundations of Socratic Political Philosophy (Chicago, 2014)CrossRefGoogle Scholar, 139.

21 On which, see van Riel (n. 19), 147−8.

22 On Pericles’ special skill as a matter of pre-eminence, see Adkins (n. 2), 4; Maguire (n. 2), 107 and cf. Taylor (n. 9), 75.

23 On Socrates pitting Protagoras against the dēmos here, see esp. Stokes (n. 6), 203, as well as Adkins (n. 2), 10; Kerferd, G.B., The Sophistic Movement (Cambridge, 1981)Google Scholar, 133; Rutherford (n. 2), 130 and van Riel (n. 19), 149.

24 Further, McCoy, M.B., ‘Protagoras on human nature, wisdom and the good: the Great Speech and the hedonism of Plato's Protagoras ’, AncPhil 18 (1988), 21−39 Google Scholar, at 22 says that the myth is ‘an appropriate mode of discourse because its topic is prehistoric … it provides a picture of the origins of human beings and their place in the cosmos and city’.

25 Beresford (n. 9), 139−40. Indeed, Protagoras denied knowing whether the gods existed (DK 80B4, Plato Tht. 162d−e).

26 See further Beresford (n. 9), 139−43, who links Protagoras’ account with Democritus via Diod. Sic. 1.7.1−6 and 1.8.109, and Lucr.  5.772−1104. There are many interesting aspects of Protagoras’ use of the Prometheus myth that I cannot afford to treat here. For an insightful discussion, see Ferrarin, A., ‘ Homo faber, homo sapiens, or homo politicus? Protagoras and the myth of Prometheus’, RMeta 54 (2000), 289−319 Google Scholar, at 309−19, who argues that Protagoras uses the myth to throw off the shackles of tradition and to display the triumph of man over nature. See also n. 30 below.

27 On the teleology of the myth, see Loenen (n. 10), 1−6 and Thein, K., ‘Teleology and myth in the Protagoras ’, Proceedings of the Third Symposium Platonica Pragense (Prague, 2003), 60−70 Google Scholar, at 60, who links it to the ‘explicitly teleological theory of political punishment and education’.

28 A good example of this ‘internal balance’ is 320d2−3: τυποῦσιν αὐτὰ θεοὶ γῆς ἔνδον ἐκ γῆς καὶ πυρὸς μείξαντες καὶ τῶν ὅσα πυρὶ καὶ γῇ κεράννυται. The first part of this sentence is centred around αὐτὰ θεοὶ and the second part centres around μείξαντες, which is enclosed by the chiasmus γῆς καὶ πυρός / πυρὶ καὶ γῇ.

29 See Loenen (n. 10), 15. McCoy (n. 24), 24−6 stresses the self-centred nature of Protagoras’ model of mortals.

30 On the parallels and differences between this and the traditional Prometheus story, see McCoy (n. 24), 23−5 and cf. Taylor (n. 9), 77−8. It is noted that Protagoras’ cosmos is much more ‘naturalistic’ and congenial to humans; in particular, Zeus seems surprisingly well disposed towards us.

31 On the shift in terminology, cf. Pangle (n. 20), 144.

32 Indeed, Charmides, Alcibiades or Callias (all who are present, see 315−316a) may begin to wonder whether this ability to live in a city is what they hope to learn from Protagoras?

33 I will argue below (n. 39) that this shows that Protagoras is consciously switching from mythos to logos.

34 It is possible to link Protagoras’ acceptance of traditional Athenian practice with his relativism (cf. 334a–c): what people think is right is right to them. See Vlastos (n. 5), xii−xxiv; Weingartner (n. 4), 65 and 92; Rutherford (n. 2), 128 and 138 and Zappen (n. 3), 107. But see Taylor (n. 9), 100−1. On Protagoras’ relativism, see below (n. 63).

35 Ferrarin (n. 26), 314−15 makes much of this. Cf. Pangle (n. 20), 144−5.

36 Occasionally I break up the Greek text into paragraphs and use indentation to facilitate my analysis.

37 Protagoras’ celebrated account of punishment is sometimes lauded as something strikingly new and profound. See Loenen (n. 10), 23; Guthrie (n. 9), 67; and Schiappa (n. 9), 183, who has additional references. But whatever we may say of the historical Protagoras, for Plato's Protagoras the more original this view is the weaker his argument is. He claims that, since (rational) people only punish for the sake of a better future they must hold certain beliefs about how ἀρετή is acquired. If this view were utterly original, that argument would be ineffective because it argues from what people actually do. More likely, Protagoras expects this rather ‘enlightened’ view to be quite acceptable to his ‘enlightened’ audience: even if its articulation is original, it must resonate with the personal experience and assumptions of his listeners at some level. Cf. Pangle (n. 20), 164.

38 For popular attitudes towards moral responsibility, see Dover, K.J., Greek Popular Morality in the Time of Plato and Aristotle (Indianapolis, 1974), 144−60Google Scholar.

39 ‘In regard to this, Socrates,’ says Protagoras, ‘I will not give you a myth [mythos] but an argument [logos]’ (324d). Kerferd (n. 6), 42−4 (see also Kerferd [n. 23], 133−5) takes this to mean that the myth only ends here. However, even Kerferd must speak of a ‘myth proper’, and Protagoras begins the immediate sequel to the myth proper with the words ‘Just in case you still have doubts … here is some extra evidence’ (323a). This suggests that he acknowledges where the myth ends and that he is shifting to a logos to reassure the audience of his conclusion with an argument. Beyond this, it is hard to believe that someone so well spoken and articulate would cast his speech in such a mysterious structure. The speech is otherwise meticulously signposted (see Rutherford [n. 2], 127). I suggest that he is emphasizing the start of a new point, to the effect of: And this time I will not begin with a myth. The preceding two sections dealt with Socrates’ first objection regarding the public sphere; now he moves to the second objection that, in the private sphere, ἀρετή is not passed down to children. This will occupy almost half of the whole speech.

40 On the absence of courage and wisdom in the Great Speech, see Stokes (n. 6), e.g. 231 and 252; McCoy (n. 24), 29−30 and 33; and Zappen (n. 3), 103. Duncan, R., ‘Courage in Plato's Protagoras ’, Phronesis 23 (1978), 216−28CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 216−17 and Griswold, C.L., ‘Relying on your own voice: an unsettled rivalry of ideas in Plato's Protagoras ’, RMeta 53 (1999), 283−307 Google Scholar, at 297 note the absence of courage.

41 Perhaps here the competitive ἀρετή of the Homeric hero creeps in. See Zappen (n. 3), 105.

42 See Friedländer (n. 16), 2.14−18 and 1.175−7 n. 41 for parallels between Protagoras and Platonic views in general. This claim about music recalls the ‘enlightened’ music-theorist Damon and the musical proscriptions that Socrates issues in the Republic (see Resp. 398e–400e).

43 Cf. Beck (n. 15), 212.

44 On kalokagathia as an aristocratic notion, see Vlastos (n. 5), li; Adkins (n. 2), 10; and Rutherford (n. 2), 129.

45 See 324e1, 325c4, 326e, 327b6, 327e1, 328a6 and 328c3.

46 See Weingartner (n. 4), 63, who says that ‘the confusion at the end of the dialogue is in good part attributed to this speech, which treats of so many questions at once’; Stokes (n. 6), 235; Rutherford (n. 2), 128−31; and Adkins (n. 2), 10−12, who calls this speech a cunning ‘smokescreen’ contrived to ‘bait’ both the masses and the elite while keeping both groups in the dark about this contrivance. My view has most in common with the latter. See also Ferrarin (n. 26), 304, 314−15 and 317−18.

47 On the crowd assembled at Callias’, see Wolfsdorf, D., ‘The historical reader of Plato's Protagoras ’, CQ 48 (1998), 126−33CrossRefGoogle Scholar.

48 Note Protagoras’ disparaging remarks about the many at 317a and 352e. Stokes (n. 6), 197 makes the reasonable suggestion that Protagoras would not express these views before a popular audience. Indeed, many scholars emphasize the antithesis between sophist and democracy. Guthrie (n. 9), 65 says that Protagoras has a difficult task in combining the claim that ἀρετή is held in common and that he is a specialist teacher of it, as do Rutherford (n. 2), 130 and McCoy (n. 24), 33; cf. Stokes (n. 6), 209.

49 Cf. Weingartner (n. 4), 64: ‘Unlike parents and nurses, but also unlike the great poets of the past, Protagoras has made it his business to reflect upon the practices of men and to make himself aware of what has hitherto remained implicit’; Guthrie, W.K.C., A History of Greek Philosophy, vol. 4. Plato: The Man and His Dialogues; Early Period (Cambridge, 1975)Google Scholar, 234: ‘The morality of Protagoras, based on conventional premises, was admirable and the outcome of much straight thinking about human nature and human affairs.’ However, I have argued that both the myth and the account of punishment are ‘enlightened’ and progressive. See also Weingartner (n. 4), 57 and Rutherford (n. 2), 121, who claim that Plato's Protagoras is no Platonic straw-man.

50 Cf. Baltussen, H., ‘Dialectic in dialogue: the message of Plato's Protagoras and Aristotle's Topics ’, in Mackay, E.A. (ed.), Orality, Literacy and Memory in the Ancient Greek and Roman World (Leiden and Boston, 2008), 203−25Google Scholar, at 213.

51 Weingartner (n. 4), 109−10 and Vlastos (n. 5), liv.

52 As Eisenstadt (n. 17), 45−50 notes, a similar idea is suggested by Protagoras’ claim that the unjust ought to lie and conceal their lack of justice (323b). On the contrast between courage and justice in the Protagoras, see e.g. Weingartner (n. 4), 102−3 and 108; Friedländer (n. 16), 2.26; Duncan (n. 40), e.g. 219; and McCoy (n. 24), 29−30.

53 See Griswold (n. 40), 299−300 and Pangle (n. 20), 132−3. Cf. n. 63 below.

54 With this in mind we can reconsider Protagoras’ grand claim that unlike the ‘closet sophists’ who came before him he does not conceal his art (316e4−317a1).

55 On the compromise between democratic and aristocratic interests, see Ferrarin (n. 26), 303 and Pangle (n. 20), 148−9, and cf. Beck (n. 15), 93, 106−8, 111−12, 116, 118, 121 and 126, though her treatment is quite speculative and rather unexpected.

56 Thus at 329a−b Socrates prefaces the dialectic with the remark that, unlike other orators who simply harp on and on when asked even a slight question, Protagoras (surely) is adept at both long and short answers. And at 343c Socrates recalls Protagoras’ bold claim that so many distinguished Greeks of the past were in fact ‘secret sophists’. Socrates, in his turn, claims that the Spartans and the Cretans are in fact ‘secret philosophers’ (342), and what is more they placed a high store on laconic brevity (343c).

57 Burnyeat, M.F., ‘Dramatic aspects of Plato's Protagoras ’, CQ 63 (2013), 419−22CrossRefGoogle Scholar, at 419. The importance of this theme is also remarked by Benitez (n. 15), 231−2; Griswold (n. 40), 283−5; Cohen, J.R., ‘Philosophy is education is politics: the dramatic interlude in the Protagoras ’, AncPhil 22 (2002), 1−20 Google Scholar, at 2−3; Beck (n. 15), 93; and Baltussen (n. 50), 204, 213 and n. 36.

58 Griswold (n. 40), 297−307.

59 Benitez (n. 15) discusses Protagoras’ relativism on 233 and the contrasting methodological assumptions of Protagoras and Socrates on 235 and 242−7.

60 Cohen (n. 57), 10−12. Reflection of the exegesis of Simonides’ poem has led scholars to similar conclusion: e.g. Griswold (n. 40), 291 registers Socrates’ criticism that poems cannot be questioned in this connection as an injunction to rely on one's own voice, one's own opinions. Cf. Baltussen (n. 50), 214 with 222−3 on Socrates’ insistence on Protagoras giving his own views. Scodel, R., ‘Literary interpretation in Plato's Protagoras ’, AncPhil 6 (1986), 25−37 Google Scholar, at e.g. 35 (in an attempt to save Plato from the contradiction of condemning writing) argues that Socrates endorses a particular use of poetry that actually encourages reflection. Thus also Woolf, R., ‘The written word in Plato's Protagoras ’, AncPhil 19 (1999), 21−30 Google Scholar, at e.g. 28−9.

61 On Protagoras as a ‘confectioner’, see Griswold (n. 40), 293 and Benitez (n. 15), 226, who cites Soph. 223c−224d.

62 Wolfsdorf (n. 47), 128−9 notes that Callias’ house was a byword for licentiousness.

63 Homo mensura (Protagoras’ claim that man is the measure of all things) is found in DK 80B6 and his professed ability to argue both sides of an issue (as we find in the dissoi logoi) appears in DK 80B6. More generally, on Protagoras and relativism, see Benitez (n. 15), 223−5 and Pangle (n. 20), 146−7. Griswold (n. 40), 299 nn. 46 and 47 links Protagoras’ ‘detachment’ with the fact that he travelled from city to city, and cites Tht. 167c4−d2. For example, ἐπεὶ οἷά γ᾽ ἂν ἑκάστῃ πόλει δίκαια καὶ καλὰ δοκῇ, ταῦτα καὶ εἶναι αὐτῇ, ἕως ἂν αὐτὰ νομίζῃ (Tht. 167c). In this way, Protagoras can endorse the public values of any city or gathering he finds himself in and by this token further his own private ends.